MF'n Triathlon Coaching

When the words of Jayne Anderson started to run through my mind, I knew this transition onto the bike would surely resemble the ride we shared out to Liberty Lake last Friday. Bracing myself against 25mph winds, my legs churning with a harder effort than what should have been necessary on nearly flat roads, I asked her how she handled the mental challenge of watching your pace slow to 13mph as a result of moving against the wind. She told me to simply relish the fact that I am on my bike, healthy enough to pedal, as some people cannot even do that. And so the rest of our ride Friday, I had the opportunity to share time and conversation with someone who has not only shown me what real friendship is, but how much it is embellished with time spent outside, along the river, among the blooming bushes, and overwhelmed by flowers whose scents are exemplified as a result of the warm sunshine. On more than one occasion, the wind that made us grip our handlebars a little harder caused us to bu

It wasn’t until I found myself shivering inside a men’s communal urinal that I began to question the sanity of this sport called triathlon. In fact, it’s no longer satisfactory to race a half marathon in the morning and call your training day complete. I looked over at my friend, Brenna McMahon, and asked if, after contemplating how 6 guys could coordinate mass urination in a sealed-off tent, and after running 13.1 miles at this year’s Windermere half marathon, she would like to join me later for a swim in Bear Lake. She politely declined. I peaked out from behind the “curtain” that sealed off the entrance to this yurt-type urinal and observed how the congregation of half marathoners dropped off by school buses at Maribou Park had grown since I first sought shelter. Only a few minutes later, a surprised gentleman entered our hut and kicked us out, only to offer that if we’d like to use it, we were more than welcome to stay. No thank you. We made our way to the start line with

I'm all smiles as I watch my dad accomplish something he didn't think he would do: a 52:13 PR. Bloomsday has always crept up on me. Each year I promise myself I'll train more seriously for the next year's race, and each year I find a different excuse to not do so. Usually, I'm injured. One year my left hip flexor was strained. I ran that race with a hip spica to keep the pain at bay. Another year I had knee pain. This year, I had (and still have) my share of little injuries that plague most of us as we near our target race. Knee pain, back pain, some shin pain, and tired legs all kept me in the present. The day previous, Kathi Best and Martin Scates had pulled me out to Liberty Lake to conquer a 70 mile bike ride that started out with hill after hill, continued along the new CDA IM course on highway 95 (FYI: It's a nice steady incline going out about 13 miles, and we had a constant, grueling headwind to top it off), and finished up with scaling the same hill