“The More You Love, The Harder You Fight”, A Review of What is A Girl Worth? by Rachael Denhollander

I remember the trial of Dr. Larry Nassar, a Michigan State University physician who was once the Gold Standard in the gymnastics community. For decades, he molested hundreds of girls and women, playing the part of the compassionate nice-guy who helped them heal from their injuries.

At the end of the trial, he finally buckled and pled guilty. As part of his plea deal, every one of his victims was permitted to give an impact statement. Up until that point, I had followed the trial loosely. But I paid special attention to the victims and what they had to say.

One by one, Nassar’s victims brought his world down with thunderous dunks that would make Julius Erving proud. It was glorious.

Enter Rachael Denhollander, who closed it out with both a blistering assessment of the culture that allowed Nassar to operate for years, and a wonderful Gospel presentation to Nassar. (If you haven’t heard Rachael’s speech, Google it and watch it. It’s pure gold.)

I became a Rachael Denhollander fan that day.

What’s a Girl Worth? is her story. And it is both riveting and inspiring.

First, a trigger warning: if you suffer from any form of PTSD, this book is going to hurt. Even if you don’t suffer from PTSD, this book is going to hurt. If you have any form of empathy whatsoever, this book is going to hurt.

She describes her assaults by Nassar in significant detail. I tried hard to keep my analytical hat on, but I still couldn’t sleep that night. On the other hand, I found it very instructive, as she is showing parents how easy it is for a predator to abuse kids. Nassar abused many of his victims in plain sight, with their parents only feet away!

There is a popular misconception that you can spot child molesters pretty easily, and if you are just careful enough, you can prevent their abuses or catch them in the act. Rachael destroys that myth almost immediately. Rachael’s mother—who was a protective, caring Christian mom—was in the same room when Nassar abused her. She never saw it happen, as Nassar was smooth enough to conceal her view.

In great detail, she points out the factors that kept her from reporting her abuse, the blowback she received when she tried to report her abuse, the effects the abuse had on her for many years, and how it challenged her relationships and even her faith.

When people ask victims, “Why didn’t you report [the abuser] sooner?” Rachael gives a vivid, well-reasoned answer to that question. Even when victims do report, very little is ever done. Police departments often shelve the complaints, as thousands of rape kits remain untested even today.

If the accused is a respected figure like Nassar, he probably has friends in law enforcement. Nassar almost got away with his crimes, as the county prosecutor attempted to cut an easy deal like Jeffrey Epstein once received. Thankfully, the Michigan State Police—with the help of a very hardworking, caring detective—had the resolve to tell the county prosecutor to go pound sand, and hand this to a very victim-friendly Attorney General, who went after Larry with every weapon in the arsenal.

And then there’s the personal cost of reporting your abuser. Her entire life was laid bare for the whole world to see. The details of her molestation became public record. Because she testified against Nassar, his team was able to pry into the most intimate details of her life, including her personal journals.

Nassar abused many victims because the system protected him at the expense of victims. That system included a Big 10 university, local law enforcement, and the larger athletics community that included USA Gymnastics. Rachael provides a devastating picture—with the clarity of the best LED television screen—of that abuser-friendly system which protected Nassar for years. Had it not been for the reporters at IndyStar—to whom Rachael appealed with her story about Nassar—he might still be abusing women today.

But Rachael took him on, even ditching her anonymity. What drove her: her concern for the other victims. As she said it, “the more you love, the harder you fight.”

Sadly, our society doesn’t really love, as we have commoditized people while lionizing ideas and institutions. USA Gymnastics turned a blind eye to abusive coaches like John Geddert, just as Penn State turned a blind eye to Jerry Sandusky, just as Michigan State turned a blind eye to Larry Nassar, just as churches turn a blind eye to abusive pastors, priests, and other leaders.

From conception, children are commodities. Even pro-life denominations like the Southern Baptist Convention and the Independent Fundamental Baptists have thrown children under the bus to protect abusive pastors and highly-revered leaders.

Against that backdrop, Rachael Denhollander drops a badly-needed FULL STOP.

For the Christian, What’s A Girl Worth? is very sobering, as the Church does not get off the hook here. For speaking out about the abuse coverups at Covenant Life Church by C.J. Mahaney—which put her at odds with her elders, who were friends of Mahaney—she was ostracized and her family would have to move on to another church. (This at a time when they needed the support of a church body.)

Having been around the block in church circles, I can attest that taking on abusers in the Church is not a popular endeavor. If you are a minister, there is a lot of pressure not to rock the boat. There is a lot of pressure to handle matters quietly—let the abuser resign, move on, get a fresh start somewhere else—and avoid the unpleasant consequences of making the brutal truth of abuse a public matter. As a rookie youth minister, I took on an abusive pastor. I won, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. I’d do it again, but still…there is a price to pay.

But the Church needs to pay that price, because people are worth more than institutions. Make no mistake: this is a Gospel issue. Jesus held a child and told the Disciples that “the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

The pastorate is for real shepherds, not hired guns seeking to enrich themselves. The pastorate is not a corporate ladder, and until the Church decides that people—especially victims—are not commodities, she will continue to slouch toward irrelevance.

As Rachael said it, “the more you love, the harder you fight.” The Church needs to repent and start fighting like the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s ark.

And for the men who are new to this fight, Rachael’s husband—Jacob—provides a great primer in how that is done. From the days before they even got engaged, to the runup to their wedding, and throughout their marriage, Jacob was a great listener, a hard worker, and a wonderful supporter of his wife. As life got turbulent, they still had children—4 of them—and Jacob provided great strength to ensure that their home was a refuge from a very nasty world. They endured great hardship, but came out stronger, and Jacob was a major part of that. Men, this is why you need to read the book.

Ultimately, the Denhollander family provides a portrait of the kind of love that defends, protects, advocates, and goes to the end of the world, for “the least of these”. On a scale of 1 to 10, no less than 20.

"This ain't Hell, but I can see it from here!": Ride Across INdiana (RAIN) 2019, After-Action Report

This year, I decided to take a break from triathlons and just do one event: Ride Across INdiana (RAIN). I enjoyed that ride last year, and my wife said she and Abigail enjoyed the time.

I figured this would be a long, tough ride that would otherwise be uneventful. It didn't seem bad last year: I used it as a training ride for Ironman Chattanooga, and it was a good time.

The problem?

Last year, the conditions were perfect: high temperature was in the low 70s with occasional light rain, and a really nice west-to-east tailwind that made the last 45 miles wonderful.

No such joy this time.

Here is a simple comparison, by the numbers:

	2018	2019
High Temperature	77/light rain	97/sunny
Winds	18mph (tailwind)	16 mph (crosswind from south)
# Starters	~1,100	1,032
# Finishers	1,042	644
Total Riding Time (hrs:mins)	9:30	11:06
Avg Moving Speed (mph)	16.8	14.7

I woke up at 4AM and began my preparation for the ride: brushed my teeth, strapped on my Garmin heart rate strap, checked my gear to see if I had forgotten anything.

Dangit!!!! I had forgotten sunscreen! And I was going to need it today!

So, making no delay, I hightailed it to Kroger and bought some sunscreen. On the way back, I pulled back into St. Mary of the Woods College--where we were staying, and where the ride began--to see a couple riders taking off early. (That is legal, as this is a ride, not a race. As long as a rider completes the course before the 9PM cutoff, it counts.)

It was 5:25 and still dark outside. It was already 80 degrees.

This was going to be a long, hard slog.

Still, I felt ready.

While I was not training for Ironman--and therefore was not as fit as I was last year--I was still pretty darn fit: I had three century rides in the last 2 months, and I had done a fair amount of strength work, as I had bulked up considerably. I wasn't in Ironman condition, but I was still in good shape. And my training rides were in hot conditions.

I figured I would go slower, but this course shouldn't be too tough. I had two extra tire tubes "just in case", and I am experienced in changing out flat tires. If I ran out of fluids, I knew there were convenience stores around. I carried extra cash just for that purpose. I also knew that my wife would be trailing me on the back section.

I made it to the start line with 5 minutes to spare before the official start. There seemed to be a solid turnout. According to the folks in-the-know, the number of starters was less than they had last year, but not by much.

My problems began early: My rear tube blew out at mile 6. Apparently, my tire pressure was too low, and I hit a bad section of road, causing a "pinch flat". I was able to swap a new tube, and a SAG driver had a pump ready for me, so I did not have to use my CO2 cartridges. I was back in business within 5 minutes.

Unfortunately, I had trouble getting a good pace going due to (a) many traffic lights and (b) bad road quality. I also noticed the climbs, due to the lack of a tailwind. I was clearly working harder for my miles. But I still felt ok considering the conditions.

Pulling into the first rest stop at mile 39, my wife was relieved to see me. She thought I had suffered a really bad accident, as I took longer than she expected to get to the first stop. My riding pace at the time was close to 15mph, but the flats and the traffic congestion--and traffic lights--slowed me down. But at the rest stop, I got some food down, got some fluids down, refilled my bottles, kissed the wife and toddler, and headed back out.

On the second stretch, I felt better and my pace was improving, even as the temperature climbed. I was having a good time until mile 57: that's when my front tire blew out.

Thankfully, I was ready for that: I had a spare--although I was down to my last one--and was changing it out when a Good Samaritan came by. He let me use his pump--once again keeping my CO2 cartridges unused--and even gave me a bottle of ice water. I was back in business.

Pulling into the second stop, at mile 64, I still felt pretty good. Even with the flat, I was doing well. For the sake of precaution, I purchased two additional tubes from the SAG mechanic at the rest stop. I figured I'd rather have them and not need them, than need them and not have them. In this heat, anything can go wrong.

I made it a point to get more food down, refill the bottles, get some more fluids down, kiss my wife and toddler--who was having a great time--and head back out.

The ensuing 28 miles were brutal. Indianapolis traffic slowed us all down: traffic lights, traffic circles, stop signs, railroad tracks, and some stretches of bad road quality. Making matters worse, I ran out of water and Gatorade. I could feel the heat; I knew I needed to hydrate.

At about mile 87, I found a CVS. I pulled in to get some Gatorade. The manger saw me and invited me to use his walk-in cooler--which was 38 degrees!--to cool off. (I <3 CVS.) Still, I felt pretty good going into the lunch stop at mile 92.

Remarking about the heat, I told my wife. "This isn't Hell, but I can see it from here."

From there, I got some food down, got some water and Gatorade down, refilled the bottles, kissed the wife and toddler, and headed back out: 21 miles to Greenfield.

The stretch to Greenfield would have been a killer, except there were several wonderful families who handed out bottled ice-cold water to riders. I had, once again, expended both my water and my Gatorade, and those Good Samaritans saved my butt. (Every finisher with whom I conversed, shared the same story.)

Pulling into Greenfield at mile 113 2 was lonely--no personal service vehicles were allowed, so my wife was camped out after that on US40--so I did my business quickly: refilled the water bottles, peed, got food and fluids down, and headed out.

My only problem: I forgot to unpause my Garmin. As a result, I lost about a quarter mile on my data feed.

Turning onto US40, I saw my wife parked at a Speedway station. I stopped, gave her a quick update, kissed her and the toddler, and headed out. We agreed to meet every 8 miles. I was feeling the heat, so I figured I'd sit in the car for a couple minutes to cool down. She also had extra Gatorade in case I needed a refill before I pulled into the final rest stop at Dunreith.

That last stretch of US40 was pure brutality. The heat radiated from the ground, ensuring that we had no relief, even as the air temperature began to slowly drop. The climbs, while not as difficult as the hills of Kentucky's century routes, are still noticeable when you're on the back end of a 160-mile ride with heat indexes above 100 degrees. Being able to cool off in the car was a game-changer.

I pulled into the Dunreith rest stop, with 28 miles to go, exhausted. I knew I was going to finish, but this was going to suck. I inhaled more fluids, ate some carbs, got some pickle juice down, and sat in the car to cool off. Then I kissed the wife and toddler and headed out.

I met my wife 8 miles later, and--to my surprise--felt pretty good. I was tired, but I felt better than I did at Dunreith. I told her to meet me in 10 miles.

About 10 miles later, I met her again. As I cooled off, I had one problem: I needed water, not Gatorade, as I was almost out of water. I told her to meet me at the next gas station--or at 5 miles--to get some water. At this point, I had about 10 miles to go. The next stop was going to be precautionary only. I was getting strength back.

With 5 miles to go, I saw my wife on the opposite side of the road. A Good Samaritan had a bottle of ice-cold water: exactly what I needed going into the final climb! Oh, and there was shade now, as it was later in the day. I thanked God for the shade. I told my wife, "Meet me at the finish...we've got this!"

The last 5 miles felt easy. Yes, there was a climb left, but it didn't feel so bad with the shade and some cold water. I finished with 45 minutes to spare. At the finish, I chatted with the folks at the finish line, enjoyed the moment with my wife and the toddler, and downed some chocolate milk.

After the finish, I followed the RAIN Facebook group for updates from other riders. There were mass casualties: riders were dropping like flies. Heat exhaustion TKOd a large swath of folks.

Everyone rider I know who finished indicated that the Good Samaritans with the ice water saved their day. I can attest to that. The DNF rate was above 37%, which exceeds the mega-brutal Ironman Chattanooga 2016, which was in comparable weather. Heat exhaustion took a lot of riders out of the fight. Several ended up leaving in ambulances. To my knowledge, however, there were no fatalities.

Another dynamic I saw was the support crews out there: just as my wife did for me, other riders had help from their spouses and/or cycling clubs. They parked their cars, vans, and RVs at churches, gas stations, even open fields, providing food, water, and A/C for riders on that last stretch of US40.

As I look back on the day, I was happy to come out on top. I had never suffered a flat tire during a century ride, and I took TWO of them in the first 60 miles. I had never biked in conditions this hot, but this time I did it for 160 miles.

That tormenter of Ironman triathletes--Ironbitch--showed up for a rematch, and she brought the heat with her. I took her best shot, and I won. I even had the legs to tour the Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson AFB with the wife and toddler the next day.

As I talked with my wife last night, I remarked that I am not an elite cyclist.

She laughed. "Why do you say that?"

Me: "I'm not pulling that course at 18-19+ mph. To me, that would be the sign of an elite cyclist."

Her: "You may not be the fastest one on the course, but I'm not sure that matters."

I don't have elite speed; I do have elite endurance.

But there is one important difference in me now compared to what I once was: I don't quit. Yes, I'm in better shape than the average bear, but let's be honest here: fitter people than I punched out on Saturday. You need to be fit to finish a 160 mile ride in that heat, but you need more than physical fitness; you need mental toughness.

Learning that isn't an academic exercise. You can only learn that the hard way. I've suffered DNFs, so I know the humiliation that comes with it. That teaches you more about perseverance than anything. In general, you don't start learning until you get pushed to the edge of what you think your limits are.

In my case, as I am getting old, I have severe disk problems in my neck, middle back, and lower back. My heat tolerance isn't what it once was.

Still, in the nearly two decades with such health issues, I've learned to adjust and improvise, and focus on what I could control, and roll with the punches. I couldn't make it cooler outside, but I think of all the times I got into the car to cool off. I think of the time I walked into the cooler at CVS to cool off. I think of the times I stopped to grab some ice water, the time I sat in front of a fan.

Even with the 2 flats. Even with heat exhaustion. I had no doubt about the outcome, only the finish time. I didn't quit; I just stopped to regroup and get my bearings. I was never out of the fight.

Over the years, I have learned to embrace the suck.
\
And on Saturday, I French-kissed it.

Ironman Chattanooga 2018: Bittersweet Victory

Three years ago, I experienced a major setback: I DNFd* at Ironman Louisville 2015.

To say it was a disappointment would be the most charitable assessment.  My wife had been such a great sherpa, only to see me miss the final turnaround cutoff time and get pulled at mile 17 of the run.


As a result. I had unfinished business. I owed Wifey a finish.


Like Julius Erving of those 1977 Philadelphia 76ers--who blew a 2-0 lead to the Portland Trailblazers--and like Jana Novotna, who blew a lead in the third set against Steffi Graf at the 1993 Wimbledon, and like Goran Ivanisevic--who pumped a record 37 aces past Andre Agassi in the 1992 Wimbledon Championship, only to come up short in 5 sets--I had a score to settle.


No, this wasn't the NBA Championships, or Wimbledon for that matter.


I had a score to settle with the Ironman demon that torments every athlete on the second loop of the run. I call that demon IronBitch (heretofore referred to as India Bravo, or Ms. Bravo).


She waits patiently, usually somewhere past mile 10 of the run. But she is sadistic. She fights dirty. She will charm you and then plunge that knife into your heart as you begin to run out of gas.


This year, I signed up for Ironman Chattanooga. It is a 2.4-mile downstream swim, a 116-mile bike (4 miles longer than a standard Ironman), and a 26.2-mile run that features one of the toughest courses on the Ironman circuit.


In other words, I scheduled my appointment with Ms. Bravo for September 30, in the city where I met my wife. I decided I would settle my score with Ms. Bravo once and for all.


I trained for that meeting for 5 long months.


I rode my bike trainer religiously, and included transition runs after my rides. I blocked off Saturdays for long bike rides. In the 4 months leading to Ironman, I had 11 rides of 6 hours or longer, including the 160-mile Ride Across INdiana (RAIN).


I rode 3 times a week, I swam twice a week. And after my rides, I added small transition runs. I also did long runs the day after my long rides. And in my long runs, I simulated long distances on tired legs, just to get mentally prepared for my meeting with Ms. Bravo on the back half of the run. I also tapered for 2 weeks instead of 3: I wanted to make sure I was at peak fitness going into the race.


I felt very good going into race week: I had a minor stomach bug a week out of race day, but that cleared up quickly. Then, during race week, Chattanooga received the unexpected "gift": HEAVY RAINS. From Sunday through Thursday.


The runoff--and the necessary release of 100,000 cubic feet per second of water from the dam--made the Tenneseee River a fast-moving cesspool of sewage. On Thursday morning, three days before the race, Ironman officials cancelled the swim.


At the same time, they made our lives harder, not easier, by (a) going to a time-trial start on the bike, and (b) enforcing a modified cutoff time for the finish.

With that news, I felt that my finish would have an asterisk, as an Ironman triathlon includes all three disciplines.


At the same time, you can't control the weather. I decided I'd make the most of what was now an IronBrick. Besides, that run is pure brutality.

---

I started just before 9:40 AM. Temperature was mild, in the 70s, and it was overcast. There had been rain, but it cleared out just as I started. The first 30 miles were uneventful. I was killing it. I was ready; I had slept well the night before--got a full 8 hours of REM sleep--and was jacked.


Then, at about mile 35 of the bike, the clouds moved out, the sun moved in, the heat went up, and so did the humidity. I started feeling tired.


During the bike, I started out consuming Gatorade exclusively at every rest stop. But I felt like I was bonking at mile 50--very unusual--so I cut back on the Gatorade and went to water. Success!!!!


On the second loop of the bike, no one passed me. I saw athletes WALKING their bikes up what seemed like otherwise mild hills. I also saw a fair number of folks who had flats or other mechanical issues. They looked defeated.


Still, I felt good on the bike, although I haven't figured out how to prevent chafing. Body Glide is good but is still short of the glory. Oh well, a little chafing won't ruin my day.


I finished the bike in 7:37, and, other than the chafing, felt great. I would have finished faster, but I had to stop to pee several times. I haven't perfected the art of peeing in my pants while biking.

My goal for the bike was to have my legs ready for the run. Mission Accomplished!


I was also well-hydrated. Here is the Garmin file for my bike performance.


In transition, I was methodical: dried my feet, changed my socks, put on my running shoes, put on my race belt and back brace, and downed some gels and some water.


I figured I had 7 hours to do the run. Even in the Hell that is Ironman Chattanooga, this was doable.


Did I say I had my legs?


I was ready to OWN IronBitch; er, I mean Ms. Bravo.


Coming out of transition, I started slowly on the run: I jogged the grassy part coming out, then walked the uphill leading to the first bridge. I made a strategic plan to jog the downhills, walk the uphills, and run/walk the flats at a 50-step run/50-step walk pace.


I kept it very methodical, and paid close attention to my heart rate (HR). Coming out of transition, my HR jumped into Zone 4 too easily, so I made it a point to err on the side of going easy in the early stages.


As the sun started to set, and I started to get more shade in the park, my HR went down to Zone 3 on the jogs and Zone 2 on the walks. SUCCESS!!!!


When I reached mile 10, where IronBitch--er, I mean Ms. Bravo--stabbed me 3 years ago, I felt great this time, even as the hills of the North Shore were getting brutal. When I pulled into the halfway point--three years ago I was defeated--I was looking forward to meeting Ms. Bravo this time.


I was looking for her, calling her name!


Other than needing to poop--which I did at mile 15--I felt good, even though I was clearly getting slower. The fatigue was coming, but it wasn't the pale dread of bonking. I had beaten back Ms. Bravo's minions. I wanted to fight her.


Doing the math, I knew I was ahead of schedule, but I didn't want to get complacent either, because Ms. Bravo will make you pay for complacency. I knew what pace I needed to keep, and I was still on my target. Coming into mile 17, where I got pulled 3 years ago, I muttered, "Yippie Kiyay!"


I was tired, but I knew I was going to finish. I was jacked!


Yes, I had one more trip into North Shore for those hills.


Yes, it was going to suck.


But I was going to finish.


I saw those hills as a necessary evil. Every mile, I muttered, "Thank you sir, may I have another?" Then, with 5K to go, I spotted Ms. Bravo, the demonic killer of Ironman dreams, hiding in the bushes. She was crying. She asked me if she could walk with me.


"I'll take a HELL with the NO to GO..."


When I saw the marker for mile 25, I knew I was good to go. I was sore, but not that sore. I was tired, but it was more of an "I had a long day and I want to be done" kind of tired rather than an "Oh God please put me out of my misery!" tired. All I had to do was go up and over the bridge, make a turn, and head into the finisher chute.


The announcer at the athlete briefings had said 12:40 would be the cutoff. It was just past 12:20 AM. As I headed in, I looked for Wifey. Then, as I approached the chute, I saw her.


Her: "Speed up, the cutoff is 12:30 AM!"


Me: "No, it's 12:40, I'm fine!"


Her: "Are you sure?"


Me: "Yep!"

---

The bad news: we were both wrong.


The good news: I still made cutoff!


(They implemented a flexible cutoff, but they were trying to account for the advantage that athletes would have received from the easy swim. They had said 12:40, then suggested giving all athletes 14:40 total to finish. They settled on 14:50. All athletes who finished with times over 14:50 were DNFd, which just means they didn't accrue official points for Ironman-related programs. I beat it, but just within 5 minutes.)


As I crossed the finish line, the announcer looked at me, called my name--and he didn't butcher my last name, as most people do--and yelled, "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"


It was anticlimactic. My feeling was more along the lines of, "Mission Accomplished!" Wifey and I enjoyed the moment--Abigail was at the home of some friends and was sleeping--and headed out so we could get to bed.

Here is the file for my run performance.

---

In retrospect...


I ran the race I trained for. I figured the bike course would be hot and humid, and I had many long rides in hot, humid, crappy conditions. I was ready for that race.


And even though I had no long runs greater than 18 miles--and none of them with hills like North Shore--I trained in hot weather, and simulated running with tired legs. I kept a smart strategy of walking the uphills and capitalizing on the downhills, and it worked.


My final time was close to the cutoff, only because running is my weakest area due to my back, hip, and knee issues.


My mission was to get a decent bike performance that left me enough time to do a run within my physical limits. I did exactly that.


But there was something that stuck out from the race...


In the run, I was tempted many times to walk the flats on the second loop and instead chose to jog them.


Had I walked them, I would have been DNFd.


I believe that temptation to walk was Ms. Bravo trying to lure me into a backstabbing. And the conscious need to jog when I could, that was God yelling from the corner and warning me of the trick play.


Sure, there was no swim, and for that reason I feel like I still may have to attempt another race at that distance.


Still, after talking to several finishers who had multiple Ironmans under their belts, the word out was that, even without the swim, this was harder than most Ironmans.


I believe it.


Had this been Louisville, the bike course would have been slightly harder--but 4 miles shorter--but the run would have been a joke, as it is all flat. Where the Chattanooga run course took me 7 hours, I would have cleared the Louisville course in under 6. And the Louisville swim course, while tougher than Chattanooga, is still pretty easy.


As I process everything I went through to get to this point, I am pondering whether to sign up for another Ironman, just to get in all three disciplines.


My heart says, "Yes, this would be fun! I was ready, I can do this again!" And I must admit, flipping off Ms. Bravo was kind of fun.


On the other hand, my hips, back, and knees are screaming at me, telling me, "Why do you hate us so much???"


In addition, the risk of weather-related cancellations is always there: last year, I had a half-Iron triathlon cancelled due to storms. This year, Ironman North Carolina was cancelled due to hurricane damage in Wilmington.


Even though athletes were allowed to defer to another date, how would you like it if you trained for a big race, only to end up deferring to an "alternate" race in 6 months due to a storm-related cancellation? And a full-Ironman can run about a thousand dollars.


Ultimately, this was an official finish, and it was my best ultra-endurance performance.


And I won my rematch with Ms. Bravo.

---

*DNF: Did Not Finish. It denotes someone who either (a) started the race and, due to a number of factors, did not finish, or (b) those who finished but missed an official cutoff time. Ironman events typically have stingy cutoff times. That's part of the Ironman lore.

Doing RAIN in the Rain: After-Action Report, Ride Across Indiana

Going into this year, I had two bucket-list items I wanted to tackle: Ride Across Indiana (RAIN) and an Iron-distance triathlon. I had hoped to do those last year, but life got in the way--good, but challenging events--and I had to pass on those. Instead, I settled for the Kentucky Century Challenge and a smaller triathlon.

I enjoyed those rides, which included the Bourbon and Bluegrass Ride--arguably the best century ride in Kentucky last year. But this year, I decided to tackle RAIN and Ironman Chattanooga (IMCHOO). My plan was to use RAIN as a training ride for IMCHOO.

RAIN is exactly what the name describes: a ride across the width of Indiana. They bill it as "one day, one way, 160 miles". The course is mostly flat, but it does have some significant climbs--long but not really steep--to keep you honest. While I'm an experienced century (100+ mile) rider, I'd never taken my bike longer than 115 miles on one day. And at IMCHOO, the bike distance is going to be 116 miles. I looked at RAIN as a means to get myself mentally prepared for the long grind of the bike course of IMCHOO.

Going into RAIN, my plan was simple: aim for the same RPE (rate of perceived exertion) that I plan to aim for the bike portion of IMCHOO. I figured if I felt good at the Greenfield rest stop (almost mile 115), I will be in a good place as my final ten weeks to IMCHOO commences.

The week of the ride had me concerned about the weather outlook: all week, the indicators were for thunderstorms on race day. I wasn't worried about rain--I've biked in conditions that included both rain and cold temperatures--but I'm no longer fast enough to dodge lightning. My hope was for the rain the be light to moderate.

I hoped to finish RAIN inside 12 hours: I was giving myself room for rain delays and even a bonk on the last portion of the ride.

In a nutshell, I was pleasantly surprised.

The temperature at the start of the race was probably in the low to mid-60s. Very comfortable. Skies were overcast with the forecast calling for sporadic rain.

The first rest stop was at mile 40, so I had the following: water in my Speedfil hydration bottle, Gatorade in my secondary bottle, and pancake syrup for my emergency carbohydrates for late in the race.

It was so comfortable that, for that 40-mile stretch, I never went to the Gatorade. Coming into the first rest stop, I was wet from the rain but otherwise comfortable. Timewise, I was killing it by my standards, averaging just north of 17 mph. I felt VERY good, almost like I was barely working.

The line at the rest stop was long, but--after a little delay--I snuggled with my baby girl, chatted with my wife, filled up on carbs and topped off my water bottle and got moving.

The second rest stop was about 25 miles. Again, it felt effortless. There was rain, but that had a cooling effect and actually made the ride more enjoyable. The wind was light but at our backs.

At mile 60, with 100 miles to go, I joked with one of the riders: "I think I'm warmed up for my century ride now!"

Going into rest stop #2, I actually felt rested. I chatted with the wife, snuggled with my baby girl, filled my water bottle, got my carbs, and got moving.

The 29 miles between rest stops 2 and 3 also felt effortless. It was the best I'd ever felt at that stage of any century-distance ride. I noticed some chafing, but I wasn't tired. I hung out with the wife and baby, downed some lunch, topped off my water bottles, and got moving again. Next stop: Greenfield, IN.

The 29 miles into Greenfield were difficult, but only due to the Indianapolis traffic: we had several long red lights, a few stop signs at busy intersections, and one train delay at a railroad crossing. Those slowed me down by about 10-12 minutes. Otherwise, the stretch was good.

At Greenfield (Garmin had me at mile 113), I felt VERY good. For the most part, I felt like I had accomplished one of my goals for the day.

The rest of the ride was 47 miles of nice highway on US-40 going into Richmond, with a stop 19 miles in at Dunreith.

Just as I pulled into Dunreith, we got our hardest downpour of the day. But it was short-lived.

At Dunreith, I got some last-minute carbs just for insurance purposes. I also made sure to top off my water bottle and Gatorade bottle. Snuggled my baby, kissed my wife, promised her I'd take it easy on the slick roads. 28 more miles to the finish.

At that point, I wasn't so much tired as much as I was just wanting to be done. My worst problem was chafing, not fatigue. I felt like, if the race were 200 miles, I had enough in the tank to get that done.

That last 28 miles were really nice. That stretch of US-40 coming out of Greenfield was, on its own, worth the ride. We had an entire lane to ourselves, it was well-maintained, it was flat. (Well, except for the two final climbs.)

With 14 miles to go, I went to my emergency carbohydrates--my pancake syrup--for the first time. And I only did that as a precaution, as I knew there were a couple climbs at the end.

At mile 151, we had a long climb: not a steep climb, but a long one. I felt like hammering through it as hard as I could, but I stuck to my plan of sticking to my planned Ironman RPE.

At about mile 157, we had another climb: not as long as the one at 151, but enough to let us know how good the flats were. When that was over, I knew the finish was near.

Sure enough, as my Garmin indicated I was on the last mile, I saw the cones directing us to the finish at Earlham College.

I finished right at 5:30PM. My total time was 10 hours and 30 minutes, including the port-a-potty lines at the rest stops, the long red lights, the one railroad delay, and a few long delays at intersections.

According to my Garmin, my total moving time was 9 hours and 30 minutes. 16.8 mph average. And to my surprise, I was able to hold a 16+ pace well into the final stretch. My drop-off at the end was due to the two long climbs and some red lights. I did not bonk.

That was my fastest pace of ANY century ride. Even at the end, I was nailing solid split times, better than any of my training rides. Normally, my legs are gone at the end; not this time.

On the positive side:

(1) My preparation for IMCHOO appears to be going well. I now have 5 century+ distances for the season, and even in the off-weeks I'm getting solid bike-run combos in. My performance at RAIN was better than any of my previous rides--training, scheduled events, even the sub-100s.

I hit it out of the park.

(2) I was able to maintain my RPE throughout the ride. I expected to bonk, but it never happened.

(3) The weather was perfect. All of my prior training rides had been in hot and humid conditions with persistent headwinds. This time, I got good weather, and my body rewarded me.

Overall, the folks who worked RAIN put on a great event. The rest-stops were well-stocked, the course was well-marked, the police did a wonderful job of patrolling the tough intersections.

If you can do at least 80 miles of hilly riding, you can do RAIN. If you're an experienced century rider and want to expand your horizons to get some bragging rights, this is a ride for you.

If you want a long ride for a regular annual challenge, this is a ride for you.

This was my favorite long ride to date. I give it 5 stars.

Warning About "Heartland Endurance" or "Midwest Events" or Any Endurance Event Tied to T.J. Tryon

Last year, I completed my first triathlon: it was the Toughman Indiana-Noblesville, a half-Iron distance event featuring a 1.2-mile swim, a 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1-mile run. I was DFL, but it was a lot of fun.

It was a joint effort of the Toughman franchise and Heartland Endurance Sports. A good time was had.

My wife appreciated the laid-back atmosphere of the non-IM-branded events. We decided we wanted to do this race again.

So, at the earliest chance, I registered for Toughman Indiana-Noblesville for 2017.

In the early part of this year, apparently Toughman dropped the event, and one of the business partners with Heartland Endurance dropped out, so T.J. Tryon--who had been part of last year's Toughman event--refashioned it as the Noblesville Moresman Triathlon. It was slated for May 20, 2017.

The race conditions this time, however, were tenuous, as the weather outlook called for severe thuderstorms, and they were apparently moving in right around the start of the race. The night before the race, T.J. cancelled the event due to weather.

While many folks were angry--the cancellation did seem premature--it was understandable: the weather outlook really WAS pretty bad. Even if you kill the swim due to lightning risks, lightning can also be a hazard on the bike and run as well. He said he would try to reschedule.

On June 30, I received an e-mail: the triathlon had been rescheduled for September 30. I was elated. I was going to get a chance to do a long race this year. After all I'd been through, this was going to be enjoyable.

In the first week of September, however, I found out that a good friend of mine--Col. Ronald D. Ray (USMCR), a decorated war veteran of Vietnam and former Deputy Secretary of Defense under President Reagan--was going to be inducted into the Kentucky Veterans Hall of Fame on September 30, with the ceremonial dinner on September 29.

I wouldn't miss that for the world. There will be other triathlons.

Still, I had friends who were racing the triathlon, and I was eager to follow their progress.

At 1:23AM, T.J. Tryon sent the following email:

Good morning,

This is the last thing you want to hear, and the last thing that I want to have to say, but I wanted to make sure that you were the first to know that, at 11:17PM tonight, we were forced to make the decision to cancel the Noblesville Triathlon. This race will not be rescheduled. We failed you, and we know an apology will not suffice at this moment. 

Please give me and my family give us a few days to get through this, gather our thoughts, and we will be in touch.

In spite of the conditions being perfect--excellent weather, no rain, low-moderate wind, and water temps at 72F--he cancelled.

People who had spent good money, driven or flown, checked into hotels, and packed their gear for a race, would wake up to a cancellation for no good reason.

Fellow triathletes: do not register for anything that has T.J. Tryon's name associated with it. If you want to race similar events, there are plenty of them in Indiana and Ohio if you wish to stick to that region. Indianapolis has an active triathlon community, as does the state of Ohio. They have plenty of races for every distance from sprint to Olympic to half-Iron. They have duathlons and aquabike (swim-bike). They have century rides.

And they have reputable organizations with years of race production experience to get it done right. On the high end, you have Ironman (Muncie and Ohio), but there are others such as America's Multisport and Racemaker Productions. And they, by all accounts, put on good events. In Kentucky, Headfirst Performance puts on some excellent triathlons.

Perhaps T.J. needs to work for some of these organizations and get a better feel for what it takes to pull off one of these events so he will be able to comprehend the organization required to do it. It is likely that he is in over his head (that would be a charitable assessment). But he has done enough damage to the racing community and needs to, at the bare minimum, re-assess his competencies in this area.

Finally, The Execution I Wanted: After-Action Report, Louisville Landsharks Triathlon 2017

I was originally planning on doing the half-Iron distance Morseman Triathlon in Noblesville, IN, on September 30. But due to a conflicting event--a friend of mine is getting inducted into the Kentucky Veterans Hall of Fame--I decided to pass and do a different event.

So I signed up for the Louisville Landsharks Triathlon (LLT), which was scheduled for September 17. (This made for a much better race than last year, when they had it in the dead of July.) Originally, I planned on doing the Olympic distance, as that is the distance I did last year at the LLT. But my church was having a special training event, and I didn't want to miss the start of it.

So I opted for the Sprint distance.

The LLT, held at Taylorsville Lake, offers a very challenging course.

The swim is fairly smooth and straightforward: there is very little current. The Sprint distance is basically a loop along the shoreline. (The Olympic distance does two loops.) The hardest part of the swim is the enrance and exit--it's easy to slip on the boat ramp. And the trek to transition (T1) is uphill.

The bike features a nasty climbout in the first half-mile, followed by mostly rolling hills--two significant climbs and descents, one going out and one coming back--before going down that steep climb on the way to transition (T2). The Olympic distance goes out for six and a half more miles of rolling hills before the turnaround.

The run features that same nasty climbout, followed by rolling hills, with a nice downhill finish on that steep climbout. The Olympic distance is the same, only it goes out farther.

The worst things about the run, other than the steep climbout: there is virtually no shade. On a sunny day, you're going to feel the heat.

--

My goal for this race was simple: good execution. I was in shape for this race; truth be told, I was in plenty good shape for the Olympic distance. While I had no expectations of an elite time, my goal was to swim, bike, and run at the levels I had achieved in practice. I knew that, with the swim, I should easily be able to get it inside 25 minutes, preferably around 22 or better. I knew that I was capable of at least a 15 mph pace on the hilly course. I also knew that, aside from the climbout, I should be able to get close to a 12-minute pace on the run. Even with a back brace, that should be doable.

While I tend to be methodical in transitions, I also aimed to keep my total transition time inside 10 minutes.

---

I had considered ditching the wetsuit for this swim, given that the water temperature was 74F. But I thought better of it; I had always done my open-water swims with wetsuits, so I would keep it for this one.

That turned out to be a wise move, as it helped me acclimate to the water much better.

The swim was very smooth and uneventful. The water was comfortable, and I felt like I could swim all day. I almost threw in a second loop for the heck of it, but--no, stupid, this is a RACE!

According to the Garmin, I finished the swim in 22:40. pretty much nailed my target.

Coming out of the swim, they had wetsuit strippers--this helped greatly. After getting the wetsuit off, I put on my flip-flops and jogged to T1. I filled up my Speedfil bottle, took a swig of Gatorade, got my jersey, bike shoes, and helmet on--I made a tactical move to go sockless--and went out.

T1 time was 5:13.

The half-mile climbout was as tough as I remembered from last year, but--surprisingly--my legs recovered quickly and I was going full aero. While I geared down on some of the longer hills, I made it a point to attack more on the rollers. That turned out to be a good move.

On the bike, only one person passed me, and I would pass several athletes.

According to the Garmin, I finished the bike in 48:43.

Going into T2, I felt really good. I dismounted, strapped on my back brace, put on my Hokas--remaining sockless--and headed out. I decided that, because they were serving water on the run course, that I would leave my water bottles.

That climbout, on the run, kicked my butt. I walked up that hill. But after that, I ran the rest of the way, even on the uphills. I was repeatedly passed by this one gal who was running a wise strategy. She was clearly a better runner, although I beat her on the swim-bike split. But I held my own with her until the end. I started developing a blister on my left foot--probably for going sockless and not using Body Glide--or I probably would have raced her at the end. But I still had a good clip going in my own right.

I finished the run in 34:42, an 11:21 pace. Not bad for running with a back brace on a very hilly course.

Overall, I finished in 1:54:13. Not an elite time, but definitely very respectable given my health issues and the course difficulty. It gives me a glimpse of what is possible and provides a good measure of where I stand in terms of my fitness.

On the positives:

(1) That was near-perfect execution. I hit every one of my goals for this race. I swam, biked, and ran what I was capable of running. That was a tough course, but I showed up to execute and get it done.

(2) My bike-run bricks and hill work is paying off. On the bike, I came just short of a 16 mph pace. I would not have been able to do that last year on that course.

(3) My swim is improving. This is a pleasant surprise, as I have not swam as much this year as I did last year. However, I HAVE made the most of my open-water swim opportunities, and that is paying off.

Where I need to improve:

(1) Power. I'm not there yet, but there are signs of good change. The last couple years, I've been all endurance but no power. But I've been experimenting with High Intensity Interval Training (HIIT) as a means to get power to go with my endurance. Today, I got some payoff from that.

(2) Power-to-weight ratio. The last couple years, I've been about 10 pounds above ideal. If I can drop those ten pounds, that will get me up those hills more efficiently and help me on the margins.

(3) Swimming. I lack coordination on my left side, and if I can get to where I can breathe bilaterally, that may give me the marginal speed I need on the swim.

But today was a very good day.

Here is the Garmin output.

After-Action Report: Bourbon and Bluegrass Ride 2017

This year, the Kentucky Century Challenge folks added a new--the Bourbon and Bluegrass Ride (BBR)--to a lineup that includes the Redbud Ride, The Horsey Hundred, Bike Morehead, and the Hub City Tour.

I had already completed the Redbud (at least the makeup ride), Horsey Hundred, and Bike Morehead. Morehead had been downright brutal: most of my group agreed that Morehead had been one of the hardest rides due to the heat, humidity, bad road quality, and one missing rest stop in the worst possible section, not to mention some really tough climbs that made the total elevation of under 5,000 feet seem deceptive.

In contrast, BBR was billed as a comparatively flat ride.

For the day, the weather was about as good as one could expect for an August day in Kentucky: morning temp was 57F, with highs getting into the low-80s. With a total elevation gain of roughly 1,700 feet, BBR is easily the flattest century course in Kentucky.

Not only that, the BBR is also the SAFEST of the century rides: with the entire course being on lightly-traveled roads. The only main road exposure are a few instances of crossing those roads, and even then those spots are marked well.

Not surprisngly, the turnout was pretty substantial. The ride begins and ends at O.Z. Tyler Distillery in Owensboro. The total course is 102 miles.

---

We started at 0700.

The first 20 miles was the easiest 20 miles ever. our pace group, once we got out of the city, was easily pulling 17-18 mph. I was barely sweating heading into the first rest stop. There were long port-a-potty lines, so we lingered a bit.

The next 15 miles were just as easy: we also pulled about the same pace--17-18 mph--and felt really good going into the mile 35 stop. My only complication: I got tied up in the port-a-potty line and my group left without me. The next 12 miles weren't bad, although there were some nasty headwinds that slowed me a bit. Still, going into the stop at mile 47, I felt really good.

The next 15 miles were a little tougher, although--checking my time at 56 miles (the half-Iron bike distance), I was under 3:30, better than a 16 mph pace. This was my best split for that distance to date, and it was on a course not unlike the triathlon I have next month. I was happy. But between mile 56 and 62, we had some significant climbing. Not as bad as Morehead, but it was significant.

Still, we all felt good going into the rest stop at mile 62.

The rest of the ride was tougher due to more hills and headwinds, but still wasn't as bad as the other rides. I did have one incident: at about mile 68, pulling out from a stop, my chain came off. Then my bike tipped over to the left. I couldn't get my left cleat unclicked in time. So I went down and got a nice scrape on my left knee.

'Twas just a flesh wound!

Complicating matters, I accidentally stopped my Garmin. As a result, I only got my ride through mile 68. So I re-started the Garmin to capture the rest of the ride. So my Ownesboro ride is actually TWO rides on my Garmin!

Heading into the mile 72 stop, we all felt really good. We wanted to be done, but we weren't hurting either.

The next 12 miles featured a little climbing, but mostly flats. It was getting warm, but not unbearable. We pulled into the rest stop at mile 84 feeling very good.

The last 18 miles featured three medium climbs, but other than that, it was flat. We had a couple riders who missed a turn, so we waited for them. But we were otherwise doing fine.

On the positive end:

• That was my best pace at any 100-mile ride. Even with the hills, my riding pace was slightly better than my Redbud makeup ride, the latter of which was flatter.
• I spent most of my ride in the big ring.
• Even late into the ride, I found myself able to pull at 17+ mph on the flats.
• I had my best 56-mile split. In fact, I met my goal of getting inside 3:30.
• Unlike my Redbud makeup ride, after which I was very sore, I was only mildly stiff after this one. In fact, I had no problem driving 2 hours home, and then driving 8 hours the next day.

My only negative: I must get better at climbing. I am all endurance but no power. Improving in that area will require more power work, and losing some weight. If I can get a little better at the climbing, I will be in better position to hold my target pace on a full-Iron bike course.

Here is the Garmin version:

First 68 miles 

Last 34 miles

Overall, this was by far the the most enjoyable of the century rides; it was well-organized, almost as well as the Horsey Hundred. The course was perfect. The weather was perfect. They did a wonderful job on the rest stops. And the road quality was as close to perfect as you can get.

If you are looking to get into centuries, this is an ideal ride. If you are an experienced rider, this is a ride to get a PR.

This needs to be a regular stop for the Kentucky Century Challenge.