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Would you call it cheating if I installed a tiny electric motor in my bike that produced 5W of free power? Of course you would. But would you call it cheating if I raced with a $12,000 super TT bike that saved me 10W of power? Hmmm. Memberships can be had at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT So, there's been a story in the triathlon world recently that I find really fascinating. And it's not fascinating because I think it's funny, or because I enjoy watching somebody get caught cheating. Actually, quite the opposite. It's fascinating because it raises a much bigger question about what we're actually trying to accomplish when we race triathlon. The story involves an age-group triathlete who had some remarkably fast bike splits, which eventually resulted in anonymous whistleblower complaints and allegations of motor doping. And I want to be careful here, because this whole thing apparently became a bit of a nightmare, and I don't think it's my place to declare somebody guilty based on what I've read. But the story got me thinking about motor doping. And then it got me thinking about technology. And then it got me thinking about what the heck we're actually doing in this sport. Because here's the thing. We all understand why motor doping is cheating. If I put a little electric motor on my bike and use that motor to propel me down the road, I'm no longer relying entirely on my own physical ability. That's pretty obvious. But here's where I start to get philosophical about it. What exactly is the objective of triathlon? Is it to go the distance as quickly as possible? Or is it to go the distance as quickly as you are capable of going using the power of your own body? Those sound like almost the same thing. But I don't think they are. Because if the objective is simply to cover 40 kilometres on a bicycle as fast as possible, then why would we have any rules about equipment? Let's just remove all the restrictions. Put a motor on the bike. Put a giant fairing around the rider. Give everybody an aerodynamic shell. Give them whatever technology is available. And let's see who can get from point A to point B the fastest. That would be a competition. But it wouldn't really be the sport of triathlon anymore. Because triathlon isn't supposed to be a competition between machines. It's supposed to be a competition between people. And that got me thinking about something that we don't question very often. Why do we allow technology to improve our performance at all? Now, I love technology. I'm a triathlete. I have a power meter. I have an aero bike. I have aero wheels. I have a wetsuit. I have very expensive goggles. I use training software. I have GPS. I have all kinds of technology that didn't exist when I first started doing triathlons. And obviously, I don't think all of that is cheating. But where is the line? And why is that line where it is? Take the bicycle itself. A modern triathlon bike is vastly more technologically advanced than the bicycles we were riding 30 years ago. It's more aerodynamic. It's lighter. It's stiffer. The wheels are more aerodynamic. The helmet is more aerodynamic. The clothing is more aerodynamic. The position we're riding in is more aerodynamic. All of those things make us faster. And we accept that. In fact, we celebrate it. We spend thousands of dollars trying to save a few watts. And I'm one of those people. I love this stuff. But here's the uncomfortable question: At what point does technology stop helping the athlete and start becoming the athlete? Because there is a continuum here. At one end, you've got something like a better pair of running shoes. Nobody would argue that wearing a good pair of running shoes means you're not actually running. At the other end, you've got an electric motor. Nobody would argue that the motor is your athletic ability. But somewhere between those two extremes is a whole lot of grey area. Super shoes. Aero helmets. Deep-section wheels. Electronic shifting. Aero frames. Power meters. Carbon-plated shoes. Wetsuits. Training software. Altitude tents. Cooling systems. Nutrition technology. Recovery technology. And on and on. And I'm not saying any of those things are bad. I'm just asking the question: Why do we allow them? And I think part of the answer is that technology has always been part of sport. Human beings have always tried to make better equipment. We made better running shoes. We made better bicycles. We made better swimsuits. We made better skis. We made better boats. And there's something really interesting about technological innovation. It makes the sport faster. It makes it more exciting. It makes people want to buy things. And, let's be honest, there's an entire industry built around convincing triathletes that the next piece of equipment is going to make them faster. And sometimes it does. But there's another consequence. Money. Because the more expensive technology we introduce into the sport, the more the playing field can become separated by who can afford the best equipment. Now, I know we're not talking about professional sports here. We're talking about age-group triathlon. But age-group triathlon can be incredibly competitive. And especially when you're racing for a podium, or trying to qualify for a world championship, the difference between first and fifth place can be very small. So if one athlete has a $12,000 superbike with $3,000 wheels and another athlete has a five-year-old road bike with clip-on aerobars, are they really competing on an equal playing field? Well... No. They're not. But we've decided that's okay. We've decided that the athlete with more money is allowed to buy some performance advantage. And that's where this gets uncomfortable. Because we draw the line at a motor. But why? Because the motor provides too much assistance? Because it's hidden? Because it replaces human effort? Probably all three. But if that's the principle, then maybe the question we should be asking isn't: “Is this piece of technology legal?” Maybe the question should be: “How much of the performance is actually coming from the athlete?” Now, obviously, that's impossible to quantify. And I'm not suggesting we try to ban every technological improvement. That would be ridiculous. I like technology. I don't want to go back to racing in a cotton T-shirt and riding a 25-pound steel bicycle. But I think it's worth recognizing what we're doing. We're gradually moving the sport toward a place where athletic performance and technological performance are intertwined. And that isn't necessarily bad. But it does change the nature of the competition. And then you get to motor doping. And suddenly, we're looking at something that's different. Because the motor isn't making you more aerodynamic. It isn't reducing rolling resistance. It isn't helping you train. It's actually producing power. You can be sitting there pedalling away, and some of the work is being done by a machine. And that's where I think we all intuitively say: No. That's not you. That's the motor. And maybe that's the simplest definition of cheating in sport. You're getting performance from something that isn't you. But then again... Isn't that happening in tiny amounts all the time? My aero helmet isn't me. My wheels aren't me. My wetsuit isn't me. My bike isn't me. My running shoes aren't me. So maybe the distinction is not whether technology contributes to performance. Of course it does. Maybe the distinction is whether the technology is passive or active. Does it allow my body to use its own energy more efficiently? Or does it actually add energy? That's probably where the line needs to be. And I think that's a pretty reasonable line. But there's another issue with all of this. And that's trust. Because age-group triathlon is supposed to be recreational. We're amateurs. We're not making a living from this. We're not getting paid millions of dollars to win races. And yet we take this stuff incredibly seriously. We train for months. We spend enormous amounts of money. We travel around the world. We qualify for world championships. We stand on podiums. And when we're racing, we want to know that the person beside us is playing by the same rules. That's part of what makes competition meaningful. If I beat somebody, I want to know that I beat them. Not their bank account. Not their equipment manufacturer. Not their hidden motor. And not their ability to find some loophole in the rules. And that's why I think the motor-doping story is worth talking about. Not because I want to pile on one athlete. Not because I think age-group triathlon is filled with cheaters. And certainly not because I think we should start policing every person who rides a little bit too fast. It's because it forces us to ask a much bigger question. What are we actually competing at? Are we competing to see who can cover the course fastest by any means available? Or are we competing to see what human beings are capable of doing? Because I think most of us, if we're honest, chose triathlon for the second reason. That's what makes it satisfying. You swim the distance because your body can swim that far. You ride the distance because your body can produce the power. You run the distance because your body can keep going. And when you cross the finish line, there's something incredibly satisfying about knowing: That was me. Not the bike. Not the shoes. Not the technology. Not the training software. Me. And maybe that's why motor doping bothers us so much. Because it doesn't just violate a rule. It violates the underlying agreement we're all making when we line up at the start. We're agreeing that we're going to find out what we're capable of. And I think that's what makes sport different from simply transportation. If the goal were merely to get from here to there as quickly as possible, I'd take a motorcycle. I'd get there a hell of a lot faster. But that's not why we're doing this. We're doing this to fi

Do you train on vacation? Should you train on vacation? I have some thoughts. Share your thoughts at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT So, it's vacation time. And that got me thinking about something that I've actually changed my mind about over the years: training while you're on vacation. For most of my triathlon life, I didn't. And my reasoning was pretty simple. I'm on vacation. I'm not training. I'm taking a break from the structure, the schedule, the alarm clocks, the workouts, the recovery protocols, all of it. And I actually think there's a lot of value in that. Because when we talk about recovery, we tend to think about physical recovery. You take some time off, your muscles recover, your body gets a break. But there's also mental recovery. And I think that's just as important. If you're training six days a week, and every workout has a purpose, and you're constantly thinking about what you're supposed to be doing tomorrow, and whether you hit today's numbers, and whether you got enough sleep, and whether you ate enough protein... Sometimes it's really nice to just stop. You're on vacation. You don't have to do anything. And that's the way I used to approach it. But lately I've been finding that a little harder to justify. And the reason is five watts. Five watts. I've spent the last six weeks working to increase my FTP by about five watts. And now I'm about to go away for ten days. And if I do absolutely nothing for those ten days, my training software predicts that I'm going to lose roughly five watts of FTP. About one and a half percent. And I'm thinking... Wait a minute. It took me six weeks to gain those five watts. And I'm going to give them back in ten days? That doesn't seem fair. Now, intellectually, I know that fitness doesn't work quite that simply. And I also did a little bit of reading about what happens when you take a short break from training. And it turns out that if you've put in some good, hard training before the vacation, you can actually maintain a surprising amount of fitness over a relatively short period of time. In fact, with some appropriately hard workouts leading into the vacation, I may be able to preserve most, or maybe even all, of that FTP. Which is good news. But then I started thinking... What if I did a little bit of exercise while I was away? Not training. Exercise. And that distinction has become really important to me. Because I don't want to take my training plan on vacation. I don't want to wake up in Mexico and think, "Okay, what's my workout today?" I don't want to be looking at power numbers or heart-rate zones or trying to hit intervals. I don't want to turn my vacation into a training camp. But I also don't think there's anything wrong with getting up in the morning and moving my body for 30 or 40 minutes. And that's essentially what I've decided to do. I'm not taking my bike. I'm not going to use an indoor gym. For one thing, I don't really want to spend my vacation inside a gym. And it's cold and flu season, and I'm just not particularly interested in putting myself into an indoor environment where a whole bunch of people are breathing heavily around me. But I can run. And I can swim. So my thought is, maybe one morning I'll get up early, before it gets too hot, and I'll go for a 30- or 45-minute run. And the next day, I'll go swimming for 30 or 40 minutes. Then maybe run. Then swim. Run. Swim. And that's it. There's no particular workout. There's no prescribed intensity. There's no TrainingPeaks workout waiting for me. There's no TrainerRoad workout. There's no "I have to get this done." I'm just going to exercise. And I really like that idea. Because the swimming in particular doesn't even really feel like I'm giving something up. I'm going to be in Mexico. I'm going to be in the ocean. I'm probably going to spend hours in the water. So why not spend 30 minutes of those hours actually swimming? I'm not taking 30 minutes away from my vacation to go to the pool and do 2,000 metres because my training plan says I have to. I'm already in the water. I'm just moving through it. And running is a little different because I probably wouldn't otherwise get up and go for a run on vacation. But even there, I think there's something enjoyable about getting outside early in the morning, before the heat, and seeing where you are on foot. And here's where I think I've found the middle ground. I'm not really trying to improve my fitness while I'm on vacation. I don't expect these workouts to make me fitter. They're not going to meaningfully increase my FTP. They're not going to suddenly make me a faster runner. They're not going to transform my swimming. But combined with the hard training I've done before the vacation, I think they can help me maintain some of what I've built. And that's a nice side benefit. But I don't think that should be the primary reason for doing them. The primary reason is simply that exercise is good for us. And I think that's something we sometimes forget when we're talking about training. We tend to divide our lives into these categories. I'm training. I'm not training. I'm on vacation. I'm at work. I'm at home. I'm travelling. But our bodies don't really care about those categories. If you can find 30 or 40 minutes to move your body, that's probably a good thing whether you're at home, you're travelling for work, or you're sitting on a beach somewhere. And maybe the trick is not to think of it as training. Think of it as exercise. Because there are some real downsides to training on vacation. The first is time. If you're travelling with your spouse or your family, that 45-minute run isn't necessarily just 45 minutes. There's getting ready. There's showering. There's changing. And suddenly you've taken an hour or more away from the people you're actually on vacation with. And that's not necessarily a good trade. There's also the danger of becoming obsessed with it. You tell yourself, "I'm just going to exercise a little bit while I'm away." And pretty soon you're thinking about your workouts every day. You're setting alarms. You're getting frustrated if you miss a workout. You're changing your plans because you need to get your run in. And now you've recreated the exact structure you were trying to get away from. There's another downside, too. Spontaneity. One of the great things about vacation is that you don't necessarily know what the day is going to look like. Maybe you stay out late. Maybe you have a couple of drinks. Maybe you sleep until nine. Maybe somebody suggests doing something you've never thought of doing. And suddenly that 7 a.m. workout doesn't fit. And that's okay. You're on vacation. You don't want your exercise to become another obligation. And finally, there's recovery. Sometimes your body actually needs the break. Maybe you've just come off a hard training block. Maybe you're carrying a little fatigue. Maybe you've been travelling all day. Maybe you didn't sleep well. Maybe you're jet-lagged. Maybe you're just tired. In those circumstances, going for a hard run because you feel like you "should" isn't necessarily healthy. And I think that's where the distinction between exercise and training becomes really useful. If I'm exercising on vacation and one morning I don't feel like running, I don't run. That's the test. If I wake up and think, "You know what? I would rather sleep for another hour and then go have breakfast with my wife," then that's what I should do. Because I'm on vacation. And if missing that run creates anxiety or guilt... Well, then maybe I've crossed the line from exercise back into training. So I think that's the balance I'm going to try to find. I'm not going to take my training plan with me. I'm not going to try to replicate what I would be doing at home. I'm not going to worry about maintaining every watt of FTP. I'm not going to worry about losing a little bit of fitness. I'm just going to move. Run a little. Swim a little. Enjoy the water. Enjoy being outside. And then come home and get back to training. And maybe that's the bigger lesson here. I used to think the choice was binary. Either you're training, or you're on vacation. And I've come to realize that maybe there's something in between. You can take a genuine break from training without taking a complete break from movement. You can exercise without following a training plan. You can move your body without measuring everything. And you can protect your vacation without completely abandoning the things that make you feel good. So, if you're heading away on vacation this season, maybe ask yourself a simple question: Do I actually want to train while I'm away? And if the answer is no, don't. Take the break. Enjoy the vacation. Sleep in. Eat the good food. Have the drink. Don't set the alarm. Give yourself that mental break. But if the answer is yes... Maybe don't make it training. Go for a swim. Go for a run. Take a hike. Rent a bike. Go for a walk. Do something you enjoy. And then go back to enjoying your vacation. Because maybe the goal isn't to come home from vacation having gained fitness. Maybe the goal isn't even to come home having perfectly maintained your fitness. Maybe the goal is simply to come home feeling refreshed... and still feeling like yourself.

Lately I've observed a tremendous number of people entering a 70.3 as their first triathlon. Back in the day, people hardly ever started at that distance. It usually went something like sprint --> standard --> half --> ironman. So, what changed? I've got some ideas. Check the podcast out at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT There’s something I’ve been noticing lately. I spend a fair amount of time looking at the triathlon subreddit, r/triathlon, and over the past few years I’ve noticed something that I find kind of fascinating. There are so many people doing a 70.3. And not just doing a 70.3. Doing a 70.3 as their first triathlon. And every time I see one of these posts, I find myself thinking… Why? I mean, seriously. A 70.3 is a long-distance endurance event. For a reasonably good age-group triathlete, maybe you’re looking at five hours. For a lot of people, six hours. Six and a half hours. Seven hours. Maybe more. And I started thinking about that in relation to running. Because six or seven hours is a really long time to be doing anything athletic. For most recreational athletes, that's considerably longer than they would take to run a marathon. And yet somebody who has never done a triathlon will sometimes say: “I've signed up for a 70.3.” And everybody says, “Congratulations!” And then they start talking about wetsuits and nutrition and training plans. And I think… How did this become normal? Because I don't remember it being this way. I got into triathlon in the 1990s. And back then, at least as I remember it, the progression was pretty straightforward. There was sprint distance. There was what we called standard distance, which became Olympic distance. And then there was the Ironman. And somewhere in between there was the Half Ironman. And I did one of those myself when I was working my way toward doing a full Ironman. But it wasn't really a thing in the way 70.3 is a thing today. And this is where I had to go back and check my memory, because I wasn't completely sure. And it turns out my memory is basically right. There absolutely were half-Ironman-distance races in the 1990s. There were some very well-known ones. Wildflower had a Half Ironman. Vineman had one. There were others. And I even remembered something called the Tin Man. And this is where I thought, “Wait a minute. Did they actually try to call the half distance the Tin Man?” Well… Sort of. There were races called Tin Man, and some of them were at roughly the half-Ironman distance. But Tin Man wasn't actually the universal name for the distance. It was just a name used by particular races. So, yes, I remembered something real. But no, there wasn't this giant global thing called the Tin Man series. And that's the important distinction. Because the half-Ironman distance existed. What didn't really exist was the product that we now know as the 70.3. And that changed in 2005. That's when Ironman launched the Ironman 70.3 brand. And I think that was a pretty important moment in the history of triathlon. Because they didn't invent the distance. They branded it. They standardized it. They created a global series around it. And then, in 2006, there was a 70.3 World Championship. And suddenly the half-Ironman wasn't just… “Well, this is a good race to do on the way to a full Ironman.” It became a destination. You could be a 70.3 athlete. You could qualify for a 70.3 World Championship. There were 70.3 races all over the world. And Ironman got very, very good at marketing them. And I think that's where this gets really interesting. Because I wonder if the success of 70.3 has actually changed what people think triathlon is. If you came into the sport in the 1990s, like I did, you might have thought about triathlon as something like: Sprint. Then Olympic. Maybe a Half Ironman. Maybe eventually an Ironman. There was a progression. Today, I think a lot of people enter the sport with the Ironman brand already in their heads. They see Ironman. They see 70.3. They see the World Championship. They see people racing in these spectacular locations. They see the professional athletes. They see the finish-line videos. They see the “You Are an Ironman” stuff. And if you're a new athlete, you can very quickly come to the conclusion that this is what triathlon is. You don't necessarily think: “I'll start with a sprint.” You think: “I'm going to do a 70.3.” And I think social media has probably accelerated that enormously. Because what's more impressive on Instagram? “I completed my first sprint triathlon.” Or: “I COMPLETED MY FIRST 70.3!” You know exactly which one gets the reaction. And I don't mean that critically. I understand it. There's something incredibly appealing about setting a huge goal. And I'm certainly not going to criticize somebody for doing it. But I do think it's interesting that we've arrived at a point where doing a six- or seven-hour endurance event can be somebody's introduction to triathlon. And there's another thing I've been thinking about. Television. Because I wonder how much the growth of 70.3 has been helped by the fact that it's actually a really good television product. A full Ironman is fascinating if you're a triathlete. But as a television event, it's difficult. It's a very long day. The professional athletes are out there for hours and hours. And then you've got thousands of age-group athletes spread over an even longer period. A 70.3 gives you a much more compact race. You've got the swim. You've got the bike. You've got the run. You've got the lead changes. You've got athletes racing very, very hard. And you've got an entire race that unfolds in a much more manageable television window. And I think that's probably important. Because the more we see something, the more normal it becomes. And if what we're constantly seeing is professional athletes doing 70.3s… And amateur athletes doing 70.3s… And people qualifying for 70.3 Worlds… Then 70.3 starts to look like the normal thing to aspire to. And maybe this is where I'm going with all of this. I think Ironman did something extremely clever. They took an existing distance and turned it into a brand. And once you turn something into a brand, you can sell an identity around it. You're not just doing a 1.9-kilometre swim, a 90-kilometre bike and a half marathon. You're doing a 70.3. That number means something. And it means something because we've been told that it means something. Now, there's nothing wrong with that. I'm not anti-70.3. I've done one. I've trained for one. I've spent plenty of time thinking about doing another one. But I do wonder whether we've lost something along the way. Because I actually think the Olympic distance is a fantastic race. It's long enough that you have to train. It's short enough that you can race it. You can go hard. You can recover. You can have a life outside of triathlon. And you can get really, really good at it. And that's actually where I've found myself heading. For a long time, I assumed the natural progression was toward longer distance. That's what you did. You went from sprint to Olympic. Then you did a 70.3. Then maybe you did an Ironman. Longer was somehow better. More impressive. More difficult. But I'm starting to question that. Maybe the next step isn't always longer. Maybe it's better. Maybe instead of asking: “How far can I go?” we should sometimes ask: “How fast can I go?” Or: “How good can I get at this distance?” And that's particularly relevant to me now. I'm 58. I've already done the longer stuff. I've done a 70.3. I've done Ironman-distance racing. And now I'm heading toward the 2027 World Triathlon Age Group Championships in Hamburg at the standard distance. And what I'm finding really interesting about that is that I'm actually excited about getting better at a distance that isn't the longest thing I could possibly do. I want to get faster. I want to improve my swim. I want to improve my bike. I want to run well off the bike. And I want to see how good I can get at an Olympic-distance triathlon. Not how long I can survive. How well I can race. And maybe that's the part of this whole 70.3 phenomenon that interests me most. We've become very good at convincing people that the ultimate achievement in triathlon is going longer. But maybe there's another way of looking at it. Maybe completing a seven-hour race isn't necessarily more impressive than doing a two-and-a-half-hour race really, really well. Maybe the challenge isn't always endurance. Maybe it's performance. Maybe it's precision. Maybe it's figuring out how to squeeze another minute out of a swim, another couple of kilometres per hour out of the bike, another few minutes out of the run. And maybe… Just maybe… The next step in triathlon doesn't always have to be longer. Sometimes it can just be better.

Lately I've observed a tremendous number of people entering a 70.3 as their first triathlon. Back in the day, people hardly ever started at that distance. It usually went something like sprint --> standard --> half --> ironman. So, what changed? I've got some ideas. TRANSCRIPT There’s something I’ve been noticing lately. I spend a fair amount of time looking at the triathlon subreddit, r/triathlon, and over the past few years I’ve noticed something that I find kind of fascinating. There are so many people doing a 70.3. And not just doing a 70.3. Doing a 70.3 as their first triathlon. And every time I see one of these posts, I find myself thinking… Why? I mean, seriously. A 70.3 is a long-distance endurance event. For a reasonably good age-group triathlete, maybe you’re looking at five hours. For a lot of people, six hours. Six and a half hours. Seven hours. Maybe more. And I started thinking about that in relation to running. Because six or seven hours is a really long time to be doing anything athletic. For most recreational athletes, that's considerably longer than they would take to run a marathon. And yet somebody who has never done a triathlon will sometimes say: “I've signed up for a 70.3.” And everybody says, “Congratulations!” And then they start talking about wetsuits and nutrition and training plans. And I think… How did this become normal? Because I don't remember it being this way. I got into triathlon in the 1990s. And back then, at least as I remember it, the progression was pretty straightforward. There was sprint distance. There was what we called standard distance, which became Olympic distance. And then there was the Ironman. And somewhere in between there was the Half Ironman. And I did one of those myself when I was working my way toward doing a full Ironman. But it wasn't really a thing in the way 70.3 is a thing today. And this is where I had to go back and check my memory, because I wasn't completely sure. And it turns out my memory is basically right. There absolutely were half-Ironman-distance races in the 1990s. There were some very well-known ones. Wildflower had a Half Ironman. Vineman had one. There were others. And I even remembered something called the Tin Man. And this is where I thought, “Wait a minute. Did they actually try to call the half distance the Tin Man?” Well… Sort of. There were races called Tin Man, and some of them were at roughly the half-Ironman distance. But Tin Man wasn't actually the universal name for the distance. It was just a name used by particular races. So, yes, I remembered something real. But no, there wasn't this giant global thing called the Tin Man series. And that's the important distinction. Because the half-Ironman distance existed. What didn't really exist was the product that we now know as the 70.3. And that changed in 2005. That's when Ironman launched the Ironman 70.3 brand. And I think that was a pretty important moment in the history of triathlon. Because they didn't invent the distance. They branded it. They standardized it. They created a global series around it. And then, in 2006, there was a 70.3 World Championship. And suddenly the half-Ironman wasn't just… “Well, this is a good race to do on the way to a full Ironman.” It became a destination. You could be a 70.3 athlete. You could qualify for a 70.3 World Championship. There were 70.3 races all over the world. And Ironman got very, very good at marketing them. And I think that's where this gets really interesting. Because I wonder if the success of 70.3 has actually changed what people think triathlon is. If you came into the sport in the 1990s, like I did, you might have thought about triathlon as something like: Sprint. Then Olympic. Maybe a Half Ironman. Maybe eventually an Ironman. There was a progression. Today, I think a lot of people enter the sport with the Ironman brand already in their heads. They see Ironman. They see 70.3. They see the World Championship. They see people racing in these spectacular locations. They see the professional athletes. They see the finish-line videos. They see the “You Are an Ironman” stuff. And if you're a new athlete, you can very quickly come to the conclusion that this is what triathlon is. You don't necessarily think: “I'll start with a sprint.” You think: “I'm going to do a 70.3.” And I think social media has probably accelerated that enormously. Because what's more impressive on Instagram? “I completed my first sprint triathlon.” Or: “I COMPLETED MY FIRST 70.3!” You know exactly which one gets the reaction. And I don't mean that critically. I understand it. There's something incredibly appealing about setting a huge goal. And I'm certainly not going to criticize somebody for doing it. But I do think it's interesting that we've arrived at a point where doing a six- or seven-hour endurance event can be somebody's introduction to triathlon. And there's another thing I've been thinking about. Television. Because I wonder how much the growth of 70.3 has been helped by the fact that it's actually a really good television product. A full Ironman is fascinating if you're a triathlete. But as a television event, it's difficult. It's a very long day. The professional athletes are out there for hours and hours. And then you've got thousands of age-group athletes spread over an even longer period. A 70.3 gives you a much more compact race. You've got the swim. You've got the bike. You've got the run. You've got the lead changes. You've got athletes racing very, very hard. And you've got an entire race that unfolds in a much more manageable television window. And I think that's probably important. Because the more we see something, the more normal it becomes. And if what we're constantly seeing is professional athletes doing 70.3s… And amateur athletes doing 70.3s… And people qualifying for 70.3 Worlds… Then 70.3 starts to look like the normal thing to aspire to. And maybe this is where I'm going with all of this. I think Ironman did something extremely clever. They took an existing distance and turned it into a brand. And once you turn something into a brand, you can sell an identity around it. You're not just doing a 1.9-kilometre swim, a 90-kilometre bike and a half marathon. You're doing a 70.3. That number means something. And it means something because we've been told that it means something. Now, there's nothing wrong with that. I'm not anti-70.3. I've done one. I've trained for one. I've spent plenty of time thinking about doing another one. But I do wonder whether we've lost something along the way. Because I actually think the Olympic distance is a fantastic race. It's long enough that you have to train. It's short enough that you can race it. You can go hard. You can recover. You can have a life outside of triathlon. And you can get really, really good at it. And that's actually where I've found myself heading. For a long time, I assumed the natural progression was toward longer distance. That's what you did. You went from sprint to Olympic. Then you did a 70.3. Then maybe you did an Ironman. Longer was somehow better. More impressive. More difficult. But I'm starting to question that. Maybe the next step isn't always longer. Maybe it's better. Maybe instead of asking: “How far can I go?” we should sometimes ask: “How fast can I go?” Or: “How good can I get at this distance?” And that's particularly relevant to me now. I'm 58. I've already done the longer stuff. I've done a 70.3. I've done Ironman-distance racing. And now I'm heading toward the 2027 World Triathlon Age Group Championships in Hamburg at the standard distance. And what I'm finding really interesting about that is that I'm actually excited about getting better at a distance that isn't the longest thing I could possibly do. I want to get faster. I want to improve my swim. I want to improve my bike. I want to run well off the bike. And I want to see how good I can get at an Olympic-distance triathlon. Not how long I can survive. How well I can race. And maybe that's the part of this whole 70.3 phenomenon that interests me most. We've become very good at convincing people that the ultimate achievement in triathlon is going longer. But maybe there's another way of looking at it. Maybe completing a seven-hour race isn't necessarily more impressive than doing a two-and-a-half-hour race really, really well. Maybe the challenge isn't always endurance. Maybe it's performance. Maybe it's precision. Maybe it's figuring out how to squeeze another minute out of a swim, another couple of kilometres per hour out of the bike, another few minutes out of the run. And maybe… Just maybe… The next step in triathlon doesn't always have to be longer. Sometimes it can just be better.

Too much fiber, noisy weekends, high cholesterol and more on this week's episode! Come chat with us at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete

Too much fiber, noisy weekends, high cholesterol and more on this week's episode!

Triathlon works best, long-term, as a lifestyle. Easier said than done? Join up at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlon TRANSCRIPT The Lonely Triathlete — Triathlon as a LifestyleI've been thinking a lot this week about the idea of triathlon as a lifestyle. And specifically, I'm thinking about the training side of triathlon. Because when somebody is new to the sport, I think one of the things that can be really interesting—and really beneficial—is that, over time, triathlon can become more than just something you do. It can actually become part of your lifestyle. And I started thinking about what that really means. Because we use the word "lifestyle" all the time, but what actually makes something a lifestyle? Well, I think one of the big things is that it's habitual. It's something you do repeatedly. It's something that eventually becomes almost automatic. I mean, think about eating breakfast. Or eating lunch. You don't wake up every morning and have a big internal debate about whether you're going to eat today. It's just part of your life. And I think there's something really interesting about what happens when training starts to move in that direction. When you're new to triathlon, you probably have to think about everything. When am I going to swim? When am I going to ride? When am I going to run? What workout am I going to do? What do I need to eat? What do I need to bring? Do I have clean cycling clothes? Is my bike ready? There's all this friction around the activity. But if you stick with it long enough, some of that starts to disappear. You know what Tuesday is. You know that Thursday is a run day. You know that Sunday morning is probably going to involve a bike. You start preparing your gear without really thinking about it. You start arranging your life around the things that are important to you. And eventually, you're not really asking yourself, "Am I going to train today?" You're asking yourself, "How am I going to make today's training work?" And I think that's a pretty significant shift. So what creates that shift?I think the first thing is consistency. And I don't mean perfection. That's an important distinction. Consistency doesn't mean you never miss a workout. It doesn't mean you execute every training week exactly as prescribed. It doesn't mean you never get sick, or injured, or have a busy week at work, or have something happen in your family. Consistency means that you keep coming back. You train. You miss a workout. You get back to training. You have a great week. You have a terrible week. You keep going. And eventually, those repeated actions start to become a pattern. And that pattern starts to become a habit. And the habit starts to become part of your life. I think patience is another big piece of this. Because triathlon is really good at teaching you that you don't get everything you want immediately. You can have a great training week and not see any improvement. You can work really hard for three months and discover that your FTP went up by 10 watts. And you might think, "That's it?" But then you look back two years later and realize that those 10-watt improvements, those little improvements in your running, those little improvements in your swimming, all accumulated into something pretty significant. That's the nature of endurance sport. You're accumulating. And I think that's one of the beautiful things about it. There's also resilience.Because if you're going to make triathlon part of your life, you're going to have setbacks. You are going to miss workouts. You're going to have bad races. You're going to get sick. You're probably going to get injured at some point. You're going to have periods where life gets in the way. And one of the skills you develop is simply learning how to pick yourself up and start again. And that's a pretty useful skill outside of triathlon, too. Because life doesn't really care what your training plan says. Sometimes life happens. And the question becomes, "Okay. What do I do now?" Not, "How do I make up every workout I missed?" Not, "How do I punish myself for falling behind?" Just, "Okay. What's the next thing I can reasonably do?" And I think that's another characteristic of something that's sustainable. It's flexible. It can bend without breaking. And that brings me to one of the dangers for somebody who's new to the sport.Because I think it's very easy to confuse enthusiasm with sustainability. You discover triathlon and you think, "This is amazing." And suddenly you're looking at training plans and YouTube videos and gear and nutrition and power meters and heart-rate zones and all of these things. And before you know it, you're trying to do everything. And you're training five or six days a week. And you've bought a bunch of equipment. And you're trying to optimize every workout. And you're exhausted. And you've been doing it for six weeks. And then you wonder why you can't maintain it. So I think one of the most important questions for a new triathlete isn't: "How much can I do?" It's: "What can I do consistently?" And maybe even more importantly: "What can I imagine myself doing five years from now?" Because if the answer is, "Well, there's no way I can keep doing this," then maybe you've built something that's too big. So how do you actually figure that out?I think you start with your life. Not with the training plan. Look at your week. Look at your work. Look at your family. Look at your sleep. Look at the other things that matter to you. And then ask yourself: where does training realistically fit? Maybe you start with a very simple week. One swim. One bike. One run. And maybe that's not your ultimate training program. It's just your starting point. It's your minimum viable version of being a triathlete. And once that feels normal—once it feels like, "Yeah, this is just what I do"—then maybe you add something. And you see how that feels. Maybe you experiment with when you train. Maybe mornings work better. Maybe evenings work better. Maybe you discover that getting everything ready the night before removes a tremendous amount of friction. And that's another thing I think people underestimate: You're not just building a training plan. You're building a system around the training. The bike gets cleaned. The bottles get filled. The clothes get laid out. The shoes are ready. The workout is on the calendar. And suddenly, tomorrow morning doesn't require a whole bunch of decisions. That's what I mean by reducing friction. The fewer decisions you have to make, the easier it becomes to repeat the behaviour. And I think it's also worth deciding ahead of time what happens when things go wrong.Because things will go wrong. Maybe you miss Tuesday's workout. What's your rule? Do you try to squeeze it in Wednesday? Do you move on? Do you change the rest of the week? Maybe you have a terrible night's sleep. What's your rule? Maybe you're feeling beat up. What's your rule? I think having some of those decisions made in advance can be incredibly helpful. Because you don't want to make your best decisions about training when you're exhausted, frustrated, or feeling guilty. Sometimes the best training decision is simply to let the workout go. And then come back tomorrow. But there's another potential trap.And that's allowing triathlon to consume your life. Because there's a difference between making triathlon part of your lifestyle and making triathlon your entire lifestyle. And I think that's an important distinction. For me, anyway, triathlon is important. It's a significant part of my life. But it's not the whole thing. There are relationships. There is family. There is work. There are other interests. There is downtime. There is just being a human being who isn't training. And I think the sport is actually healthier when it has a place in your life rather than when it takes over your life. And that probably goes back to sustainability again. Because if the thing you're doing is constantly competing with everything else you value, eventually something is going to give. And then there's comparison.That's another one that's really easy to fall into. Especially today. You can go online and see somebody's power numbers. You can see somebody's race results. You can see somebody's training volume. You can see somebody who is swimming six days a week and running 50 kilometres and riding 300 kilometres. And you're sitting there thinking, "Well, I guess I'm not doing enough." But you don't know their circumstances. And you certainly don't know their starting point. You're comparing your beginning to somebody else's middle. And that's a pretty easy way to take something that was supposed to add to your life and turn it into a source of stress. So I think the better question is: Is what I'm doing sustainable for me? Not for somebody else. For me. And if you get that right, I think some pretty interesting things happen over time.Obviously, you get fitter. You get stronger. Your cardiovascular fitness improves. You become more capable. You may race faster. You may achieve things that you never thought you were capable of. But I think there are some benefits that go well beyond the physical. There's confidence. Not the kind of confidence where you think you're better than somebody else. It's the confidence that comes from knowing you've done difficult things before. You know what it feels like to be uncomfortable. You know what it feels like to have a bad day and keep going. You know what it feels like to work toward something for months and finally see the payoff. And there's a sense of structure. Training gives your week a rhythm. There are things you do on certain days. There are goals you're working toward. And for a lot of people, I think that can be really valuable. There's also community. You meet people through triathlon. You become part of something. And maybe one of the most interesting benefits is the relationship you develop with aging. Because

Triathlon works best, long-term, as a lifestyle. Easier said than done? TRANSCRIPT The Lonely Triathlete — Triathlon as a LifestyleI've been thinking a lot this week about the idea of triathlon as a lifestyle. And specifically, I'm thinking about the training side of triathlon. Because when somebody is new to the sport, I think one of the things that can be really interesting—and really beneficial—is that, over time, triathlon can become more than just something you do. It can actually become part of your lifestyle. And I started thinking about what that really means. Because we use the word "lifestyle" all the time, but what actually makes something a lifestyle? Well, I think one of the big things is that it's habitual. It's something you do repeatedly. It's something that eventually becomes almost automatic. I mean, think about eating breakfast. Or eating lunch. You don't wake up every morning and have a big internal debate about whether you're going to eat today. It's just part of your life. And I think there's something really interesting about what happens when training starts to move in that direction. When you're new to triathlon, you probably have to think about everything. When am I going to swim? When am I going to ride? When am I going to run? What workout am I going to do? What do I need to eat? What do I need to bring? Do I have clean cycling clothes? Is my bike ready? There's all this friction around the activity. But if you stick with it long enough, some of that starts to disappear. You know what Tuesday is. You know that Thursday is a run day. You know that Sunday morning is probably going to involve a bike. You start preparing your gear without really thinking about it. You start arranging your life around the things that are important to you. And eventually, you're not really asking yourself, "Am I going to train today?" You're asking yourself, "How am I going to make today's training work?" And I think that's a pretty significant shift. So what creates that shift?I think the first thing is consistency. And I don't mean perfection. That's an important distinction. Consistency doesn't mean you never miss a workout. It doesn't mean you execute every training week exactly as prescribed. It doesn't mean you never get sick, or injured, or have a busy week at work, or have something happen in your family. Consistency means that you keep coming back. You train. You miss a workout. You get back to training. You have a great week. You have a terrible week. You keep going. And eventually, those repeated actions start to become a pattern. And that pattern starts to become a habit. And the habit starts to become part of your life. I think patience is another big piece of this. Because triathlon is really good at teaching you that you don't get everything you want immediately. You can have a great training week and not see any improvement. You can work really hard for three months and discover that your FTP went up by 10 watts. And you might think, "That's it?" But then you look back two years later and realize that those 10-watt improvements, those little improvements in your running, those little improvements in your swimming, all accumulated into something pretty significant. That's the nature of endurance sport. You're accumulating. And I think that's one of the beautiful things about it. There's also resilience.Because if you're going to make triathlon part of your life, you're going to have setbacks. You are going to miss workouts. You're going to have bad races. You're going to get sick. You're probably going to get injured at some point. You're going to have periods where life gets in the way. And one of the skills you develop is simply learning how to pick yourself up and start again. And that's a pretty useful skill outside of triathlon, too. Because life doesn't really care what your training plan says. Sometimes life happens. And the question becomes, "Okay. What do I do now?" Not, "How do I make up every workout I missed?" Not, "How do I punish myself for falling behind?" Just, "Okay. What's the next thing I can reasonably do?" And I think that's another characteristic of something that's sustainable. It's flexible. It can bend without breaking. And that brings me to one of the dangers for somebody who's new to the sport.Because I think it's very easy to confuse enthusiasm with sustainability. You discover triathlon and you think, "This is amazing." And suddenly you're looking at training plans and YouTube videos and gear and nutrition and power meters and heart-rate zones and all of these things. And before you know it, you're trying to do everything. And you're training five or six days a week. And you've bought a bunch of equipment. And you're trying to optimize every workout. And you're exhausted. And you've been doing it for six weeks. And then you wonder why you can't maintain it. So I think one of the most important questions for a new triathlete isn't: "How much can I do?" It's: "What can I do consistently?" And maybe even more importantly: "What can I imagine myself doing five years from now?" Because if the answer is, "Well, there's no way I can keep doing this," then maybe you've built something that's too big. So how do you actually figure that out?I think you start with your life. Not with the training plan. Look at your week. Look at your work. Look at your family. Look at your sleep. Look at the other things that matter to you. And then ask yourself: where does training realistically fit? Maybe you start with a very simple week. One swim. One bike. One run. And maybe that's not your ultimate training program. It's just your starting point. It's your minimum viable version of being a triathlete. And once that feels normal—once it feels like, "Yeah, this is just what I do"—then maybe you add something. And you see how that feels. Maybe you experiment with when you train. Maybe mornings work better. Maybe evenings work better. Maybe you discover that getting everything ready the night before removes a tremendous amount of friction. And that's another thing I think people underestimate: You're not just building a training plan. You're building a system around the training. The bike gets cleaned. The bottles get filled. The clothes get laid out. The shoes are ready. The workout is on the calendar. And suddenly, tomorrow morning doesn't require a whole bunch of decisions. That's what I mean by reducing friction. The fewer decisions you have to make, the easier it becomes to repeat the behaviour. And I think it's also worth deciding ahead of time what happens when things go wrong.Because things will go wrong. Maybe you miss Tuesday's workout. What's your rule? Do you try to squeeze it in Wednesday? Do you move on? Do you change the rest of the week? Maybe you have a terrible night's sleep. What's your rule? Maybe you're feeling beat up. What's your rule? I think having some of those decisions made in advance can be incredibly helpful. Because you don't want to make your best decisions about training when you're exhausted, frustrated, or feeling guilty. Sometimes the best training decision is simply to let the workout go. And then come back tomorrow. But there's another potential trap.And that's allowing triathlon to consume your life. Because there's a difference between making triathlon part of your lifestyle and making triathlon your entire lifestyle. And I think that's an important distinction. For me, anyway, triathlon is important. It's a significant part of my life. But it's not the whole thing. There are relationships. There is family. There is work. There are other interests. There is downtime. There is just being a human being who isn't training. And I think the sport is actually healthier when it has a place in your life rather than when it takes over your life. And that probably goes back to sustainability again. Because if the thing you're doing is constantly competing with everything else you value, eventually something is going to give. And then there's comparison.That's another one that's really easy to fall into. Especially today. You can go online and see somebody's power numbers. You can see somebody's race results. You can see somebody's training volume. You can see somebody who is swimming six days a week and running 50 kilometres and riding 300 kilometres. And you're sitting there thinking, "Well, I guess I'm not doing enough." But you don't know their circumstances. And you certainly don't know their starting point. You're comparing your beginning to somebody else's middle. And that's a pretty easy way to take something that was supposed to add to your life and turn it into a source of stress. So I think the better question is: Is what I'm doing sustainable for me? Not for somebody else. For me. And if you get that right, I think some pretty interesting things happen over time.Obviously, you get fitter. You get stronger. Your cardiovascular fitness improves. You become more capable. You may race faster. You may achieve things that you never thought you were capable of. But I think there are some benefits that go well beyond the physical. There's confidence. Not the kind of confidence where you think you're better than somebody else. It's the confidence that comes from knowing you've done difficult things before. You know what it feels like to be uncomfortable. You know what it feels like to have a bad day and keep going. You know what it feels like to work toward something for months and finally see the payoff. And there's a sense of structure. Training gives your week a rhythm. There are things you do on certain days. There are goals you're working toward. And for a lot of people, I think that can be really valuable. There's also community. You meet people through triathlon. You become part of something. And maybe one of the most interesting benefits is the relationship you develop with aging. Because when you make endurance training part of your

I'm always trying to get more organized. But even if I were to succeed, would it help me in triathlon? Come be more organized with me at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT There’s something I've been thinking about lately, and it has to do with organization. And I know, organization isn't exactly the most exciting topic in the world. But I've been thinking about it in a slightly different way. Because I've realized that I tend to think of organization as something that happens when my life gets too messy. I've got a desk covered in papers. I've got things on my calendar that I haven't dealt with. I've got little projects that I've started but haven't finished. I've got receipts that need to be submitted, notes that I wrote down because I didn't want to forget them, things that I need to file away, things that I need to follow up on. And my first reaction is usually: "God, I really need to get organized." And I think that's true. But a few days ago, I was looking at all of this stuff and I had a slightly different thought. Maybe all of this stuff is also evidence of a life that's being lived. Because those papers didn't just magically appear on my desk. They're there because I'm doing things. I'm interested in things. I'm starting things. I'm trying things. I'm thinking about things. And that doesn't mean that I should leave my desk looking like a disaster forever. But maybe I don't have to look at the mess and immediately see evidence that I'm failing at being organized. Maybe I can look at it and see evidence of a life with some interest in it. And that got me thinking about triathlon. Because if there's one hobby that can generate an absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff, it's triathlon. Three sports. Three sets of equipment. Training plans. Nutrition. Clothing. Shoes. Bikes. Goggles. Fins. Paddles. Snorkels. Heart-rate monitors. Power meters. Bike computers. Lights. Radar. Bottles. Gels. Electrolytes. And then you've got all the little things that have to happen before you actually do the workout. And sometimes I think that's one of the reasons training can feel overwhelming. You don't just have to do the workout. You have to prepare to do the workout. Take swimming, for example. I might have a swim scheduled. And in my head, that sounds pretty simple. "Okay, I'm going swimming." But then I actually think about what that involves. I've got to get my swim bag. I've got to make sure I've got my goggles. I've got my cap. I've got my towel. I've got my snorkel. Maybe I've got paddles. Maybe I've got a pull buoy. I've got to know what the workout is. Maybe I've printed it out. And if I'm putting the workout beside the pool, I might even put the damn thing in a Ziploc bag so it doesn't get soaked. And suddenly, "I'm going swimming" has become this little logistical operation. And you can look at that and think: "Jesus. This is a lot of work just to go swimming." And that's where I think organization becomes really important. Because one of the great things about being organized is that it removes friction. If I put my running shoes by the door the night before, that's one less decision I have to make in the morning. If I've already prepared my bike bottles, that's one less thing I have to think about. If my watch is charged, I don't have to discover at the last minute that it's sitting at 14 percent. If my swim bag is already packed, I don't have to go hunting around the house looking for my snorkel. And these things sound incredibly trivial. But they're not. Because motivation is a funny thing. Sometimes you have plenty of motivation. You actually want to go for the run. You actually want to ride your bike. You actually want to get in the pool. And then you encounter five little obstacles. Where are my shoes? My watch is dead. I haven't made my drink. Where's my towel? What am I supposed to do for this workout? And suddenly that little bit of motivation has been chipped away. So I think one of the great purposes of organization is not necessarily to make you more motivated. It's to protect the motivation that you already have. And I really like that idea. But I think there's another layer to this. And that's where the idea of ritual comes in. Because there's a difference between doing something because you have to do it and doing something as part of a ritual. Think about making your coffee in the morning. You could describe it as a series of chores. Fill the machine. Grind the beans. Put the coffee in. Turn it on. Clean it up. Or you could think of it as a little morning ritual. And somehow, that changes the experience. And I think the same thing can happen with training. Take preparing a bottle of carb drink. You can think: "God, I have to make this stupid drink again." Or you can think: "Okay. I'm getting ready for my ride." And you get the bottle. You put the water in. You measure out the carbs. You add the electrolytes. You shake it up. You put it in the fridge. And that's not just a chore anymore. It's part of the ride. It's the beginning of the ride. The same thing with charging your watch. The same thing with laying out your clothes. The same thing with getting your shoes ready. The same thing with packing your swim bag. The same thing with putting that workout into the Ziploc bag. You can look at every one of those things and say: "This is stuff I have to do before I can train." Or you can say: "This is how I prepare to train." And those two sentences sound almost identical. But emotionally, they're completely different. One is a burden. The other is a ritual. And I think there's something really powerful in that distinction. Because we spend so much of our time trying to get to the thing we actually want to do. We rush through the preparation. We rush through getting ready. We think the preparation is just an annoying obstacle between us and the good part. But maybe the preparation is part of the good part. Maybe there's actually some pleasure in getting ready. There's something satisfying about seeing the bike bottles lined up. There's something satisfying about getting your kit laid out. There's something satisfying about knowing that everything is ready to go. And I think that's particularly true in triathlon because there are so many little rituals. You put on the cycling shoes. You get the bottles into the cages. You turn on the trainer. You pull up the workout. You put your headphones on. You get on the bike. And there's a transition that happens. You're no longer sitting around thinking about everything else in your life. You're becoming the person who's about to train. And maybe that's part of the value of ritual. It tells your brain: "Okay. We're doing this now." And I think this also changes the way we think about all of the equipment. Because if you're not careful, all of the stuff that comes with triathlon can feel overwhelming. You start thinking: Why do I have all this stuff? Why do I have five different kinds of nutrition? Why do I have all these swim toys? Why do I need this bike computer? Why do I have a radar? Why do I have this light? Why do I have these shoes? And you can certainly take it too far. Triathlon is an excellent hobby if you want to become an obsessive consumer of tiny improvements. There's always another piece of equipment. There's always another gadget. There's always another thing that might make you three percent faster. And I'm certainly not immune to that. But I've also started thinking that some of that stuff is part of what makes the sport interesting. Take swimming. Maybe you've got a snorkel. You can use it to work on your body position. You've got paddles. You can feel what your catch is doing. You've got fins. You've got a pull buoy. And suddenly swimming isn't just: "Get in the pool and swim back and forth." There's this whole little world of things to explore. And the bike is the same. You can get interested in power. You can get interested in aerodynamics. You can get interested in tires. You can get interested in nutrition. You can get interested in bike fit. You can get interested in training. And I think that's one of the things I love about triathlon. There's always something to be curious about. And that brings me back to my messy desk. Because maybe the desk and the triathlon gear aren't actually that different. The desk is covered with evidence of all the things I'm interested in. And the garage, or the swim bag, or the training calendar, is covered with evidence of all the things I'm interested in as well. And I don't think the answer is to eliminate all of that. I think the answer is to organize it. Not because those things are bad. But because I want to be able to enjoy them. And that's an important distinction. Organization shouldn't necessarily be about simplifying your life to the point where there's nothing left in it. Maybe it's about organizing your life well enough that you can enjoy its complexity. Because triathlon is complex. And that's part of the fun. But there's a danger here, too. Because you can take this idea of preparation and ritual too far. You can become so focused on preparing that you never actually do the workout. You can spend an hour researching the perfect nutrition strategy for a 45-minute run. You can spend all day organizing your training instead of training. You can convince yourself that you need one more piece of equipment before you can really get started. And that's not what I'm talking about. The ritual is supposed to lead you into the activity. It's not supposed to replace the activity. So I think there's a balance. Prepare enough that you remove the friction. Organize enough that you don't have to make a hundred little decisions. But then actually go and do the thing. And maybe that's the real purpose of organization. It's not about having a perfect desk. It's not about having a perfect calendar. It's not about having everything checked off. It's about making room for the things you care abou

I'm always trying to get more organized. But even if I were to succeed, would it help me in triathlon? TRANSCRIPT There’s something I've been thinking about lately, and it has to do with organization. And I know, organization isn't exactly the most exciting topic in the world. But I've been thinking about it in a slightly different way. Because I've realized that I tend to think of organization as something that happens when my life gets too messy. I've got a desk covered in papers. I've got things on my calendar that I haven't dealt with. I've got little projects that I've started but haven't finished. I've got receipts that need to be submitted, notes that I wrote down because I didn't want to forget them, things that I need to file away, things that I need to follow up on. And my first reaction is usually: "God, I really need to get organized." And I think that's true. But a few days ago, I was looking at all of this stuff and I had a slightly different thought. Maybe all of this stuff is also evidence of a life that's being lived. Because those papers didn't just magically appear on my desk. They're there because I'm doing things. I'm interested in things. I'm starting things. I'm trying things. I'm thinking about things. And that doesn't mean that I should leave my desk looking like a disaster forever. But maybe I don't have to look at the mess and immediately see evidence that I'm failing at being organized. Maybe I can look at it and see evidence of a life with some interest in it. And that got me thinking about triathlon. Because if there's one hobby that can generate an absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff, it's triathlon. Three sports. Three sets of equipment. Training plans. Nutrition. Clothing. Shoes. Bikes. Goggles. Fins. Paddles. Snorkels. Heart-rate monitors. Power meters. Bike computers. Lights. Radar. Bottles. Gels. Electrolytes. And then you've got all the little things that have to happen before you actually do the workout. And sometimes I think that's one of the reasons training can feel overwhelming. You don't just have to do the workout. You have to prepare to do the workout. Take swimming, for example. I might have a swim scheduled. And in my head, that sounds pretty simple. "Okay, I'm going swimming." But then I actually think about what that involves. I've got to get my swim bag. I've got to make sure I've got my goggles. I've got my cap. I've got my towel. I've got my snorkel. Maybe I've got paddles. Maybe I've got a pull buoy. I've got to know what the workout is. Maybe I've printed it out. And if I'm putting the workout beside the pool, I might even put the damn thing in a Ziploc bag so it doesn't get soaked. And suddenly, "I'm going swimming" has become this little logistical operation. And you can look at that and think: "Jesus. This is a lot of work just to go swimming." And that's where I think organization becomes really important. Because one of the great things about being organized is that it removes friction. If I put my running shoes by the door the night before, that's one less decision I have to make in the morning. If I've already prepared my bike bottles, that's one less thing I have to think about. If my watch is charged, I don't have to discover at the last minute that it's sitting at 14 percent. If my swim bag is already packed, I don't have to go hunting around the house looking for my snorkel. And these things sound incredibly trivial. But they're not. Because motivation is a funny thing. Sometimes you have plenty of motivation. You actually want to go for the run. You actually want to ride your bike. You actually want to get in the pool. And then you encounter five little obstacles. Where are my shoes? My watch is dead. I haven't made my drink. Where's my towel? What am I supposed to do for this workout? And suddenly that little bit of motivation has been chipped away. So I think one of the great purposes of organization is not necessarily to make you more motivated. It's to protect the motivation that you already have. And I really like that idea. But I think there's another layer to this. And that's where the idea of ritual comes in. Because there's a difference between doing something because you have to do it and doing something as part of a ritual. Think about making your coffee in the morning. You could describe it as a series of chores. Fill the machine. Grind the beans. Put the coffee in. Turn it on. Clean it up. Or you could think of it as a little morning ritual. And somehow, that changes the experience. And I think the same thing can happen with training. Take preparing a bottle of carb drink. You can think: "God, I have to make this stupid drink again." Or you can think: "Okay. I'm getting ready for my ride." And you get the bottle. You put the water in. You measure out the carbs. You add the electrolytes. You shake it up. You put it in the fridge. And that's not just a chore anymore. It's part of the ride. It's the beginning of the ride. The same thing with charging your watch. The same thing with laying out your clothes. The same thing with getting your shoes ready. The same thing with packing your swim bag. The same thing with putting that workout into the Ziploc bag. You can look at every one of those things and say: "This is stuff I have to do before I can train." Or you can say: "This is how I prepare to train." And those two sentences sound almost identical. But emotionally, they're completely different. One is a burden. The other is a ritual. And I think there's something really powerful in that distinction. Because we spend so much of our time trying to get to the thing we actually want to do. We rush through the preparation. We rush through getting ready. We think the preparation is just an annoying obstacle between us and the good part. But maybe the preparation is part of the good part. Maybe there's actually some pleasure in getting ready. There's something satisfying about seeing the bike bottles lined up. There's something satisfying about getting your kit laid out. There's something satisfying about knowing that everything is ready to go. And I think that's particularly true in triathlon because there are so many little rituals. You put on the cycling shoes. You get the bottles into the cages. You turn on the trainer. You pull up the workout. You put your headphones on. You get on the bike. And there's a transition that happens. You're no longer sitting around thinking about everything else in your life. You're becoming the person who's about to train. And maybe that's part of the value of ritual. It tells your brain: "Okay. We're doing this now." And I think this also changes the way we think about all of the equipment. Because if you're not careful, all of the stuff that comes with triathlon can feel overwhelming. You start thinking: Why do I have all this stuff? Why do I have five different kinds of nutrition? Why do I have all these swim toys? Why do I need this bike computer? Why do I have a radar? Why do I have this light? Why do I have these shoes? And you can certainly take it too far. Triathlon is an excellent hobby if you want to become an obsessive consumer of tiny improvements. There's always another piece of equipment. There's always another gadget. There's always another thing that might make you three percent faster. And I'm certainly not immune to that. But I've also started thinking that some of that stuff is part of what makes the sport interesting. Take swimming. Maybe you've got a snorkel. You can use it to work on your body position. You've got paddles. You can feel what your catch is doing. You've got fins. You've got a pull buoy. And suddenly swimming isn't just: "Get in the pool and swim back and forth." There's this whole little world of things to explore. And the bike is the same. You can get interested in power. You can get interested in aerodynamics. You can get interested in tires. You can get interested in nutrition. You can get interested in bike fit. You can get interested in training. And I think that's one of the things I love about triathlon. There's always something to be curious about. And that brings me back to my messy desk. Because maybe the desk and the triathlon gear aren't actually that different. The desk is covered with evidence of all the things I'm interested in. And the garage, or the swim bag, or the training calendar, is covered with evidence of all the things I'm interested in as well. And I don't think the answer is to eliminate all of that. I think the answer is to organize it. Not because those things are bad. But because I want to be able to enjoy them. And that's an important distinction. Organization shouldn't necessarily be about simplifying your life to the point where there's nothing left in it. Maybe it's about organizing your life well enough that you can enjoy its complexity. Because triathlon is complex. And that's part of the fun. But there's a danger here, too. Because you can take this idea of preparation and ritual too far. You can become so focused on preparing that you never actually do the workout. You can spend an hour researching the perfect nutrition strategy for a 45-minute run. You can spend all day organizing your training instead of training. You can convince yourself that you need one more piece of equipment before you can really get started. And that's not what I'm talking about. The ritual is supposed to lead you into the activity. It's not supposed to replace the activity. So I think there's a balance. Prepare enough that you remove the friction. Organize enough that you don't have to make a hundred little decisions. But then actually go and do the thing. And maybe that's the real purpose of organization. It's not about having a perfect desk. It's not about having a perfect calendar. It's not about having everything checked off. It's about making room for the things you care about. And that brings me back to something I've been thinking about a lot

I don't want to leave any stone unturned for my turn at the World Championships. I need a professional that can help me spot weaknesses before they cause a problem. So, who does that type of work? Finding them has proven a bit of a challenge. Come join the fun at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT THE LONELY TRIATHLETE Episode: Finding the Right Athletic Therapist There's a funny thing I've discovered about being a triathlete as I get older. I'm becoming increasingly interested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with going faster. Well... that's not entirely true. I'm becoming increasingly interested in things that will allow me to go faster without breaking myself in the process. And that has led me down a bit of a rabbit hole lately. I've been trying to find an athletic therapist—or physiotherapist, or whatever the appropriate professional is—who can look at me and say: "Okay, Todd. You're 58. You're doing all this swimming, cycling and running. Here's what you're doing well, here's what you're doing badly, here's what's missing, and here's what I'd change." Not because I have an injury. I don't. And that's actually the point. I'm looking for somebody who can help me be proactive about my strength and conditioning and injury prevention. And I've discovered that finding that person is apparently harder than I thought. So let me tell you about my first attempt. THE ASSIGNMENTI went looking for a physiotherapist because I figured physiotherapists know bodies. They understand movement. They understand injuries. They understand rehabilitation. And I thought, surely there are physiotherapists who also work with athletes who aren't injured. That's what I wanted. I wasn't looking for somebody to tell me how to recover from a torn Achilles. I wanted somebody to look at my current strength program and say: "Does this make sense for a triathlete?" Because I've spent a fair amount of time developing my strength routine. I'm not interested in becoming a bodybuilder. I'm not trying to see how much I can deadlift. I want the minimum necessary strength stimulus that produces the maximum possible benefit for triathlon performance, while minimizing the risk of injury. That's the sweet spot I'm looking for. And I wanted somebody with enough expertise to tell me whether I've actually found it. Maybe I'm missing something obvious. Maybe I'm doing an exercise that provides almost no benefit for triathlon. Maybe I'm doing too much. Maybe I'm not doing enough. Maybe there's some glaring imbalance in my mobility or strength that I'm completely unaware of. That's the kind of professional eye I wanted. And I also wanted to talk about my injury history and perhaps get some advice about injury prevention. And, somewhat optimistically, I was also hoping to have somebody look at my supplements. Not necessarily prescribe anything—just look at what I'm taking and say: "Yeah, that makes sense." Or: "Why on earth are you taking that?" Because there's an awful lot of nonsense in the supplement world, and I'd rather have an informed professional challenge some of my assumptions. So that's what I thought I was going to get. WHAT I ACTUALLY GOTI went to see this physiotherapist. We did an intake. We talked about my history. We talked about injuries. We talked about what I was looking for. And then... I squatted. And squatted. And squatted some more. And at some point I found myself wondering: How many squats are we doing here? [Laugh] And then there was some walking around the office. And some twisting. And some questions about whether I felt tight here or tight there. "Does that feel tight?" "Does that feel different?" "How about when you rotate?" And I'm thinking... Okay. I'm not a physiotherapist. I don't pretend to know what an appropriate physical assessment should look like. But this didn't feel particularly objective to me. It felt very cursory. Very rudimentary. And I didn't come away thinking: "Wow. This person has identified three things about my body that I never would have known." Instead, I was thinking: "I just did a lot of squats." [Laugh] And then things took a turn that I wasn't really expecting. I ended up on the massage table. And he performed something called visceral massage. Now, I'm going to be careful here because I'm not interested in turning this into a podcast episode about something I don't fully understand. There are people who believe visceral manipulation or visceral massage can have therapeutic benefits. Fine. But it wasn't what I had come looking for. And what really confused me was the explanation I was given for how problems with your internal organs could potentially contribute to pain elsewhere in your body. The basic idea, as it was explained to me, was that inflammation or tension involving your organs could somehow contribute to systemic inflammation and ultimately manifest itself as things like back or neck pain. And I remember sitting there thinking: Okay... [Laugh] I'm going to need a little more evidence before I'm signing up for a regular organ massage program. And again, maybe there's something to it. I'm not qualified to say there isn't. But that's another important distinction I've learned through this whole process. I don't necessarily want somebody who believes the same things I believe. I want somebody who can explain to me what they believe, what the evidence says, and how confident they are that it applies to me. That's a very different thing. AND THEN... NOTHINGAt the end of the appointment, we talked about potentially working together. He said he could help me with massage. He said we'd talk about my exercise program. He said we'd talk about my supplements. He even mentioned hydrogen water. And I thought: Okay. Maybe this is going somewhere. And then... Nothing. I never heard from him again. No email. No follow-up. Nothing. And I was disappointed. But after thinking about it, I don't actually think the lesson is: "That physiotherapist was terrible." Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he would be fantastic for somebody with a completely different set of needs. Maybe his approach works very well for some people. Maybe I just wasn't his ideal client. And maybe—and this is important—I didn't do a particularly good job of explaining what I wanted. Because I think I had this idea in my head that when I said: "I want a performance-oriented assessment of my strength and conditioning program, with injury prevention as a secondary goal..." that would be self-explanatory. Maybe it wasn't. WHAT AM I ACTUALLY LOOKING FOR?So I started doing some research. And I've spent a surprising amount of time trying to figure out what the hell I'm actually looking for. Because I think I've realized that I'm not really looking for a conventional physiotherapy appointment. I'm not injured. I don't need rehabilitation. I'm looking for somebody who understands endurance athletes. Ideally somebody who understands triathlon. And even better, somebody who understands the particular problems that come with being a middle-aged—or, apparently, officially an older—triathlete. [Laugh] Because the questions I'm asking aren't necessarily: "Why does my knee hurt?" They're more like: "Is my right side weaker than my left?" "Is there something about my hip mobility that could eventually cause a problem?" "Is my strength program addressing the things that matter most for swimming, cycling and running?" "Am I wasting time doing exercises that aren't giving me much return?" "Is there something I'm neglecting?" "Does my strength program complement my endurance training—or is it interfering with it?" Those are the questions I want answered. And perhaps most importantly: Is there something about me that I can't see because I'm too close to the problem? That's where I think a good professional can be incredibly valuable. TRY NUMBER TWOSo I've gone back to the drawing board. I've been looking at physiotherapists in the Victoria area, and I've found somebody at the University of Victoria who seems much more closely aligned with what I'm looking for. She has experience working with endurance athletes—triathletes, cyclists, runners, rowers. And she has connections to the triathlon world as well. So suddenly I'm seeing some green flags. And I'm about to make another appointment. And I'm going into this one with a much clearer idea of what I want. I'm not looking for a massage. I'm not looking for somebody to tell me that something feels tight. I'm not looking for a treatment plan because I'm injured. I want an assessment. I want somebody to look at me from the perspective of an endurance athlete and identify anything that's potentially limiting my performance or increasing my injury risk. And then I want them to look at my strength program. Here's what I'm doing. Here's how often I'm doing it. Here's what I'm trying to accomplish. Does it make sense? Is there anything missing? Is there anything unnecessary? And is there anything that you would change based on what you've seen in the physical assessment? That's it. I don't think that's an unreasonable request. AND MAYBE I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS BACKWARDSThere's another thing I've realized through this. I've always thought of physiotherapists as people you go see when something goes wrong. You hurt your shoulder. You hurt your knee. Your back is killing you. You go to the physiotherapist. They fix you. You go home. But maybe that's a little too simplistic. Maybe as I get older, having a good physiotherapist or athletic therapist in my toolbox is actually part of being a responsible athlete. Not because I expect to get injured. Quite the opposite. Because I don't want to get injured. And if somebody who understands endurance sports can spend an hour looking at me and identify something that I haven't noticed, that could potentially save me months of frustration down the road. And it might improve my performance today. That's a pretty good return on investment. TH

I don't want to leave any stone unturned for my turn at the World Championships. I need a professional that can help me spot weaknesses before they cause a problem. So, who does that type of work? Finding them has proven a bit of a challenge. TRANSCRIPT THE LONELY TRIATHLETE Episode: Finding the Right Athletic Therapist There's a funny thing I've discovered about being a triathlete as I get older. I'm becoming increasingly interested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with going faster. Well... that's not entirely true. I'm becoming increasingly interested in things that will allow me to go faster without breaking myself in the process. And that has led me down a bit of a rabbit hole lately. I've been trying to find an athletic therapist—or physiotherapist, or whatever the appropriate professional is—who can look at me and say: "Okay, Todd. You're 58. You're doing all this swimming, cycling and running. Here's what you're doing well, here's what you're doing badly, here's what's missing, and here's what I'd change." Not because I have an injury. I don't. And that's actually the point. I'm looking for somebody who can help me be proactive about my strength and conditioning and injury prevention. And I've discovered that finding that person is apparently harder than I thought. So let me tell you about my first attempt. THE ASSIGNMENTI went looking for a physiotherapist because I figured physiotherapists know bodies. They understand movement. They understand injuries. They understand rehabilitation. And I thought, surely there are physiotherapists who also work with athletes who aren't injured. That's what I wanted. I wasn't looking for somebody to tell me how to recover from a torn Achilles. I wanted somebody to look at my current strength program and say: "Does this make sense for a triathlete?" Because I've spent a fair amount of time developing my strength routine. I'm not interested in becoming a bodybuilder. I'm not trying to see how much I can deadlift. I want the minimum necessary strength stimulus that produces the maximum possible benefit for triathlon performance, while minimizing the risk of injury. That's the sweet spot I'm looking for. And I wanted somebody with enough expertise to tell me whether I've actually found it. Maybe I'm missing something obvious. Maybe I'm doing an exercise that provides almost no benefit for triathlon. Maybe I'm doing too much. Maybe I'm not doing enough. Maybe there's some glaring imbalance in my mobility or strength that I'm completely unaware of. That's the kind of professional eye I wanted. And I also wanted to talk about my injury history and perhaps get some advice about injury prevention. And, somewhat optimistically, I was also hoping to have somebody look at my supplements. Not necessarily prescribe anything—just look at what I'm taking and say: "Yeah, that makes sense." Or: "Why on earth are you taking that?" Because there's an awful lot of nonsense in the supplement world, and I'd rather have an informed professional challenge some of my assumptions. So that's what I thought I was going to get. WHAT I ACTUALLY GOTI went to see this physiotherapist. We did an intake. We talked about my history. We talked about injuries. We talked about what I was looking for. And then... I squatted. And squatted. And squatted some more. And at some point I found myself wondering: How many squats are we doing here? [Laugh] And then there was some walking around the office. And some twisting. And some questions about whether I felt tight here or tight there. "Does that feel tight?" "Does that feel different?" "How about when you rotate?" And I'm thinking... Okay. I'm not a physiotherapist. I don't pretend to know what an appropriate physical assessment should look like. But this didn't feel particularly objective to me. It felt very cursory. Very rudimentary. And I didn't come away thinking: "Wow. This person has identified three things about my body that I never would have known." Instead, I was thinking: "I just did a lot of squats." [Laugh] And then things took a turn that I wasn't really expecting. I ended up on the massage table. And he performed something called visceral massage. Now, I'm going to be careful here because I'm not interested in turning this into a podcast episode about something I don't fully understand. There are people who believe visceral manipulation or visceral massage can have therapeutic benefits. Fine. But it wasn't what I had come looking for. And what really confused me was the explanation I was given for how problems with your internal organs could potentially contribute to pain elsewhere in your body. The basic idea, as it was explained to me, was that inflammation or tension involving your organs could somehow contribute to systemic inflammation and ultimately manifest itself as things like back or neck pain. And I remember sitting there thinking: Okay... [Laugh] I'm going to need a little more evidence before I'm signing up for a regular organ massage program. And again, maybe there's something to it. I'm not qualified to say there isn't. But that's another important distinction I've learned through this whole process. I don't necessarily want somebody who believes the same things I believe. I want somebody who can explain to me what they believe, what the evidence says, and how confident they are that it applies to me. That's a very different thing. AND THEN... NOTHINGAt the end of the appointment, we talked about potentially working together. He said he could help me with massage. He said we'd talk about my exercise program. He said we'd talk about my supplements. He even mentioned hydrogen water. And I thought: Okay. Maybe this is going somewhere. And then... Nothing. I never heard from him again. No email. No follow-up. Nothing. And I was disappointed. But after thinking about it, I don't actually think the lesson is: "That physiotherapist was terrible." Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he would be fantastic for somebody with a completely different set of needs. Maybe his approach works very well for some people. Maybe I just wasn't his ideal client. And maybe—and this is important—I didn't do a particularly good job of explaining what I wanted. Because I think I had this idea in my head that when I said: "I want a performance-oriented assessment of my strength and conditioning program, with injury prevention as a secondary goal..." that would be self-explanatory. Maybe it wasn't. WHAT AM I ACTUALLY LOOKING FOR?So I started doing some research. And I've spent a surprising amount of time trying to figure out what the hell I'm actually looking for. Because I think I've realized that I'm not really looking for a conventional physiotherapy appointment. I'm not injured. I don't need rehabilitation. I'm looking for somebody who understands endurance athletes. Ideally somebody who understands triathlon. And even better, somebody who understands the particular problems that come with being a middle-aged—or, apparently, officially an older—triathlete. [Laugh] Because the questions I'm asking aren't necessarily: "Why does my knee hurt?" They're more like: "Is my right side weaker than my left?" "Is there something about my hip mobility that could eventually cause a problem?" "Is my strength program addressing the things that matter most for swimming, cycling and running?" "Am I wasting time doing exercises that aren't giving me much return?" "Is there something I'm neglecting?" "Does my strength program complement my endurance training—or is it interfering with it?" Those are the questions I want answered. And perhaps most importantly: Is there something about me that I can't see because I'm too close to the problem? That's where I think a good professional can be incredibly valuable. TRY NUMBER TWOSo I've gone back to the drawing board. I've been looking at physiotherapists in the Victoria area, and I've found somebody at the University of Victoria who seems much more closely aligned with what I'm looking for. She has experience working with endurance athletes—triathletes, cyclists, runners, rowers. And she has connections to the triathlon world as well. So suddenly I'm seeing some green flags. And I'm about to make another appointment. And I'm going into this one with a much clearer idea of what I want. I'm not looking for a massage. I'm not looking for somebody to tell me that something feels tight. I'm not looking for a treatment plan because I'm injured. I want an assessment. I want somebody to look at me from the perspective of an endurance athlete and identify anything that's potentially limiting my performance or increasing my injury risk. And then I want them to look at my strength program. Here's what I'm doing. Here's how often I'm doing it. Here's what I'm trying to accomplish. Does it make sense? Is there anything missing? Is there anything unnecessary? And is there anything that you would change based on what you've seen in the physical assessment? That's it. I don't think that's an unreasonable request. AND MAYBE I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS BACKWARDSThere's another thing I've realized through this. I've always thought of physiotherapists as people you go see when something goes wrong. You hurt your shoulder. You hurt your knee. Your back is killing you. You go to the physiotherapist. They fix you. You go home. But maybe that's a little too simplistic. Maybe as I get older, having a good physiotherapist or athletic therapist in my toolbox is actually part of being a responsible athlete. Not because I expect to get injured. Quite the opposite. Because I don't want to get injured. And if somebody who understands endurance sports can spend an hour looking at me and identify something that I haven't noticed, that could potentially save me months of frustration down the road. And it might improve my performance today. That's a pretty good return on investment. THE BIGGER LESSONI think the bigger lesson for me is that t

I learned some things about myself in my week of easier training last week (the so-called rest week). Maybe you can relate? Join us at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete.com TRANSCRIPT Last week I completed my 1st "rest week" of my year long program. Not rest week, easy week. Not even easy week, easier week. Still keep the same frequency but drop a bit of volume and drop lots of intensity. Happened to coincide with a vacation week which made it a little harder to execute (once got in trouble at work for saying that word, same with "pitting" someone against each other.) But aaaaaaanyway. Here's what was on my mind: I missed the structure of a normal week - getting up early, doing my training, having it done before the rest of the demands of my day piled up. As it was also vacation, I also missed a couple of workouts because I was into other things or I was out all day and not home until late evening. And that bothered me. I don't like missing planned workouts. But when I really thought about it, I realized IT WAS NOT A BIG DEAL. After all, if you are going to miss any workout, at least let it be an easy "non-critical" or what we use in triathlon training paracme a non-breakthrough effort. After all, the rest week (sorry, easier week) is supposed to reduce stress not only on your body but also on your mind. But this doesn't come naturally to me, I know how important training is, how its a slippery slope to let one workout go because that can easily become 2 then 3 then your whole year is shot! A least, that's the fear lurking in the back of my mind. So, I continue to remind myself that a missed easier week workout is simply not a big deal. I also re-learned that as much as I might grumble about early morning training sessions, they really are the best time to do them for me. However, I still don't want to get blindly "get them over with" for two reasons: I think I get more from a session if I understand the WHY of the session, if I prepare myself for the session as in being ready if someone goes wrong (like suddenly struggling with an effort) and second, and probably most importantly, I want to ENJOY these sessions! This is how I'm choosing to spend some of my life force, my precious time on this earth. I want to be mindful and present in the effort, I don't want to go on auto pilot and just "get it done". Another thing I learned about myself last week was how naturally lazy I am, haha. On one hand, I am extremely dedicated and committed to this sport, I am very organized and show tremendous willpower and fortitude and grit. On the other hand, I can't always be bothered to use my foam roller or my IR sauna blanket or my ventilatory inhalation thing-a-ma-bob, or even do those special stretches my PT gave me. SIGH. And once again, it's because I leave certain behaviours down to change, I'll get to them when I feel inspired or have a bit of time. No, that doesn't work, I need to SCHEDULE them into my day. I need to pair them with something else that I have either scheduled or do regularly. Otherwise, the chances are good that I just won't do them. Who knew I'd learn so much about myself during a easy week? Thanks for listening to my insights, I hope you found some of them valuable and perhaps applicable to you. As always, I wish you the best training and/or racing week and I'll talk to you again soon. Peace!

I learned some things about myself in my week of easier training last week (the so-called rest week). Maybe you can relate? TRANSCRIPT Last week I completed my 1st "rest week" of my year long program. Not rest week, easy week. Not even easy week, easier week. Still keep the same frequency but drop a bit of volume and drop lots of intensity. Happened to coincide with a vacation week which made it a little harder to execute (once got in trouble at work for saying that word, same with "pitting" someone against each other.) But aaaaaaanyway. Here's what was on my mind: I missed the structure of a normal week - getting up early, doing my training, having it done before the rest of the demands of my day piled up. As it was also vacation, I also missed a couple of workouts because I was into other things or I was out all day and not home until late evening. And that bothered me. I don't like missing planned workouts. But when I really thought about it, I realized IT WAS NOT A BIG DEAL. After all, if you are going to miss any workout, at least let it be an easy "non-critical" or what we use in triathlon training paracme a non-breakthrough effort. After all, the rest week (sorry, easier week) is supposed to reduce stress not only on your body but also on your mind. But this doesn't come naturally to me, I know how important training is, how its a slippery slope to let one workout go because that can easily become 2 then 3 then your whole year is shot! A least, that's the fear lurking in the back of my mind. So, I continue to remind myself that a missed easier week workout is simply not a big deal. I also re-learned that as much as I might grumble about early morning training sessions, they really are the best time to do them for me. However, I still don't want to get blindly "get them over with" for two reasons: I think I get more from a session if I understand the WHY of the session, if I prepare myself for the session as in being ready if someone goes wrong (like suddenly struggling with an effort) and second, and probably most importantly, I want to ENJOY these sessions! This is how I'm choosing to spend some of my life force, my precious time on this earth. I want to be mindful and present in the effort, I don't want to go on auto pilot and just "get it done". Another thing I learned about myself last week was how naturally lazy I am, haha. On one hand, I am extremely dedicated and committed to this sport, I am very organized and show tremendous willpower and fortitude and grit. On the other hand, I can't always be bothered to use my foam roller or my IR sauna blanket or my ventilatory inhalation thing-a-ma-bob, or even do those special stretches my PT gave me. SIGH. And once again, it's because I leave certain behaviours down to change, I'll get to them when I feel inspired or have a bit of time. No, that doesn't work, I need to SCHEDULE them into my day. I need to pair them with something else that I have either scheduled or do regularly. Otherwise, the chances are good that I just won't do them. Who knew I'd learn so much about myself during a easy week? Thanks for listening to my insights, I hope you found some of them valuable and perhaps applicable to you. As always, I wish you the best training and/or racing week and I'll talk to you again soon. Peace!

I used to race according to a bunch of different metrics including the old stand-byes of heart rate and power. Then I got rid of my watch and raced with a new super power! Come join the fun at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT Apologies to everyone for a screw up I made last week. You see, I thought I had uploaded the audio to my podcast but I didn't. So what you would have seen was my written transcript only. I corrected that mistake yesterday so if you haven't heard last week's podcast, it's there now. And now, onto this weeks' thoughts. When to comes to your race performance during a race, how do you know if you are doing well? How do you know if you are hitting your splits or your power curve or your heart rate? In other words, what measurement are you using to track how things are going? You see, when I first started I needed to know a few metrics in each sport so I could determine if I was doing my training (and, or course, racing) as prescribed. In the swim, I tracked distance. Warm up xM, drills for xM, main set x lengths with x rest. The problem was, I didn't know how fast or slow I was supposed to go. So then I moved into tracking speed - xM "on" :45, which meant swim a certain distance and if I had time left from the initial :45, I would rest and then do another length, resting until the :45 was used up, etc. The problem with that was sometimes the ":45" was too long -Id arrive at the end of the length and just sit there for such a long time. In oher cases, the interval was to short because I'd just finish my length and have 3 seonds of rest before I'd have to take off again. Eventually, I stuck with RPE and would swim a certain distance at an effort of x/10, 4 being quite relaxed, 7 being confortable fast and 9 or 10 full out sprint. Problem was, how fast was "relaxed"? How fast was "hard"? I knew what all out was. For a time I even trained by heart rate, almost like I was running but in the water. I sorta worked? But not really. It was hard to figure out what do do so I ended up just focusing on the distace and effort was either EASY or HARD. On the bike, I trained exclusievly by heart rate. I made the assupmtion that my maximum heart rate was 15 beats/min less than my run max and treated my bike just like a run. It worked pretty well, until I got into situations where it seemed that I was biking harder or slower than I wanted to because of hills or wind. I then shifted to focussing on distace with effort alteranating between EASY and HARD. Running was the easiest. I trained by heart rate. Forget pace, I did a maximum heart test by running uo and down a hill 5 times inceasngly faster each time until the final all=out effort where I imagined a bear was chasing me, then I added 3 bpm to extra measure. My training was then set according to 5 ZONES. It was simple and measurable. Then I read a few books on running by heart rate and realized that I needed to be setting my zone by heart rate reserve. All of a sudden, things started to feel complicated again. But my and large, training by heart rate was the way I went. During races, I was lost as to my effort in the swim. On the bike, I focussed on heart rate and on the run, I watched heart rate and pace. I raced this way for years and grew comfortable with the measurements. In the bike and run, if I saw my heart rate too high, I'd pull back. Conversely, if I saw my HR too low, I'd convince myself to speed up. About 10 years ago, I realized something that revolutionized my racing. With my experience in traing and racing and tracking a number of metrics, I started getitng very good at perceiving, without looking at a watch, how fast or hard I was going. Even better, I was able to sense how hard I was able to push muself without bonking by just listeing to my body. At any given time in a race, I could tell you within 2 bpm what my HR was or within 1-2kmhr what my speed was. After I had trained for a while accoding to POWER on the bike, I could also estimate by current power output with incredible prescision. But again, the important point wasn;t that I knew my number it was that I knew how sustainable that effort was given my envoronment - wind, hills, heat, energy. And this changed everythign for me 5 years ago. I raced for the first time without my watch or power meter. I raced 100% by feel. I knew how fast I could swim at a 7/10 effort so that was my goal. I knew what an 8/10 felt like on the bike - I knew what it felt like on the flats, up a hill, into the wind, early or late in a race. So an 8/10 was by goal. But I also knew if I was havig a day where I could push an 8 earlier, or an 8.5 later. I was no longer help back by a number. And on the run, I knew how hard I could and SHOULD push myself according to how I felt, I didn't race according to what the numbers told me. I think in years past, I may have held myself back with an artificial ceiling, limiting myself to a specific HR number rather than trusting my feelings. My racing friends thought I was crazy! You are cycling and running without a watch? How will you know if you are on plan? How will you know when you can push harder or determine if you aren't pusing hard engouh. And I get it, I was very nervous to get into a race and "fly blind" so to speak. But the reality is, without a watch, without tracking my metrics in a race, I'm racing more free than ever before. I can decide to speed up, maintain, or slow down based entirely on my subjective feeling. It was and continues to be an incredibly FREEING feeling! It no longer feels like I am racing without a plan, it feels like I am always in the driver's seat, not a GPS watch or some pre-determined numbers but ME, deciding on a moment by moment basis how I am doing. I trust my feelings. After each race I think about how I executed my strategy. Did I have more gas in the tank after the run? How did I feel in the last 2 KM? Upon reflection, I may realize that I am able to suffer more in the final 2km and so I rest what I expect to feel for the next race. And I've made mistakes, I cycled at much too fast a speed for my 70.3 last year and I know how I FELT (I felt great) but the next time I do a 70.3, that sensation needs to feel even less strenuous than "great", it needs to feel "really good and I have a a bunch left over in the tank." All this to say, I encourage you, even challenge you, to do a race without your measuremnt devices. Go based on feel and perception of effort. Once you make the association between approprite effort and performance that day, you will have gained a new super power. You can race anywhere, unshakled by devices, to great effect. You just have to trust yourself. Until next time, Peace