There for the Taking - a run route I love

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When we settled into this region west of Toronto, it was primarily to serve one of our son's special education needs. The farthest thing on my mind was running trails and it would be over three years after moving here before I'd take up triathlon. I began with prowling around our suburban streets as most city slickers are wont to do, but I quickly turned restless as my mileage demands increased. This entailed a lot of sideways glances down pathways and park lanes, but there was not much reprieve from traffic until I ventured into a provincial park only four kms from where we live.

What follows is a photo essay of one of the myriad runs possible there. I shot the pics while I ran, to see about giving a sense of movement, just to see how it came out...

Three minutes of gentle, street-side jogging will get one to the "trailhead"


A look left reveals the valley cut by Bronte Creek...
The crushed limestone path briefly dwindles into a more rugged single-track trail
At one point it leads downhill, one of the few spots you need to watch your footing on very carefully.


Within perhaps 100m it levels off again, and the surface is a cushy stretch of ultra padded packed dirt. 1km


What goes down must come up - a mirror of the previous slope takes us back up to "poolside" elevation


Trouble in paradise: the municipality has decided the quaintness must go, so sewers and paving it is for the outliers. No matter, this will continue for only another few moments...


The road veers right, we bear left and pick up the resumption of what has evolved into a formal MUP (Multi-Use Path), which now runs for more than another km behind a school and more homes. Keep an eye out for dogs & their owners seemingly wanting to start a game of jump rope with you & their leash.


Now it gets interesting. At the verge of civilization, where the park takes over, the march of progress stumbles at the end of the MUP, where the final new curbs and paving delineate the beginning of the real meat-and-potatoes stage of the run.
It's either turn left now or keep running straight into the lake.


The previous left turn at Albuquerque was near 3kms into the run. After passing through a very uninspiring service vehicle yard on this perimeter of the park, one winds up on the compressed gravel ring road loop used only by park vehicles. A few minutes on this brings us to a significant bend in the road...... the rounding of which reveals a small side path. This should be taken. The road less travelled and all that...


We are now in the Very Good Place. 4km in. Forest canopy, quiet, fewer yappy dogs, soft padded trail underfoot, no traffic lights, the chipmunks yield our right of way... it's delightful. Just don't veer too far to the left or it's lights out.


At the clearing ahead is a lookout platform...

View from the lookout platform. The darkness of the creek can be seen down below. Heart rate's up, though, no time to dilly-dally...


Every glance to the side provides a nice view of the valley...


Beautiful day for a run. But don't stop to watch the wheels go 'round...


Just ahead, a clearing. Approaching 5kms.


It may be tempting to veer left on the smaller path, but twisted ankles lurk behind every foot fall. It's best to head straight for the cornfield.

Cornfield?! This far into suburbia? Believe it. Hang a sharp left just before you strike cobs.This is the Five K Kurve... halfway along this arc is exactly five kms from the start. A u-turn here gives a nice pre-work morning run. But, this being the weekend...

... we carry on.


A few small rolling segments add some variation to the route...
About 5.5km along, another 90 deg. right turn...

Looking to the right, a hay bale storage building...

A sharp left-hander takes one behind the "Maple Toffee House", a converted Victorian farm house used as a museum. In the backyard in March, staff dressed in period clothing roll heated maple syrup around Popsicle sticks over snow, creating heavenly, albeit jaw-binding, treats for visitors...


A rightward glance finds some of the museum's outbuildings and Norman Rockwell's idle thresher...

Now approaching the most distant point on the circuit, as we embark on an enclosed 1km loop...


The sacred and profane: just over that berm in the distance is the Queen Elizabeth Way ('way?), all eight lanes of it...

... all thunder, all the time. (traffic camera image; luckily we don't see this)
In a few hundred metres we can put it all behind us again.


A squirrel's eye view of the trail. Luckily, it is largely smooth, no worries about twisted ankles through here.


Passing lane, handy for sprinting by trios of walkers bogged down by their Fuelbelts and labradors.


Beyond the slope is a sheer drop; best to watch one's footing through here.


The 1km loop being completed, you are spit back out to begin the return leg. But wait... a sign ahead points to more options...Hang a sharp right at the sign for some invigorating hill workouts.

A steep path to the left is masked by leaves, so stairs it is. This is where we begin the descent to creek level.



Stop at the bottom of this first flight, and turn around to admire the depths you're sinking to...

Enough staring. Turn back around and keep going down the slope.With the right mix of weather & timing, you may be graced with some "god rays", easily worth 10 secs/km.
Another staircase brings one down further (seen on the right, from creek level) The arrow shows an alternative slope when the time comes to return. For now, though, we head toward the creek...Hang a right at the fork ("you never go wrong when you go right") and right again to enter the longest loop available. Suddenly the sound changes underfoot, and there's a spring in your step...The boardwalk indicates we can't get much lower than this. Luckily traction's not bad, at least on dry days...
After the boardwalk ends, we continue along what, in MTB parlance, is referred to as single track...This eventually widens out at a 't' intersection. Hang a right to get to the water's edge...hmmmmm... come to think of it, what was that plant I pushed out of the way back there??


If you had misplaced a salmon-choked creek, your search is over...

Back into the forest...
A staircase is to the right; we can bypass this Rocky Route by taking a ramp a bit further on
about 40% of the way up would be the horizon line
As you gasp for breath, tilt the head back and admire the foliage

Another lookout looms in the distanceJudging by the dodgy railing in the centre of the pic, we may have stumbled upon a veritable Lovers' Leap. How quaint.

Already rising high up from the creek
Before the final ascent to "ground level" we pass the "Grizzly Tree"
Local legend has it that a group of skinny-dipping college students were caught with their pants down by a passing grizzly high on salmon. Authorities thought the massacre was foul play, given the largest wildlife found in this region was typically overfed raccoons. Yet this tree stripped bare of bark stands as a testimony to one eye witness account from that night: "...[it was] like some huge furry creature running along the trail... I knew it wasn't a runner because it didn't have a heart rate monitor..."
If the little hairs on the back of your neck begin to rise, use this opportunity to squeeze in some intervals up the remaining slope, trying to not imagine a grizzly running after you, reminding yourself that the panting you hear is really your own hyperventilation...

If you stumble or fall or anything Darwinian like that get the hell up fast because... theremaybeagrizzlychasingyou! Ha. Made ya look. (If you come upon any hikers or dog walkers who inquire about having heard a little girl's scream, tell them that yes, you heard it too and are running to the park ranger's office to report it.)

Emerging from the forested creek loop is signalled by a brilliant sumac bush in full autumn fire, situated at a 't' intersection... Turning right will start the journey home...
The Five K Kurve again. Depending on what kind of day it's been - and how well breakfast went down - we're either just over 20 minutes or just under 30 from home!The sun has risen more fully now, bringing everything into greater relief...The final forested leg begins :(

Signs of civilization! A couple of runners round the bend of the five kilometre "ring road" during one of many fundraising runs hosted by the park... The arrow indicates an abandoned silo. The runners will turn left here to continue raising funds, while we veer right on the journey to pancakes and espresso.

On longer runs it's a treat being able to stop at one of the washrooms encircling the park, just steps off the road, for a quick splash-n-dashVerdict: good flow, cool but not cold, and neutral-tasting. A delightful pit stop. Easy to overdo it, especially compared to drinking from a cup at an aid station.

To avoid the madding crowds on this day: a handy Plan B escape route to the border of the park:
This spits us out on the final stretch of ring road heading into the maintenance yard, the gateway to this whole shebang...The hydro towers in the distance confirm the party is nearly over...


With less than three km. to go we're on the last stretch of paved MUP behind houses and the school, still tracking the edge of the ravine to the creek...One last short but sweet slope about 1km. from home. Must keep all but the most desperate of bodily sounds in check here, as you never know who is just on the other side of the fences. Just sayin'...

An access path between houses on the left will bring us back onto the city streets, minutes from the end. By now, highway sounds from the north end of this route - the four lane Dundas Speedway, er, Street, seen on the bridge over the creek to the right - are loud enough to mask most of those pent up bodily sounds.

Suddenly that's it. We covered about 14½ kms/9 miles. Had we run a fund-raising bandit lap of the ring road: another 5km - not a bad way to start the day! I thank my lucky stars every time I run this, knowing what we have to endure in other times and places just to get our mileage in.

Road2Hope Half Marathon

do not press. This is just a logo, for decorative purposes only...


01:38:26 - 15th out of 92 AG, 158/1359 OA

Today was a great finish to a great season, at least to this codger's eyes. Wound up nine seconds quicker than my calculations in the McMillan Running Calculator!

A chilly morning, ~5 deg. C, and I was dressed fairly well for it but will trust the system next year to pack extra warmup clothes and use their bag transfer system back to the finish line at Confederation Park. There was shivering, but at least we had the local school gymnasium for warmth, aided in no small way by the few thousand bodies milling within.
Note to self: must get the name of the half-marathoner who sang our national anthem beforehand. If that set of pipes held up for his run, he was destined for a PR.

Lessons learned: trust the instincts to replace my shoes sooner... I was stretching a glide on mileage, telling myself I'd kick off the off-season with a new pair, and I think fresher cushioning would have helped the paws today, given that my only physical complaint afterwards was sore soles.
I also clearly spoiled myself with running on trails to the extent I did; I think Bronte Creek's pathways didn't toughen me up sufficiently for the solid impacts of pavement and concrete; a full marathon distance today would have degenerated into blisters and hobbling.

I was chuffed to pass the 10k mark in the 43 min. range, faster than my standalone 10k time from the Moon in June race. It was cool running down the escarpment's grade on the closed off Red Hill Valley Parkway. This no doubt accounted for the lion's share of the four minute edge I tallied over my intended pace at the 12k mark (and perhaps the downhill impacts further mashed my soles!) Nevertheless, I enjoyed the free speed and could only dream of tearing down there, traffic-free, on my bike. Heck, even my Corolla would be a delight if it could slice through apexes without shoulder checks and signals.

Terrific volunteers were hawking their provisions like Marrakech market vendors. I only wished I was more dehydrated so I could take them up on their offers. While I ended up gargling down a couple of eLoad drinks around the 15k mark, that was it, per my training regimen of keeping it light & simple.

Big turnout, decent weather - for the time of year it was, friendly folks, what could be better? Ah yes, seeing a friend qualify for Boston! Kudos to you, Campbell. Next time, just don't cut it quite so close, as I don't think my heart can take much more of that!

UPDATE: Tuesday 5:20am - Ha! Forget the feet, they're fine enough; what I've really noticed is some late-onset stiffness/tenderness in my quads! Old ladies ask if they can help me walking down stairs at the college. I haven't felt this worn out in memory (and heaven knows I have a lot to remember). Not to worry, this tells me I really hustled and left nothing behind. Next time, though, I may dial down the Juggernaut setting on my downhill segments!

Bike Lanes + Rumble Strips...

... a possible marriage made in heaven? The thinking I've got behind this is that if we can lend a "tooth" (better yet, "fang") to our lanes where they are most exposed, like long bridge merges, we will rattle some drivers to alertness. More to come on this...

Muskoka - my 1st HIM (& the reasons why Crowie edged me out for the win)

It's not every time a person gets to compete in their first half iron distance triathlon against the current world champion, so I was relishing a chance to duke it out with Craig Alexander (AKA Crowie) in Subaru's Ironman 70.3 Muskoka.

Let's skip the suspense: although I kept him honest, the two-time defending champ had the upper hand on me all day, squeaking under my time by nearly two hours when it was all said and done. Fine, he beat me fair and square. And although we share so much in common (wears bright shoes, squints in the sun, racing at the same venue) there are practically as many differences, some of which were extenuating circumstances that gave him the upper hand from the get go. For instance:

- He almost certainly slept better than me. I recall waking up in the dark Sunday morning, quite wide-eyed and refreshed, thinking to myself I must be just ahead of the alarm, and I began excitedly anticipating the day like a little kid on December 25th. Then I glanced at the clock - 12:35 a.m. It took me hours to drift back to sleep, and the timid bleeping of my Timex failed to rouse me when it mattered most; I slept for another hour before stirring.
Craig, on the other hand, likely woke up to a programmed travel alarm featuring a choir of exotic finches tuned to a pitch pipe. His clothing was no doubt laid out on rose petals on the other, unused king-sized bed in the Deerhurst - the event's host resort, a mere elevator's descent from the swim start.
It's no stretch to imagine he was likely downing a freshly-squeezed OJ in one of the Deerhurst's myriad in-house restaurants while I was prancing around on one foot tugging my Smart Wool socks over my high-instep arches as I tried to waken my somnolent adolescent sons, at the same time looking for the half-finished banana I'd only moments ago set down somewhere either in the kitchen, the living room, the front door, the bathroom, the balcony, or one of my Sidis so I wouldn't forget it.

- While we feverishly piled into our Corolla and sped past the entrance of the event to the parking zone so we could catch a shuttle to transition (actually a pretty good system, all logistics considered) I can picture Crowie watching his crew pump up his tires, tossing bons mots to the press in his engaging Aussie accent.

- The threat of rain was very real; weather radar showed scattered showers throughout the region, so I set up all of my transition supplies inside my long narrow plastic wetsuit bag. And by set up I mean tossed - I had no choice, being one of the final people to leave T1 before it was closed. Meanwhile, Crowie was being introduced over the PA system 400m away at the swim start. It appears he and his elite cohorts drew the initial start wave. Fine, I thought, I could spot him that. Even though I'm in the final wave, and everyone ahead will have peed in the lake, and, by the end of the day also drunk all the Gatorade, and squeezed all the gels, I'll spot him that because he's a champion. When it was all said and done my success would be that much sweeter. I'd be the underdog, the sleeper. Besides, I still hadn't yet wrestled into my wetsuit so I wasn't ready.
Question for other triathletes: What's your experience with wet carbon fibre braking? Are Swiss Stop Yellows sufficient (only cork pads are bad?) or do you pack your training clinchers for a last minute swap on threatening mornings? Those of you who have two sets of deep profile race wheels for just such an occasion don't even bother answering, because I hate you.

- All along I was determined to keep everything as simple as possible. My long training was with just Gatorade and gels for hydration and calories, my data was simply a Timex with chrono function, and I stashed the heart rate monitor months ago, once I had a sense for my RPE. My strides' and strokes' cadences were consistent and I just wanted to focus on self-awareness for this event. Besides, I knew my ADD would cause my head to explode if I tried to fancy things up too much. As if an omen to vindicate my approach, I happened upon a friend of mine, Jackie (Kona-bound this fall) who was starting in the wave ahead of me. She was resigned to a last minute battery failure in her Garmin, and displayed the sang froid of a champion, declaring she practically relished the thought of racing now with no details to distract from the experience of the event itself. (She ended up winning her AG)

- At this point the horn sounded and a cheer rose up from the crowd further down the pathway out of sight. That meant Crowie was gone and we'd not even yet seen one another. Not so much as a G'day, mate!

SWIM: 1.9 km - 40:09, 2:01/100m, 30/56 AG, 482/863 OA
The lake was calm, water temp quite ideal, a very good start on the day.
There was a confidence in knowing I had followed my plan in training, still, this being my longest race swim to date, the distances between buoys really got my attention. As I was standing on the beach wondering how it would look to climb out of my wetsuit and join my family on the other side of the fence, our horn blared and my day began in earnest. I left as one of the last half dozen or so entrants in the entire event,
determined at all costs to avoid the pummelling I'd endured in my Olympic in July. My focus was long, calm strokes, perhaps trying out some drafting on any laggards' feet I might come upon. What transpired surprised me. Within 50m I had unintentionally caught up to the pack and was now sluicing my way through said laggards. To my great relief most everyone seemed to want to make it through this event unscathed, though after the first 90* right hand turn (we were covering a large, clock-wise rectangle) I spent a few hundred metres with another swimmer who seemed convinced our destination was about one degree on the far side of me. We slowly veered together at least 10 times, like a couple of aquatic drunkards trying to squeeze through an imaginary doorway after closing time.
For the remainder of the swim I continually held back on my feeble kicking so I wouldn't blow up, and my arm pull was deliberately a bit short, not fully back to the "thumb on the thigh" exit it could be... will save that for next year, now knowing how this level of exertion feels. Passing many green- and blue-capped swimmers gave me hope that my year of concerted swim practice would keep me off the bottom of the time sheets. The final 1,000m was uneventful, at least until I approached the temporary staircase we were to exit by. Perhaps in my late arrival I missed the RD's announcement to not veer too far right, to avoid the silty mud. I stepped right in it and sank a half foot or so. What a sensual experience that was. One of the strapping young volunteers hauling swimmers up chuckled and suggested I may want to take a different route next time. Duly noted. I was just happy to be greeted by a smiling human after this length of swim; this must be how the Apollo astronauts felt when bobbing around at sea and the frogmen lifted their hatch... except they were drier and much more famous.

I glanced at my watch while unzipping, it read fully 5 minutes faster than my outside hopes. Short course? Perhaps, but I'll take it! It certainly gave me a thrill deep inside; I was harbouring a distant hope I could break six hours on this course in my baptism to longer, tougher races. Knowing it's not appropriate to set time goals for new distances, I tried my best to keep it a secret from myself.

The wetsuit stripping went smoothly. Nothing quasi-erotic there, as my three-way comprised a lady who reminded my of my grade school principle and her adolescent - albeit friendly - son. We were done in no time. Thank heavens I didn't cramp up going turtle on them; I thanked them profusely, and began gingerly running barefoot up the steep ~400m of pavement to T1. (for those of you unfamiliar with the metric system, barefoot up the steep ~400m of pavement is roughly the distance of Tallahassee, Florida to Hudson's Bay, Ontario)
Note to self: leave an old pair of runners inside strip zone. The soles of my feet were the only real tenderness in the days following.

Knowing Mr. Alexander was wearing a blackish wetsuit didn't help me judge my progress against him. The crafty devil! So he wants to blend in, does he?! No worries, I still had a bunch of Muskoka hills ahead to claw back his advantage.

Or so I thought... upon reaching the transition zone it was clear there was downright favouritism at play: The elites didn't have to run as far as us!

These world class, full-time athletes were given a break over the unwashed masses of struggling AGers. By the time I got to my rack I had covered nearly 90m more!

T1: 07:48 - yes, Seven minutes, forty eight seconds.
Once one factors in the grade of climb, the tender bare feet vs. pavement, and the distance it may seem more reasonable. Oh yes, and hurriedly jamming everything inside the plastic wetsuit bag meant that, although I had dry socks and bike shoes to put on, rummaging around for what I needed was like unpacking a giant sausage. Lesson learned: remember to still grab the proper plastic bags when rushing out the door an hour late.

BIKE: 94 km - 03:02:56 - 30.8 kph/19.14 mph, 19/56 AG, 262/863 OA
I seemed to be passing people handily up the first hill which, ominously, began right where we clipped in. A reality check found that yes, I was pedalling at the RPE I had trained for, and made an executive decision on the spot - the dictum to not be sucked in to others' paces works both ways: if they're slower than me, time to drop them!

My bike felt great. I'd rotated my tubular tires between front and back, at my LBS's suggestion, and this was my first gluing job so, even though I got their blessings on my workmanship beforehand and I fit in a test ride before leaving home, I was still happy to get up to speed and pat myself on the back for a job well done. (I hatched a wonderful, expedient solution to prepping old carbon rims for new glue if anyone's interested - PM me for details)
The course was terrific, and the huge outcrops of rock from this cusp of the Canadian Shield made the four additional kilometres seem like a bonus. Happily, the surface was, at worst, reasonable; there were none of the annoying pavement splits (those that slice across the road like a knife into bread dough that ruin so much of the rides in other regions. You know the ones - they often occur in rhythmic clusters, pounding one's forearms on their rests, driving up through the shoulders and straight into that spot in the brain that triggers our desire to screw what we're doing and sit down with a brewski to watch old re-runs.) The pavement from Dwight to Baysville was absolutely splendid, being repaved for this past summer's G8 summit. I enjoyed all the benefits of travelling that route the world leaders did, except I got more fresh air than if I were in a chauffeur-driven limo. Suckers. I felt good enough too by this point I'm sure if they were on bikes I would have absolutely handed them their keisters (though if you've ever caught a glimpse of Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's thighs you'd agree he could lay down a strip of hurt on most age groupers out there)
Some simple pleasures:
1) in retrospect I found the basic hydration (Gatorade) and nutrition (Powergels) I'd trained with served me well. (Plus a few Endurolytes popped in the a.m. prior to dashing out the door; with a few faint hope extras - ultimately unused - tucked into my pocket for the bike & run.)
2) No cramps, no tightness, no GI issues. Note to self: maybe push a tad harder next time... sounds like you were babying yourself!
3) That feeling of looking over your shoulder before moving out to pass a slower cyclist, and seeing absolutely no one.
4) The locals were uniformly great. All generations were camped out at the ends of their driveways cheering us on and ringing cowbells. Hard to not feel you were leading a major stage race in Yurp. Drivers, too, swung far out when they passed, which wasn't often; the organizers' warning signs posted a few weeks before perhaps gave everyone fair warning to prepare their day accordingly.

Small bike ride glitches:
- about halfway along the misty fog turned into a fairly gentle rainfall; the ambient temp was mild enough (10* C, 50* F) to make it mostly refreshing. No sharp turns on this stretch meant I now still don't know how the brakes would perform in the rain! Good problem to have, I know.
- messed up one front downshift, overexcited, dropping the chain off the small ring but I got it back on in short order; the hill's pitch was shallow enough that I was able to mount heading upwards, not looping down & back up.
- the Profile Design RM1 butt rockets came loose again, in spite of Loc-Tite. Note to self: look for a different, more robust product. It didn't eject anything, but the distraction of risk was unpleasant. While the James Bond Effect can't be discounted, I would have been distressed if my spare tire and a slaking's-worth of Gatorade were ejected before I needed them, The design of the holders is admirably spare - I like elegant mechanical design - but these clearly don't take into account the powerful jostling forces that get amplified when the two bottles are loaded down with liquids and spare bits. Not to mention the sizeable shock my considerable gluteous maximii must impart on every tar strip we crest together.
- learned the hard way to not shove the Gatorade bottle I rec'd at the handup quite so lustily into the Aerodrink opening - doing so popped the rubber baffle free, and it floated and bobbed near the opening for the rest of the ride, feebly allowing small waves of drink to breach the top of the bottle over bumps, covering me in a tasty shellac.
- I was a bit beyond the limits of my gearing - spun out in top gear several times while at least three climbs were out-of-the-seat granny gear mashfests, two of them intense enough I wondered if I'd need to unclip (as some others had). Question for other triathletes: right now I'm on the stock 50-34/12-25 setup. Would you opt for an 11-26 cassette (SRAM only?) to widen the range? If I try to swap out the chainrings I'd be restricted to increasing both in size - 53-39 - which would of course help my top speed but mess with my climbs...

It was great rolling into transition knowing I met my fundamental goal: deliver the legs to the run. Running downhill to the racks in cleats on the wet road demanded my utmost attention, and although I was passed by a few spritely sorts I took solace in just remaining upright.

T2: 02:30
I was excited to see my watch under 4 hours, so my outside goal of sub-six (which I was still trying to suppress!) remained in the cards. Rummaging back through the huge plastic sausage casing - which I'm almost certain Crowie didn't need to contend with - I found my dry runners and spare socks (quickly discarded, I was in wool).

RUN: 02:00:48 - 05:44/km, 33/56, 422/863 OA
On leaving T2 I came upon none other than Mirinda Carfrae, running, of course, in the other direction - 12 minutes ahead of the next nearest woman - a few hundred metres from the finish line. I almost blurted out, "Have you seen Craig?" but thought better of it, when I considered the look on her face. It was as though she was trying to remember where she'd put her keys, so I prudently left her to her memories.
The hills were immediate and significant, but I was prepared for this and knew right away I wasn't going to eat the whole turkey in one mouthful. More than 300m. of climbing was ahead of me, and while I was almost certain Crowie had it all in hand I soldiered on. I kept the cadence up around 90 and remembered by 1k to synch my watch to see about some pacing. The first few kms. were over half a minute/km faster than planned, so I reined it in as best I could. It brought to mind that wonderful closing sequence in the The Incredibles movie, when Dash tries to run in a school meet without giving away his super powers. It was a tug of war between running at his potential and pacing himself. Not unlike what we do at triathlons...
images copyright Walt Disney/Pixar

Once we left Hwy 60 and entered the residential district my pacing was taken care of for me by the hills that rose in plateaus right up to the turnaround. It was very humbling but not unexpected. Still, a four minute cushion I'd built up initially wasn't wearing away too quickly so I kept striding along with hope and optimism. Received a boost about 7 kms in when we passed a sweet little girl all decked out in pink shaking the daylights out of some streamers, singing about our greatness, cheerleading us on. It was very unexpected and I instinctively reviewed my posture to do her efforts justice. Once one makes the turnaround and heads down the toward the highway again, there is a remaining challenge: The Fairy Vista Trail. It's a local MUP but, really, outside of moose or 4x4s with bumper mounted winches (on the 4x4s, not the moose) I can't imagine people out casually strolling on this paved roller coaster. I felt like a cartoon trying to descend some of the grades at a run, my feet pedalling madly to stay under me. I'd love to have seen how the pros dealt with these changes in terrain. The final hills were successful - though not pretty - in that I managed to "run" them all. I couldn't be certain where I'd stack up against Mr. Alexander but I'd be damned if I threw it away walking when I could've kept running!

TOTAL: 05:54:10 - 27/56 AG, 355/863 OA

This event was a high point for me, no question. It was such a pleasure to train for and compete in that, ironically, I'm not as fazed at the prospect of trying something longer - I guess that's a full IM! - as when I'd completed my shorter events. Time will tell...

And speaking of time, it turns out Crowie finished quite a bit higher up the order than me. So high, in fact, that he won the whole kit and kaboodle.
Well, good for him, he needs the dough anyway; after all, I'm the guy holding down a steady job.
But next year you can bet he'll know he's got a target on his back. I might practise keeping my bike shoes clipped in, then we'll see that two hour gap shrink down to nothing.

POST EVENT: With the generous help of many family members, friends, my employer & co-workers, I was able to raise over $2,500 towards the SickKids Foundation, this event's designated charity that supports Toronto's Hospital for Sick Children. True to the Type-A nature of our sport even this became a contest, so I still wound up on stage at the end of the event, receiving a pair of shoes for fourth-highest tally from event sponsors, Merrell! Alas, the third place finisher received an autographed photo taken with... Craig Alexander. It's just as well it was won by someone else, as I expect he'd had enough of me by then.

Lake Belwood Sprint - tris are hard work!

1k swim, 30k bike, 7k run

A PR from last year's first tri experience: nearly two minutes faster, finishing in 01:51:33. 7/31 AG, 117/399 OA.

SWIM - 00:22:13, 2:15/100m, 16/31 AG, 233/399 OA
Woo-hoo! My swim was 2 seconds faster. I have spent more time than this taking a bite of toast. I'd like to believe the buoys this year were further apart than last, but I think it just points to how difficult shaving quality time off swims is. I think a tightness in the chest came not from the onset of a cardiac event so much as a carelessly pulled up wetsuit. Note to self: review with Paula @ Foot Tools the tricks of getting the middle section of the torso hucked up high enough to maximize freedom of movement.

T1 - 00:02:09
Happy to report the wheels remained on the bus, and I was ~ 30 secs. faster than last year. I attribute this in part to not dawdling to drink while stationary. My pre-race hydration set me up well and I knew for a relatively short race like this the Aerodrink would suffice to get me well into the run. If further speeding up T1 entails running in bare feet, flying like a squirrel onto the bike and jamming my toes into shoes already mounted on the pedals, I think I'll stick to the 2 minute range. Then again, if the podium beckons, who knows how much indignity I'd be willing to subject myself to...

BIKE - 00:54:00, 33.2 kms/hr, 6/31 AG, 99/399 OA
Had a pretty clean and strong run at it, passing a whack of folks, and glad to report rampant consideration from pretty much everyone. Not as crowded as the Guelph Lake Olympic course. Rolling hills helped break apart clots, and I was able to practice restraint when one of the few who passed me was in my AG. The pace he had was either a sign of Awesomeness or Misjudgement; I chose to let him go knowing he'd come back to me if it was meant to be (wait a minute... that doesn't sound right) Sure enough, with about three kms to go he'd faded enough for me to reel him in, my patience rewarded. This was a different route than last year, a bit hillier perhaps, but not enough to justify my being > two minutes slower. Note to Self: take Joe Friel's advice to racers over 50: ramp up the weight regime to forestall muscle loss. I just simply need stronger thumpers. Not as exciting as a new carbon frame and lighter groupset, but certainly at this point the legs are where the most gains stand to spring from.

T2 - 00:01:04
again, nothing went awry, avoided calamities, skipped the drink pause knowing my electrolyte balance had to be reasonable, and managed another PR through here, 24 secs. faster than last year.

RUN - 00:31:30, 04:30/km, 4/31 AG, 82/399 OA
This is where the sign overhead would read: Don't forget, triathlons are hard. Thank heavens I'd done the number of bricks I had with my club so that the rude shock of fatigue didn't stop me cold. Any arrogance in thinking "I'd just finished an Olympic length event a few weeks ago so this should be a breeze" evaporated as I jogged past the timing gate and turned on to the long straightaway start of the run across the Shand Dam. I glanced around; the sofa and ottoman I so desperately craved were nowhere to be seen. The run itself went well enough for me to better my time by nearly two minutes, no mean feat when the first km or so (also the last, being an out-and-back course) was now a fresh coating of loose gravel that made it feel like running on sand.

I was impressed by the variety of club members I recognized on the run; many of them were multi-time iron-distance competitors and yet they were at this relatively small event, putting it on the line of a relatively short race. Lesson learned: Greg Lemond nailed it with his quote about his bike racing career: "It doesn't get any easier, you just go faster".

This was my little epiphany. We are all out there putting in the mileage as quickly as possible, and it will never get any easier - we'll just (hopefully!) go faster...

Guelph Lake 1 - My 1st Olympic tri

I knew before that Sunday morning that I am a naive person; until 8:30am I always assumed it was just to an ordinary extent. We were to seed ourselves for anticipated swim times and select a corresponding coloured cap. In spite of my club's long, intensive swim sessions, and my diligent winter weekday mornings of drills and laps I kept my ego in check and opted for a purple cap: 29-31 minutes to complete the 1500m.

Milling on the beach at about 8:15 I chanced upon another club member, Monique, and as we chatted I hardly noticed the horde steadily gathering around us. When the PA system announced "one minute" and folks began cheering we broke off our tete-a-tete and I turned to face the lake. To my horror not only was I dead centre in a throng of 622 entrants on this small beach, but my purple capped mates were sprinkled everywhere; I'm sure to an airplane flying overhead our mob resembled a backpack of M&Ms dumped at the water's edge.

I tried to squeeze through the greens, blues, yellows, pinks, reds and whites to reach a clutch of purples, as if this would gain me some sort of security. Instead, it appears my movements incited those around me to surge forward. As if on cue the PA declared "10 seconds..." A hot pang of dread stabbed my core as it dawned on me this will not be the genteel tea party I imagined a seeded start to be, and clearly there was to be no going back.

Then the horn blared.


They say Canadians are polite to a fault. That fault was breached when we waded deep enough for the water to strike our crotches. The swim began in earnest, and by swim I mean the anti-government riot I was somehow swept up in when in fact I was just a tourist strolling through the market on my way to buy a baguette. Above and below the waterline was a flurry of hands, arms, feet, thighs, glimpses of caps (none of them purple), and the occasional buttock past the face. My months of dogged lengths, honing my form under watchful coaches' eyes, were washed downstream as I dog-paddled, stacked and layered with countless others like a plate of flailing deli meats.

I was surprised to find people were even yelling at one another. At first it sounded like perhaps a couple was heatedly discussing the weather, the woman saying something about the "sun on the beach" but as my right ear resurfaced after another stroke I only heard the man hollering back, I think, something about "duck!" I was very confused until the woman then repeated herself, this time yelling at the top of her lungs and it was then clear their swim experience was unfolding quite similarly to mine. The oaths and complaints increased as our aquatic mosh pit fitfully orbited the first buoy and it would have been laughable to hear the arguments between out of breath people if I weren't so out of breath myself.

It was so tempting to see the wide open water beckoning from further out of our circuit where seagulls were bobbing in the waves; I recall trying to half-heartedly swing wide but it would have entailed crossing over perhaps ten lanes of frustrated triathletes and after a few diagonal overlapped strokes and kicks I reverted back to my slot in the melee. Fortunately by the time we started our second lap it was possible to find some elbow room, catch one's breath and begin enjoying at least a partial bilateral rhythm. The final 500m or so were fairly tame, and I staggered onto shore several minutes shy of my goal time but much wiser for the experience. Lesson Learned: a chaotic swim that includes treading water, while much more interesting than pool laps, uses up far more energy to get from Point A to Point B.
Swim: 34:30 - 32/38 AG

T1: Thanks to the advice of Joe from Neworld Runners I took a moment after the timing mat to stop at the foot of the grassy hill up to the racks to remove my wetsuit early so I could make the long and warm run as easy as possible. Thanks, Joe.

Bike: A very sobering affair, chock full of rollers and shorter steeper hills, windy (gusts to 40kms/hr, 25mph) and 4-5 abreast at times. Note to Self: don't give up on the swim training - you must come out of the water above the 10th percentile if you want to avoid traffic like this! It was a nice, challenging out-and-back course all around. And it humbled me: I'd always fancied myself to be a cyclist first and foremost, but this event put me in my place (1:13:30 - 12/38 AG, to be exact)

T2: Smooth and uneventful. I expect it will get messier as I try get faster; for now I am going for smooth and de-stressed.

Run: Very satisfying, given I had no prior experience with this length and only one standalone 10k behind me. It was hot and peppered with small hills but I paced myself well enough to finish strong (strong being a relative word for me!) and within ~ 2:30 of my standalone time. Note to Self: practice, somehow, taking drinks at Aid Stations. Most handoffs worked well enough, but I made a mistake at one, my first, by zeroing in on a young, left-handed helper - hardly ten years old - set up as the lead thirst-quencher. He was grasping the cup entirely in a back-handed side-arm grip. This meant my desperate grab at the drink only resulted in slapping the back of his hand, sending the Gatorade flying across the course and no doubt traumatizing the youngster. Now I not only had thirst but guilt as well. Luckily the Endurolytes I'd taken beforehand must have helped as I only felt slight twinges in my quads in the final two kms. I'm hoping this was a sign I was pushing myself as much as possible without blowing up!
Run: 46:18 - 9/38 AG

Total Time: 02:40:12 - 16/38 AG, 208/625 OA

This event, as is typical of the Subaru series, appeared to be well-organzied, staffed by friendly volunteers and I am looking forward very much to doing this again next year, starting off on a better foot, said foot being further back and to the outside on the swim start!

The 19th Annual Moon in June road race

Last night (9:00pm) I competed in my first 10k. In a nutshell, it went all my way, though if I could script it I would change the final 500m into the chute.

Summary: 1337 entries spread across 3 principle classes: 5k walk, 5k run, 10k run. On top of those events, there was undisclosed number of folks on the course in a 1k "fun run", some of whom comprised an entire Little League team of nine-year-olds. It appeared fun for them, especially the first 800m or so. I will get to them in a minute.

Results: 22/360 OA, 1/16 in AG! Gun time was 44:18

The event was well-orchestrated and a great atmosphere was stirred up by the good weather, big crowds, blaring music, and city hall fountain spilling over with bottles of water & Gatorade. Our wave went off on time, and outside of weaving past some poorly self-seeded sluggards in the first few minutes I had a great time testing my efforts at running by feel alone.

All went well from there until the final stretch, within earshot of the P.A. system blaring from the finish line. I had turned up the wick as much as my knees, lungs, and legs would allow, and just as I launched my way past the aforementioned Little Leaguers jogging on their 1k fun run, their coach hollered, "Let 'er rip, guys!" The tykes took off like they were told there was a swimming pool filled with ice cream just up ahead. I was swarmed by little humans suddenly running as fast as me but with more unpredictable trajectories. Added to that, as if on cue, their Little League motors ran out of gas a few hundred metres from the line, so we adults were faced with side-stepping them as they peeled off for hugs and premature Freezies.

It was a challenge, and laughable all the same - this grey-haired dreamer striving for a shiny new, irrelevant Personal Best time all the while trying to keep from stepping on a swirling, screaming cloud of yellow garden gnomes. Bottom line is I think everyone had a blast and none of us tripped over the other.

The predicted rain sportingly held off until near the end of the awards ceremony - in which I won a free gait analysis & pair of shoes from a local orthotist - and I happily made it home before 11:30pm to have a proper dinner. (Amazing how much it throws off pre-race nutrition when one's event starts some 12 hours later than it normally might!) I maintain the reason I won is not because there weren't enough fit, talented competitors, but because many of them likely succumbed to the temptations of a regular supper before the event...

Surviving Bad Design - Part One

It's hard to imagine safer, more efficient cycling will ever occur until we understand the limitations that humans' shortcomings impose on us. And one only need look to the world of design for evidence that thought processes are, in fact, a crap shoot for homo sapiens.

For instance, how can I expect to be safe when the person who created this door handle is presumably driving an automobile on public roads to his/her design incubator every day? With presumably hours, if not days, to get it right, this person - or is it a committee? - has offended not just my sense of aesthetics but also my tender fleshy palms. In a most ironic of insults heaped onto injury this is the outside door of a public, post-secondary institution that teaches design.


It's a handle, its only purpose is to be pulled, and yet its sharp corners gouge into my skin when pulled.


Not only this, but the inner door handles are round and smooth, as if to taunt survivors with You have survived the first threshold. Enter ye these portals to learn to inflict the same upon others.
Am I missing something? Given my life-long attempts at passing through doorways (most of them successful) I think not. If people like these can hurt me using their pencil - something they presumably went to school to learn to use in pursuit of their career - what's stopping them from eradicating me with their vehicle?

It doesn't just end with the talent-free choices behind this abomination's design ; an architect presumably had to request these actually be paid for and installed, then the building committee needed to say, Yes, the idea of using these sounds swell. Sure, swell for people wearing hockey gloves, while the rest of us are obliged to grasp the painful truth of the shortage of good judgement exhibited at not one, but numerous points along this journey. And all of these people - designer, architect, committee, are out on the roads, coming upon my sorry butt in its saddle, making judgements along the lines of, Yes, he's got enough room between the curb and my mirror. Yes, I can pass him and then turn right without cutting him off. Yes, he's coming slowly enough that I can turn left before he's too close.

If I stop and think about this any longer, I'll be too spooked to ever ride again.

Venturing into the world of longer course efforts...

People, can't we all just get along?!

Ripples in the calm of Lake Routine

Regularly trapped as I am in the space/time continuum formed by cyclists and motorists, I feel well qualified to declare some brutal truths:

1) As a cyclist, I dislike it when automobiles approach and pass me.
2) When I'm driving I dislike having to approach and pass cyclists.

There. I said it. I named the elephant in the room. I feel uneasy regardless of which side of the fender I'm on. There's always a sense of relief when The Pass is complete; it's hardly different from when the dental hygienist says, "There. You can rinse and spit now." Life becomes a tad easier; heart rates dip, breathing regulates and, ideally, resentments - no matter how minor and vaguely directed - dissipate.

Let's face it: The Pass means that at least two strangers* need to temporarily form an undesired partnership that is only successful if they can share the same space and time. There will be an overlap of their "bubbles". It's like we're thrust into one of those old Hope/Crosby road shows but without the laughs. All fun and games until someone breaks a spine.

* It gets exponentially more complicated with four lane roads, or oncoming traffic. Then additional drivers are roped into joining the party to anticipate the reluctant dancers' space requirements.

I'm guessing we'll never achieve greater cycling safety until cyclists and motorists both admit to even just slightly resenting these brief collaborations. Forget the PSAs about one another's rights, we must acknowledge - not ignore - the list of events that must unfold for The Pass to occur: motorists must surrender expectations of unimpeded progress; mirror and shoulder checks may be needed to ensure a safe drift leftward; the slightly shallower breaths + whiter knuckles that can only relax once The Pass is complete. Cyclists must ramp up their vigilance to hold their line; they ignore the possibilities of what could go horribly wrong while scouring the road ahead for booby-traps.

These impositions, no matter how brief or seemingly inconsequential, are very necessary, and they must occur above and beyond the usual routines of driving. (the word routine here is fitting, insofar as driving can ever be considered routine; there is enough repetition involved that we can easily come to expect the task to be predictable.) Cyclists and motorists represent to one another a wrinkle in this zoned-out state and once we can honestly admit this upset not only exists, but is natural and understandable, we might stand a better chance of coexisting safely.

We may not be going far enough when simply reminding the cats and dogs to share the road because they're obliged to. Hopefully a smart cyclist or motorist will come up with a message of empathy for the combatants that strikes the chord of respect for their overlapping bubbles.

It can't be rocket science, can it?