Ironman -- A Numbers Game?

Earlier this month the Wall Street Journal ran a story on a new series of Ironman-branded races that will launch next year giving athletes the opportunity to have the “Ironman” experience over the course of 31.9 miles, versus the traditional Ironman distance of 140.6 miles. The article stirs up an ongoing argument in the triathlon community as to what constitutes the proper claim of the title, “Ironman.”

To provide some perspective for those who may not be aware of the controversy, here are the top line beliefs in the Ironman debate. The most hardcore opinion is that you are only an Ironman if you have won a slot to the Kona Championship race in Hawaii and completed that particular course. It has been said that the red M-dot logo (which is the symbol for Ironman) should only be tattooed onto the bodies of those have completed this race, thus branding them forever with this grand accomplishment. Many triathletes who have completed an Ironman race outside of Kona have gotten the iconic M-dot tattoo, or have referred to themselves as an Ironman. There are some who have completed races that are half the distance of Ironman (known as 70.3 races) who also claim to be an Ironman after crossing the finish line.

The debate has valid points on each side. On one hand, the Ironman is little more than a branded series of races that all cover the same distance—although the courses vary in their respective challenges (flat, fast courses versus slower, steep ones, or choppy swims in the ocean versus smoother swims in a lake), each race is comprised of a 1.2 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run.

Ironman was the first race of its kind when triathlon got its start back in the late 1970s, and the brand should be credited for bringing so much attention to the sport and the ultimate feat of covering 140.6 miles all in one event. The World Triathlon Corporation has done an excellent job making the experience of endurance racing worth the sacrifices it takes to accomplish such a race. At its core, the Ironman celebrates the human spirit, the will to survive, and a soul-searching journey that must be tapped into in order to keep moving forward to the finish line.

But should Ironman be the only event that “officially” grants us access to that kind of self-awareness and accomplishment?

Like many other successful brands, Ironman has transformed over the years to become THE product, regardless of the other products out there that share the same attributes. Think of it like Kleenex. You might be blowing your nose into a Puffs tissue, or the store’s brand of facial tissue, but you call it a Kleenex. The brand has become synonymous with the product. Ironman is no different.

Some people wonder if they complete a race that is the same distance as an Ironman, are they an Ironman? Or does it have to be on an official Ironman course?

I do believe that Ironman goes out of its way to ensure its participants will have an unparalleled experience while racing. The company does a lot to support and celebrate its athletes, and many courses become known for specific challenges presented along the way. Being privy to a “behind the scenes” look at how the Ironman-branded 70.3 course was mapped out in Syracuse, N.Y., I can say that I know for a fact there is careful consideration to the way the course is selected so that it will feature something notable about the area. Do other race directors and teams do the same kind of legwork? Probably, but Ironman has built its brand on the idea of providing a quality course to challenge and thrill its athletes.

As noted in the WSJ article, only a small percentage of triathletes will move out of the Sprint and Olympic distance triathlons and go on to complete a full Ironman. For some, the time commitment is too great. For others, 140.6 miles seem surreal and impossible to take on. As such, the recent boom in 70.3 races has given “would-be Ironmen” the opportunity to dabble in hardcore triathlon without having to make the kinds of sacrifices it would take to train for a full Ironman race.

Here is where it gets complicated again.

I applaud anyone who is going to take on the challenge of training for ANY triathlon—it’s not an easy sport, and it requires a lot of time and discipline no matter what distance you’re going for. Jumping up from the smaller races into the 70.3 distance is a considerable leap for many, and the satisfaction of that achievement is so inspiring that many will begin to think about the possibility of a full Ironman for the first time. However, completing a 70.3 race won’t technically make you an Ironman—but for many people it will spiritually make them one.

As the leading triathlon brand out there, I think that Ironman has an obligation to cater to the growing number of people getting involved in this sport and to inspire them to take part in it with more race options. In that respect, I applaud the World Triathlon Corporation for coming up with the 5150 series (the official name of the 31.9 mile races launching next year). Ironman is a brand after all, and in business brands need to listen to their consumers and cater to their needs. Ironman is doing just that.

My personal feeling is that the Ironman should be respected for the actual distance of each leg in the race, and less for the M-dot branded chotchkies, onslaught of corporate sponsorship logos and steep registration fees. If you’ve done a race that is the distance of an Ironman, I believe you’re an Ironman. You’ve worked for and celebrated the same victory as anyone who steps across the finish line after 10+ hours of blood, sweat and tears (less than 10 hours if you’re a pro!).

When someone completes a generic 140.6 race or a 70.3 race, and then calls himself an Ironman, does it dilute the allure of the title? Maybe, but does that really matter? I’ve completed triathlon races of all distances, and I can remember being one of the people who never thought an Ironman would be possible. I came into triathlon from a long history of running that began as a 100-meter sprinter. Any race over 13 seconds seemed impossible to me!

I’ve always known what an Ironman was, and respected the people that did them. I never understood why anyone would be upset about the idea of someone calling themselves an Ironman when they didn’t do the actual race. Wasn’t covering 140.6 miles good enough? Isn’t the fact that a human body can move from point A to point B in that way remarkable no matter how it happened?

I believe the people who will be disgruntled about the Ironman versus non-Ironman title are the ones who might be buying into this sport for the wrong reasons. There are plenty of status-driven people who do these races—myself among them. I like the feeling of being driven and disciplined enough to put myself up to the kind of a challenge that an Ironman presents. I like to know that I can do it. As a result, I definitely have more than a few items that promote that accomplishment. But it doesn’t define me to the point that I’m upset if someone else wants to call themselves an Ironman just because they went about it in a different way.

And the people that have only completed a 70.3 race and then refer to themselves as an Ironman? That’s okay with me too. They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. If you are among the small percentage of triathletes who has covered 140.6 miles with an official time to prove it, then you are among the people that the Sprint, Olympic, and 70.3 athletes automatically look up to and respect. Let them take some credit for their accomplishments. If that means wearing the “Ironman” hat when they only did half the work, so be it.

Does it really take your accomplishments away from you? Did it shorten your previous 140.6-mile races? Are you any less of an Ironman just because someone else is trying on the idea after a key race in their experience as a triathlete?

Look at it this way. A few years ago, Britney Spears got married in Vegas to a friend she was hanging out with during a drunken night on the town. Did her sham of a marriage dilute anyone else’s vows? Did her fun time in Vegas make you less of a partner in your marriage, or make your sacred bond less meaningful?

What happens in Ironman is so much greater than the fanfare that comes with a $500 entry-fee, cheering spectators, and God-like admiration when you finish the race. It’s a conversation with yourself that needs no words. A renewed bond with yourself that you’ll never be able to explain, and you’ll never forget. If the World Triathlon Corporation is doing things to make that bond more accessible for others, then we should all be happy for that.

As triathletes, we know that our practice in this sport drives us to be successful in other areas of life—not just during our swimming, biking and running. I’ve always believed that if everyone ran just three miles a day, the world would be a better place. If those three miles happen to be at the end of a Sprint triathlon, that’s even better. Let’s be happy that more people want to make themselves and their lives better, and stop bickering over who gets to celebrate it with a stupid title. It seems that Ironman is becoming a numbers game, but it shouldn’t be about 31.9, 70.3 or 140.6. It should be about the commitment to sign up for the challenge and see it through, one step at a time.

When Bad Races Happen to Good People

There’s nothing worse than a race that goes badly after months of training and making sacrifices to prepare for it. During tough workouts and early Saturday nights, we remind ourselves that it’s all worth it on race day when we get to meet our goal and revel in our accomplishments.

So what happens when you don’t meet your goal and you fall short of your expectations?

Your support circle will urge you to find the silver lining, but you won’t want to hear it. While the Hallmark moment you wanted was to cry tears of joy at the finish line, you may have to settle instead for the tears you cry in your car while driving away from the train wreck that was your race.

Here’s what happens next.

You make it home alive.
That’s right, you’re still here. And that’s good news because it teaches you that there is life after DNF (the term used for those who don’t complete a race, meaning “Did not finish.”).

It’s important to realize that failing is a huge part of athletics and competition. When the outcomes are “win or lose” you are constantly facing a 50/50 shot at failure. In endurance sports it’s a little different because the athlete is competing with potentially hundreds of other people for a win, but most triathletes would consider a DNF to be the ultimate “loss” because it completely removes you from the possibility of success. It’s the medical equivalent of “pulling the plug” on your race. But remember, just because your race died, that doesn’t mean you have to go with it.

You stop being angry, and start being thoughtful.
At some point you realize you can’t change what happened in your race, and in order to make the experience worth something you begin to obsess over every move you made that day.

Before you know it, you’re fully aware of what you ate for the past week, how you slept the night before, the workouts you skimped on in your last month of training, and the song that was on the radio while driving to the race that morning. A theory starts brewing and you can pinpoint some reasons for your sub-par performance.


You uncover new information.
They say the truth will set you free. If you can zero in on why a race went poorly, it immediately lessens the blow of the initial “failure.” As Type-A personalities, us triathletes seek some sense of accountability when things go wrong. When that thing happens to be our most important race, we are relentless with our pursuit for answers. New information helps us to piece together how the race could have gone if we had prepared differently or executed the race another way. This thought process enables us to renew faith in our abilities.

You become inspired.
Each failure should be considered an opportunity to learn. To be angered by our performance in one race is to be inspired in the performance we seek in the next race. Without failures in training and racing, we wouldn’t be able to establish benchmarks within our progress as athletes. Being thoughtful about what went wrong, identifying ways you could have been better in your race, and using that information to fine-tune your needs for the next goal is an essential part of your growth.

You plan.
Now that you know what you need to meet your previous goal, you are equipped to plan a more effective route to meet it in the future. You will go down the path toward that goal again armed with more information than before, and a better plan to achieve success. You come to the table more organized, with a razor-sharp focus on what needs to happen.

You race again.
Time has passed and you’ve done the homework to figure out what went wrong and how you could improve your next performance. Don’t allow yourself to be distracted by the past, instead focus on the moment and be inspired by your preparation for the future. Remember that every race, no matter how it unfolds, is an opportunity to learn and grow as an athlete. In that respect, there is no losing.

Spectators—It’s Where We Began, and Who We Should Respect

Some of the hardest work in a triathlon is done on the sidelines. That’s right, off the course. I could be talking about volunteers, but I’ll save that for another post. This one is dedicated to the spectators! The family, friends and co-workers who feel obliged, guilted or otherwise inspired to show up to your races where they see you for all of five minutes during a multi-hour event.

For most of us, the story of how we got into triathlon starts with the experience of seeing one. Whether you happened to be one of the aforementioned people on the sidelines, or you just wanted to see what all of the hype was about—you were once a spectator, witnessing the magic of strangers tapping into sheer will to make it to the finish line, and something clicked inside of you.

Being a spectator isn’t easy. There’s a lot more to it than ringing a cowbell or making a homemade sign. As athletes, we thrive on the confidence and adrenaline that’s built over months of training to complete our races, but from our spectators we hope for a calming vibe, a soothing promise to “do great,” or the security in knowing that no matter how we do, our people will still love us.

On my last ride, I was talking to a friend whose parents didn’t make much of an effort to see any of her races. From her first marathon to her many Ironmans, she went to the starting lines knowing that she was a lone ranger. I thought of how that must feel in an event like a marathon or the Ironman. I think of it like a ship crossing the ocean, or an airplane en route to a faraway destination. There’s nothing more comforting than falling into the embrace of those who care for you after a long voyage, or a trying time. For many triathletes the race conjures up those same feelings of taking off, setting out to navigate the course despite the obstacles, and doing whatever it takes to make a safe landing…to reach shore…to complete the mission.

Spectators should know that even though we only see you for mere minutes (sometimes seconds) at a time while we’re racing, that precious little time is like getting a postcard from home while we’re stuck in some remote part of the world counting the days (er, hours) until we can see you again.

Your cow bells, homemade signs, chants of awesomeness and “atta boys” make us feel like the elite athletes that have probably finished the race by the time you see us. If you came to the race unarmed, and are going “plain vanilla” with the smiles and the “good jobs," no worries. That works, too. It’s your commitment to our commitment that makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Some triathletes feel bad asking anyone to come and support them (myself included). I’ve never wanted to ask anyone to put themselves out to come and see one of my races. I realize that watching a herd of spandex-clad people waddle out of the water, shuffle to their bikes, tumble into a run and collapse onto a finish line isn’t exactly everybody’s pint of Gatorade, and it’s even worse when they’re doing it in a monsoon or in the rural country where there’s nary a beer to be consumed (note to Spectators: cooler, ice, beer. Portable awesomeness). But when I signed up for the Ironman, I asked my parents if they would come. Mostly because I was almost certain they would need to claim my dead body at some point in the race.

Luckily, that wasn’t the case. They were hit with the monsoon experience at my first Ironman, and the beer-drinking “fun in the sun” experience at my second Ironman. My dad was particularly fond of the online experience of watching me chip in to various points on the race course (I found out when I checked my Facebook page, that the better part of Central New York was crossing their fingers for me, too, while tracking my progress online). There are all kinds of spectators, and there is no right way to be a good spectator. (And all spectators are appreciated!)

Whether you’re a triathlete who’s not sure how to ask the people in your life to come to your races, or a spectator who isn’t sure how to watch a race once your loved one has gone by, here are three things that you can do (or share) to enjoy your next race from the sidelines!

1.   Celebrate Life

Triathlon is unique in that the course will become a shared stage for world-class athletes and first-time triathletes who have no clue what’s going on. What do they have in common? Unparalleled determination. What does that mean for you? Take notes. If there’s something on your “Bucket List” you haven’t started to think about yet, take a cue from the people who are just inches away from you sweating and panting. Anything is possible if you put your mind to it. Set a goal, chart a course, and take the first step.

2.    Focus on the Strengths

In a society that’s consumed with finding flaws, fault and the ugly side of everything, use your experience at a triathlon to focus on the positive. An 80-year-old who’s chugging along on the run course of a 70.3? Rock on, Heart of Steel! A woman who’s two times the size of you coming out of the water? Way to go, Muscle Maven! It’s not an easy thing to officially register for a triathlon -- it takes strength in body and mind to show up to your first race (or your 70th) so be sure to appreciate what each individual athlete has to offer to the sport. First place isn’t always the one to “win” something.

3.    Know Your Role

Every athlete is different, and so is every spectator. When I’m asking people to come and watch my races, I pitch the experience differently depending on who I’m talking to. With my father, I know it’s a numbers game. Give the man stats and demographics, and he’s suddenly looking at the race like the weekly crossword puzzle.

“Oh, I see what’s going on here. The trick to this is finding puns that are relevant to World War II.” (Yes, Dad, or age group athletes who have figured out who’s in the field and have a strategy to qualify for Kona).

Are you a spectator watching an athlete? Think about who you are to that person. Are you the coworker friend who has talked your athlete down from sending cranky, verbose emails when things fall apart at work? You’ll be a pinch hitter in that last mile before the finish line. Maybe you’re the mom or boyfriend. The one who can front-load all the feel-good vibes in the world before their Nikes even hit the pavement. By figuring out what your “power influence” is over the athlete, you can determine how you’ll best contribute to the race.

No matter who you are, it’s being there that means the most to athletes.

Ironman Lake Placid 2010 Race Report

While a race report on Ironman might not seem like an appropriate post on a blog for beginner triathletes, I chose to put it here because I think it’s important for triathletes at any level to a) remember their roots as the beginners we all once were, and b) for beginners to see how an Ironman is really just a collection of bite-sized challenges—140.6 of them, to be exact.

I arrived in Lake Placid on Friday morning to soak up the vibe in the air that can only occur when you pack 2000+ athletes into a small mountain village who are all on the brink of going after a major goal. Some are there for the first time and just want to finish the race. Others, like me, are there to chase a special time that we’ve put in our minds as the proof that our efforts will be successful. Whether you’re there as an athlete, spectator or volunteer, the common denominator is respect for the race. The lake, roads and mountain tops that make up the course take on a life of their own and together become a fourth character in the scene that is “Ironman.” Lake Placid becomes a shadow box of courageous moments where people push themselves to their limits while being encouraged by the helping hands of volunteers and the clapping hands of spectators.

The morning comes early on race day as everyone gets up to prepare for the journey ahead. At 4:30AM, I moseyed out to the balcony from my hotel room and sat silently with a coffee as I stared over the black mountain tops that were silhouetted against a slightly less black sky whose sun was still on snooze. To my right, another man was doing the same…swigging Coke from a liter-sized bottle and sitting quietly with his thoughts. Like old friends who need only the bare minimum of words and phrases to communicate their feelings, he looked to me and said, “So?” I smiled and said, “It’s going to be a good day.” We both exhaled and continued staring forward as a gaggle of women still wearing heels and mini skirts from the night before ambled past us laughing as they took turns impersonating the event emcee, Mike Reilly, and his famous greeting to those who make it to the finish line…”Meghan, YOU are an Ironman!” one of them screamed, as the others doubled over in laughter whilst removing their shoes.

A few hours later I was in Mirror Lake, zipped into my wetsuit and clapping for the pros who had just begun their race. Ten minutes later we would do the same—plenty of time to pee in my wetsuit and collect my thoughts. I recognized Ryan Sutter (of Trista and Ryan “Bachelorette” fame) standing next to me. I smiled and waved when he caught me staring and continued to pee. It was a pre-race ritual after all, and I wasn’t about to let a D-list celebrity change up my game plan.

Moments later the race began, and I began my 2.4 mile “fight” through the water, swimming in and out of the thousands of limbs that were stroking and kicking their way down the long, narrow lake along the buoy line. I took a few blows to the face from nearby swimmers, and felt confident that should one of those heavy strokes push me beneath the water, the scuba divers that were nestled beneath us would swiftly usher me back to air. When I finally exited the water to run to the bike transition, I swore I tasted blood in my mouth so I checked to make sure all my teeth were in tact. They were, and I continued trotting along the carpeted path to the Olympic Oval to grab my helmet, shoes and bike.

Through the first 10 miles on the bike it was pouring rain. I immediately thought of the race in 2008 and how the rain pelted my skin for 15 straight hours before finally letting up around 10:00PM. At the time, my pink Tifosi glasses were so waterlogged I had to remove them so I could see, and I placed them into the back of my tri top only to discover later that they had slipped out somewhere. Only one day old, and already they were gone. This year it was the same. My replacement pink Tifosi glasses were streaked with rain, but I was determined that the sun would be back so I let them perch on my nose and made the bold decision to bomb down the hills despite how slick the road was from the water. Smart? Probably not. Fun? Absolutely.

There was something about taking control of my race in that moment that made the rain a little less threatening. I came back to Lake Placid Ironman to do the race I knew I was capable of, not to feel beaten down by the elements and let the weather dictate how things were going to be. I was armed with the powerful fact that I had already done an entire Ironman in the pouring rain, so I could do it again if I had to. And if the sun came out with a vengeance? Well most of my long rides and runs were completed during the hottest parts of 90-degree days when the humidity had me just as drenched as the 2008 monsoon. 

My gamble paid off. I made great time down the initial descents on the bike course and headed into dry roads and sunshine after 10 miles. The sun was out just long enough to flirt with the idea of a rainbow on the edge of the passing rain, but it never came to fruition. The rest of my ride was smooth, strong and consistent. After the first 56 miles I took the Pepsi from my special needs bag and perched atop of my aerobars with one hand, while the other held the can to my lips. I was chugging cola like a crazy pirate swigging whiskey at the bow of his ship, drunk on the idea of finding coveted treasures. To me, the prospect of another strong loop on the bike into a solid marathon to the finish line was more valuable than all the rubies, diamonds and sapphires in the world. I was on track to beat my projected finishing time, and my progress on the course was motivating me to push just a little harder than I ever had in my training.

Back to the big downhill on the second loop, I stood up and soared over the road at 48 MPH. Several cola burps left me feeling ten pounds lighter and the wind in my hair left me feeling as sassy as a rebel on a motorcycle, and as carefree as a dog with his head hanging out of the car window. 

I finished the bike with no issues (the anxiety of a possible flat tire or broken chain was haunting me the entire way) and got ready to set out on the run. By this time in 2008, I was so cold from biking in the rain that the idea of heading out to run a marathon in a tiny Lycra suit seemed on par with being admitted to a torture chamber. This time, I felt incredibly fresh and was looking forward to doing the last piece of the race—still on track to meet my goal of 14:30 hours.

In the transition tent, the scene was frantic and fast, the way I imagine it must be behind the scenes at a Lady Gaga concert when she’s jetting through one of her many costume changes. Only instead of sequins, cellophane and sparkler bras flying around, it was salt tabs, sunscreen and sneakers. The volunteers in the transition area descend upon each athlete like a team of stylists and make-up artists.

While one woman fastened my heart rate monitor onto my chest, another was tying my shoe. A third was basting each arm in SPF 50 and I was out of that tent and running the first mile of my marathon faster than Jimmy Johnson makes a Nascar pit stop. Apparently I ran right past Michael Phelps in the first mile who was there to cheer on his sister in the race. But not even the presence of an Olympian could have distracted me from the task at hand—run this marathon faster than the projected 12-minute miles you planned on, and you’ll crush your anticipated finishing time.

The run was without much drama. I kept a steady pace the entire way, only walking here and there as needed to sip from a cup without spilling its contents, and just briefly up the final hill of the course when Mr. Calf Muscle decided to come back and make good on his previous threat. My rationale was that running up the hill wouldn’t buy me much more time than briskly walking (which hurt far less) and trying to push it with four miles to go in the race could have resulted in a serious muscle spasm that would have me hobbling to the finish line like Mama Fratelli from the Goonies (and I wasn’t about to let Mama get to that finish line treasure before a focused, capable ME did!).

When I had just a mile to go and I realized I was going to beat my projected time by about an hour, I started to feel verklempt. My chest was hurting in part because I was pushing so hard, but mostly because I was stifling back so much raw emotion from within as I felt every fiber of my being striving for a finishing time under 13 hours and 40 minutes. Over the last 10K, I kept recalculating what I could realistically achieve with a body that was starting to deteriorate on the course. I knew I would beat 14 hours, but then I had my sights on 13:45 hours. And when it was barely safe to think it, I upped the ante to 13:40.

I headed into the Olympic Oval for the final 200 meters of the race, completely overcome by my senses. My legs were heavy with exhaustion but light with enthusiasm. My breath was shallow, but measured and strong. My arms ached, but they were reaching for the stars. I tasted salt, sweat, tears. I saw lights, and crazy arms wild with excitement for each person who came into the oval on their way to the finish line. Millions of mouths formed a sea of tiny black circles all screaming and cheering. The sound might have been deafening on another day, but in that moment it was like a song from the siren and I was happy to steer my ship directly toward it, crashing with utter joy at the finish line where my friend Jen slipped an Ironman finisher’s medal over my head.

My legs buckled beneath me, but I rested on Jen’s arm and broke down into an aggregate of sobs, slurs and one-word sentences.

It was truly special to have Jen at the finish line. I met her years ago when she moved to Syracuse from Canada and started coming to my spin class for something to do. Eventually I talked her into a triathlon, and like so many others, she was hooked and continued to pursue bigger goals. Just months ago she landed a job at a new triathlon publication (Lava) as the online editor. They flew her from San Diego to Lake Placid so she could cover the event, and there she was—taking a moment out of her time covering the professional triathlon scene to festoon little ol’ me with a race chotchkie. It made an already perfect race even better.

My parents were there to cheer me on, along with my boyfriend and a couple of my really close friends from Syracuse. Along the course there were many people from my local triathlon club volunteering and racing. It made Ironman feel like a family reunion. It’s like when you hear about your cousins from your aunt, and see pictures of them, but don’t really get to hang out with them except for once a year during the holidays. I know that the people close to me are aware of my training and my love for triathlon, but to have them in such close proximity after achieving this milestone in my life was truly special to me. Pictures and words can’t capture what I felt on that finish line. Though it was my second Ironman race, this is the one that I will always think of when I hear people say that I’m an Ironman. 2008 had its unique challenges and I know that it was a great accomplishment to make it through the race that year, but this year I feel utterly transformed as a person. I feel doors opening within me leading to potential I wasn’t sure I had. I feel the seeds of goals being planted in my soul and have goose bumps when I think of the experiences yet to come. I’m excited about new challenges and the prospect of going for something that may still be just beyond my reach.

Throughout the Ironman race this year, I kept thinking to myself how much I loved this sport and the people that I’ve come to know through it. Whether you’re just getting started in triathlon or you’ve been at it for a long time, make sure to stop and appreciate what it means to test your limits, and the way it makes you feel. Life is full of opportunities to realize how much we’re capable of and how strong we can be. It doesn’t take an Ironman to find your potential, ask more of yourself and dare to set ambitious goals—but it’s a nice stop along the way.

It’s Taper-O’Clock—Time to Wean Yourself Off Super Training and Rest Up!

With race season in full swing, you’ve likely heard some of your triathlon buddies talking about their taper.  No worries—they’re not discussing their enthusiasm for ankle-hugging denim. Taper is a training term referring to the period of time an athlete uses to come down from a high-volume period of training in order to rest and recover before race day.

Tapering can last anywhere from two to four weeks and will vary between different athletes and training programs—but the goal of tapering is always the same: Let the body have ample time to repair the damage that training causes, so it can rebuild to leave you even stronger on race day.

It’s important to note that tapering doesn’t mean you STOP working out in the weeks leading up to your race. There will still be workouts to do that keep your body prepared to swim, bike and run. Whereas peak training workouts are trying to push your limits and summon that grand fatigue that makes you feel like you “really did something,” tapering will feel boring, ineffective and easy—making you feel like you haven’t done enough. This is normal!

You can expect to feel sluggish during your taper, and ill prepared for your race. Your workout time will dramatically decrease, which means you won’t be tapping into the level of intensity you normally do. Enthusiasm will wane. You will be a sad panda, beginning to feel hopelessly out of touch with your body and prior fitness level. Your quads will feel deprived of ass-kicking affection. They may even break pathetically into song…

“You’ve lost that loving feeling, whoa, that loving feeling. You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling, now it’s gone, gone, gone….whooooooah.”

Many athletes feel confused by the lack of intensity in their taper workouts and mistakenly decide to “test their fitness” by adding more to the workout than is prescribed (either by going further or faster than the workout calls for). This is a dangerous game that can lead to overtraining and potentially cause damage to your progress that cannot be undone by race day.

One of the most helpful things to remember during this time is that it’s better to show up to your race under-trained, rather than over-trained. Resist the urge to flirt with disaster and let your taper do its job: recharge all of your systems so you’re truly at your best on race day.

In addition to scaling back on the workouts, you’ll also be scaling back on your calorie consumption. While a half pound of pasta for dinner might be standard operating procedure for you during your peak phase, you’ll want to cut back on that during your taper. Eat balanced meals and avoid extra calories unless you’re truly hungry for them. Watch your portion sizes and make sure you’re drinking plenty of water each day (drinking a couple glasses of water before each meal is a good way to prevent overeating during your taper).

Finally, resist the urge to party like a rock star now that you have all this extra time. Remember that one of the tenets of tapering is REST. So put your feet up, catch up on your Netflix, read that stack of magazines that you roll away from each night in bed and engage in low-stress, laid back activities that soothe the mind and make few demands on the body. This is not the time to start that weight-lifting program you’ve been thinking about, or tackle “Operation Attic Cleaning.” If you must do some form of working out to ease your mind, opt for a yoga class or easy swim in the pool.

One muscle you can keep working during your taper is the brain. Two weeks out from your race is the perfect time to wax nostalgic on your training efforts. Think of what you’ve accomplished and how far you’ve come from the first week of training to the homestretch. If you’re able to drive the course of the race you’ll be doing, get in the car with a friend or play a CD with relaxing music and take your mind through each mile of the bike and run. Explain to your friend what you’ll be thinking and feeling along the course, or if you’re alone use the time to summon inner strength as you weave the visual of each mile together with the sound of the music and the feeling of readiness from within.

Tapering is regarded as one of the most important aspects of training and has been embraced by athletes in all sports as a way to access the best possible person you can be on the day when that matters the most.

What Beginner and Advanced Cyclists Can Learn From Each Other

Indoor cycling classes are one of the few places where a beginner and an advanced cyclist can both get "on the road" together to enjoy the same experience. Think about it: If Lance Armstrong came into your spin class, you could be seated next to a world-class athlete getting in his workout while you are inches away getting yours. Few other venues will give you such opportunities.

What does this mean? It means that in any cycling fitness class, the opportunity to learn something can change anytime you find yourself next to someone new. Whether you're an advanced cyclist training for triathlon and Ironman, or a first-timer who is just learning how to set up your bike, there's a lesson for all of us in our workout neighbor.

Three Things Beginners Can Learn From Advanced Riders

1) It's okay to take risks.

Don't be afraid to turn up the tension a little bit more than usual on your hills and sprints. If you're doing everything the instructor says and you feel like you could give a little more, add some extra resistance and see what happens. If it feels like too much you can change it back and you've established a new goal to work toward. If it feels good, then you've gained strength and are ready to take your workout to the next level.

2) It's okay to be a little bit uncomfortable.

You know the cliche' - No pain, no gain. Beginners tend to ride at whatever level they need to in order to feel comfortable. This is fine at first, but it will eventually present a "plateau" in your progress and your body will no longer burn calories and build muscle the way it used to. A good workout shouldn't kill you - but it should let you know that it stopped by. Pushing yourself to hold onto an effort that takes you out of the comfort zone for a period of time is a good thing. The body moves past the "comfort plateau" and adapts to harder efforts as your fitness level increases.

3) It's okay to look the part.

You don't need to be a cyclist to look like one! Many cyclists will come to class wearing their bike jerseys and cycling shorts (beginners- you should know those shorts come with a padded area that can help you become acclimated to the unforgiving bike seats!). Wearing cycling gear can help put you in the right frame of mind for your workout and inspire the visualization process as you envision the road throughout class.

Three Things Advanced Riders Can Learn From Beginners

1) You don't have to take everything so seriously!

Advanced riders will have a hard time letting go of their competitive spirit while in class, for a variety of reasons. With all the focus on visualizing the road, most advanced cyclists can easily sync their physical activity with their mental awareness of how the body would feel if they were actually riding outside. Most cyclists don't have the luxury of riding with a personal coach when they're on the road, or music to pace them. Spinning classes offer a nice departure from having to do all the work themselves as they suddenly have an instructor and a bass beat guiding them through each twist and turn. That being said, it's not necessary to MASTER each twist and turn to get an effective workout. Advanced riders should remember that indoor cycling classes are fun and need not be treated like the Tour de France every single time.

2) It's okay to modify the workout.

Just because the instructor is asking you to ride a steep hill, that doesn't mean you have to do it. If you're not in the mood for a hill or you're looking for a less intense workout that day, feel free to modify the workout to fit your needs. Find a quicker beat within the song and strip the resistance back so you can make the hill into an easy flat - or vice versa. Fast songs can easily be made into hills by slowing the pace to the half-time beat and adding resistance in order to pedal at a slower pace.

3) It's okay to join the party.

This goes along with "don't take things so seriously," but it's important enough that I feel it should have its own spot on this list. Part of the fun of a group fitness class is the camaraderie it creates among the members. There is a sense of "team" in a cycling fitness class where everyone is riding in a pack to get from Point A to Point B. Advanced cyclists will put on their game faces and engage in an all-out assault on their imaginary race-day competitors, while Beginners will "Woot!" in enthusiasm while topping off a hill or hammering out a flat. Such enthusiasm is not typically found in a triathlon or cycling race, and certainly not while cycling solo on the road. But in a spinning class, "joining the party" is almost a prerequisite to come in the room.

The Everyday Triathlete and the PB

No, this is not a post about peanut butter. PB is a common term in triathlon lingo referring to one’s “personal best” time recorded in a race event. This can also be noted by the term “PR” for personal record.

As an everyday triathlete, you may not think this applies to you—but you’d be wrong. Noting a PB or a PR is something that all athletes should do, and it has nothing to do with being the best or setting a record.

It has to do with personal growth and goal setting.

The very first race you do should be about simply finishing (no matter how much time it takes). The time on the clock when you complete the race is a record of your time spent on the course and the courage it took to sign up and train for your first triathlon. Don’t pressure yourself by putting any more meaning into it than that.

This is true whenever you’re doing something new for the first time. Your first 5K, your first sprint triathlon, your first 10K, your first Olympic distance triathlon, your first half-marathon, your first half-Ironman, etc. These “first times” give you a base level of information about yourself as an athlete, and something to use as a benchmark for future goals.

As you do more races of the same distance, you can then compare times to chart improvement—but be careful not to get too caught up in the hype of the overall finishing time.

In triathlon, there are six official times associated with your race. They are:

• Swim time
• Transition time from swim to bike
• Bike time
• Transition time from bike to run
• Run time
• Overall finish time (comprised of all 5 times listed above)

This means that each race gives you six opportunities to improve the next time you do a race of the same distance. So while you may complete your race feeling let down about your overall finishing time, you might notice that you actually logged a personal best on the bike!

With six separate times to analyze, there is ample opportunity to celebrate the small victories that are always there for the taking even despite what could be perceived as a big loss at first sight.

Triathlon’s six distinct times remind us that it’s okay to make race day about the journey, not the destination.

Few of us get to show up to races anticipating the kind of win that would land us on the podium with a giant trophy in our hands. We will not be sponsored, or singled out for our athletic prowess, and we won’t be breaking any world records on the courses where we race.

The beauty of triathlon is that “wins” don’t have to be measured in terms of podiums and points. Unlike professional sports teams, we don’t need to try out before we’re invited to participate. We don’t need to prove anything to anyone but ourselves. The best athletes in the world will race the same courses as the everyday triathletes, yet the winners of that race will vary just as much as the participants who toe the line.

Your “personal best” is all about you. If you shave even a second from your previous finishing times, you’ve won on some level.

PBs don’t always come in numerical form, either. If you feel that you put forth a new kind of effort that unveiled something new about you as an athlete, that’s a win. Were you pushing yourself through barriers that you weren’t used to such as leg cramps or extreme temperatures? These conditions might inflate your times more than you’d like, but you should allow them to inflate your ego, too.

Many athletes find themselves caught in the drama of having to meet pre-defined expectations. This happens because they’re comparing themselves to other people who they believe they are similar to, or because they believe that having certain gear should lead to the kind of performance they want to have.

Buying a fast bike doesn’t guarantee you’ll ride a fast bike split. Remember that the legs are only as fast as the mind will allow them to go, and if your racing strategy is based on gear rather than guts, you will likely feel let down by your performances. Of course high-quality equipment can help us to improve our performance, but it’s only going to amplify the athlete that’s already there—not create a new one on the spot.

You must nurture the heart and soul of this sport from the inside, by believing in yourself and practicing the small victories before you chase after the larger ones.

Establish your personal parameters for “success” in training and racing, and then make it a point to celebrate them accordingly.