Racing Diamonds and Formal Warm-Ups

I hadn't raced in two years -- until yesterday. Apparently in my drive to be awesome (before I completely burned myself out), I forgot that racing is inherently fun, and that is just what I had yesterday, lots and lots of fun. I didn't, and couldn't, really have any expectations going into the Montana World Championships. Prior to yesterday, I would have been nearly paralyzed with anxiety and expectations waiting to push off the wall, but yesterday I hollered for fun and did some smack-talking instead. I think I used to reach my max heart rate even before the race started, but yesterday I just cruised and tried to build the swim into the bike. I think that I won the swim even though some punk kid on a relay swam a few seconds faster than me, because that just doesn't count. This was the windiest bike leg I'd ever ridden. I think I got to the turnaround in about 6 minutes and spent the next 30 battling a headwind and sidewind back. I'm also pretty sure that I rode an extra mile, due to wind induced swerving on the way back. Having barely been on the bike this year, given my rule against riding in anything less than 50 degrees and sun, my legs were pretty much cooked by the time I started the run. Fortunately, they weren't as cooked as some other folks who stopped to rest for a spell on a lamppost and others who laid down in some grass for a respite. All in all, that was a fun day. Hipster Team Corbin on their Vespa and Team Pickell were really good at cheering. Jesse Carnes went scary fast and won a rock. Elliot returned to Grizzly racing. Jen Luebke, with her wood reinforced bike, won the ladies race. I think I saw Matt, and Adam encouraged me to beat Jeff. The bike turnaround was farther away than it's ever been. Brendan returned to show off his tan. I won best dressed. Shaun and Joel made excitement where non existed, and Graham Meng sent out a tweet.

Oh, hey.

Here we go! In anticipation of this: and this: I shaved these: That's all for now.

Update

Due to overwhelming outcry (Denise), I shall post something on the 'ole blog.

I'll start by giving you a brief update of my life: I am in law school and I am training.

Now, I shall revive my favorite blog installment:



...and here, again...



Thank you to Ben Horan for suffering with the most useless roadtrip companion for these photos.

Austin, Texas

I felt really pretty good heading into Austin. I was feeling quick and confident. I think I had my head on straight and was mentally where I needed to be. I set out on the swim at a fast cruise as I was planning on laying it down on the bike and run. By the first buoy I was away from the rest of the elite amateurs, except one, my new pal Frank. I got out of the water first from that wave and was feeling pretty good and thinking that this day might shape up to be a great race.

I got on the bike and didn’t feel that great, but figured it would come around, so I just stayed on top of my nutrition, put my head down and waited to find my top gear. I didn’t.

Even still I was feeling pretty positive, I had a good lead leaving the water and my bike wasn’t that awful, so a quick run would still keep me in the game. I hit the road and felt pretty good at first, but a few minutes in things just started to unravel. It was a two lap run. I tried to put in some surges to break up my tempo and hopefully light a fire, to no avail. As things continued to deteriorate, I checked my watch as I neared the second run lap. It confirmed the bad news so I retired from the race and promptly found the beer tent (and, incidentally, Frank who also DNF'ed) having accomplished my first DNF in triathlon. Huzzah!

This, on the heels of LA and Grizzly was a pretty big blow, especially given the work I’d put in over the past six months or so, and, truth be told, I am still struggling to gain insight into what happened and perspective on the race. More on that later…

I can’t say enough about Austin. I love Texas, I always have, and if I weren’t from South Carolina, I’d want to be from Texas. I was also treated to a visit and shenanigans with my good friend Annie, with whom I rode bikes across the country. We also met up with our fellow cycling adventurer, Donald. I enjoyed mint juleps served in pewter beakers, excellent food, stunning Southern women and, most importantly tremendous heat, high humidity and unrelenting sun.

The Peak Triathlon

So, one of the luxuries and one of the reasons I moved to Missoula is to be able to sit down face to face with my coach on a regular basis. Luckily, my coach in one of my best friends, too. At our weekly meeting he says, "Aren't you racing The Peak Triathlon this weekend?" "No, I registered too late," I say. It turns out I was racing The Peak and a mere 4 days later. I'm not sure what happened in the mean time. So that Saturday at 1:30PM I hit the water for a swim-light (this sucks for me) race. This time my morning nutrition was more dialed: french toast and peanut butter. I hadn't been on my TT bike in eleven days, I'd been celebrating a concert the previous evening and was just going to head out there, have fun and race. Ok, The Peak triathlon is a far and distant cry from The Grizzly as far as competition goes, and no one knows that better than I. Having said that, there were some talented athletes including a several time Ironman Hawaii qualifier and USA Triathlon All-American. Also, races in Missoula usually bring out some fast folks no matter what because there are so many here.

In any case, I cruised the swim, having not been allowed to race in the elite heat, I was out of sync with my competition. The bike leg was the bike. I did my best to keep pushing without anyone around me to mark and felt quick and fresh. I felt good on the run, which I think was a kinda tough course.

At the end of the day, I won with a course record (the race is 2 years old), as well as the fastest swim and run splits. There are more competitive races, there always are. For me, however, this was big. This was the first time I had a fastest split other than the swim. It sounds a little like the makings of an ITU racer, which is where I want to end up. Additionally, the course record was my first, so that's cool, too. More importantly, my discipline splits, regardless of the competition, gave me confidence for my Olympic distance abilities.

I felt primed for the CapTexTri the following weekend in Austin, Texas, a new addition to the Lifetime Fitness Triathlon Series, which just kinda throws money at the fastest olympic distance athletes in the world.

Onward to Austin with the cool head of Grizzly and the Confidence of Peak.

The Grizzly Triathlon

Yeah, I realize that it happened on April 23. If you want a prompt race report, write it yourself. Here is mine:

Racing at 2PM can be tough. That's about two meals worth of nutrition you have to get down before you hit the water. It's also the Montana World Championships, so all of that extra pre-race time gives you ample time to overthink things. Luckily, I didn't. I did, however, over saltify things... I think. I drank lots of a delicious sports drink (and, yes, I'd been training with it) before the race trying to get some calories down without having my usual bloody mary, eggs and bacon for breakfast, and salad with a slightly dirty gin martini for lunch. Poor choice. I would have been better off sticking with what I know works for a race morning: booze and cheese.

The swim was ok. There is one man in the elite heat that paces the Grizzly swim correctly from the push-off and he's done about one million triathlons, and (Jeff you rock) he races better than his fitness usually allows. I had the fastest swim split but felt a little "dirty" leaving the water. T1 was solid. The first half of the bike was solid but definitely diminishing. The second 1/2 of the bike was an introductory course to the way the run would go. Piss-poor. I usually am so pumped to get off that damned TT machine for the run that I don't care how fast I'm going. This time though, I had a cramp that went from my hip clear up throughout my rotator cuff. Basically I was listing like a sinking vessel, and I'd never experienced such a sensation. I think that the Indomitable and Injured Seeley could have easily outrun me in his union suite with one leg (Meg you rock!) while pulling a wagon full of his kids. A walker with tennis balls on the front and wheels on the back would have gotten me to the finish line sooner than my incorrigible stems. Had there been a bar at the run turn around, I would have planted myself there and waited for the paramedics. There wasn't.

FORTUNATELY, it was the end of Lent which signaled a time in which I could again consume alcohol. (No, I'm not catholic. Yes, I know it's not a biblical requisite. Yes, I did it nonetheless.) I celebrated my poor performance with some great friends and a view from the roof during the first sunny day in Missoula.

Go Pearl!

It's amazing how one stick-in-the-mud person can ruin it for everyone. It's also amazing how one awesome person can redeem even the sticks-in-the-mud.

Last year I spent almost $600 on run shoes only: racing flats, trail shoes, and training shoes. Since I don't have a shoe sponsorship or even pro-deals on shoes, I turned to Pearl Izumi which I can get through Missoula Bicycle Works because of our cycling relationship with them. Pearl made my favorite article of athletic clothing, a black and red riding jacket that keeps me warm even in Montana. It's so good that I even run in it. They're also relatively new to the run game but I figured I'd give them a try and see what they've come up with. The catch is that there isn't a Pearl Run dealer in all of Montana so, all I could go on was their website, reviews and research. It turns out I ended up with a shoe that wasn't ideal for me.

The warranties and exchanges guru at Pearl, essentially told me to piss up a rope when I explained to him the issue. The problem was that I hadn't purchased the shoes through an authorized dealer. When I asked him how he suggested I do that when the closest one is over 600 miles away, he just said, "Sorry, it's not our problem anymore." ...and he was right. He was doing his job and I'm sure he was conforming to some internal standards set by not-him. A company can't last if it's repeatedly taken advantage of. More deadly, however, is a company that alienates potential life-long customers by not standing behind their product and tells customers "it's not their problem" over a shoe that probably cost them about $20 to make.

Enter G. A consummate professional in both business and running. She not only had in depth technical knowledge of all Pearl shoes, guiding me to a more appropriate shoe, but also the other brands and models I've been running in. She also saw the opportunity to engender the lifelong support of a serious athlete and customer.

So to everyone at all those companies who are more concerned about supporting athletes rather than the bottom-line, thanks. Keep it up and take a page from Pearl.

Falling Down

Few things bring joy to my heart like watching (other) people fall down. Some of my favorites include fat kids carrying cupcakes, people in Vibram Five Fingers, fat people in general, and my all time favorite, fat people in Vibram Five Fingers carrying cupcakes. As a connoisseur of gravitational foibles, I would be remiss to not provide you with an account of a different kind, the hotheaded-skinny-ish-athlete-taking-himself-too-seriously-trips-and-falls-into-a-lamppost-in-front-of-patio-full-of-people-eating-burritos variety. Correct. I was not enjoying a burrito.

While wrapping up a 70 minute run the other day I was feeling pretty good. I had some shiny new kicks. One of my favorite running trails was now free of snow. I was treated to stellar views of the valley. I was rocking some new tunes. It was a good run. I had some tempo work to do. I was doing my speed work back on the flatlands near the end of my run. While cookin' down Higgins St. I approached a roundabout (or "rotary" if you're from B-ah-ston, Mass.). I decided I was up to the task of navigating the complicated maze of sidewalks, curbs, intersections and turns at full speed. Now this roundabout happens to be on a busy road, at a busy intersection which houses a busy burrito shop, and, it being a sunny day, an even busier front patio. I was not up to the task of navigating said obstacles and began a rather slow and eminent full-face fall after a bit of curb jumped up and grabbed my new shoe. It was one of those falls that just hasn't happened yet - an inevitability as there is no chance the bottom half of your body will ever catch up with the top half. Unless, the top half of your body is violently arrested by a lamppost thus allowing the bottom half of your body to catch back up. The price of preventing a full-on, flat-out fall? An attention grabbing bang, a shaking lamppost and a bruised arm.

Yeah, there's really no way to recover from that so, deciding not to look over at the patio full of people, I just continued with my tempo as if it were some kind of new parkour move that the plebeians eating burritos just hadn't heard of yet.

But no, I really just tripped and fell.

And now to feel better about myself:
http://failblog.org/2011/03/01/epic-fail-photos-running-to-first-base-fail-gif/

Muffin-Top

When it comes down to it, I really am just a fat kid stuck temporarily in a skinny man's body. My first school uniform was "husky" sized as I'd spent several weeks with my grandparents before 6th grade. I had not yet discovered exercise. So it's pretty natural that given 2.5 hours of daylight, 768 ft. of snow this year, an average temperature of -29, and diminished exercise that I'd put on some, let's call it, "necessary insulation" over the winter.

My training partners and friends here really are the best, they pull no punches. My co-workers recently had to tune my suspension on my mountain bike to what they called "fat Ryan" setting. Several weeks ago, I also saw something I've never seen before 161 lbs. on the scale. Granted I was dressed and it was in the afternoon but even so, that would put me eeking in at just under 160. The real blow came yesterday though.

My friend Jen, a fellow winter warrior, and I were doing a swim set in which we exited the pool on the deep end every 25 to dive back in. She offered to switch sides of the lane with me. "Why?" I said. "So you don't scrape your muffin-top on the diving board," she glibly said. As I peered towards the other end of the pool, I saw the diving board encroaching on my much needed deck space. Out of sheer stubbornness I refused, and, yes, endured some scrapes on my muffin-top. Desperate times...

I have appointed Jen Luebke, Professional Triathlete, as my Under-Coach charged with muffin-top dissipation. She will use state of the art techniques, cutting edge science, and high maths to track my progress, including walking jigowatts, running wattage, swimming miles-per-hour, perceived rate of exertion, and frequent humiliation through the poking of my back fats.

Here's to a fitter, faster and more insecure me!

In all seriousness though, a special thanks to Elliot, Jeff and Jen for helping me to weather a tough and long Montana winter!

PayneTrain Express

I'm kinda too tired to craft a clever blog right now and it would be 1,000 pages long if I did. So here's what's been going on in a brief and efficient bullet-point format:

-It snowed a lot in Missoula
-I learned to ride my trainer like a big boy
-I stole some of Linsey's ClifBloks (Mountain Berry)
-I learned to run on a treadmill
-I accidentally stopped drinking alcohol for Lent with my friend Chris (big mistake)
-The mechanics at work had to set my suspension to "Fat Ryan" setting
-I was accepted into every law school I applied to (one)
-I was given the prestigious award of Photo of the Year by the Helena paper, reminding everyone to swim pretty.
-It was overcast in Missoula
-I was fired and subsequently re-hired at Missoula Bicycle Works
-Pratt ate a sweater
-I accepted a seat in the University of Montana School of Law's Class of 2014
-USA Triathlon gave me an honorable mention in their rankings
-I turned 27 and had the best party I've ever thrown
-Two of my favorite training partners played snowbird this year and are in Tucson (lame)
-I was able to snowboard a lot
-I went to Big Sky with awesome friends from home
-I went to Seattle for a bachelor "partay"
-I nearly killed my oldest friend at Snowbowl (he ate snow to survive)
-My oldest friend has a renewed interest in physical fitness and Snowbowl's plan to be more "beginner friendly"
-I began working for International Justice Mission as a Justice Advocate
-There was some drama
-My first race will be the Grizzly Triathlon on April 23
-I get to go to LA to see my friend Matt (author of the most popular post on this blog- I pretend not to be jealous)
-I'm racing Wildflower May 1, a Montana tradition
-I got to live with the Rochesters for January!

And the highlight of this bleak and desperate winter:
-I saw an individual fall down the stairs while donning Vibram FiveFingers: The Barefoot Sports Shoe

Thank you.

Tight Fitting Jeans

This is Chris Cordingley of chriscordingley.com, and yesterday at my birthday party, his dancing was hampered by his tight fitting jeans.

It Doesn't Matter What You Do, Just Be the Best At It

I don't know about you, but I think watching truly talented people, who have worked hard to perfect their skill, whatever it may be, and who love what they are doing, is one of the most inspiring things. It doesn't really matter what they are doing, it's merely a medium. I first noticed this in high school. Many of my friends were in bands, and I remember watching them and being so proud of their work and talent. Even then, watching my friends perform in some nasty, sweaty, smoke-filled club made me want to be a better athlete. I now see this in my business savvy friends Adam and Bill. Though their careers are less spectator friendly, it is no less inspiring to see them perfect their skills and do work to achieve their goals. To hear Philip, a Special Forces medic and sniper, talk about his job fills me with pride and excitement, less because of what he does, and more because he is so good at it. Watching my training partners and friends here in Missoula is just the same, I mean who gets to ride 65 miles on a bike cheering for all of your friends for an entire day?!

Over Christmas I had the opportunity to head to the San Francisco to see my cousin dance. In high school I remember skipping school to go to West Virginia to watch her perform. In college I remember driving her to auditions in Washington and visiting her for far-flung summer programs and performances. As I flew down there I didn't really know what I was in for. When I landed in LA, I started to do some research on her company and read reviews of the The Nutcracker. I was blown away. A review by the San Francisco Chronicle showered the staging and my cousin with praise: "Steph Salts impressed as Marie, as much for her fresh, spunky acting as for her clean technique." The reviewer went on to say that "It may be the work that helps to restore the Oakland Ballet Company to its former glory." More astounding than anything, however, was the photo. There in the Bay Area's largest paper, was my little cousin, front and center, everything else paling around her, with the most contented and fulfilled smile on her face. This is what she was made to do.

Even with high expectations, the performance was nothing short of awesome. The theatre was one of the most beautiful I have ever been in. It's not modern or supremely luxurious, but is more of a preserved, anachronistic morsel from the annals of the gilded art deco age. Little Steph, as we call her, never really left the stage. Throughout the ballet I thought back through everything she has been through and overcome to be where she is. She left home at 14 to chase down this dream. She's fought through multiple rejections because of her height, and often struggles to find the money to support herself, she lives lean, works her ass off, both on and off the stage, and makes it work. More amazingly, however, is the fact that she does it with such humility, thankfulness, and grace.

Though she hasn't "arrived" she is closer to fulfilling her dreams than almost everyone I know, because she has poured everything into her passion. That afternoon 3,000 people stood to applause my Little Steph. Tears filled my eyes and pride filled my soul.

Therefore, 2010's most inspiring person of the year, at least according to this blogger, is "Little" Steph Salts. Cheers to you. You make me better at life.

Cooler than me...

I really am one of the coolest people that I know. That's why I made a blog - for me, by me, about me. Obviously you think I'm pretty cool, too, or you wouldn't be reading this. Occasionally, however, I am reminded that there are people cooler than me. This reminder came in 3-5 business days from Los Angeles. I LOVE parcels, there's no way around it. Usually I'm best at sending them. This time I got got, though.

An innocent little cardboard envelope arrived, inside, two discs entitled "Payne Workout?" (The question mark is not a typo.)

Winter in Missoula can be a bleak and dismal affair: convection cloud cover (I think it's unrelated to the oven, but maybe not), dastardly cold weather, no sun, this thing in your chimney called "cold barrier", I think it might be fake. So when you get something from sunny Los Angeles you pay attention. These discs were intended to be musical motivation to get me to through this winter's workouts, and let me tell you, anyone who can get Mika and Biggie Smalls' "Big Papa" on the same album and make them sound like they were meant to be there is cooler than me.

So a hearty thanks to my good friend, fellow blogger (http://matthewknuckles.com/) , a gentleman and a scholar, Matthew "Knuckles" Johnson.

How to Fly First Class

Flying isn't what it used to be.

I don't mean to boast, but I will, nonetheless. There are few things that I am better at than air travel. My mom being an adventurous sort and a recreational pilot herself, we were always heading out for some destination. I, by law, should have repeated the 7th grade due to travel related absences. But what are laws if not to be broken?

When I was young, we flew an obscene amount, even logging over 115,000 miles in one year, and let me tell you, I was good at it. Not since I was 8 or 10 have I ever experienced as much success with the ladies (stewerdesses, as they were still called) or the boys (stewards), for that matter: upgrades to international business and first class, when stuck in coach, I was showered with first class amenities: milkshakes from the front, coloring books, toys and cards reserved for the fortunate first class kids.

So from a young age, I had a good grasp on what makes air travel elegant, fascinating, and luxurious, as well as humiliating, degrading, and unbearable. I was there when United Airlines first rolled out plastic cutlery (GASP!), and when airlines stopped letting kids wander around the cockpit. Fortunately for you, my good readers, I am here to share my experience and wisdom with you before the hectic holiday season of travel, albeit a somewhat unorthodox wisdom.

First, we must consider what makes air travel great, and, unfortunately, we must look to The First Class.

1) They board the plane first and are immediately showered with cocktails.
2) Free cocktails.
3) The look of utter disdain for the proletariat boarding the plane after them, forced to shuffle through their cabin like migrants in a deportation line. (Who are you kidding? You'd all give that look, too.)
4) More free cocktails.
5) Wide seats and more legroom.
6) Meals served with glassware and cutlery.
7) The plane is quieter up front.
8) Even more free cocktails.
9) A clientele of a more decorous nature.
10) And more cocktails.

So let's parse this out, bit by bit, to ensure that you, my readers, enjoy first class travel this holiday season without paying the first class price. What is required here, is a different approach and a bit more planning. The result? An inflight experience second to none, ... except REAL first class.

1) Why would you want to spend any more time on that tin, rattle-trap than you have to? When you get on, it's either too hot, or too cold. You're stuck breathing other people's air and not moving. So, wait until the last possible minute to board the plane, and if the plane is delayed at the gate, you are free to wait at the gate, but passengers who have already boarded are not allowed to deplane. By the time you do board the plane, the folks in First Class will be so soused and distracted by trying to read The Wall Street Journal, they'll forget to look at you with disgust. (Also, they're not really reading The Wall Street Journal. They wouldn't know an "IPO" if it bit them in their leather-clad seat bottoms. They've simply tucked a copy of USA Today in there and are looking at pictures of Britney's new boyfriend.)
2) More later...
3) There is an important facial expression associated with air travel. I call it The Airport Face. You must look so peevish, ornery and unstable (a similar but different look than the, I'm In First Class Face) that you may stab your seatmate with your pen if they try to get chatty, thus warding off lengthy conversations about your seatmates' bunions. This simultaneously accomplishes two goals. Firstly, It prevents loquacious individuals who may or may not be sitting next to you from getting started. I discovered this look in my early tweens while flying solo with long hair, Chuck Taylors and generally looking angst ridden. I noticed it prevented the nosy folks next to me asking me all kinds of dumb questions, but really only wanting to ask, "Where are your parents?". Secondly, the laity will mistake it for the I'm In First Class Face and assume you are disgruntled simply because they overbooked First and you were forced to sit "with them." As a side note, it is important to dress this part. No one will believe you if you are in sweatpants and a Yosemite Sam T-Shirt.
4) More later...
5) You can't change the dimensions of your seating area, but I offer two helpful hints to maximize the area you are allotted. The first is that you should pack lightly. The personal item you are forced to store in your preciously, scant legroom should be as small as possible. Additionally, pack everything you need in a roll-aboard suitcase that barely fits in the overhead bins. This will eliminate the checked baggage charge, freeing up $25 for items 1, 2, 4, 8, and 11, and since you boarded the plane last (Item 1), there is no more room overhead and they will check it through to your final destination for free! Secondly, lose weight. The skinnier you are, the more lateral position you will have at your disposal while seated in a standard coach class seat.
6) Sure it'd be nice to have something more than peanuts on your 4 hour cross country flight, but look at this as an opportunity to loose that weight so that you'll fit into your coach class seat better on your next flight. This eliminates the need for real cutlery. I do admit that the glassware is a problem given that you will be enjoying cocktails en route. Your two options at this point are to bring aboard your own double old fashioned glass (which I have done), or slum it with the rest of your cabin mates and use the plastic cups.
7) You're going to need to invest in a good pair of headphones. Earbuds are the best because they block out the guy snoring across the aisle and the crying baby, and are also small enough to rarely be noticed by the flight crew so you can listen to your tunes from the minute you board the plane until you leave. I realize it's a little illegal, but...
8) More later...
9) Here again, headphones are key to ignoring the less than stellar decorum of you cabin mates. Don't be afraid to throw disapproving glances at breastfeeding mothers (inappropriate) or loud sighs and snide comments when someone expels gas (gross). The only thing children should be eating or drinking on a plane is benadryl. Additionally, should you be seated next to someone who genuinely looks as if they could be your new best friend or the love of your life, break these rules as necessary. Buy her a drink or feel free to chat it up, just be aware that if things don't go well, you'll be sitting next to them for quit some time.
10) Airplanes are my favorite place to imbibe, the lure of a new destination or the comfort of going home, the excitement of what may come, introspection, retrospection. All of these form an exhilarating elixir. The first thing most people say is that it's too expensive to drink on the plane. FALSE. Even if you went for it hard on an all day flight, you wouldn't spend more than $35, which pales in comparison to a first class ticket of 2 or 3 times what you paid for your coach ticket. Also, the spirits which airlines serve are generally of premium quality and the best part is that you don't have to tip a flight attendant. So if you know of terrestrial bar where you always get a generous pour of Woodford Reserve for $7, tip and tax free I'd like to know. Here are some other money saving tips. Buy your own mini-bottles from your local package store and carry them on with you. Make sure to match brands with your air carrier though to avoid suspicion. Put them in a quart, zip-lock bag like your other liquids and gels for security. While this isn't illegal, it's frowned upon by the carrier. Always ask the male flight attendants for drinks, whether your a man or woman. Guys drink more and are more likely to understand that you are less likely to punch the 4 year old behind you who is kicking your seatback while he plays his portable game box if you've had a cocktail. If you're attractive or extremely witty, some flirtation will help your chances of getting a free drink, and, again, always ask the guy. Also, from 33,000ft, initial descents begin about 30 minutes before landing. If you order a drink about 40 minutes out, it's almost always free since the flight crew is busy getting ready to land, and won't want to stop what they're doing to run your card.

Here are some other tips to help you this season:
1) On a three-seat row, the middle person ALWAYS gets both middle armrests.
2) If you are brutally hosed by an airline due to weather, malfunctioning parts or some other disaster and are waylaid for a long period of time, purchase a one-day pass to the club of your airline. There you will have snacks, better wireless, ambient lighting, leather chairs, more privacy, and, yup, you guessed it, free drinks!
3) Compression socks help you to arrive feeling fit and fresh, and, in long haul flights, help prevent the ole' Deep Vein Thrombosis.
4) Even today, flying is a privilege, you ought to dress like it.
5) The flight crew are deputized air marshals and can have you arrested, so watch your mouth, don't leave the plane without permission and try to be nice. They're as tired saying the same things as you are hearing them.

Here's wishing you safe, happy and tipsy holiday travels! And, if all other transportation fails, take a ride on the Payne Train.

Barbara Gayle

Mom in full cheering regalia at the South Carolina 1/2 Ironman.

For all intents and purposes, this blog is designed to be the story of my pursuit of athletic achievement, my athletic dreams, and one chapter's omission has become glaringly obvious. Last Saturday, November 13, was the first anniversary of my mother's passing from pancreatic cancer. In so many ways, without her, I would not have had the strength, discipline, courage or sense of adventure to sink myself, wholesale, into this dream.

When I began swimming, at 12, I was the oldest new swimmer. Everyone else my age was in one of the three more advanced groups and had been swimming competitively since they were able to crawl across the pool deck.

I think most people play several sports growing up and then choose their favorite. Then, if they seem to have a knack for it they'll take it more seriously. If they have a knack for it and they're disciplined they'll think about collegiate athletics. Then, if things go well there, they'll start thinking about international competition and, finally, The Olympics. As in most things I do, I went bass ackwards. Having just started swimming around the time of the Atlanta summer games of 1996, I decided that that was what I wanted to do. I never recall having a conversation with my mom about my lofty goals, but I guess she just kinda knew.

When you are in middle school, parents are the most hideously embarrassing thing, an extreme liability in the universal pursuit of looking cool. Even having a parent take you to my private school was terrible unless they were sporting a new S-Class or S-Type or S-anything-cooler-than-my-mom's-Honda.

Our trips to school were no different than any other time, to be used effectively, with maximal educational and inspirational benefit. Around this time she was on a self-help, books on tape (our Accord didn't have a CD player) kick, and she had "a special reading" she wanted me to hear. You know, the Zig Ziglar on Selling or Suze Orman sort of thing... All I remember was the narrator talking about normal kids, who turned out to be outrageously successful in their chosen fields; Music Director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, head engineers for Boeing, etc. The "special reading" ended with the narrator asking his rapt audience through Dolby tape technology what was meant to be a rhetorical question: "Can you see your child directing the Boston Symphony? Will your daughter be the next Diane Sawyer? Can you see your son designing the next Boeing 747?"

"YES!" my mother exclaimed from the drivers seat of our green Honda Accord at the top of her lungs in rush-hour traffic with a hearty and well intention fist pump. ...I died inside.

I think it was meant to be a segue to, what I'm sure would have been a very motivational and inspirational dialogue about my innate talent being unlocked through hard work, discipline and time management. I'm pretty sure I ended it and quickly and quietly skulked off to another harrowing day at Middle School.

Now, you as readers, are obviously endowed with the wisdom of my objective retrospect and see the incredible value of what she was doing. Congratulations. I would have loved to have seen you in middle school.

So, as most middle schoolers do, I missed the point. I didn't realize that we very easily could have bought an S-Type if my mom hadn't sent me to a school that championed education. I didn't realize that my mom was speaking from her own experiences in drive, discipline, education, hard work and success.

It's ironic that now, without her here and 13 years after that terribly embarrassing incident, I'm banking on what she wanted to say that day and the fact that she is right. I know that she was though, she already proved it.

So thanks mom, you were pretty legit.

How a Comedy of Errors Yielded the Best Toilet Paper ...Ever.

This winter is dedicated to my run. It's been a perennial weak discipline for me. Fortunately, I live in Missoula where I can say, "Hey, I need a 70 minute run and I want to get worked," and 4 guys and 1 dog show up to do the honors. Here is the story of an evening gone terribly wrong. The faint of heart should read no further.

A couple notes to set the stage: Montana is a very Northern state, and with the recent time change, darkness falls early. Even earlier in the many valleys and corridors, or, as we call them in the redneck South, "hollers". It is also especially cold in these corridors as they get much less sunlight throughout the day. Also, there have been about 20 black bears relocated from the neighborhood at the base of this corridor. Here, black bears are like opossums, just bigger and scarier. Additionally, mountain lions are not uncommon in these parts. I was never particularly concerned about mountain lions myself. I thought they were a kind of large, ornery cat until I saw one. This is false. In reality, they are slightly smaller, more cunning lions and closer to the size of deer than a house cat. Stage set.

Our 5:00PM departure is delayed until about 5:30 for generalized sitting around, chatting, lollygagging, and waiting for tardy participants. We set out heading North up the main corridor of the Rattlesnake Wilderness Area, following a lovely creek and wide trail. All are in good spirits. Our company consists of three fast running professional triathletes, Major, the intrepid mutt, Jeffro, and myself. Little did I know how close we were to finishing the evening out Donner Party style.

About 20 minutes in, Jeffro, whose heart is eager and outfit entertaining, settles into a slightly slower pace. Cupcakes (aka Adam Jensen) stays to run with Jeff. I sink everything into staying with Brendan and Matty-Ice. The three of us take a left which will eventually take us back to the corridor's main trail where we will meet up with Cupcakes and Jeffro. It is at this turn that I realize it's just plain dark out. I pick my feet up and try to hang onto Matty for dear life. I don't know the trial around here in the daylight, much less the pitch-black, Montana night. By the time we reach the main trail and start heading back South we run into Jeffro who fell off of Cupcakes' pace for the exclusive purpose of ralphing from the intensity. Cupcakes ran further North on the main trail to fetch us, but we weren't on the main trail. Now, here is where you are correct in thinking "Wouldn't it have been smart to discuss our route before we set out?" and the answer is "Yes." We, however, are not smart. I am limited to 70 running minutes so I let Matty, Major and Brendan reel Cupcakes back South. I take the opportunity to relieve my bladder. It's probably about 25 degrees where we are in the corridor, and, me being unsmart didn't wear tights. Not necessarily a huge deal, but a complicating factor in that the temperature prevents the accurate nerve messages being sent from my gentleman-parts to my brain and back to my bladder. Also not a huge deal, in that one would normally be able to visually ascertain the completion of his urination. In the pitch black dark, however, this was impossible. I made a "best guess" but was, apparently terribly wrong as a significant amount of urine was deposited onto the front of my shorts.

Jeffro and I then began a slow, Northward jog, assuming they had since caught Cupcakes. They hadn't. At which point we began a slow Southward walk to to let them catch us, not using up my 70 minutes of alloted run time. I then became cold due to the afore mentioned lack of tights and recent excessive moisture deposit on my trousers. We then resumed our Southward run, deciding to just head back. Jeffro abandoned his mountain lion fighting, bear scaring stick back onto the ground and we ran on. Several minutes later, Major the mutt then showed up. Huzzah! We now had a trusty ally in the fight against, The Nature (as my friend Katherine Todd would put it) and would soon be reunited with our group. So we turned North again to quickly close the gap. No luck and no sign of our trusty companions. It is then that both Jeff and my thoughts turn to the violent travesty which must have occurred that evening in The Nature, so, again, turn South to head back in case we needed to get help. Once this thought enters your mind, it becomes a full-on mental war to stay calm. Not being accustomed to such wildlife, I proclaim to Jeffro, "You know I'm probably just naive, but I'm not that concerned about the deadly wildlife," which is, in my mind, stalking us at that very moment. Jeffro, who has zero verbal filter then says, "Oh, well you should be. Mountain lions are deadly and scary and you know Sam just saw one on his bike up here, and ...." "Jeff!, now is not the appropriate time to rectify my naivete." We run on, beginning to grieve the undeniable loss of our dear friends, high in corridor. In the vain hope that they aren't dismembered, bloody carcasses, being fed on by untold wildlife, we periodically yell their names, we also hope this hollering will frighten away our predators. To lighten the mood, we then take to yelling other funny words: "Panis!" "Ovem!" "Palin!" ...our words falling back to us off the canyon walls, cold and dead in the nameless Montana night.

About 40 minutes later, a headlamp bobs behind us. Major turn and runs. It is Brendan, Matty and Cupcakes! We all run jauntily and quickly. We laugh and exchange stories from our time apart. Matty thought Major had been slain, but he was with us. Brendan and Cupcakes left Matty to search for major, ran ahead, hid in the woods and scared the bejesus out of Matty. All is well that ends well...

My ordeal, however, had just begun. When you don't grow up running, there are several reason that you build your long run incrementally. The main one is injury prevention. A secondary and often overlooked reason is to acclimate your body to burning that many calories over a long period of time without voiding them... so you don't crap yourself. We were already about 25 minutes beyond my most recent long run. The combination of the duration, the emotional toll of having lost some of my best friends and then having them resurrected, the downhill running, the high intensity, and the jaunty running presented itself in a rare and unprecedented form of gastric distress.

My pace slowed and stride shortened to minimize vertical acceleration as my sphincter prepared for what would be the fight of its life, its defining moment. It's important that you know, bowel movements are the absolute worst part of everyday of my life. I find them base, demeaning and sensorially offensive. Matty and Brendan again ran ahead. Cupcakes generously remained with his headlamp. An emergency pull-over.... a false alarm. Several minutes later, it was the real deal. Like the levies in New Orlean, sphincter failure was eminent. I grabbed the light, and took a hard right into the woods. Quickly scouring for wiping implements... too late. Drop trou... Done and done. My favorite pair of Smartwool socks, the only casualties in what was destined to be a disastrous night.

You may scoff at at this crass experience, but you've either been here, very nearly been here or you're fat and will die of heart disease in about 6 years, so scoff away. Have you had the pleasure of using $15.00 toilet paper?

Offseason: Phases 1-4

I've been in several offseason phases as of late. They have involved varying degrees of not working out, shenanigans, costumes, cocktails, working out and traveling. Offseason: Phases 1-4 have also, evidently not involved blogging. This post, therefore, is to inform you that I will be blogging at my leisure about that which may or may not be triathlon related.

Cheers, Until-A-Time-I-See-Fit
RAPayneTrain

Please welcome our guest...

Topics Discussed: Sunglasses Indoors, Gluten, Algebra

Hi, my name is Matthew Johnson and it is nice to meet you. I see that Ryan has provided an introduction, let me by way of beginning say a few quick things about myself. I am not a triathlete. Ok, that's it. So, my thoughts and observations are in no way from a "athlete's" perspective. This is not say I have not participated in the occasional organized sporting event. I have been known to "Shoot some hoops" now and again. I have also been seen to walk at a brisk pace. I believe you athlete's call it, yogging or is it jogging? Who can remember?

But, the real reason I am here is to report on your friend and mine; Ryan Alexander Payne. Well, let me tell you. I have known Ryan creeping to the 6 year mark and this was the first time I have had the opportunity to see him race. Also, this was the first time I had seen him in almost a year.

So, this was a weekend of anticipation.

It began like most weekends do, with a friday. I found myself overly concerned with things I normally spend no time considering. For example, Gluten. Recently, I have moved to Los Angeles and I discovered many different things, one of them being this substance called Gluten. Apparently, this is contained in some, but not all, of my food. This is problematic for some people. It is always surprising to see who has an allergy to this devil substance. Ryan doesn't have a Gluten allergy, but this was the gateway concern to other, larger concerns. These athletes and their eating habits are confusing to us non-athletes. Something comparable to Parliament and their operations. For example; Michael Phelps eats a dump trucks worth of Little Debbies. Other's eat boiled cardboard because of its high fiber content.

No one really understands.

The real fun was the Saturday meeting. I have never seen more physically fit people in my life. (Keep in mind I live in L.A. and there is maximum weight limit to live here.) I'm confident that 75% of the people had not even looked at a trans-fat or a carbohydrate since kindergarten. Ryan checked in while I explored the Expo. This is where I acquired free pens and water-bottles. I also entered a drawing for a Toyota. (I think my odds are pretty good.) Once Ryan found me buried under a pile of stickers, pens, pencils and coozies, we went to the informational meeting. Here's where certain words become appropriate to be used as adjectives that in a civilized society are deemed unacceptable. Words like tool, douche and ass become common place. Here's a few helpful hints to know when it is ok to use the words listed above, if you ever find yourself in a post-carbohydrate society. First, if anyone is wearing sunglasses indoors and they are not Ray Charles...Tool. When people come to a meeting already dressed for the race the next day...Douche. When an individual asks questions that clearly do not apply to the meeting they are attending...Ass.

At last, Raceday. We arose at the ungodly hour of 4:45. I woke up around 4:20 in a panic, sweat everywhere. "Oh my God, I overslept and Ryan is late, I RUINED IT!!"

An aside: I did not realize the amount of pressure there would be on me as the host to a racer. I was not ready for this kind of commitment, but I think I have grown a lot from this experience. But, if I don't have to do it again, I won't complain.

Ryan, Sam (my roommate and photographer) and I drove to Venice. Still dark outside, listening to a pre-race mix Ryan had prepared. If you have never participated in something like this before, you should. There is something special about it. You have the entire gamut of person there. Everyone from professionals representing their country to the Athenas and Clydesdales, who I learned are a larger variety of athletes. (Unfortunate but funny names)

Ryan, participated in the Amateur Elite group, he wore a purple hat in the swim. I think its because the race people wanted to have a laugh, but he says thats the "group color". The swim began like any swim. Before the professionals began their swim, the soundtrack from the Pirates of Caribbean played. I can't think of a better way to go for a mile swim or secure a beachhead.

After Ryan, emerged from the water. I went downtown. Let me tell you something, there is not a more proud moment than seeing a friend participate in something like this. Ryan emerged in the top three swimmers of his group and disappeared into the bike transition. While I drove downtown, I could not help but think about his trip. I found myself speeding to get downtown before he did, thinking he would beat me there. I blame the lack of sleep, but I did not really consider the fact that I was going 70 on a freeway. Ryan didn't stand a chance against my 2003 Ford Explorer. I'm sure there's a algebra problem that would have helped.


I arrived downtown and parked shortly before Ryan blew by me. His fancy, alien helmet seemed to help. I can't say for sure. But he looked good doing it.

After Ryan completed the race, being the high quality southern host I am, we had some BBQ. I can't really think of a better way to celebrate a .9 mile swim, 24 mile ride and a 10K than with cornbread, mac and cheese and a brisket at http://www.babybluesvenice.com

Overall, this an excellent weekend. Seeing and reminiscing with a dear friend is something that the older one gets and miles become states, weekends like this are worth their weight in gold or carbon fiber (For you triathletes out there).

I am deeply proud of Ryan, as I am sure you are too, and I would gladly do it all over again, just give me the chance. I don't think he could've asked for a better driver.

It was nice meeting you all and I hope to see you again soon.

Mr. Johnson is a second year graduate student at the renown Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, where he is the J. Skelton Brower Fellow of Interdisciplinary Magnanimousness, and all around nice guy. He has been this bloggers friend for long and storied tenure which has mainly been based on food, music, cocktails and high-brow discussions of things which don't really matter very much. He writes http://matthewknuckles.com.

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Ok folks, you should all be very excited about this announcement. My good friend and host in LA, Matthew "Knuckles" Johnson will be reporting on my trip from a non-triathlon perspective. If you are easily offended don't read it. I can only imagine that his comments may or may not touch on subjects such as the pretentious lunacy of most triathletes, what a poor method of transportation triathlon actually is, the innate proclivity of triathletes to get bad tattoos, and the inherent danger of having so many over-caffeinated, hungry, Type-A people in such proximity. Stay tuned...

Until then, enjoy this picture of Matt ("Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Showers) and me (Michael "Marfans" Phelps).

LA - The Land of Bruised Dreams

You may have noticed that my race in LA went quickly the way of Nick Nolte's career. If you hadn't, now you know. For whatever reason, I just didn't have it. I felt as though it might be a rough day when my legs were tired by the time I reached the water, a full 15 seconds after the gun. In an effort to salvage them from the get-go I didn't kick very much in the water. After getting caught behind the group (due to bonking on the run to the water) it took some doing to get back to the front. Trying to stay positive and hoping the race would come to me I decided to just motor in the water. Then after the third turn my arms just fell off. If anyone finds some arms, one with a puffy hand, on Venice Beach, they're mine. Getting up to my bike from the water nearly sent me straight into cardiac arrest and cooked my legs. That's right, a mere 22 minutes into the race I mounted my bike as a proverbial quadruple amputee. Hoping I'd find my legs on the bike I settled in, caught my breath and set about using Linsey's trick, to eat when you're having negative thoughts. I polished off my Heed and Hammer gel supplies by the first half of the bike, at which point I noticed my front tire had a slow leak. I pushed hard trying to get off my bike before I was riding on the rim. The run was pretty much the same story, slow and painful and I may as well have had a flat tire. I finished in a truly remarkable 2:18. Remarkable in the way that Lindsay Lohan is back in jail and Britney Spears shaves her head, not in the Cool Runnings/Rudy sort of way. ...a classic Los Angeles implosion.

So, I'm looking for the bright side here, and, to be honest, it's a tough hunt. I achieved nothing that I wanted to. I didn't qualify for Dallas. I definitely didn't get my pro card. I wasn't within 8% of the winners time. I didn't even have a race that felt good. It is a crappy way to end a season of hard work and high expectations.

But I've been here before. I started swimming later than most kids and from the start, I wanted to go to the Olympics. It was an outrageous goal and few people took it seriously or supported it. In fact, most people laughed at it. By the time college rolled around, Stanford and Michigan's coaches weren't calling me. I just couldn't make up the deficit in that amount of time. So I had to make a choice, redouble my efforts and hold fast to what I believed about my potential or believe everyone else. I decided that maybe everyone else was right. It is one of the few regrets I have in life, and I didn't know it until years later. After Ironman Florida, I gave my masters swimming coach, the venerable Bill Irwin, one month to get me ready for the US Master's Swimming State Meet. We were at the pool at 5AM every morning, and after one morning's workout, a test set of 100's, he told me something that changed my life. "Ryan, I'm not saying you would have ever gone to the Olympics, but you are every bit as talented as every person on that team." What a talent and opportunity I had wasted on indulgent self-doubt.

So the bright side is this: This race does not have the power to break me as an athlete, but it wasn't long ago that it would have.

"Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas A. Edison