Ironman on the (sub-) Minimalist Plan. AKA: Tips Surviving Your First Ironman - or Just Maybe Your Best Ever

Ironman Lanzarote happens this Saturday, May 17th on the beautiful, barren island of the same name (without the IM part, of course) off the coast of Africa.  This race has found a home on my bucket list of Ironman races since the late 1990's.  Arguably the toughest bike course on the Ironman circuit, with lots of climbing (>7500ft), breathtaking views, twisting descents, and little shelter from the Trade Winds typically out of the NE.  Flying in I thought I had landed on some combination of the moon and Mars.  

From a postcard I'm sending home to the family:

This race will mark the first event I'll start with the simple goal of finishing since I started my first Ironman back in 1995 up in New Hampshire.  And that's tip #1:

Tip #1:  Singular Goal = Finish  -  This means no time goals.  None.  Nada (as they say around here).  Just finish, and then you'll have not only a PR (personal record), but also a much better idea of what it takes to finish, and where you can begin to shave off time for your next one.

Getting ready for this Ironman, my training has been... lackluster.  I have followed a slow trajectory out of fitness since Kona last fall.  Complicated by two MS attacks - one in December, my neurologist and I have decided now, and one just a couple weeks ago.  I can already hear (and have heard) the voices of those who know me saying that it's all hogwash and I'm going to "crush it."  Well, something will be crushed on Saturday.  

I'm a numbers guy.  I'll lay out some numbers for comparison, and I think there will be general agreement that the prep equates to less-than-minimalist training, particularly from this minimalist training specialist:

In the 3 months of "hard training" - taper excluded - leading up to Ironman New Zealand last year (perhaps my greatest Ironman performance ever):

Total hours = 131 (10.9hrs/wk)

Total swim = 21.5hrs (~76k yards)

Total bike = 77.3hrs (~1660 miles)

Total run = 31.8hrs (290 miles)

Leading up to Kona (a solid race, but less-than hoped):

Total hours = 176.5 (14.7hrs/wk)

Total swim = 29hrs (~101.5k  yards)

Total bike = 113hrs (~2430 miles)

Total run = 34.5rs (302 miles)

Leading up to Lanzarote (survival mode):

Total hours = 77 (6.4hrs/wk)

Total swim = 5.8hrs (~20.5k yards)

Total bike = 55hrs (~1000 miles)

Total run = 15hrs (134 miles)

My long bike = 72mi, my long run 9.4 getting ready for this weekend.

Which brings us to the next tip:

Tip #2: Homework is done.  Hay is in the barn.  What will be will be.  No going back now.  However you'd like to phrase it, the end result remains:  whatever your training has been - too much, or too little, or just right, it's done.  No more second guessing.  No more wishing for something different.  Move your head into the present.  Be here.  Be now.

One of my favorite pre-race memories comes from Ironman Florida in 2005.  I had only weeks before crashed, broken my bike, torn the rotator cuff in my shoulder, and killed the squirrell in the process.  My expectations for that race dropped through the floor.  I was in possibly the best shape of my life to that point (and maybe ever), but hadn't a clue as to whether I would even survive the swim, let alone the rest of the race.  That morning, looking around the beach before the start, I found a calmness in my mind that I never thought possible before any race - big or little.  I could see the emotions on everyone else's face (which simultaneously made inspired me and made me chuckle now and then) - the hope, the fear, the focus.  I followed Tip #2, and decided to just give it what I could (it was not my 10th IM, so I could skip past Tip #1).

I set my PR of 9:10.  Which brings us to Tip #3:

Tip #3: While nothing satisfies like surpassing expectations, nothing stings worse than not meeting them.  Setting expectations appropriately can stump even the best athletes.  Survival goals are easy:  see tip #1.  Beyond that, things get complicated.  You need three, in my opinion, for every race:  a realistic goal, a challenging goal, and a satisfactory goal.  Set the satisfactory goal to what will ultimately have you look back on the race and not consider it a failure.  Realistic revolves around what, on an average day, an good (not great) performance would be given your training.  The challenging goal is the creme de la creme.  If achieved, you'd be as happy as the cow jumping over the moon.  But realize that if you don't, it was a reach to begin with.  A goal that may or may not happen this time around.  That's what the other 2 goals are for.  To leave you satisfied, if not happy.  And if all goes just right, eccstatic.  But rarely disappointed.

Tip #4: Control the Controllables. Own your race.  You can control your effort, your form, your attitude (mostly) and your nutrition (mostly).  That's about it.  The weather (favorable or otherwise) rests out of your hands.  So is a flat tire.  Your competitor's ability both to go fast(er than you) and possibly to cheat, likewise, rest out of your control.  Typically when you start to focus on the uncontrollables, you find your attitude going south as well ("damn wind" "he's drafting!" "damn pothole").  Take a deep breath, and refocus inward, to the controllables.  First the attitude, then the nutrition (often a source of bad attitudes), and finally to form and your effort.  Then repeat the process.  And again.  And again.  The good news is, you have all day to practice over and over!

Two final thoughts regarding general race attitude come to mind before I get into some small points about each sport.  In 1998 (or was it '99?) when I ran the Boston Marathon for the one and only time, I carried a disposable camera in my FuelBelt holster.  It fit perfectly.  In my photo album I have a nearly complete record of that day - from boarding the bus to get to the starline all the way to Kenmore Square, where I sadly ran out of film.   I took photos of folks I knew watching the race, crazy stuff along the way (really?  some guy set up a treadmill alongside the course?!?).  

Tip #5: Have some fun - at least now and then.  It doesn't need to be all an effort.  Smile with the thought of "fake it 'till you make it"  Your smile just might become genuine.  Personally, I'm going to take my iPhone with me to take pictures along the race course - there's at least one perk to "just finishing!"  Particularly of my parents, who have become world-travellers along side me this past year to watch all 3 IM I'll have done.  Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Ok - last few things in this epic blog entry.  In survival mode, a few sport specific tips come to mind for my race this weekend:

SWIM - start on the outside of the first turn. I won't get crushed (as much) by the crowd as we all inevitably try to hit the corner.

          - get out a little harder than I expect to go, so that I can draft off those feet that will be going the speed I want to go.  If I find myself swimming next to someone going the same speed, and I'm not drafting, let them get ahead (I'm in survival mode, right?) and draft.  Lots of energy saved there.  I'll need it later.

BIKE:  PATIENCE.  Much more than ever before.  Going to be a long day in the saddle going very easy.

          - lap button on each climb to track power for each climb.  Not above 200-210W ideally (by way of comparison, I averaged between ~230 W for the entire race in New Zealand and 220W in Kona)

          - bring biggest cassette I've got to spin (that's a 12-28) as much as possible

          - if betwen gears (i.e.,  rpm too slow in the 16, too fast in the 17), go with the higher rpm to save muscle glycogen.

          - consider serious headwinds when climbing (i.e., aerobars at 6mph)  More than a net 12mph headwind, aero position faster (or less energy).  That means going 6mph into an 20mph headwind I've got a net 14mph headwind.

          - after all hard climbs, when grinding inevitable, consciously get cadence back up to mid 90's

          - on descents: rubber-side down

          - on descents: get up to speed as usual, but then be ok with coasting to save energy

          - LOOK AROUND

          - take pictures

RUN:  PATIENCE and mental prep to suffer at least as much as any Ironman I've raced before

           - primary concerns = feet (not calloused as usual from running) and hips (stabilizing muscle endurance)

           -  if running is possible, even a slow is minute(s) faster than walking

           - smile

           - take pictures

Constant reminder: 17hrs to finish.  

Surely that's possible.

Should you desire you can follow my progress at www.ironman.com under live race coverage.  

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Good night, and good luck as the moon rises.  Hope to be the cow come Saturday.

It Finally Happened Today

In conversation with a budding triathlete about what motivates me to race, it came up that last year I exceeded my capacity.  Regular readers (who rock, btw!) will recall that I trained hard last year - possibly harder than ever before.  I remarked how, towards the end of the season, much of my continued drive stemmed from raising money to help research regarding multiple sclerosis.  That the extrinsic motivational factors exceeded the intrisnic motivational factors and pushed me to a place that really needed me to take a break.

She asked why I chose MS as a cause for which to raise money.  I told her that I have MS, so it seemed a natural decision.

"You don't have multiple sclerosis.  I've worked with people who have MS.  There's no way you can do what you do and have MS.  You need to see a neurologist."

This type of statement has never found it's way to my ear before. it did not find a welcome reception.

Initially, I listened to her discuss her past as a health care provider to those with MS.  How debilitated they were - wheelchairs, walkers.  I think she said other things as well, but my mind couldn't focus on too much beyond processing my gut reaction of "What did she just say to me?!?  How dare she say such a thing to me!"  I exercised some of my mental calming strategies that I use when my almost-5 year-old firmly decides to contradict me at a point when I have time to allow said contradiction.  I suspect it helped that I could simultaneously watch him in his gymnastics class.

I chose an optimistic approach.  Something far more easy to do in the public forum.  My response:

"While it's true that I have thus far had a relatively benign course, it's also important to know that MS can affect anything controlled by nerves - which is just about everything.  In fact, many many symtpoms remain invisble to others.  Much of the frustration a person with MS has - in my opinion - stems directly from that invisibility feature."  I began to describe some of my issues that no one can see.  Issues that keenly, constantly remind me of the disease's grip on me: my tingling hands ("like holding a powersander for a while - then touching anything"); the sensitivity in them that makes me retract my hand when my wife wants to hold mine; the wrist pain ("nothing like resting your wrists on a belt sander to make you feel comfy!"); the discomfort to direct sun exposure ("like a hot sun on a bad sunburn"); balance issues; that zippy sensation down my back when I look down (Lhermitte's); vision disturbances (double vision with fatigue when looking up, particularly when fatigued - "perfect for riding in the aerobars during any ride over 2hrs"); the headaches resolvoable only by closing one eye or the other or wearing sunglasses with the lense from the right eye removed;  the sensation that I just touched my tongue to a 9V battery two minutes ago; the inability to control my right quadriceps fully or maintain core musculature on that same side; the fatigue requiring me to nap every afternoon, regardless of how well I did or didn't sleep the night before.  Perhaps the irritation from her initial question remained, as my description became more of a litany.  Regardless, I didn't apologize.

None of this, aside from my balance, quadriceps, abdominals, and my eyes seeming to "wander around a little bit", is externally observable.  From the outside perspective,  I look "normal" and potentially behave "extraordinarily" in my ability to train / race at such a level.

"The best thing I can think of to combat this disease that will cause me to lose my balance, my strength, my endurance, my coordination is to work hard at elevating my balance, my coordination, my strength, my endurance as high as possible.  The higher the bar, the further it can fall without losing the ability to simply do those daily things that I need to do without help."

But eventually I'll need that walker, or that wheelchair that she saw her clients need.  "Maybe not," she said.  "That's kind of negative." 

Research would suggest that by age 63, I'll need at least a cane to walk. That's for folks with MS across the board.  Men, while getting MS less often, typically progress faster than women.  But given that at one point I had hoped to be racing Ironman in my 70's and maybe 80's, needing a cane to walk in my early 60's is somewhat discourageing at best.  

Of course, the odds favored need of a wheelchair (at least temporarily) when I had transverse myelitis. I didn't, and I think I owe that in no small part to the idea that I was fit enough to have finished an Ironman the very day I was diagnosed with it.  Well, the day before, anyway.  Getting up a flight of stairs eventually became a struggle.  I don't know that if I couldn't cover 140.2 miles of swimming, biking, and running one day, and barely a flight of stairs not long after wouldn't have meant a walker or a wheelchair had I not pushed myself so much.

"Expect the worst, hope for the best," came my reply to her pessimism comment.

I explain that the most potentially devastating aspect of the disease progression revolves around real estate.  Location, location, location.  One could have 25 form in the brain noted only on an MRI because no apparent symptoms ever presented.  That same person could have one single lesion in the spinal cord and never walk again.  Lesions can happen anywhere, and to my knowledge there is no way to predict where the next one will form.  

"You seem really positive about how you're dealing with it." 

"It's certainly easier in public.  I certainly have my moments," I reply.

"Well, I can tell you next time I'm on a long run and suffering, I will think of you and realize I don't have it so bad.  If you can keep going, so can I" she says.  

I think to myself, And I'll remember that I have it better than many. 

While I thought about noting that we all have our issues we're working through, it seemed like a good time to leave off the conversation as my boy came running up to me.  He proudly told me of his accomplishments for the day.  It was time for me to get back to the really important things in life.

In the end, I think it may have become a somewhat inspirational discussion for both of us - a chance for me to explain MS to those even "in the know" while simultaneously giving me a chance to improve someon's internal sense of motivation for training in a sport I love.  

Used to love.  

Well, really probably will love again once I get past Ironman Lanzarote.  Less than a month to go.  Then (finally) I can rest.  Or train hard, or do whatever solely because I want to.

Mimosa for me on May 18th, the morning after finishing my 18th Ironman.  I'm hopeful that won't require room service, but I'll be prepared to go that route if necessary.

The Path Through the Fog?

 

Quick post (sorry for all the reading at once!).  I thought it best to break things up a little bit.  Thank you for reading.

The search to understand the what, why, where consume me.  I do not imply that this obsession remotely resembles a healthy preoccupation.  And yet I stay up late searching, trying to put thepieces together.  Surely someone has missed something.  Surely the key sits there in front of me, ready to provide thatdesperately needed “Aha!” moment.  It’s a terrible prospect - the thought of losing one’s mind.

Attempting to backtrack through my Wood, attempting to determine at least when I started entered the twilight, I recall a definitive downturn in September 2013.  My training became more… dreaded; my performances became stagnant, if not faltering.  With my the Ironman World Championships quickly approaching (mid-October), this faltering registered as par for the course, as I was knee deep in the hardest part of my training.  But really it went deeper than that.  I no longer wanted to race Kona.  I just wanted to get it over with.  In retrospect, my sense of burnout in doesn't really surprised me.  I had trained hard for over a year, beginning with preparations to race Ironman New Zealand, where I qualified for Kona qualifier, in March of 2013.  I trained harder than ever before; certainly so with regards to the day-in / day-out intensity.  The proverbial fork had become well-planted in my flesh and more importantly, in my mind.  While I took great satisfaction in having obtained the Kona starting line once more, the desire to suffer again - and severely in the case of racing an Ironman - had fled sometime during the summer.  

"Regular" readers will recall that last June I did a half-ironman in Bend, Oregon (Pacific Crest) a few days after violent food poisoning in June - losing many pounds overnight.  Having no appetite, and being severely dehydrated does not equate to a good race-week taper, in case anyone needs that advice.  I contemplated not starting numerous times, including on the bus-ride to the start.  I thought about dropping out numerous times on the bike, and regularly in the run.  But I struggled on, digging deeper, going slower.  The emotional depths to which I went, simply to finish ("racing" had been forgotten 10 miles into the bike), were unparalleled in my experience.  It took literally everything my mind had to get me to the finish line.  I am proud that I finished.  Even if, again in retrospect, it was foolish to have even started.

Finish what you start.

Yet with Kona still approaching, I kept pushing across a couple more months of hard training.  Not only did I continue to remind myself that my family had granted me the time and the mental energy to train hard for World Championships, they did so enthusiastically.  I had also long-ago learned that you never know when, let alone if, you’ll ever get back - particularly true with the unpredictable nature of MS.  More importantly, so many people had come to my aid in raising funds and awareness of MS, believing in my cause and in myself.  I couldn’t let them down.  Truly, I am happy to say that I feel I held my end of the promise.  I am in their debt, and endlessly in the debt of my family.  I am content with my Kona performance, if not satisfied.

My thoughts have begun to stray from triathlon.  I have finally unearthed a potential source of my discontent across the past few years.  It has taken quite some time, but I feel my priorities may need realignment.  MS Fitness / Family / Career / then Sport.  More percolation time should help develop the flavor of my needs. 

With this realization, and with antidepressants, the fog has begun to lift, even if just a little.  Ironman Lanzarote has begun to weigh ... differently on me.  It approaches quickly -  2 months away now.  I have put in 5 hours per week of training on average, and generally all at low intensity.  I took a couple / few weeks off completely in February.  I had competitive aspirations for IML in November and December.  They then shifted towards being a participant rather than a competitor.  My goal resides squarely in that corner now.  I have said many times through the years that I am constantly in good enough shape to complete an Ironman any day of the year - maybe not quickly, but to the end.  Lanzarote will test that supposition.  Now it's simply a matter of training to make that experience as pleasant as possible.  But I will finish what I start.

 

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”  Good advice from Churchill and Dante.

Alas, easier said than done. 

Black Dog - Foggy Wood

Quite a bit of time has passed since my last post.   I am fairly regularly surprised to hear that folks I know (and some I don't) actually read my blog, and some are inspired by it.  Will wonders never cease?  Thank you for reading.  I'm glad I can inspire.  

Quite a bit of reflecion and soul-searching has taken place since my last post.  The following post represents the time period between December 2013 and February 2014.  More posts will follow.  I'm afraid they may be less than inspirational.  However the reality is that many of us - with MS and without MS - deal with some of the topics below on a daily basis.  We usually just don't like to admit it to anyone - possibly even ourselves.

It has not been a fun few months.

Winston Churchill, made famous through his words, war, and drink, also seemingly struggled against bi-polar disorder.  A condition characterized by dramatic, pendular mood swings ranging between highly energetic, manic phases to disparaging depression.  Churchill referred to his depressive side as his “Black Dog”, harassing him through much of his life.   It fascinates me that someone could earn a hallowed alcove in the Hall of Fame for World Historical Figures in the face of such a condition. 

I suppose it should console me to find myself in such good historical company.  But it’s not.  Incomprehension of the catalyst impelling me on my journey doesn’t alter that I have, somehow, returned to my detested Foggy Wood.   My brain has turned murky.  A place where concentration yields headaches, maintaining a thought remains short-lived, and the ability to recall the appropriate word dubious.  And my fatigue - the damnable fatigue - has become overwhelmingly ubiquitous; I am drained of energy, let alone motivation for anything and everything.   Something in my mind changed along with my vision that Friday early last December. 

Things there have finally begun to clear some.  Now my eyes play tricks on me primarily when fatigued, when it’s foggy or rainy, or when I concentrate hard.  When this happens, I’m reminded of when I took a ride in a high performance bi-plane in 2003.  Rolling and banking through G-forces I have never otherwise experienced found me audibly grunting (between laughter) to keep my head as clear as possible.  Now I occasionally find myself swearing and grunting when driving.  I’m not afraid of losing control of my vehicle, nor worried that I’ll have an accident so much as feeling like my eyes want to focus on a point not quite the same as the one I’d like: very close, but not quite it.  Watch through your rear-view mirror on a rough road, with the world easily decipherable, but not quite in focus as the mirror bounces around a bit - your eyes always playing catch-up.  The world doesn’t move like that in my eyes, but the sense of inability to focus is similar.

All tests thus far continue to come back unremarkable.  MRI: unchanged from last February.  Optometry assessment:  near perfect, right a little worse than the left, but time for low-power progressive lenses (hello 40’s!).  Neurologist: probably vestibular issue.  Ear Nose Throat MD: unremarkable (clinical) vestibular test, hearing almost normal, slightly diminished in the left - but generally, unremarkable.  Blood work:  pretty much normal.  Low testosterone.  OK, treating that.  Otherwise I’m theoretically healthy as a horse.  Full vestibular workup (“tilt-a-whirl”) and neurophthalmology appointments scheduled in March.  Personally, I have begun to consider psychosomatic sources.  I’ve tried to convince myself that what I’m experiencing in my head as I drive into work each day really exists only there:  in my head.  “I believe it’s in my head.  I believe it’s in my head.  I know it’s in my head.”  I wish I could say it helped.  Mabye I just don't believe it enough.

My wife requested on multiple occasions that I consider going back on antidepressents.  Then one day she (nicely) insited.  I could no longer disagree with her - the time had come, even if I was too stubborn to admit it.  That little pill and I stared at each other for a long time before it passed my lips.  

I think my mood has improved, but my vision issue it remains.  Regardless of what the tests and MD’s otherwise indicate, something is most definitely wrong.  I’m exhausted, and yet I cannot sleep.  I am not motivated to train.  Strike that, I do not even want to exercise.  I am restless, and uninspired.  Listless, I sit and wander the well-trodden pathways in my Foggy Wood. 

The introspection continues.

Good Night.

The Good, The Bad, and the Unknown

The Good: MRI came back negative.  No changes compared to last April's scan (re: lesions), though I have not seen the full MRI report with my own eyes, as yet.  Not MS.

The Bad: An inner ear issue seems most likely with issuance of an Ear Nose Throat (ENT) specialist referral.  No appointment has yet been made due to the holidays, but I hope to have more knowledge of what might be going on in my head as soon as I can.  In the meantime, symptoms have improved some, but worsened in others.  Concentration appears to be a large catalyst - the harder I concentrate, the worse things get.  If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect my wife gave me a concussion in my sleep for snoring too loudly (not that I'd blame her based on how loud I've heard my son snore!).  In the meantime, I have more time to scour my text books and the internet for more information on the vestibular system and the inner ear.  Surely that's what my ENT will want to hear.  "So I read on the internet that..."   Ha!

The Unknown: The result, in the meantime, is more unknown.  Those facing the potential MS ("You might have something called Multiple Sclerosis"), often go through a lengthy period of time until that diagnosis materializes into reality ("You have MS").  As strange as it may sound, relief sometimes becomes the descriptor people atribute to the day they become diagnosed.  What they will face for the rest of their lives, however unclear that future may be, now at least has a name.  Some portion of their future has become Known.  And with that knowledge comes a little peace.  Certainly that was the case for me.  No matter what the future would bring, I could better steel myself for it once that Unknown ("might") became Known ("have").  

This confrontation with yet another Unknown has spun me into one of Dr Seuss' eloquently named Slumps.  And as he notes in Oh the Places You'll Go, "Unslumping yourself is not easily done."

Enter my coach, Karen Smyers.  I basically described where I was with relation to training, including a general inability to mentally get my head around where I needed to be in preparation for Ironman Lanzarote.  She has an amazing knack for saying the right words at the right time.  That's one of the big reasons I've worked with her for over a decade now.  In her words: 

"The unknown in all of this has to be draining and take a toll on you physically as well as psychologically.  So recognize that this will happen and it is OK to have down periods once in a while."

Until I had read that, I never realized how much it had taken a toll on me - I briefly burst into tears after someone had given me permission to self-acknowledge the source of my Slump: this focus on the Unknown.  For optimal fitness raining, you train at the level you are at.  That enables you to make advances in fitness and get to where you want to be.  Training where you want to be, on the other hand, tends to get you hurt or burnt out.  Be where you're at.  I had taken this mentality with my disease and (mostly) with my exercise: "control the controllables." My fitness, my balance, my diet, my sleep (mostly), my mental aptitude - great chess game today, Dad!  Maybe I'll get you next time.

But that's all one can do.  As I get more information (from my ENT visit, for example), I may find that I have more specific things to focus on to optimize where I'm at.  But in the meantime, focus on the Unknown only leads to the Slump.  Focus on the Known gets you out of the Slump.

Go on:  Unslump yourself.  I triple-dog-dare you.  (Yes it's the Holidays).

Happy Holidays.  Mine are getting a lot better, even if my symptoms aren't.  Thanks, Coach.

The Things We Take for Granted

Holiday time has arrived.  It never fails to sneak up on me, despite Christmas items finding their way onto store shelves shortly after Labor Day (?!?), Christmas music hitting the airwaves November 1st, and Thanksgiving rolling around before one finishes thinking "November started?" 

Yes, Holiday time has arrived, and with it comes the realization that family really does mean a lot.  Sometimes I need reminders, but this year, much of my family and my wife's family made the journey to the Pacific Northwest, where the Portland Ramsey's hosted Thanksgiving.  It was a hectic, but wonderful, week.  

But shortly before the holiday, I had started having some vertigo issues.  Being a PT, I self diagnosed myself with BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo), a generally self-limiting cause of the room spinning.  Some self-treatment (it's good to be a PT, if I haven't mentioned that before) and some time later, and I was feeling much better.  

Feeling pretty good even, until I woke last Friday.  Something had changed overnight.  The room no longer spun, but dizziness pervaded my existence.  Not BPPV.  Driving took an enourmous amount of concentration to keep things in focus - literally.  My vision continually wanted to go out of focus - as if I'd had a bit too much to drink (and while it certainly was after noon somewhere on the planet, I had not been nipping at the flask).  I suppose fortunately, it had snowed here in Portland - something of a rarity, and Portlanders have no clue how to drive in the snow, so traffic crawled along.  My normal commute of 45' (leave home, drop Mattias at school, and get to work) took me 90' instead.  All of 20 miles.

This issue continued through the day.  I arranged a visit with a optometrist, which was long-overdue anyway, for the following Monday, and hoped I had a detached retina.  Yes, this sounds strange, and not simply because such a diagnosis wouldn't account for the dizziness.  But I want it to not be MS.  Anything but the MS.  

I went for a run later in the day, and strained a calf.  A long-planned Guy's Night (first since sometime last spring) was put off due to a combination of unexpected travel and the weather.

A trifecta of Crappy Things to Happen on a Friday struck, and I found myself in the immature reaction of deciding it was, afterall, after noon where I stood, and proceeded to crawl into - and through - a bottle of wine.  Not a good decision, but the one that decided upon.

I now sit here typing a few days later, after having a normal eye exam with my optometrist, but  an abnormal neurology exam today with an MRI of the brain scheduled for Friday.  My 8th since 2008.  If it's MS, that's probably the end of it for now - wait and see what happens.  If it's not MS, then something has simply "gone wrong" with my vestibular system, and we will deal with that at that point, starting with an Ear / Nose /  Throat (ENT) specialist assessment, and while vestibular system is not my area of specialty, I do know the long-term prognoses are "improved" rather than "cured".  

Today, I have had a(nother) Sobering Moment.  I have spent a lot of time under the impression that I, really, have no idea how long I have left to function "optimally."  And while I know that I am not optimal anymore, I also realize that I really have no complaints about it, either.  I have had a realtively benign course of MS.  Sitting here now, my eyes tired from the strain of maintaining focus on a computer screen for this duration, I have realized that something as simple as a vestibular attack may take so much away.  I do not feel comfortable getting on a bike outside right now.  I am forced to be much more conscious about my driving.  I am much more conscious about chopping vegetables.  I enjoyed racing my boy up to bed, and then regretted doing so from the queasy stomach that followed.   I have needed 10-15hrs of sleep per day for the last week.  I have another damn MRI on Friday.  I am unsure of whether to hope for an MS attack or vestibular dysfunction.  No-win scenarios suck.  

Mostly it occurred to me that MS is a disease that doesn't need to completely debilitate you to take away your ability to enjoy life.  It just has to hit one or two key systems.  You take away my balance, and you take away my sport - and potentnially all aspects of each individual sport within triathlon.   It just has to take away something I take for granted: knowing which way is up.

And so I appreciate those who bear this disease with me - my family - all the more.  I wish for more time and energy to figure out how to show them, but it may need to wait for another time.  MS, or whatever this is, might win this round.  But with their unending support (and I love them dearly for it), some determination, and some grit, I'll make it to the bell, take a rest, and attack in the next round.

That's just all I can do:  Keep on Keepin' On. Hug your family, hug your spouse, hug your children, hug your parents.  Hug those who help you.  They make it bearable.  Even when we sometimes forget.   Hang some mistletoe.

Thank you to all of my family, but most especially to Micha and Mattias.  You bear the brunt of this with me.  I do not envy you.

And that's my new sign-off:

Keep on keepin' on

Restwise Wrap-Up and Bucket List Progression

Restwise has been kind enough to take the time to interview me recently, and posted it online on their blog.  Thank you Restwise - both for your interest and your support.

Check out the interview here:


In other news, it's now official:  I'm checking off a 15 year-old bucket list item in 2014:  I'm on the start list for Ironman Lanzarote.  Another hot one through wind and lava fields, but this time I get to see camels on the side of the road rather than the Kona donkeys!

But first - off season continues: