A Long Day

After finishing the Buffalo Springs Half Ironman last June, I swore I would never even think about doing a full Ironman.

Last Sunday, I did a full Ironman.

One of the great things God gives us is the ability to forget trauma. That day at Buffalo Springs was traumatic. I pushed too hard on the bike, and paid for it on the run. Like LeBron, I had massive cramps that brought me to a halt. I had to walk much of the half-marathon. I didn't see how anyone could do a full Ironman. But, gradually, I started to forget about how rough an experience it had been. I kept swimming, riding, and running. And then, last fall, I signed up for Ironman Coeur d'Alene (IMCDA) in Idaho, which would roll around June 29th of 2014. Plenty of time to train, and to forget.

I've got several buddies who have raced IMCDA, and they all loved it. They were right to rave about it--the town and course are beautiful. The organization is top-notch. The volunteers--4,000 of them--are hard working and ridiculously friendly.

The Ironman distance has always fascinated me. It was born from a barroom argument in Hawaii in 1977 over who were the better athletes: swimmers, cyclists, or runners. So, one man decided that the next year, 1978, they would hold a race that combined the distances and routes of the Waikiki Rough Water Swim Race (2.4 miles), the Around Oahu Bike Race (112 miles), and the Honolulu Marathon (26.2 miles). They would race the courses for those events consecutively, in that order, and if you could finish, you would be called an Ironman. A handful of men raced that first Ironman, and Gordon Haller won in just under 12 hours. The event and sport quickly grew from there, and is experiencing its biggest-ever growth spurt today. Since first reading about the Ironman in one of my bike magazines (after famous cyclist John Howard won the race in 1981), I've always wondered if I could finish the distance. Since I've been riding all of my life, running marathons the last seven years, and swimming the last two years, and since I'm not getting any younger, and since I had forgotten about the pain of Buffalo Springs, I decided the time was right for me to tackle the Ironman.

IMCDA is not the easiest Ironman course, with 5,000 feet of climbing on the bike leg, and four long hills on the run. But the weather is almost always good, and that was the most important factor for me, since, like LeBron (he and I are very similar athletically, in case you haven't noticed), my body doesn't function well in the heat, even though I train in Texas. I hate to think how bad I'd be in the heat if I trained in Alaska all the time.

Race day morning, the temps were perfect. It was going to be a cloudy day, with 50's and 60's in the forecast. However, when I woke up, I could hear the wind howling. I looked out the window, and the flags were stiff. I got down to the race start, on the shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene, and the normally placid lake looked like an ocean with it's choppy conditions.

The swim is not my strength. I was hoping to finish the 2.4 miles in about 1 hour, 30 minutes. The gun went off, and the racers, all wearing wetsuits to protect from the 60 degree water, were funneled through a start shoot and into the drink. I tried not to think about how much it was going to suck, and instead just get on with the task at hand. If, at any time during the race, you stop to think about the enormity of the event, you can't handle it. You have to break it down to small races within the race. I just kept trying to swim to the next buoy, or the next turn.

The swim was tough for the good swimmers, and really tough for us slower swimmers. Going into the wind took forever--the water so choppy that it felt like you were getting nowhere. Plus, the rough water made for chaos. There were swimmers getting disoriented and going the wrong way, swimmers stopping to hang onto the kayaks to gather their wits, and swimmers (like me) who were getting surprised by big waves and accidentally swallowing part of the lake. I exited the water after 1:48--I was swimming for almost two hours! I was already well behind my projected pace for the race. I was so happy to get out of the water, though, I could have vomited.

The bike leg wasn't any easier, even though it's my comfort zone. The winds were brutal. I was almost blown off the road three different times by 30 mph cross-gusts on the descents. There were long, uphill stretches straight into the wind, which killed a lot of hopes, including mine. At mile 80, I faced my first big crisis: I wanted to quit. I had all of my excuses ready. I was way behind on my projected bike time, and overall race time. I was getting worn down and demoralized by the wind and climbs, and I couldn't imagine still having to run a marathon. I was going to do a U-turn and ride back into town and notify an official that I was done. I argued with myself for 10 minutes, and, in the end, I made a gentleman's agreement with myself, deciding I would at least complete the bike leg and see how I felt. So I did--finishing about 45 minutes slower than I thought I would, which I didn't like, but I wasn't able to do anything about it.

In the transition area, I made another deal with myself: run the first two miles of the marathon, and see how you feel. If it's bad, you can then quit. So I started running, and I felt OK. I ran two more miles, then two more. I was running very slowly, but I was running. My friend Grant, a veteran triathlete, told me once to "just keep running, because your slowest run is faster than your fastest walk." I kept thinking about that, and kept running. Instead of thinking about running 26.2 miles, I took it one mile at a time, just telling myself to run to each aid station (which were one mile apart along the run course), and then spend a minute walking through the station, partly for a rest, and partly to make sure I ate and drank enough. (Each aid station is packed with volunteers offering you water, sports drink, gels, bars, chips, pretzels, chicken broth, bananas, cookies--all to help fuel your body, and I ate all of it).

By the halfway point of the run, I was dead. I again had to talk myself out of quitting. I eventually figured that I'd come this far, done all of the training, and would probably never do another one of these stupid events again, so I might as well finish, even if I have to walk the rest of the way. My goal time was long gone, but I didn't care--I just wanted to finish. Besides, I had purchased an Ironman t-shirt the day before, and so I had to finish or I could never wear that shirt! Funny, the little things we come up with to keep us going.

I passed the time on the run by checking out the scenery, and it was breathtaking (or, perhaps it was the running that was taking my breath). I saw an incredible sunset over the lake. That's how long I was out on the course--I saw the entire day pass, all while racing.

During the second half of the marathon, I was still running, save for a few pee breaks, and some walking up the big hills. I ran 90% of the 26.2, but it still took me 5:30, so you can imagine how slowly I was running. I must have looked really, really ugly. I thought I could run the marathon leg in about 4:30, so again, I fell short of my goal, but again, I wasn't counting on the rough conditions on the swim and bike legs.

I finally made it to the finishing straight, and the crowds were amazing--it was like I was winning the race. There were thousands of people lining both sides of the road in downtown CDA, and they were loud (and, by this time of the evening, also drunk). As I crossed the finish line (after 14 hours!), I heard the race announcer say "Craig Miller from Dallas, Texas, you are an Ironman!" Pretty cool moment.

Looking back, I honestly don't know how I did it. That event is a testament to the human spirit. On the run, I was passed by 68 year old men and 62 year old women (everyone's age is written on their calf so other racers will know who is in their age group). But, I was passing 30 year old guys who looked to be in better shape than me. You never know what the body can do when the mind decides to push it.

There were almost 2500 starters at IMCDA this year, and about 500 didn't finish (a high DNF rate of 20%), I'm guessing because of the harsh conditions. My time was right in the middle, ranking about 1100th. I was about two hours slower than I thought I'd be, but I finished.

My long-time racing buddy Dave sent me this quote after the day was done, from Calvin Coolidge, which sums up the spirit of the Ironman:

"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent."

Television Sports Viewing Value Chart

As billions listened to our radio program this morning, I unveiled my TV Sports Viewing Value Chart, which turned out to be highly controversial. The idea was born from a Corby tweet, wondering about the sanity of anyone choosing to watch an early-season Rangers/Astros (Astros!) game instead of the Final Round of the Masters. I agreed with his sentiment, adding that, in my view, only Ron Washington had a valid excuse for not watching the Masters. Tackling this sports problem meant retreating to my laboratory to develop the following chart. If you follow this chart, you will be a well-rounded sports fan. If you often find yourself in violation of this chart, you may need to reassess your life (Dr. Carlton Maxwell is an outstanding Sports Psychologist, and he's accepting new clients as I write this).

This chart is similar to a Poker Hand Value Chart. Please do you best to abide by it, and please report any violators of the chart to the proper authorities. You may not have much crossover between sporting events, because of the seasonal schedules. However, if you find yourself with a Masters vs Rangers problem on your hands, consult the chart.

Royal Flush

The Super Bowl. The highest sporting event hand possible, it trumps all other contests. This should be obvious.

Straight Flush

All other championship events in major team sports: World Series, NBA Finals, Stanley Cup, NCAA Football and Basketball (the deeper the series goes, the higher the hand--in other words, a Game Seven always trumps a Game Three). Also note that, based on popularity, NFL events rank higher than the others, with MLB and NBA being even, and NHL events ranking fourth--this system applies throughout the chart).

Four of a Kind

Anything else down the team sport playoff ladder: AFC/NFC Championships, followed by earlier rounds; ALCS/NLCS, followed by earlier playoff rounds; NBA/NHL Conference Finals, followed by earlier rounds, Final Four football and basketball, followed by earlier rounds.

Full House

Cowboys regular season game. Applicable in these parts only. The Cowboys are so big (insert joke here) and play so few regular season games, that each one is a major event. The only exception is if it's a meaningless, late-season game when they are resting all of their starters for the playoffs (insert joke here).

Regular Flush

Golf Major, Final Round; Ryder Cup; Big regular season college or NFL game (OU vs TX, NE vs DEN, etc).

Straight

Regular season "playoff push" game--usually only in the last month of a season, for NBA, NFL, NHL, MLB, major college sports.

Three of a Kind

Tennis Grand Slam Final, Daytona 500, Indy 500, Horse Racing Triple Crown event, Tour de France, European Soccer League important match. Any slightly more fringe sport--the major events in these sports should always trump basic regular season action in the major sports.

Two Pair

Regular season, non-playoff push, Mavs, Rangers, Stars games; also regular season, non-important college football action. Games against teams like the Sixers, Astros and Panthers are worth less than games against the Thunder, Red Sox and Blues.

One Pair

Non-major golf event, tennis event, NASCAR race, etc. Schedule-fodder events.

High Card

Regular season college basketball.

Crap Hand

High school sports, Little League World Series.

Wild Cards

Olympics, World Cup. These events are so big, and held every four years, that they don't really fit into the chart. So, you are free to watch them above or below any other sporting events, with impunity.


This is the official end of the chart. Godspeed.

Special Author's Note: This chart is to be taken in a general sense. I understand that there will be "special occasion" games that may cause the value of the hand to change a bit. For example: Corby wearing a mohawk may make a Mavs regular season game more interesting than the Columbus/Pitt NHL playoff pairing. I am willing to give in certain situations, but, IN GENERAL, this chart should be followed as closely as possible to ensure optimum sports-viewing health.

My Tour de France

There is no place I would rather be than riding my bicycle on the backroads of France--specifically on the legendary roads of the French Alps, where the Tour de France is often won or lost. There is nothing quite like pedaling along a perfect ribbon of smooth blacktop as it takes you up above the tree line to a majestic vista, and knowing that Coppi, Merckx, and Hinault did the exact same thing (only a bit faster) on their way to Tour glory.

I've made six cycling-specific trips to France, starting 20 years ago in 1993. There are many great touring companies that put together these kinds of expeditions, but I prefer to book my own. I've almost always gone with my best bud, Dave, and we like the freedom of planning our own trip. There are a couple of keys to doing this: 1) as soon as the Tour de France route is revealed, make your hotel/apartment reservations, and 2) make sure you know what days you'll want to watch the race and then plan accordingly around the other stages so that the race doesn't interfere with your rides.

This year, we flew into Geneva and rented a station wagon big enough to fit both bikes and our luggage. The Geneva airport has a luggage check, which is a great place to store your bike boxes so that you don't have to lug them around for a week. We drove south 90 minutes to Grenoble, and rented an apartment in the middle of town for the first three nights. I like booking apartments through sites like VRBO.com--it's usually cheaper than a hotel, and you feel more at home.

Our first ride left from Grenoble. We went north through the Chartreuse region of France, climbing the Col de Porte, the Col du Cucheron, and the Col du Granier. These are not the high mountains of the Alps, but they are tough climbs, with each averaging 6%-8% in steepness and anywhere from 5k to 15k in length. We then descended into the valley and rode back into Grenoble. Day One totals: 64 miles, 4:30 saddle time, 7100 feet of climbing.

The next day we drove south to the Vercors region of France. We did a loop that included climbing the Col de Carri, the Col de la Bataille, and the Col de la Machine. The last couple of kilometers of the Machine were spectacular:

Day Two totals: 50 miles, 3:30, 5700 ft climbing.

The following day would be our first high-mountain experience of the trip, driving to Bourg d'Oisans and climbing the legendary Alpe d'Huez. This was a Monday, and the Tour de France would be here on Thursday, so the road was packed with spectators camping out for the race, and with cyclists riding up the climb. This made for a high-energy experience. The Alpe is a hard, hard climb. It's 15k at a steady 8%, and it never gives you a break. At the top, we then had to climb the Col de Serenne, which was to be used in the Tour for the first time this year. It's short, but very steep, and the descent was treacherous. Once in the valley, we then climbed to Les Duex Alpes, where Marco Pantani made his famous ascent to win the '98 Tour. Day Three totals: 50 miles, 4:15, 7100 feet.

That evening we made the scenic drive southwest to the tiny hamlet of Barcelonnette. This was my favorite town of the trip--a quaint old-town square, nice restaurants, and beautiful mountains in every direction. The next morning we rode from our hotel in Barcelonnette to the Col de la Bonettte, which is the highest paved road in Europe. It was a long climb, 25 kilometers, and steep, but the views all of the way up were incredible. It's the most spectacular climb I've ever done. I could ride this climb every day for the rest of my life and be content. At the top, you have a 360 degree view of the snow-capped peaks of the French and Italian Alps. Speaking of snow, for the last 5k we were pedaling past huge snow banks--in July!

From the top of the Bonette, we descended back into Barcelonnette and then rode up the Pra Loup climb, which is famous in Tour de France lore for being the last place that Eddy Merckx wore the yellow jersey. France's Bernard Thevenet dropped Merckx halfway up, taking yellow and winning the '75 Tour. It's such a legendary Tour moment that it's still commemorated throughout the region.

Day Four totals: 54 miles, 4:20, 7040 feet of climbing. You may notice that these rides are taking a long, long time. Riding 50 miles in North Texas might only take 2:30 or 3:00, but with these long, steep climbs, your saddle time increases dramatically. For those of you who ride in the Dallas area, you're probably familiar with Loving Hill--well, imagine Loving Hill being 12 miles long. That's what the climbs are like in the Alps. If you're planning a trip like this, make sure you train hard. If you aren't in shape, it can be a miserable experience. I was smarter with my gearing this trip, too. My first trip, in '93, I rode a 53x42 up front, and an 11-21 in the back--that's right, an easiest gear of 42x21, which is insane. This trip, I had a 53x39 up front, and a 12-29 in back, which was great. The 29 came in handy.

Day Five was an off day from riding. It was the day we would watch the Tour de France. We picked the Stage 17 time trial, giving us a chance to see each rider individually against the clock. Through work, I was able to get us each a press pass, which gave us incredible access to the riders in the start and finish areas. We were able to tour the pits before the race, seeing each team's bus and set-up area, and see each team's riders warming up on their trainers three feet in front of us. I'm planning on writing a separate blog post on my day at the race, complete with a ton of photos from the start/finish areas, sometime next week.

At the finish area, we ran into our hero, Greg LeMond--the first (and now officially the only) American winner of the Tour. LeMond was my biggest inspiration when I was getting into the sport in the early 80's, and it was a thrill to see him again.

That evening after the race, we drove north a couple of hours to Bourg Saint Maurice, a ski village near the Italian border, and moved into an apartment overlooking the city center. It rained the next morning, but that afternoon we were able to ride up the Cormet de Roselend, a stunning climb which gave us a view of Mont Blanc on the way up. We descended back into town, and ducked into a bar to have a beer and watch the Alpe d'Huez stage on TV with a bunch of locals, which was a blast! A Frenchman, Christophe Riblon, won the stage, and the locals went crazy--it was cool to see.

Day Six totals: 25 miles, 2:00, 3730 feet.

The next day we climbed two monsters: La Plagne, where Stephen Roche saved his '87 Tour win, and Courchevel. Each climb was relentless--a steady 8%. La Plagne was kind of scenic, but Courchevel was not. The only cool thing about Courchevel was seeing the airport at the top of the mountain and it's crazy-short runway:

Day Seven totals: 61 miles, 5:00, 9800 feet.

Finally, our last day of the trip, and our biggest ride. Dave was tuckered from the previous six days of climbing almost 41,000 feet, so he decided to drive the team support car behind me for the final ride--a 100 mile monster of a day. I had planned this ride months ago, and had been thinking about this ride for 30 years. The queen stage of the Tour de France has often been contested over three "hors de categorie" climbs, meaning the climbs are so tough that they are "beyond category," as though the human mind cannot comprehend their difficulty. It may be a romantic way for the Tour to dress them up, but trust me, they are beasts. For 30 years, I've watched the Tour riders tackle courses like this, and I've always wondered if I could do it. I finally got my chance.

Like Dave, I was a bit tired from the previous week of riding, but I felt OK, and was more-than-excited about the challenge. I climbed aboard my carbon mistress at 8am that morning, and started climbing the north side of the Col de Madeleine. It's 25k in length, and averages 7%. It's also breathtakingly beautiful. I had perfect weather for this ride, and the morning sun bathed the mountain in a brilliant light. Two kilometers from the top, I ran into an unlikely traffic jam: a giant heard of cattle being driven down the road. It was such a unique experience that I didn't mind my momentum up the climb coming to halt.

After cresting the top of the Madeleine, I plunged to the valley below and started the brutal climb of the Col de la Croix de Fer--a 30k climb that seems to go on forever. By the summit, I had been on the bike for over five hours, and I was hungry. I stopped at the small cafe at the top, ate a sandwich and slammed a Coke, and started downhill. The descent was down the Glandon, which was fast and fun. Now, all that was left to do was climb the south side of the Madeleine, and then descend back to the start village of La Lechere. The south side of the Madeleine is "only" 20k, but it's 8%-10% the entire way. It's a quad-buster, and my quads were already spent. I told myself I'd get up that climb no matter what it took. It wasn't my fastest climb ever, and I started cramping near the top, but I made it. I was thrilled at the top. I had a big smile on my face all the way down to the finish.

It was my best cycling experience ever, and the best day of my life. The ride totaled exactly 100 miles (my first century ride in Europe), 8:40 in the saddle (my longest ride ever, time-wise), and 15,900 feet of climbing! I had perfect weather, great support from Dave, and I felt strong the whole way. I had trained a lot for this trip through the spring and summer, and it paid off. At age 47, I felt better on the climbs than I've ever felt before. I wasn't exactly floating up them, but I wasn't struggling, either. I was moving at a pretty good clip, or as good of a clip as you can up a 10% grade.

Trip totals for the week: 404 miles, 32 hours in the saddle, and 57,000 feet of climbing (or, two times up Mt Everest!).

The trip was a success. Our goal was to sleep, ride, eat, and repeat. We did just that.

Regarding the 100th Tour de France: I thought it was a good race, but not a great one. There were some interesting individual stages, but Chris Froome made the overall race a formality. He was far-and-away the strongest. I like what I hear out of Froome in interviews, but as a rider, I think he's a spaz. He has these crazy accelerations when he doesn't need to, he rides with his elbows pointed straight out, and when he bonks he waves his hand like crazy to the team car instead of playing poker. But there is no denying that he's a badass, and he controlled this year's race almost by himself, as his Sky team was not nearly as strong as it was in support of Wiggins last year.

And, despite the terrible publicity around the sport recently, the crowds were still huge. Fans seem to just want to experience the culture and the cult of the sport. The fans love riding their bikes, and they love being around the race, and nothing else seems to matter. TV ratings in France were higher than they've been in 20 years. This 100th Tour did a great job of paying tribute to the past, and the fans ate it up.

Fans of any sport just want to be thrilled. Football fans and baseball fans and cycling fans get overwhelmed by the spectacle of their sports, and it makes them forget the seedy side of things. Whatever thrills you, whatever gets you through the day. Bike racing still thrills me, and nothing makes me happier than riding my bike. This trip did both, and it was the best trip of my life.