Camp Irony

My team and I headed down to Lake San Antonio, the site of the Wildflower triathlons, for a training camp this past weekend. The point of a training camp is to put in A LOT of training, race-specific training. The camp coincided with my volume block, and I had already put in 15 hours of training by Friday, or day 1 of the camp. We rode the long course bike loop in reverse and followed it up with the Olympic run. We definitely rode way too hard; at times, it felt like I was racing the olympic course. On Saturday, we basically rode two loops of the long course (100 miles) and once again, we definitely rode too hard. Well, maybe I rode too hard to try and keep up with my teammates, who are amazingly fit. Speaking of teammates, watch out for Rachel Main (pictured below) at IM St. George. On Saturday, it was 10 boys and Rachel. By the end of the 100 miler, Rachel had dropped all of the boys (including me) except for two. And the boys she dropped are respectable racers, some of whom are Kona and Worlds 70.3 qualifiers. Good on ya Rachel, and I can't wait to see you crush it at St. George.

You would think with so much volume, the training camp should be a confidence booster. It was ironic then that the overwhelming feeling I had post 100-mile ride (plus 4-mile brick run), was fear. I was fearful of the ironman distance. I was fearful of the world of hurt that involves racing an ironman. I was not alone in my sentiment. Several teammates expressed the same fears, and one even asked rhetorically, "Why are we all such gluttons for punishment, and when are we going to stop abusing our bodies?" It was one of those training sessions, we all could have eaten more. I stopped thinking and I decided to just keep doing. And doing meant 34 hours of training by today, the eighth and final day of my volume block. And with a full stomach, I can say I'm not as fearful of the ironman distance...I think.