Training plan basics and the reality of swim times

Training plan basics and the reality of swim times

1) Training for an endurance sport can be like taking a beginner's course in quantum mechanics (yes, there is a parallel): the more you research, the less you're sure of. Period training vs. high intensity intervals, free weights vs. body weights, stretching before vs. after a workout, plyometrics, yoga, pilates, fartlek - there are probably as many training plans as there are people entering any event that you may be interested in. And anyone will tell you why one plan is better than another.

But there is a way to get started and sort out your own triathlon training plan without letting your head spin. The logic behind it goes like this: in a given triathlon, there is a standard ratio of time usually spent on each leg of the course. If a racer is in decent shape, the ratio of time spent on swim/bike/run usually is in the neighborhood of 1/8/4. That is, the run will take approx. 4 times as long as the swim, and the bike will take about twice as long as the run.

So, an easy way to build a basic training plan is to work out your weekly mileage in each discipline according to these ratios. Spend 4 times as much time running than swimming, and twice as much time biking as running. Build up your mileage weekly by 10% or so in each event.

2) I had a great conversation with a triathlete friend of mine last night that revealed an important truth about training and improving your overall time in any given triathlon distance - especially for people who are not as confident in the swim as in other legs (which, from my experience, is nearly everyone): the swim portion is deceivingly small - don't overthink it or spend too much time worrying about it.

For example, let's look at a sprint distance swim - 800m. Let's suppose that you're a bit slower, or perhaps you haven't done a lot of open-water swimming, so your 100m splits are in the neighborhood of 2:30. That puts your total swim time at around 20 minutes. Let's assume now that you put in a lot of training, and get your 100m splits down to 2:00. Your swim time is now down to a sleek 16 minutes - not bad! You've improved your time by 25%. However, now let's consider a different athlete who keeps his swim training about the same, but manages to arrange his transition setup a little better, perhaps pre-clipping his bike shoes into the pedals or investing in some quick, one-pull laces for his running shoes, etc, thereby managing to shave 3 minutes off of his total time. All that this same guy has to do is make up one more minute on either the bike or the run (a much easier task), and he's back up to par with you, who put in all the extra swim time.

The moral of the tale is that, on the novice level, as long as you are comfortable in the water and confident to get through the swim without drowning or burning out before the rest of the race, there are some very easy ways to improve your overall time without the risk of overtraining. Of course, once your transition times are great, then you can start transforming yourself into the triathlete who has the total package - awesome splits in every distance with nice, short transition times in between.

End Transmission.

Triathlon on the cheap

Triathlon on the cheap

In my new and continuing mission to bring useful information to the masses on how to triathlon on a budget, I'd like to present a great alternative for first-timers on how to have a great first experience for very little money.

I am continually under pressure to come up with funds for race entry fees. In a tough economy like today, it can be difficult to justify spending a couple hours' wages on a Saturday morning activity where the main take-aways are a good calorie burn, maybe some free string cheese and orange wedges, and a shirt that you can probably only wear while doing more exercise. Oh yeah, and maybe a little trinket to hang on your wall. Okay, and bragging rights that you did it. Add to that the fact that you have little or no experience doing it and don't really know if it's a hobby that you want to pursue afterward, and you're likely to go spend your money on something else more tangible. And that's okay.

But my local gym provided to me a great way that I could test my mettle against the rigors of triathlon in a low-key way that wasn't hard on my wallet. For the meager sum of $5, they put on an "informal triathlon." A sprint-distance event that started in the pool, and continued out in a small lap for the bike and run portions around the local neighborhoods.

Benefits:

1. At $5, it's a great way to see if you even like doing triathlon enough to dedicate more resources to it.
2. The field is limited to just as many people as can fit into the pool, so you can really relax and test your swimming ability, without risking a kick to the face or getting lost in the open water.
3. Most of the people there are likely to be beginners, so there's never a need to feel self-conscious about ability or experience.
4. The top benefit, in my opinion, is experience in getting to know the mechanics of transition - how and where to lay out your stuff, how to rack your bike, how to navigate the transition lanes, where the mount/dismount line usually is, etc.
5. If you do already have a couple of races under your belt, this is a good measuring stick for how your training is going for the next event.

Drawbacks:

1. There are a few points that you miss out on, like swimming in open water in a crowd, or transitioning in a very small space next to complete strangers.
2. Your gym may not have such an event organized, or may not even have the resources (a pool) necessary to do so.

If #2 is true, I think that the informal tri is such a good idea that any gym with a pool and an employee with a bit of initiative would be wise to set one up. Go and check it out and maybe suggest it to your local gym associate, offering to assist, of course. Heck, the snowball might just keep rolling and if you keep yourself involved, you might end up organizing your own yearly event, complete with t-shirts with your own handsome mug on them!

If your local gym doesn't have a pool, the even better (and rather more obvious solution) is just to get a bunch of your friends together and do it, yourselves, on a Saturday morning. Loser buys breakfast, or whatever. Rumor has it that there's a very famous race in Kona, Hawaii, every year, that started out that way...

End Transmission.

SHAC Spring Triathlon:

SHAC Spring Triathlon:

What a race. So much fun. Here's a reaccounting:

This is a great race for a first-timer - 400m swim in an indoor pool, a 10mi bike ride on a fairly level course, and a 5k run on a paved recreational trail. It's been around for five or six years, so the event is well-coordinated, the volunteers are experienced and friendly, the course is well-marked, and it's popular enough now that the sponsorship is good and you get good snacks and a cool shirt at the end. Well, of course, you get the shirt BEFORE the race, but you get the idea.

The swim being in an indoor pool is the source for the only unpleasant part of the experience - the wait in line to go. SHAC (Sand Hollow Aquatic Center) tries to alleviate things by assigning people staggered start times, but they don't require you to go at your assigned time, so it's pretty much first-come, first-serve, meaning that by the time I got in line at 8:00 (with my assigned start time at 8:15), I had a good 45 minutes to stand around and chat with my line friends. Of course, this isn't necessarily bad, either. It's kind of fun to have a chance to parlay with your fellow racemates, swap stories, get tips, learn about other fun races, etc, which is something that you can't really do at the starting line of, say, a 5K or even a half marathon. It kind of added a sense of camaraderie, which is one of the main reasons I enjoy doing endurance events like this (see previous posts). I'm curious to see if that same cohesiveness exists at other events, say, those that have an open water swim. So you get to shake the hand and meet the guy in front of you who will be kicking you in the face (or so I hear).

Anywho, I was very jittery that morning and so my arrival and prep for the race was kind of a disaster. I arrived at the wee hour of 6:30 to set up my transition materials, but realized that I had forgotten my bike helmet. I quickly ran to my car, afraid that, after the 30-40 mins it would take me to go across town and get it, they wouldn't let me back into the transition area, as the first racers were entering the pool at 7:00. Of course, they did, and no one cared when I strolled through the pool area and hopped the transition fence at 7:30 to put my helmet and gloves next to my bike and grab my swimming goggles - which I then realized that I had left in the car, 10 minutes walking distance away. So now you know why I finally got in line at 8 after I had originally arrived at 6:30....

I spent about 20 minutes being the very last person in line, trying to work out where I had seen the girl standing just in front of me - did I actually know her from somewhere, or was she just one of those strangers that you see twice in your life? After turning one corner of the building and following the shrinking line down about half of the length of the building, the announcer said, "hey, looks like our swim line is finally shrinking down!" to which I gave a boisterous whoop and a fist pump, much to the amusement of the people in front of me and some of the spectators. After that, though, some people showed up and got in line behind me, so I didn't get to hold on to my title of "last of the sprint-distancers" for long.

A side note here - if you're wavering on your commitment to trying out a triathlon based on a self-consciousness around your ability to swim, let me tell you: do not fear. Nearly no one that I talked to in line was a swimmer, enjoyed swimming, or considered themselves particularly good or even adequate at it. I would watch the pool as the line went by, and people were doing all kinds of things just to get it over with - backstroke, breaststroke, doggy paddle, even just floating on their backs and kicking anemcly in the right direction. And nobody was commenting, pointing or seemed to think it was strange at all. We were all there to do the same thing, and we were all going to get it done in our own way, and that's all that mattered.

When it was my turn, I shot into the water (shared lanes) and exploded through my first 50 meters, and quickly realized that I wouldn't last at that pace, and slowed down to my regular crawl. I didn't feel great through the swim, but I got it done without too much travail, un-graciously grappled my way out of the pool and ran out to the transition area. I pulled on a jersey, slapped a bandage on the festering sore on my left ankle, a reminder to not run 6 miles on the day that you buy a new pair of shoes, pulled on my bike shoes and sauntered my way through the transition lane to start on the next leg.

Just as in the swim, I shot out from the mount line like a bullet from a gun. There's a steep climb out of the parking lot to get onto the actual course, so I quickly became breathless and decided to take it easy and save my legs for the run. After a couple of deep breaths, I settled down into the drops on my handlebars and got into a good pace. The course goes up and down a bit (I know I said before that it was relatively level, but keep in mind how many of these things I've really done), but I felt great, so I pushed up all the hills and raced down the other sides. Before I knew it, my first lap (of two) on the bike was done. I got a rush of adrenaline as I came through the SHAC parking lot on my way to my second lap as I passed the crowd of total strangers who were kind enough to cheer me on. Hooray! I love these things. Anyway, during my second lap I really began to feel the acid building up in my legs, so I started to look over at the running course, which runs parallel to the bike course, to gauge how much juice I would need to save to get through it. Horrors! All I could see was people's pained expressions as they climbed up and down what seemed to be endless hills. Oh, well, I thought, the faster I push through this, the sooner I can collapse on the grass and eat a frozen yogurt popsicle, look up at the clouds and dream of doing an Ironman (only kidding, kind of). I flew through the second bike lap and came back in to the transition to slap on my running shoes. There was a guy behind me who apparently was more serious about getting his yogurt popsicle, as he was in a much bigger hurry, and I felt a little guilty as I kind of cut him off coming through the single-rider sized transition lane, then saw him run past me pushing his bike, shoes still clipped to his pedals. If you're out there, sorry, buddy.

Running shoes now on and bike re-racked, I jogged through the now clearing lane out to the run course. Much to my elation, who did I spot but my beautiful wife and kids there on the sidelines, snapping pics and waving enthusiastically! I wasn't expecting them to be there, as the race time overlapped with my wife's favorite Saturday morning gym class, which I wouldn't have begrudged her at all, so I was enthused and energized to see them there. Anonymous cheers get you going, but someone you know and love cheering you on is a whole different thing.

Did it push me to do 6-minute miles through my 5K? I don't know, actually. I wasn't wearing my watch so I wasn't timing my own splits. Probably not, though. I was wheezing pretty good by then, and even better after I had climbed the dirt hill between the transition area and the recreation trail that the running course was on. Bad news - the agonized faces that I saw from atop my trusty steed, the Dawn Treader, were still there in spades. Good news - the course wasn't nearly as hilly as I had first assessed. I consider running my strong leg, so, tired as I was, my confidence went up and I managed to find one more gear for my legs to shift into.

Also at this point, I became very, very thirsty. There were aide stations at both ends of the course, which gave me four chances to drink before I finished, and I took all of them. Gatorade, Gatorade, water (over the head) and water. I must not be used to drinking Gatorade, though, because after my first cup I found myself smacking my lips for a good quarter mile afterward. Talk about sweet!

During my second lap, I came up alongside a kid who couldn't have been older than 10, striding along with a perfect smile on his face. What a kid! It actually cost me some effort to catch him. There were three distances that he could have done - Tuff Kids, Beginner's Tri, and Sprint Tri. He was doing the hardest one, and seemed perfectly at ease with the task. I don't know his name, but I'll be looking for his face on the TV broadcast of the Kona Ironman World Championship. Zowie.

The finish line came up sooner than expected, and I cruised through it as fast as I could manage, all alone both in front and for about 30 seconds behind me. I did it! I handed in my chip, gave my wife a sweaty kiss, and headed off to Subway with her to split a $5 egg and bacon sub.

Goal achieved: I finished with a smile.



Next week - first Triathlon on the cheap? There is probably a solution.