Staying The Course During The Perfect Storm

Betsy called me one afternoon, not long after a note landed in my e-mail.  When I get both e-mail and a phone call it's usually something important, dramatic or entertaining.  This particular call was a blend of all three categories.

"Do you have any idea what the USA Track and Field rule is about runners going off a race course?  I know we've always used the old 'it's the runner's responsibility to know the course' dictum, but I can't seem to find any rule."

When it comes to triathlon I can cite the USA Triathlon competition rule to chapter-and-verse level.  But USATF doesn't have a large presence around here, save for the fine folks of the Road Running Technical Council.  Those are the people who tell me what to tell race directors who want race courses measured.

So, I ran back into my living room library and pulled my gently-used copy of the USATF Competition Rules.  Once you get to the mid-point of the book - Rule 65, section 7 - USATF talks about what happens when racers leave the course: "65.7a. No competitor, after leaving the track or course, shall be allowed to rejoin a race either for the purpose of gaining a place or to pace or to assist another competitor." 65.7c then states: "In any track event of 20,000 meters or more, or in any road race, a competitor may leave the road or track with the permission and under the control of a judge or other authorized official, provided that by going off or returning to the course the athlete does not lessen the distance to be covered."

So, as long as the racer doesn't cut the course - and is supervised by an official or judge - then leaving the course is only a little inconvenience.  It's not like the world, or the rest of the race field, will hit the "Pause" button until you return to the course. In the case of most recreational runners this is not an earth-shaking situation. It stands to reason that 99 percent of the time we're going to follow the runner directly in front of us...and hope like mad the entire lot of them didn't screw up. It's happened before; naturally, it's another good story.

However, for the elite runners, the fast guys and gals looking for a medal and/or a paycheck, that's the equivalent of working on a PowerPoint presentation for two-or-three hours, only to have the file go "toes-up" minutes before the meeting is to start.  (I've had that before.)

Frustration only starts to describe ones' emotions. Train like mad for a potentially-nice pay day, and have a police officer turn the wrong direction or a course marshal "fall asleep at the switch?"  Churchillian blood, toil, sweat and tears.  For naught.

It's one of the reasons I took up course measurement. It was either that or spend thirty minutes at the packet pick-up begging for a course map, then studying every little detail. I absolutely needed to know the direction, the turns and the finish line...or at least where it was supposed to be...on race day. An extra 800 meters during a 5K will teach you that lesson.

Every athlete I have trained has heard me talk about the particulars of their upcoming race course, if I'd raced it in the past, to the smallest detail. For a short distance race, such as the 5,000-meters on the roads, it can mean a couple of extra seconds toward a personal best time. In the case of a half-marathon or longer, it can mean the difference between injury and a good day. Especially if you know the specifics of the terrain.

USATF Competition Rule 134.1 states: "Running courses shall be adequately marked at strategic points to keep the competitors on course. Each turn and intersection shall be clearly marked in such a way that there will be no doubt as to the direction the runner should go to stay on course."

As a course director for run portions of multisport events, I believe there's not enough a race director can do or place; whether it is chalk or paint on the asphalt, cones or barriers in the road, signs along the shoulders, and obnoxious human beings. Multiple back-ups are sometimes necessary to make certain nobody turns too early or wrong.

Of course, there are differences between road racing and multisport, especially when it comes to running. A set of headphones at a USAT-sanctioned event may earn at least one, and up to three, penalties, depending on the vigilance of the transition workers and referees. USATF strongly discourages their use for safety reasons, to include the ability to hear volunteer instructions.

The perfect storm of a half-informed lead driver, a briefly-distracted course marshal and a slightly under-marked course can ruin the runner's day. A study of the course map and a pre-drive of the course can make for a good "umbrella."

Don't.

The ache in the knees should have been a warning sign.

One look at the training logs told me the terrain of the previous weekend could have been the root cause of discomfort.  Sure, others outside the Gulf Coast can scoff at the 50-to-100-foot variations in total elevation, but most physical therapists would probably not recommend my county-fair-style wanna-be roller coaster courses from Sunday morning or Sunday afternoon.

Not the best training surface for a pair of recovering achilles tendons.

Since the achilles were not aching, the next suspect would have been the shoes.  Nope.  I ran in shoes which had 300 and 180 miles, respectively.  Old shoes cause aches first in the ankles, then the knees, closely followed by the hips and low back.

I've waited until the "back pain" stage to buy the next pair.  It's amazing how quickly the ache goes away.

As I lay, stewing in my own 101.3-degree juices, it suddenly came to me.

Eric.  And 13,000 of my closest (some as stone cold sober as me!) friends.

I had a sneaking suspicion something was not going to go well when he asked me: 'Mike, do you have any recommendations on how to run when you cannot breathe?'

My one-word answer: 'Don't.'

Most experienced runners know the "chin rule" when it comes to running while sick.  If the congestion or discomfort of an allergy or cold is limited to the head and sinuses, runs at a decreased intensity are acceptable.  If the congestion is below the level of the chin (the small accessory muscles of the ribcage is a good sign - if the ribs are tender the accessory muscles have probably been used too much), rest, rest and some more rest is a great idea.

The weekend's exposure more than compensated for the wisdom and prudence I used through the end-of-year holidays.  Sometimes the runner can exercise caution - avoid crowds, eat properly, and train smartly - and still one (or two, or three, in my case) exposures can put them down for the count.  Illness can be punishing enough without adding to it, so don't.

What Is Wrong With These Pictures?

Suzanne and I were sitting in PizzaBar in Miami Beach, noshing out on a humongous slice of New York-style pizza, dividing our attention between the X-Games, our observations of the human condition, and the guys making pizza. Up. In. Our. Face. Oh, yes, there was beer, too. How could I forget that?

Suddenly, a very edgy commercial with parkour and sprinters, football (the round ball) players and gymnast/fitness-types splashes on the screen. I followed along with rapt attention, until I noticed something very wrong in the commercial.

What was so wrong? Take a close look at the aerodynamic helmet.

If you still can't answer the question it might be because you're not a triathlete. If you are a triathlete with a USA Triathlon membership and you still can't answer the question, here's a hint: USAT Competition Rule 3.4 (i).

Maybe Charlie Crawford or Jimmy Riccitello has had a word or few with the fine folks at Yurbuds. They have a great product, one I like a lot. But this commercial might send out an unintentional message to participants in USAT and WTC races: "if you want to break through the barriers on race day it's okay to wear Yurbuds..."

Thanks. I'm off the soapbox now.

So You're Thinking About Triathlon, Eh?

So you're thinking about doing a triathlon event, huh? I'll admit I like the sport a great deal, which makes perfect sense if you've read my postings from a couple of years ago. Multisport is great because it's an inclusive bunch; the type-A folks, the rank recreational participants and even the professionals are all pretty much together on the same course and the same conditions.

I've participated in the sport at a variety of levels; athlete, event volunteer, course coordinator, and race director. Over the past four months, I've worn the red polo shirt of a USAT official and worked the water, transition, bike and run courses of sprint, intermediate and long distance events.

I walked through the transition area of an intermediate (Olympic distance) triathlon during the first week of September and heard someone say, 'oh, the penalty guys are here.' That's one way to hurt someone's feelings, even if they are wearing a red or zebra-striped polo shirt.

The role of a USAT certified official blends two different professions, that of educator and of law enforcer. Before the gun goes off, the referee/s work to make certain the "playing field" is safe and fair for everyone. The head referee for a race wears a zebra-striped shirt and serves as the final authority when it comes to the rules and penalties. Any violation written by an assistant referee (who wear red shirts) is verified or can be nullified by the head referee, depending on the assistant's description. Not even the race director can overturn a violation penalty. The zebra serves as defense counsel, prosecution, judge, jury and (regrettably, sometimes) executioner.

The referees check the water temperature to determine if wetsuits can be used, review the transition layout to every athlete travels the same amount of distance as their fellow participants, checks to make certain bikes are safe, legal, numbered and racked correctly, looks at helmets and equipment to make certain they meet USAT standards, and answers rules-related questions.

Once the gun goes off, it's time to enforce the rules.

Often, new and relatively-inexperienced participants suffer - at the least first-race or tri-newbie angst, at the worst variable time penalties and even disqualification - for mistakes made in training or in training groups. Really.

I think back to my first handful of races; I would have been penalized at least twice in my first triathlon and probably disqualified in my first long-distance triathlon for rules I said I knew and agreed to follow when I signed my event waiver. So, not only am I talking from the perspective of a guy who knows most all of the relevant rules, I'm talking from a guy who's seen or broken most of the easily-broken rules.

So, let's talk about some things you can do to make those first few races go more smoothly.

Before you go inside transition, make sure you've mounted your race numbers on your bike and helmet. Both should be clearly visible from the left-hand side. Make certain your body marking is clear and large. If the race director provides body marking tattoos, place them slowly and carefully. Most importantly, check to see whether your tires are inflated, gears shift and - most importantly - the ends of your handlebars are plugged. If they aren't, ask a transition volunteer to direct you to bike tech support. In the case of the bar ends, they have to be plugged or you won't be able to ride that bike. Of all the rules referees are charged to enforce the bar end rule is one of the three which can lead to a disqualification.

Once you are in transition, it's all about you. Some events are more stringent than others in keeping family members out of transition. It's both for the safety of the racers and the security of their gear; some bikes I've seen are two months' worth of paychecks on skinny tires.

Once you find your rack area, place your bike either with the handlebars on the rack or hang it by the saddle. Now take a look at your bike. Whatever way you have racked it, the space from the rail from where you hung the bike out to where your bike wheel touches the ground is space which is reserved for your gear. If there's no space in the area where you are supposed to rack your bike, talk to the racers in that area, a transition volunteer or a referee to help adjust the bikes. Staggering so every second bike faces the same direction allows each racer to have a space up to 75 centimeters wide (the legal maximum width of a bicycle according to USAT competition rules) for their gear.

Take a moment or two to look at the layout of really experienced triathletes. You'll find they have less gear than the less-experienced athlete. It's not necessarily that they have more on the bike, but they've learned to bring the least amount of gear necessary for their event. I recall the layout of a guy in my age group from my first triathlon; he had a stool for a seat, a bucket for his feet, not to mention the towel, helmet, bike shoes, water bottle, etc. His wife stepped in to assist him in transition, too, but that's another story.

So the gun has gone off and you got through the swim - I'm usually smiling about this point, because if anything is going to do me in it's going to be the swim.

Once you've come out of the water and entered transition for the first time, think: Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Put on the helmet first. Set it properly on your head. Facing forward - only the pros are required to wear their helmet properly, but a properly worn helmet is a helmet which might save your life. Buckle the chin strap. Good. Now work on everything else. Once you have the shoes and helmet on, walk quickly and smoothly to the mount line, then get on the bike.

The unbuckled chinstrap can get you in a world of trouble if you mount your bike; it's a variable time penalty in transition and a disqualification if you're on the course. I've seen new racers with buckled chinstraps which hang down like they were playing hockey. Or the helmet is tilted back on their head; especially ladies who have pinned their hair up. The helmet has to fit snugly; a loose helmet is one which won't protect the head in a crash.

I saw an athlete walk through transition toward the mount line at a recent race. I called out, 'racer number (blank)...racer number (blank)...YO, DUDE!' He couldn't hear me. He was wearing an iPod. Another racer had a set of headphones hanging around his neck.

Music headphones are not allowed in triathlon events. Even if they aren't on your ears. Outside of being dangerous on the bike, because it's impossible to tell who or what may be approaching, USAT considers music players, cell phones and radio devices unauthorized equipment, something which can be used to provide a tempo (pace) reinforcement or possibly provide you information on the location of fellow competitors. Either way you want to look at the use, it merits a variable time penalty.

The bike leg of a triathlon has four very simple rules; ride on the right hand side of the road. Pass on the left hand side of the road. Stay back three bike lengths from any rider in front of you. Make the pass in 15 seconds; once you make the pass keep pedaling and move to the right side of the road. If you're passed, move back three bike lengths before trying to make a pass. The hard part, usually, is that inexperienced riders are used to riding side-by-side with friends or being closer than three bike lengths apart from another rider.

Hear those motorcycles? That's the referees. They're riding along to make certain all the riders are following the rules. A group of riders on the road is usually a tell-tale sign for the motorcycle and referee to come watch and make sure everyone is playing fairly.

Sometimes the sound of a cycle will make riders tighten up their distance or position. Other times it will force a rider to attempt the pass because they were too close when we arrived - 7 meters/23 feet is closer than most people think, but once you're within that space there's only one legal way out. Through the front. In 15 seconds.

If someone is drafting off you, don't yell at them or argue. If there is enough referee coverage on the course they'll be eventually found out.

When you get to transition, slow down before you hit the dismount line. Get off the bike, then walk into the transition. Again, remember the mantra...slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Set your bike on the rack, remove your helmet, then put on your shoes.

We've had many racers ask whether their spouse/child/friend can run with them on the run course. Only if they run with everyone else, we tell them. Impossible? Only one family member and hundreds of runners? I guess it wouldn't be fair then, would it? They can stand along the curb and cheer you on, but don't use your cell phone to chat with them. Remember, those things aren't allowed, right?

And while we're talking about being on the course, make certain that everything you take with you during the event stays with you. Don't toss your empty bike bottles or gel packets unless you're literally in sight of an aid station. A lot of towns really are down on triathlon events because the participants treat their roadways and lots like it is their own personal rubbish bin.

And if you find you've been penalized after the event, the head referee normally stays until the end of the awards presentations to answer rules and violation questions. They might have written your violation, or their assistant/s may have. Either way, they will be able to explain what was seen on course and how it violated the rules.

Multisport is like golf for the high-strung: You can have the perfect race and still find areas which need improvement. You can focus on one area and get really good, then suddenly find out you've slipped in the other two. So, it's a balance of power, speed, technique and smarts...two hours of racing can whip your butt for the day...or you can achieve a state of euphoria after six hours. Find the distance you like and try it out.

Just Because You Can Doesn't Mean You Should...

A weekend in a beach town gives many opportunities for a person to see, um, things they might prefer not to. In order to keep this post family-friendly, graphic details will be kept to a minimum. I'm not really talking about tattoo art; who knew Panama City Beach had so many tattoo parlors, or that a tattoo on a certain portion of the body was otherwise called the "Panama City License Plate?" I'm not talking about short shorts (again!), Speedos, or green swim trunks with the little yellow duckies (Agon Swim?), or post-race party observations from the Slowtwitch web site, either.

As you can tell I probably could hold forth for an entire post on one or all of these topics...but it's something a little more mundane.

Ride with a pack of cyclists, especially on a windy day, and you can tell how much more beneficial it is to be suffering with others than to be out there all alone. As long as everybody manages to keep their wheels from crossing one another things are pretty much all right. However, when it comes to triathlon, unless you're of the caliber of those Olympic athletes, the bike ride is an individual affair. Each rider is responsible to take care of themselves and cannot use another rider to shield them from the wind...legally.

Some bike courses, like the ones for Panama City's half-iron and iron-distance triathlon events, have been described in the past as "pancake" flat. Compared to the NOLA 70.3 course I might call them "blueberry-pancake-flat." Yes, there is a bridge over West Bay, but it's the largest "lump" in 56 or 112 miles of Northwest Florida. A "breakfast-quality" bike course doesn't separate the strong riders from the less strong as quickly; this gives Panama City's races the reputation for being a draft-fest. Strong bikers looking for a chance to make a trip to Hawaii have saved up their nickels and dimes for an early-November race...check YouTube for a bike's-eye-view of one section of the ride. Looked like the Tour de France.

The rules for bicycle riding in most triathlons are simple:

1. Ride on the right.

2. Pass on the left.

3. Stay at least two bike lengths back from the bike ahead.

4. If you want to pass, make the pass in 20 seconds, and,

5. If you get passed, drop back two bike lengths before you try to pass them again.

The rules are very simple when you read them to a person. The theoretically-simple becomes the practically-challenging when you tell the person to ride their bicycle this way. Multiply this challenge by several hundred persons on bicycles over a 50-mile stretch of road and the odds are very good someone will temporarily "forget" one or more of the rules.

Perhaps they won't do what they should because they can? Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Because Emanuel Kant's categorical imperative (live your life like your behavior would become a universal law) doesn't work well with nearly a thousand cyclists, there I was, riding on the back of a Harley-Davidson. Nine motorbikes and race officials, including my driver and myself, did our best to make certain all these athletes worked and played fairly together.

The first hour was fairly eventful, as two waves of athletes merged with each other about 15 miles into the ride. Most of the time the sound of that big Harley and those nice, loud exhaust pipes were enough to "remind" athletes of the rules and "encourage" them to follow them to the best of their ability. It's much like how we slow our cars down to a couple of miles above the speed limit when we see a state trooper on the highway.

However, the occasional rider sometimes "misses the memorandum" or didn't remember the rules from the athlete's meeting. Not else a guy can do but count off time, identify the rider and take down information; the head referee will sort it out at the end.

Near the end of the morning, we would approach a pack of riders and began to think of the old Irish ballad, "Danny Boy," '...the pipes, the pipes, are calling...' One rider near the back of the line, perturbed at what he thought was happening up ahead, looked at me and gesticulated with his left hand.

I know, friend. Just because they think they can doesn't mean they should.

Harley-Davidson is, quite often, an effective tool when you need to remind a crowd of bicyclists about the rules. Well, unless you're riding one bike length behind a very attractive cyclist.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

It's a lot like road race etiquette and protocol. There are many things which are - while not completely impermissible - are usually not fair to other race participants, and may not endear you to the race director on occasions...things like banditing (even if you don't go through the finish chute), going back up the course after you've finished to pace another racer in, self-seeding too far forward in the pack (especially with jogging strollers). On a personal note, I would even add arguing about the distance of a certified course (The "my GPS says..." argument?) in that short list. Sure, the individual racer can do these things, but it usually makes life a little more difficult for the rest of the community.

Just because you can doesn't mean that you should. Unless you find those duckie Speedos in your size.

Timothy Noakes and the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition

There was a time, just before I started college, that I started to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation & (to a lesser degree) Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. It came on just after the local news; this gave me the chance to unwind after an evening run. Since my friend John (and his wife Terri) had a nice television (Anything larger than the 12-inch diagonally-measured black-and-white I had at that time in my little apartment met the definition of nice.) at their apartment, they would graciously invite me over for an O'Doul's or a white zin spritzer, & we would watch one or both of the ST series episodes, depending on the day of the week.

I thought ST: TNG was the better of the two series, but there was something entertaining about ST: DSN.

As a guy with an all-too-rigidly-defined sense of right-and-wrong, I found the Ferengi both abhorrent & attractive. For 18 months between my sudden social shake-up & going to college, I had a former roommate, a one-time grad assistant/fervent left-winger/lecturer/small-time con artist/educational fraud-enabler at the University of Arizona. We spent evenings discussing ethics, philosophy, economics, history & political science over coffee or dinner, either at the local Shoney's or on the back porch of my apartment. I absorbed the equivalent of a freshman-year education during that time, for free...it cost his share of the rent.

Discussion topics ranged from existentialism (once you understand it you see it in everything) to what can best be described as the economics of the street. Of course, when you've had a Manichaean black v. white, good v. evil mindset drummed into you from childhood & further beaten into you by fundamentalist preachers, there are certain moments which can be quite liberating. Nietzsche's beyond good & evil, master mentality v. slave mentality, for example. However, you don't have to read Nietzsche to understand Nietzsche. Just look for old Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episodes. The Ferengi are Nietzsche reincarnated.
I used to love the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition. My buddy used to laugh at me because I had a rigid, methodical approach to everything in life. (I was a Methodist for many years. Sue me.) He used to joke about the Tao of Bowen: Follow sidewalks rather than cut across grass, stuff like that. Even my wife figured I have this tendency to calculate, & try, much like Emanuel Kant, to live my life as though a universal rule should be written by it (what Kant called the categorical imperative). Until this morning I wondered if ANYONE wrote down or collected the ROA for the benefit of fanatics (lunatics?) like me.

So, I was at the track last night...we were finishing a particularly ugly workout when my friend Larry S. finished his warm-up jog. We chatted about training, & he asked my opinion about a particular long-distance training program. (Naturally, I've got opinions. If I didn't I wouldn't be writing here, right?) I told him what I thought was the dirty little secret about the plan, then provided him a recommendation of my own, based on his goal...which I learned was completing an international distance (otherwise known as Olympic-distance) triathlon. Larry trains with me when his work schedule permits, & he's a good soul, so I do not hesitate to give him my wisest counsel...which, of course, he can ignore at his peril or use...& more than likely do well. Ferengi Rule of Acquisition #284: "Deep down everyone's a Ferengi."
Larry was going to use a marathon training plan as the run training portion of his triathlon prep. Since Larry's doing an international distance event, I felt a marathon plan would put too much run training volume into his training. After doing a quick crunch of numbers, I estimated he would do 50 minutes for ten kilometers of running, 75 minutes for 40 kilometers on the bike, and 18-to-20 minutes on the swim. So, nearly two & a half hours at race effort? I believe he needs little more than to be able to run a decent half-marathon at the worst. Maybe somewhere less, but definitely more than a typical ten-kilometer training plan, and definitely less than a marathon, since he's going to be fatigued from the bike by the time he starts the run.

Why did I provide Larry that counsel? Timothy Noakes' Law of Training, #6: "Achieve As Much As Possible on a Minimum of Training."
Too many athletes, especially ones whose goal is to finish the event, do too much training. The law of diminishing returns, especially in run training, has sharp teeth. It doesn't hurt to know your own physical limitations: If you try to run marathons & the training volume kicks your @$$ (which it has done to me two times out of three), it might be the Almighty's way of trying to tell you to try half-marathons instead...or to find a training program with less volume.

Yeah, there are other factors, too, but you have to know what your body can - & cannot - handle. And in closing, let me remind you of Ferengi Rule of Acquisition #44: "Never confuse wisdom with luck."

Sometimes You Just Have To Say...

...the statement I was going to use (borrowed from an old friend, Christian Beine) can have positive & negative connotations. This weekend, it's a little bit of both.

It is not often I go to New Orleans in a month which is not spelled with an "R" somewhere within or at the end. Sure, there's the August trip to do the NOH3 Red Dress thing...that's a situation where I kick myself while pulling funky, nasty sweaty red dresses out of the back of my car, asking the un-askable question: 'What in the world was I thinking when I registered for this?' Then I realize I added a few too many words to the front end of the sentence & should have started the question with: 'Was I thinking...?' Naturally, my wife reminds me it is all in good fun.

This time we went, not to commemorate a hasher hook-up (I never knew that was the story behind the RDR!) but to take part in a variation of a ritual steeped in lore & tradition, immortalized by Papa Ernest Hemingway in the last three chapters of his novel, The Sun Also Rises. Seems someone felt like there was a need for another reason to party in New Orleans & the Fiesta de San Fermin seemed like as good a reason as any. I never knew the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona was part of a religious festival, but I guess when you're in a nation as Catholic (with a capital "C") as Spain, nearly everything has religious undertones.

And when you have the amount of spare time to research stuff I do...in between doing real work...you do have the opportunity to learn the history & significance of things. I think it makes the experience that much more meaningful, personally. The San Fermin web site, http://www.sanfermin.com/, not only had photos & commentary about the history, but even a little bit about Hemingway's visits there through his middle age. Even better, the site was set up in Spanish, Basque & English...with links to an on-line store for shirts & stuff. Hey, even the Euros feel the need to be capitalistic. Every so often.

But I digress.

Bulls are deeply tied into Spanish culture, long before even the Umayyad (sic?) Caliphate took over the Iberian peninsula. That much I recall from some multimedia thing I watched while I was studying Spanish in college. Somehow, I guess there was some machismo thing going on in the ability to avoid getting stomped or gored by some bull being taken down the main drag to it's eventual death in the bull ring. Not quite certain where San Fermin falls in there, save for the fact he's the patron saint of Pamplona, in the province of Navarre.

I guess during the seven or eight days of the festival these bull breeders in the region send eight of their fighting bulls to die for the pleasure of Spanish aficionados. And the last 800 meters or so of the trip is through the center of town to the bull ring. Barricades abound. Oh, & did I mention the very slippery cobblestone surface & the hard ninety-degree turn near the end? First time I had the chance to see this was not long after I first moved to Pensacola; Outdoor Life Network (now called Versus) would show it in the afternoons...guess Craig Hummer & Al Trautwig needed something stranger than cycle racing to commentate upon, huh? Bizarre thing to watch a ton of angry hamburger try to take a hard right on cobblestones...slide like he's on ice, & BANG! Into the barrera.

All right, so New Orleans' San Fermin is a little more kind & genteel. At least for New Orleans. First year's encierro had a few hundred participants & maybe a dozen "bulls," well, roller derby chicks with horned helmets & whiffle ball bats. This year, the third, had around five thousand participants & probably a hundred "bulls" from all over the southeastern U.S. And the blend of tradition & whimsy is perfect.

The start of the encierro is at the northern end of the Vieux Carre', winds through the Quarter, and finishes in the Warehouse District. The event started officially at eight o'clock, but if you weren't at the corner near the balcony at 7:05 the odds were good you were not going to have a good spot for the beginning of the festivities.

At (probably...I haven't worn a watch in six months, so time is relative!) 7:55, the caretakers of San Fermin's statue marched up Rue Conti, led by a squad of drummers. San Fermin was then followed by a flight of rolling Elvi on mini-motorized scooters. Once San Fermin was installed in his proper place, the Padron stepped out onto the balcony of the Three-Legged Dog & gave his welcoming speech. This was immediately followed by the kneeling & invocation of the participants to (who else?) San Fermin, asking him to guide them safely ahead of the bulls. Immediately afterward, unlike the real encierro where a rocket is launched to send off the runners, we were sent down the course.

The pace for the run was closer to a dawdle. Enough for us to think, 'heck, no worries...this is going to be an easy little Saturday morning jog in the FQ.' No sooner did that thought cross my mind than we made a left-hand turn through what appeared to be a barrier of spectators standing in the middle of the street. At that point I looked to the right.

Ever watch those old movies where Godzilla, or some fifty-foot tall, radioactivity-enhanced thing rises out of a body of water and begins to stomp its way into a major metropolitan area? Think about the people (who have screams of terror dubbed in) as they look back at the creature about ready to turn them into a grease spot on the sidewalk. That's the look we all had. Why? We just turned onto the point of the course where the "bulls" were waiting to be released. Screaming? Absolutely. Like a seven-year-old girl, I was.

We began to run like Kenyans at the Classic. And behind us we could hear the plastic 'whonk' sound of whiffle ball bat meeting body part, which only made us more panicky. My wife took the smarter plan of action, and stepped off the course onto the sidewalk. She told me while she thought this was all in good fun she was not in the mood to be whacked in the fanny with a plastic bat. So, she managed to come through the day un-bruised.

On the other hand, I received the beating of a lifetime, the sort I hadn't received since nearly failing middle school English grammar so long ago. It could have been a grounding, but noooo... These hits weren't just gentle 'whacks.' Some of these girls were out to make up for ex-boyfriends or something...one of them had a forehand which would make Serena Williams proud. I still have the mark.

Of course, with all that humidity & sweat flying around someone's going to lose a bat, & someone's going to lose control. One bull & I ended up in the San Fermin in Nueva Orleans version of a Mexican Standoff; she lost grip of her bat, which fell to the ground at my feet. I picked it up: Any other situation would call for payback. However, the second rule of the run, 'Do Not Touch The Bulls,' applied. So, I shook the bat at her with a small amount of menace, then smiled and handed it back to her. No good deed goes unpunished; she responded with a swat in the keister & a blown kiss for my reward.

While some of the NOLA roller girls were probably familiar with the terrain, it's hard to say whether the imported "bulls" were as well-prepared. The pavement can be rather unforgiving if you don't keep your wits about you...while the cobblestoned last two blocks of the encierro provided payback to the "bulls," there were a few places on the course where I watched "bulls" succumb to the laws of physics or crash into "innocent bystanders." If you're standing on the side of the road for the express purpose of watching this particular spectacle, the term "innocent" does not apply, in my humble opinion. Some guy complained about a bull causing him to spill his drink all over his shirt. Neither bull, nor runner, nor fellow spectator felt the least sympathetic.

The bulls quickly realized trying to roll over cobblestones would lead to accidents which could put this years' Tour de France to shame, so they lined up in a gauntlet formation & proceeded to beat upon the runners who had the temerity to run behind them on the course. The sound of whiffle ball bats could on that block from Tchopitoulas to Julia leading to Ernst Cafe' for blocks around. I rejoined my wife, who was standing at the entrance of Ernst Cafe cooling off. We watched for a few minutes the spectacle of runners staging photographed whacks with imported & domestic bulls, then retired, like Hemingway & his companions once did, to our hotel room to prepare for the next stage of our Fiesta experience.

Tell Me What You Eat, And I'll Tell You What You Are

Today's title is a quote from French politician & gastronome Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (which I remember fondly from the beginning of the Fuji Television Japan series Iron Chef). It fit well with a note written the other day by triathlete podcast producer & NZ pro triathlete Bevan James Eyles. I felt strongly about what Bevan had to say, especially in light of my effort to limit my french fry intake over the past six weeks or so. Frankly, I'd call the effort a success, since I had all of three eight-ounce servings (if that!) of french fried potato-related products during that period of time. In the last week, I've had less than three servings...& a good amount of guilt with the ones I've had.

Meanwhile...here's Bev's piece.

Something has changed about me lately, it’s based around my busy traveling habits. Because I like to eat healthy, which can be tough at airports, and I hate paying the inflated airport prices for food I use to always pack as much food as possible for the trips. This has always worked well for me. But around this time a year ago I forgot to pack my food. When I was hungry at the airport I decided to have Burger King. I have to admit that I did enjoy this meal, so much so that on the return flight home I decided to have it again.

I have to let you know that I never buy fast foods when I’m in Christchurch. McDonalds, KFC and Burger King have made no profit from my stomach. But for some reason over the last year I’ve created this rule in my head that states “when I’m at an airport traveling, I’m allowed to have fast food”. I’ve justified to myself that because I’m going through the stress of traveling I’m allowed to eat these types of foods. I woke up to this behavior on a trip that I did last week. I discovered that I had created this unhealthy rule and by giving myself justification around it and it became a habit.

The point of this piece isn’t to pick on fast foods, I choose not to eat them myself but I think they are fine in moderation. The point is - have you created some little unhealthy rules for yourself? Are there times when you justify unhealthy habits just because it is habit? Something like: every time you go to the movies you have to have a large popcorn and coke, because that’s “what you do” at the movies.

Have a look at your life and try to identify the times when you have little unhealthy rules and see if you can replace them with a healthier option. When you identify these times ask yourself one of these questions; Can I make the portion size smaller? can I choose a healthier but still enjoyable option? or can I go without this? These questions will help to start winning on the smaller decisions that make big change.

I know I’m going back to packing food for when I’m traveling, it’s just better for me.

Bevan James Eyles

...Months Which End In "R"

Steven and Beverly arrived yesterday afternoon and checked in to their condo...which is way down along the run course. For pre-athlete meeting dinner, we all decided to meet at a local oyster bar. I'm happy to say the oysters were delicious, even though I had only three...maybe four.

Naturally, there was nothing new in the athlete meeting a seasoned triathlete probably doesn't know...drafting rules, penalty tent locations, warnings against littering and public...well, let's just say I won't be trying to make a new meaning out of the old phrase void where prohibited by law. Good stuff to hear, if nothing else, to remind you what you're really here for.

Suzanne and I went for a very easy jog the other morning on the front three miles of the run course, which weaves (now there's an apt description!) through the rows of condos and through the residential neighborhoods along Front Beach. That sense of deja vu, all over again. The IM FL run does the Gulf Coast Half course twice, how nice. Of course, without about 10-to-15 degrees of excess temperature as compared to May.

Roch (Frey) and Heather (Fuhr) sighting on the road which goes northeast (the other side) of Signal Hill Golf Course. I kind of smiled and waved...and they did back...after which I told Suzanne, 'Roch and Heather...' Yeah, like she's going to know who the heck those folks were. Of course she would...she reads my magazines. She knows the guys in the goofy costumes.

But you still have to do the miles, no matter how nice the weather is.

Kipling As Coach

Every so often I like to take a look at the local bulletin board postings, especially after a race, to hear what participants are asking - or complaining - about. Most of the time the questions are 'where can I find results to a race?' But every once in a blue moon a person complains about stuff that often can be resolved by either individual participants taking time to know the rules & read the fine print on the application, or by individual race directors taking the time to educate before, & enforcing on race day.

I have my own pet peeves about what should & should not be permitted on the race course, for a number of reasons usually codified in a rule book somewhere. That might be the part of me that's much like my late uncle; my mother claims I harbor a lot of his here are the rules, d*mn it, so follow them until someone in authority decides to change them point of view. If my father & my uncle had worked on the same law enforcement agency together any longer than they did, they would have made the perfect good cop, bad cop (by bad cop I mean playing by the rules 100-percent of the time) combination. My father knew letting my school friends' borderline infraction of the speed limits slide would lead to peaceable relations with their parents, many of whom were upstanding citizens in the community, business leaders, & the like. Uncle Ernie, on the other hand (bless his heart, as my wife would say), knew only one way other than the highway...the rulebook, statute or law. That was it. Suffice it to say my father probably has more friends outside of the law enforcement community than my uncle did while he was alive.

As coach, I have certain statutes & rules by which I have to abide. The national governing body under which I (voluntarily) labor says so. The other national running organization under which I voluntarily labor asks me to act in an ethical manner & work to help educate the local running community. Naturally, like every play by the book law enforcement officer & teacher, there is the feeling you're standing & shouting into the abyss. The persons who appreciate you let you know in private, the persons who would rather you stay the hell away are more likely to do it in a public manner.

My wife continues to remind me my labors are not completely in vain. That's a fortunate thing, because if I didn't hear it from her I probably would have packed it in years ago; more time to be spent with her, the d-a-w-g & the people I enjoy the most, as well as some flexibility in my own personal training schedule.

Every so often I pick up one of my college literature textbooks and thumb to a dog-eared page of poetry or two. Some times it's William Henley's Invictus when I feel the need to feel ten feet tall & bulletproof. But Rudyard Kipling's If often does the work. Kipling, with his prototypical British stiff upper lip reminds me to get up, or stay up, when the public smack talk comes a little too thick or hits a little deeper than a civil disagreement would/should:

If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs & blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, yet make allowance for their doubting, too.

If you can wait & not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don't deal in lies;

Or being hated, don't give in to hating; yet neither look too good, nor talk too wise.

If you can dream, & not make dreams your master; if you can think, & not make thoughts your aim.

If you can meet with Triumph & Disaster, yet treat those two impostors just the same.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools;

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken & stoop to build them using worn-out tools.

If you can make a heap of all your winnings & risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, & start again at your beginnings & never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart & nerve & sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds & keep your virtue, or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; if all men count with you, but none too much,

(N.B. My wife, the English major, paraphrases the previous couplet to remind me to "care, but not too much.")

If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth & everything that's in it, and--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

So I'll head back to my corner & put some ice on the bruise. See you next round.