What IF...

IF you can hold your line when all about you
Swerve and crash when they ride,
If you can trust the guy ahead to swim true,
But make allowance for currents and tide.
If you can train and not make training too serious,
Or be hungry and not hunger for fries,
Or being ridiculed, not be too ridiculous
By wearing an aero’ helmet on a group ride.












If you can ride – and not make the bike your master,
If you can run – and not push until you’re lame,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to suffer through a crisis
Like when your ankle’s twisted and in ice.
If you can watch your training fall to pieces,
Then rest and build back up at any price.

If you can make one heap of all your savings
And blow it on a new Felt AR 4,
Then mash it into a million graphite shavings
‘Cause you crushed it with your damn garage door,
If you can push your heart and mind and muscles
After your food and water are all gone
And so hold on when it all appears useless
Yet keep running when they cheer, ‘Come on!’













If you can swim in crowds and keep your virtue,
And ride in packs and not lose your wheel.
If neither wind nor rain nor heat affect you
If you’re smart enough to trust in how you feel.
If you can fill the unforgiving hour
With sixty minutes worth of distance run,
You’ll get a T-shirt, and maybe a hot shower,
And – what’s more – you’ll win a Tri’ my son!

Kudos to Kipling, 100 years ago today.

July 11 was the day I figured I would die. I got up at 5:20 like normal, ate my cereal, packed the car, then headed to the lake where I would start an Ironman length “workout”.

No “Ready, Set, Go”. At 7:00am I just dove in and started swimming. I warmed up quickly in just a few strokes. The wind was at my back and I could feel the waves lift me gently, pushing me along. My death today would not be from drowning. I am a good swimmer and this part of dying was really quite pleasant. After crossing the bay I turned around and headed back to the start. Then my hand hit a slimy dead fish floating in the waves. I moved quickly passed and took some deep breaths to slow my heart. I wondered what killed the little trout. Disease? Injury? Dehydration? The fish and I shared a brief touch but little else. Except, of course, a common fate. I felt little joy on finishing the 2.4 mile swim. I didn’t feel the need to hurry. Death was out there waiting for me and it seemed foolish to rush to our meeting.

The 112 mile ride started in Kirkland and passed through Bothell, Redmond, Fall City, and Carnation before turning around in Monroe and retracing the route back to Kirkland. Traffic was light at 8:00 am on a Sunday and a marine layer of clouds were a gift from Poseidon.

Katherine planned to accompany me for as long as she could. She would be my Virgil on this journey into hell. Highway 202 from Redmond to Fall City was passing quickly under our wheels. Every half mile or so the neat white line we followed was smeared with the black, green, and red remains of what once was a garter snake. Their morning slumber on the warm pavement permanently interrupted by the merciless tires of a car.

The pit crew had cold bottles waiting for me and Katheryn in Carnation, 36 miles into the ride. I gave myself a foot massage while waiting for Virgil to use the bathroom. Then we were off again. No slacking of pace. No slowing to chat with other riders. One strategy I had to hold Death at bay was a simple and well tested feeding schedule. Two gels an hour slid down my throat, along with one or two salt pills and just over 24 oz. of fluids laced with 150 dissolved calories flavored with Nuun.

I knew Death was in the area because there were at least three raccoon carcasses that I had to swerve around on West Snoqualmie Valley road. One of the slow footed fellows looked especially peaceful lying on his side with his little hands crossed just under his chin. He looked like he was taking a nap there on the road.

Katheryn’s pulls had been getting gradually shorter as the miles passed. After the turn-around and on our way back to Carnation she pulled off to the shoulder and shouted “Flat!” I looked behind briefly and saw her hand wave me forward. Death is a tricky devil. I saw what he was doing so I stood on the pedals and accelerated down the road. Back in Carnation, my friends gave me new bottles and I gave them directions back to Katheryn, then we parted ways.

I was on my own now till the end of the ride. I popped two salt pills out of my tic-tac dispenser and hoped the tight feeling in my quad was just a little fatigue and not the beginning of a ride-ending cramp. I had been going for over five hours now and was not near half way done. To distract me, I enjoyed the scenery. There were tree covered hills, cute little farms, a marsh, a cliff, a stream … then a young dead dear lying in the ditch. Its head rested on the shoulder of the road. This young fellow had probably just finished getting his evening drink the night before and was heading back up into the hills when he crossed paths with an unlucky commuter hurrying home. His eyes were still open and his back was arched noticeably from the violent impact. I could tell he was young because his coat was clean and smooth with few scars of age. Birds and coyote's would descend on the corps in the next few days if a DOT crew didn’t remove him first.

As the casualty list grew in both numbers and size, I half expected to see a dead Sasquatch somewhere up the road. Then I realized, maybe the next dead guy would be me. I neither dawdled, nor pushed the pace. I just rode. My back felt fine, (for once) but my feet started to burn. One more stop to massage the blood back to my toes and crack my locked-up foot bones before I rolled back into transition at exactly two o’clock.

Two friends escorted me for much of the marathon. (I’ll call it a “run” for brevity’s sake, while in fact it was always more of a “shuffle/walk”). Ro’ and Carrie chatted constantly about work, and college parties, and dating fails, and god knows what else. It occurred to me that maybe Death wasn’t going to kill me with a truck; rather he would split my head open with female banter.

Suddenly Ro’ jumped to her left almost knocking me over. A dried up frog carcass in her path had startled her. I wasn’t so fresh as to care weather I stepped on some desiccated fauna. Fatigue was stealing away my empathy. As I turned onto the Sammamish River Trail, I began to think that Death may have other plans for me besides a violent demise. After my empathy, Death might take my modesty as I peed in the bushes just off the trail. Then he would come after my self-respect as I spit on my shoulder. In later stages He would cop my mind as I drank the water and poured Coca-Cola over my head. In the end He would suck hope and love from my heart leaving me to die a thousand cowardly deaths.

The day was getting hotter by the minute. We had just left one of the water stops when I saw another dead bird on the trail ahead. Fitting; I was sinking fast. As I stepped around the bird I saw it move an inch. I stopped. It was a young sparrow or something, just a few inches long. A rider was coming so I stood over it so the cyclist had to slow down to get by. Reaching down the little guy flapped its wings vigorously to get away. It wasn’t dying. It had just got lost on its way to flight school. I cupped my hands over its wings and scooped it up removing it from the busy path. Up the trail was a clearing and I set it down on a log, and then continued on the run.

Everything changed after finding the little bird. This Ironman workout was no longer about death but just the opposite. I no longer thought of my creaky knees and sore back, but of the joy of movement and sunshine on my neck. I wasn’t looking for Death around the corner, rather I relished the sight of my crew with a cold bottle of water and orange slices.

I’d like to say that I ran with renewed vigor at a faster pace, but to be honest, it still hurt just as much. I stumbled along as lame as ever, but Death was no longer at my heels. I had dozens of friends helping me, encouraging me, keeping me company, and keeping me out of harm’s way. Like the little bird that was going to see another day, I was going to be OK.

I won my Ironman.

Open Water Swim Tips

Swimming in the lake is different from the pool in that you cannot just turn your brain off and follow the line on the bottom. You have to constantly be thinking about sighting, breathing deeply, following or avoiding other swimmers, all while remembering to keep good form. It's a lot to think about!For inexperienced lake swimmers, I strongly recommend getting in for only 5 minutes then getting out, catching your breath, thinking about what you need to do again, then maybe getting back in for another 5 minutes. for first timers, DO NOT TRY TO SWIM A LONG WAY OR GET A WORKOUT IN! Your goal for your first open water swim is to take at least 10 breaths in a row without stopping, practice sighting on something (on the horizon) with several peeks forward, and getting
used to swimming with a wetsuit on. Do those things and call it a very successful workout.
Other tips;
1. Bring two swim caps, or wear a light knit running cap under your rubber swim cap. You must wear something on your head or you will freeze instantly.
2. Many people wear silicone ear plugs in the cold water. They say it
helps avoid the dizzyness that comes from cold water in your ears.
3. Do not put your wet suit on in a hurry or you will tear it.
4. Use Body Glide on your neck to avoid the dreaded "wetsuit hickey".
5. Do not use any cooking spray or body glide on other parts of your wetsuit to make it easier to get off; it doesn't work.

Panic is very common your first time in open water. Everyone gets through it though. After three or four swims you will be gliding along nicely through the waves.
have fun!

Open Water Swimming

Triathletes love to tell war stories. Every hill is Iwo Jima. Every run is a Death March. And every swim is a Normandy Landing. One war story is true however; triathlon swims involve hand to hand combat. Most race directors split the field into 75 or 100 person waves in an effort to spread people out, but that inevitably puts slower swimmers out in front of faster swimmers and delays by a few minutes the inevitable collision. When slow swimmer and fast swimmer meet, there are no bayonets or firearms, just an innocent grab of the swimsuit, a push on the shoulder, and the unavoidable kick in the head.

There are no atheists in foxholes. And there are no saints in triathlons. We're all guilty. She's trying to get to dry land and he is in her way. Stuff happens.

The one consolation is that at least everyone has the same objective and is trying to go in the same direction. Colliding with another swimmer isn't necessarily a bad thing. It just means at least one and possibly both of you were going the wrong way. So contact indicates it's time to look up and change direction or "encourage" the other swimmer to do so.

I know a swimmer who actually uses contact as her sole means of navigation. She starts right in the middle of her wave and blindly swims along like a drunken tank driver. Hit someone on her left - turn right. Hit someone else on her right - veer left. If she doesn't hit anyone for thirty seconds, she stops and looks up to see if she has been jettisoned from the pack, then makes her way back into the fray.

This method takes full advantage of the draft swimmers get following close behind someone else. It saves a significant amount of propulsive energy, but requires an equally significant amount of pugilistic effort and mental stress.

I prefer to attack the swim from the right flank. I am most comfortable breathing to my left so I can spot the pack easily on almost every stroke. Following a pack in this way makes it slightly more likely you are going in a straight line. A group of swimmers is statistically less likely to go AWOL than a lone wolf. Following a single swimmer might feel fast and efficient, but if you happen to be following Wrong Way Feldman, you're screwed.

So I steer for the calm water which makes it easier to see the buoy targets up ahead. It also allows me to focus on my stroke and power without having to worry if the crazy swimmer next to me is Taliban or al-Qaeda.

A couple more notes on navigation; some people breathe bi-laterally or every third stroke hoping this counteracts their strong right arm and keeps them going straight without having to look up. Sorry, bi-lateral breathing is no guarantee you won't end up in the weeds. If you don't have the luxury of a trusty escort next to you in the water, you have to poke your head up to see where you are going every 20 or 30 seconds. You can swim off target by 45 degrees in only a few strokes and in that event you might as well be treading water 'cause you ain't makin' progress. I have literally seen people swim in a complete circle only 40 feet in diameter, head down the whole time. What a colossal waste of energy.

Peeking forward from time to time is only one of the navigation skills you need to successfully swim in the open water. If you are swimming in the middle of a group all wearing colored swim caps you will quickly be frustrated trying to spot a course buoy amongst all the bobbing orange heads. The solution is to line up your objective with some large object on shore or on the horizon. It is easier to spot the giant radio tower on top of the hill than a buoy sticking three feet out of the water.

And this may seem obvious but when you do notice that you are off course, don't make radical corrections trying to get back on your original line. I see this all the time; swimmers zig-zagging down the course because they over-correct over and over again. You may be a great swimmer, but every stroke in the wrong direction is just another step further into no-man's-land.

Now that I have scared the bejeesuz out of you first timers, I will briefly discuss the triathletes best friend, his wetsuit.

Originally used for warmth, wetsuits in the late 80s allowed race directors to extend the season and make uncomfortable water almost swim-able. Like modern cushioned running shoes, the wetsuit brought triathlons within the orbit and ken of the general public.

After people swam in the first crude wetsuits, they noticed they were not only warmer, they were faster. Very quickly designs became sleeker and better fitting. And people got faster still. These days, warmth is almost an afterthought, people use wetsuits for speed and the fact that they make a very marginally skilled swimmer feel like Michael Phelps.

The trend in 2010 are hyper buoyant suits with 6, 7, even some 10mm panels of neoprene designed to make even the most inefficient swimmer float like a cork. If you have ever read this column before, you probably know what I think about this trend. It's legalized cheating.

Fortunately, the caretakers of the sport are intervening and setting some limits on the floatyness of wetsuits. The ITU and Ironman franchises are limiting suits to a maximum of 5mm. An arbitrary number no doubt, but a reasonable compromise between necessary warmth and unseemly flouting the spirit of triathlon.

If the 5mm of neoprene in your suit still leaves you cold, there are other ways to take the chill off your next swim. Your mother told you to wear a hat on cold days, and the same is true for cold swims. A neoprene cap under your latex cap makes a huge difference. If that seams extravagant, then just use two latex caps or put your knit polyester running beanie under your latex cap. You can also buy swim gloves and footies, and they help a little, but covering your hands and feet make "feeling the water" much more difficult. Swimming will feel like you have wooden blocks on the ends of your arms and legs, so I suggest you just suck it up.

Finally, a tried and true way to deal with cold water is to get used to it. A periodic dip in the lake is great training for body, mind, and anal sphincter. It is mostly a mental challenge but is a challenge none the less. Unfortunately it takes five to ten swims in cold water for you to notice any difference, and by then the water will have warmed up considerably!

So ditch the pool with its lane lines, warm water, and dressing rooms. Real swimming happens in the open water. Keep your head up!


Open water swims this year in Seattle;
Fat Salmon, July 17.
Swim for Life, August 18.
Emerald City Open Water Swim, August 21.
Park to Park Cross Lake Swim, August 29.

The Emperor Has No Shoes

Because I'm a running shoe guy; and have been for over 25 years, friends and strangers often ask me what I think about this whole barefoot running thing. Is it really going to take off?
"I dunno" I say. "But you should go for it, and let me know how it works out for you".
Of course, I already know how it will work out for Fred and Wilma, but I think it is important for everyone to try something new from time to time and experience things for themselves.
I have found from my years at Everyday Athlete, no one style of shoe, and no one running technique is right for everyone. We sell roughly 35 models of training shoes and we like to think they are the best of the best. At my last count there were well over 300 different styles on the market. Most of them however are not functional running shoes. For instance the Nike Air Shox Turbo +9 is listed as a running shoe but no specialty retailers in the country sell it. The only people running in that shoe are folks who stumbled into a mall-store and thought $115 would get them a decent shoe. Oh well, live and learn. If everyone bought their shoes from me, Lance, Len, Greg, Shelby Steve, Scott, Chet, Ben, Cindy, or Miguell, then injury rates would be much much lower.
Anyway, back to barefoot running.
Barefooting may be great for some people, but it will certainly be disaster for others. Have you had bunion surgery? Steel plates in your ankles? Are you overweight? If so then you probably don't need me to tell you that exercising barefoot could be a bad idea. I also know that there are literally millions of runners who get their favorite Asics or Brooks every year and happily put hundreds of miles on them before shelling out another $100 for the latest update. I doubt even the most ardent barefoot running (BR) supporter could convince them to try something new. And why should they?
All the books, articles, and web sites regarding BR leave me nodding and scratching my head at the same time. The basic tenants of taking shorter strides and not landing on your heels have been standard coaching mantras for decades. Why all the fuss now?
Christopher McDougall, in his book Born to Run, touts the strength and health of the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico and attributes it in part to the fact that they don't wear expensive running shoes, rather, thin home-made sandals. The book goes on to explain how running "barefoot" teaches you to run correctly. But do the Tarahumara run barefoot?
As stated by the barefoot purists, "instead of each foot clomping down as it would in a shoe, [a bare foot] behaves like an animal with a mind of its own - stretching, grasping, seeking the ground with splayed toes, gliding in for a landing like a lake-bound swan". The barefooters say the sensitivity of your feet allow you to adapt to the grounds contours, firmness, and texture. But your swans -- I mean feet -- can't possibly splay and feel and grasp when they are inside a racing flat, or even a Huarache sandal. I am left to wonder, is it the thin sole that helps us run correctly, or is it the skin's contact with the ground that helps us, or is it the lack of an elevated heel? Which is it? It can't be all of them because you can't have a thin sole and skin contact with the ground at the same time.
Minimal shoes are referred to in the webliture as "transitional" shoes. But one danger of using these pseudo-barefoot shoes (like the Nike Free or the Newtons or most racing flats) is that they have just enough cushion to allow you to over-stride and yet they don't have the support necessary to compensate for the resulting heel strike. You just end up with two sore Achilles tendons and some fallen arches.
I would think that if you want to train your feet and legs to land lightly, you either go barefoot or wear a super thin (and fairly wide) shoe that allows your feet to feel the texture of the earth.
Needless to say, it's a tough sell for the BR's. Considering our society's passion for shoes -- all kinds of shoes -- one would think these crusaders might start with something simpler like peace in the Middle East or ending poverty. I admire their perseverance in the face of social, cultural, meteorological, and medical obstacles. Maybe if they can get rid of shoes, world peace won't seem so hard.
As a retailer I am of course interested in how this could change my industry and business model. I have a hard time imagining all my customers running without shoes. If a revolution does occur, what we will likely see, for good or for bad, is a proliferation of low profile racing type shoes, sandal shoes, or good old fashioned Keds (!?). But none of this is new. Nike made a cool shoe called the Huarache years ago. Spike-less spikes and racing flats have been around for a hundred years. And the Shoe Pavilion has a great selection of Keds right now -- and they come in lots of colors! All this is right at our fingertips but consumers sem to want more.
Maybe people LIKE to pay more for shoes. They have already shown a willingness to pay $100 for minimal shoes like the Five Fingers and Frees, (or $180 for Newtons) so the running specialty stores might not change much after all. Is BR just another side of our materialism? Instead of teaching yourself to run properly, BR's suggest you just take off your shoes then everything will naturally fall into place! It is as fast and easy as buying an orthotic. I think people just want a simple solution. Can't Merck invent a barefoot pill?
Finally, there are a couple interesting sociological aspects to this BR-polooza. First, with as much press as the barefooters get, you would think there would be more of them out there. Their websites are full of testimonials, and the apostles say it is spreading around the world (like a virus?) but alas, I have seen exactly one in the last five years. It all smacks of AstroTurf buzz generated from Knopf the publisher of Christopher McDougall's book. I think there might be something more significant going on here though which leads to my second concern.
What does it say about all of us who nod our heads in agreement with the less is more argument? Are we all so dissatisfied with our current shoe selection that we are ready to dump the whole lot and go sans shoes? Where does this restlessness come from? I think we feel disaffected because running is supposed to be an escape from a life filled with technology, and shoes have become too tech-y. The library is full of books about Americans' love/hate relationship with technology. I think Born to Run is another such book.
This schizophrenia can be seen in other sports as well, such as the proliferation of fixed gear bicycles downtown, in FINA's ban on full-body swimsuits, and the popularity of wool and silk as "high-tech" fabrics for the discerning outdoors-man.
In a different vein, I find that as we cling to our active lifestyles of 15 and 20 years ago, the cry of the snake-oil salesmen promising a fountain of youth sounds mighty enticing. Who wouldn't listen to someone who promises injury free running -- even if it means tip-toeing down the street with big callouses on our soles.
Finally, some BR's hint at a shoe industry cabal designing shoes that injure us so we buy ever more supportive and more expensive shoes. We all love a good conspiracy. Especially if it involves an industrial giant like Nike. I know lots of shoe designers and developers and I can guarantee that they earnestly are trying to make the best shoes for runners feet. But they know that if they stopped making cushioned supportive shoes, participation in running would plummet as fast as it exploded in the Seventies (when heel wedges were first introduced).
So the question remains; will large numbers of people try barefoot running or running in flats? I have no idea. If they do, I assure you retailers like me and the big shoe companies will modify our lines accordingly. Change is in the air in this era of Obama. I am just not sure if runners are poised on the edge of a cliff, or merely stepping between to boats? (Equally dangerous I would suggest). Are shoes going to the dogs, or are we slipping free of our shackles?
Stay tuned.

First Annual Kirkland Long Course Triathlon

It's three months and counting till the first annual Kirkland Long Course Triathlon.

On July 11, 2010, one or more crazy souls will swim from Juanita Beach to Waverly Beach and back, then ride to Monroe via Redmond, Fall City, and Carnation, then return the same way, and finally run to the Sammamish River trail then to Kenmore, and back the same way .

The event is free, there is no on-course support provided, it's draft-legal, and no times will be taken. It's all just for fun.

People can come and do one, two, or all three events. They can do part of the swim, then all of the bike, or visa-versa, or any combination they wish.

My hope is people will start the swim so they will be done just before 8am, so everyone can start together on the bike and do most of the 112 miles in a peloton going around 19 mph. The course travels through Carnation at 35 and 75 miles where the group will stop to refill bottles.

So mark your calendars and don't miss a one-of-a-kind event, if you think you're up to it!

You Can Do That

As a coach I often work with athletes who need a little extra motivation or encouragement. People look to their coach for some confidence to counter their self doubts. It is hard to know however when people need some kind words of encouragement and when they need a kick in the shorts.
I have to admit that sometimes it can be hard listening to people complain about their lack of motivation. I have had the privilege to know and work with several wheelchair athletes over the years and those experiences have made me a big admirer of people who decide to put their disabilities behind them and simply make the most of what they have. It's inspiring because that is exactly what we all do as we pursue our athletic goals. The fact that I may not be as tall as the swimmers I compete against should not be an excuse for me to be satisfied with last place, rather it is a motivation for me to work just a little bit harder so that I can beat them with my endurance or technique.

We all have limitations. Sometimes it is our busy schedule. Sometimes it's an old recurring injury. If I ever start to feel sorry for myself and my inability to meet my own expectations I remember those athletes I've met with a real excuse and who face every challenge with a smile. The one thing you will never hear at a wheelchair track meet is complaining. It simply doesn't exist.

There have always been people with disabilities in the public sphere that inspire us. The two icons everyone will recognize are Helen Keller and Franklin D. Roosevelt. These remarkable people were however the exceptions that proved the rule. For most of history disabled people in our society have lived in the shadows and behind closed doors, cut off from our world by stairs, gravel, curbs, and other mundane obstacles.

Federal legislation (the American Disabilities Act), improvements in prosthetic designs, and funding for diverse organizations like the Paralympics, Disabled Sports USA, and the Special Olympics, all of which got going in the US in the 1960's, did not bring disabled people and disabled athletes into the public consciousness as much as a single twenty-one year old Canadian man in 1980.

2010 is the thirty year anniversary of Terry Fox's incredible run across Canada, his "Marathon of Hope".

If you were over 12 years old in 1980 then you know Terry Fox's story. For the rest of you, Terry Fox was a young athlete from Vancouver B.C. who lost his leg to Osteosarcoma in 1977 and while still in the hospital recovering, decided to run across Canada to raise awareness and money to fight cancer.

Terry Fox was not just about overcoming a disability. He was not just an incredibly determined athlete who ran a marathon every day for 143 days. He was a humanitarian, an advocate, and a hopeful idealist. His courage and optimism in the face of a malignant, crippling, and ultimately fatal disease, set a standard of courage that will not likely be matched by any able or less able athlete ever again.

In recent years the Lance Armstrong Foundation with the help of Nike and and army of PR professionals has raised more than $200 million for cancer research and patient services. These days the LAF is leading the way in Cancer awareness and fundraising.

Or is it?

29 years after his death, the Terry Fox Foundation has raised over $400 million through hundreds of annual "Terry Fox Runs" all over the world. The Marathon of Hope continues thirty years after Terry's marathon ended nine miles outside of Thunder Bay Ontario. In keeping with Terry's policy during his run, the Terry Fox Foundation has no corporate sponsors. Terry felt it would be improper for anyone but cancer patients to benefit from his name or his story.

Terry Fox has become a transcendent figure in sports and culture. Everyone who has participated in or benefited from the work of groups like Team in Training, Joints in Motion, Team Transplant, or Team Challenge, owe a nod and a bow to Terry Fox. All of these groups started well after Terry made is remarkable run into the worlds consciousness.

The second annual Can Do 5 and 10K is unique in that it puts all the able bodied walkers and racers like you and me in the same event with special needs athletes and their families. Obviously once the gun fires things string out pretty quickly but that doesn't detract from the unique quality of inclusion and community that race director Betsy Grieb has worked to create.

"As the name of the race suggests," says Greib, "the goal of our event is to bring into focus what individuals with physical and intellectual disabilities can do". She adds that "many runners struggling to finish the 5K last year were inspired by these remarkable individuals."

The Can Do 5 and 10k benefits "Northshore Special Families", a parent-led program of the Center for Human Services that aims to increase opportunities for social inclusion for children with special needs and their families. But the event serves a second purpose perhaps just as important. As one mother of a special child said at the event last year, “It was great to see the whole community come together and for us to feel supported. The smile on my daughterʼs face as we crossed the finish line together said it all.”

There are plenty of things you "can't" do in your life. Maybe you can't date a movie star, or afford a three month vacation in Europe this summer. But you think you can't ride your bike 100 miles or run a Half Marathon? Bull S!*t.

The silliest words in the world are, "I can't do that". Terry Fox proved that.


The 2010 Can Do 5K/10K is on Saturday, March 27 at the Seattle Times North Creek Facility in Bothell. For information on this event, go to www.CanDo5K.org.

The Swan-Song of W. N. Praeger

Let us go and do a Tri'
When the morning has massaged the sky
like an athlete laid out upon the table;
Let us go through nameless dark deserted streets
With goggles, cap, and cleats,
After restless nights in one-night cheap motels
And fans with beers and tin cow-bells.
Competitors that follow like a tedious argument
With drafting his intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
May I ask, "Where is T2?"
or "Mind if rack here next to you?"

On a day when athletes wait to "go"
Talking of Sram and Shimano

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the sani-cans
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the sani-cans
Licked its tongue into the corners of the morning
Lingered in pools behind registration
Carried on the backs of volunteers from the "Y"
Wafted over the lake as if to steep
And seeing that it was a soft July day
Curdled my chocolate milk, and fell asleep

And God willing there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides behind the tent
Rubbing its back upon the sani-cans;
There will be time, there will be time
To get my wetsuit on and then to go get wet;
There will be time to warm-up ... then cool down
And time for all the words and directions too
That lift and drop a question that I own;
Time to pump and time to tape.
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions of my division.
Before the final plunge and pee.

On this day when athletes dive and go
Talking of Sram and Shimano.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I care?"
Time to wander back and get into my car.
Not so bold as perhaps the others are -
(They will ask: "Why are you not so thin!")
My legs are shaved, my waistband showing just a little skin,
My kit is modest but held together with a safety pin
(They will say: "But eww, his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Put life into reverse?
In a minute there is time
To toe the line and challenge the whole universe

For I have seen them all already, seen them all-
Have seen the swimmers, runners, cyclists too,
Boast of their superhuman VO2;
I hear the voices of my family give a call
Beneath the music in my training room.
So how should I resume?

And I have known the lies already, known them all-
The lies that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, fussing with my pin,
When I am stretching out my quads and glutes
That's when I shall begin
To lie like a dog about triple workout days.
Then how they will presume.

I wish I had a pair of Hed Jett wheels
And arms and legs as strong as iron springs.
....

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the gels, the smoothies, the Nuun,
Among the frozen bottles, and talk of lecithin.
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the Power Bar
To have squeezed every drop of Gu from the foil
And rolled it gently down my throat,
And then to say: "I am Macca, back from the dead,
Back from Kona to tell you, to tell you all" -
Then Chrissy, smiling sweetly all the while
Should say; "That is not what I do at all.
That is not right at all."

No! I am not Alexander, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant coach, one that will do
To swell the masses, start a race or two,
Advise the team; sometimes a little cruel,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and felicitous
Full of high sentence, but way too obtuse;
Most times, indeed downright ridiculous-
Almost, at times, a tool.

I grow old ... I grow old
I hope my thermal tights keep out the cold.

Shall I head out for a swim? Do I dare leave the beach?
I shall wear a full length wetsuit, and float like a peach.
I have heard the dolphins calling, each to each.

I sure wish they would swim with me

I have seen them racing seaward through the waves
Climbing the white caps of the waves blown black
Red caps bobbing like buoys blown back

I have struggled long in the confines of the pool;
Run a thousand hills, Ridden my bike up and down.
Ride, and run, and swim, or you'll drown.


Apologies to Mr. Elliot.