Out of the thick of January, and into the start of February. Yup. That’s a good place to be. Throughout the entire month of January, I was a little boy walking into the bank of Ironman, week after week, with my head held low and a small fist-full of coins at either side, hoping to make a deposit. Yet over the last three weeks of the month, I was turned away for not having the minimum deposit. It’s true, that in any other period of my sporting life I would have regarded eight to ten hours of weekly workout volume as pretty decent – especially for January. But when my Ironman schedule and my training trajectory had me shooting for twelve to fifteen hours, well, I couldn’t help but feel like I was coming up a bit short. But one of the most important things I’ve learned over the years is: “when the body talks, listen” and by that I live my life; particularly in the cold, winter months.

And so I sat back, and happily reflected on the hours that I did manage to get in, while valuing the opportunities for rest and recovery.

Last week was my first full week back into things, which was actually the second week in a four-week block. In other words, it was the middle week of the three building weeks before I take a recovery week. Still confused? Okay, it’s like this: my whole training and racing year is simply broken down into a series of training blocks that are four-weeks long (with a few exceptions). Each block of four weeks progresses like this: hard, harder, hardest, easy. If you’re a reader, then you might recognize this as “periodization”, popularized in the circles of endurance training by Friel. Anyways, last week was week number two, and this is week number three (also known as my “push” week). Next week will be a recovery week.

Week number two (last week) shook out like this: Monday was an easy swim of about an hour, followed by a weights workout for another hour. I structure my weights programs throughout the year as well, and right about now I’m doing a mix of high-weight, explosive work mixed with high-rep, endurance work. The swim was pretty, uhhh, miserable. I hadn’t been in the water for almost three weeks, and it was all I could do just to remember how to swim at all. Tuesday was (and generally always is) my bike/run brick workout where I did roughly an hour and a half on the bike, followed immediately by a light aerobic run. Wednesday I was back in the pool, struggling with my technique again, but feeling a bit better endurance-wise. That evening, it was another hour on the bike, and another round with the weights. There was no rest for the weary on Thursday, because it was in the water for my A-priority swim, and then out for a run in the afternoon. The swim was perfect, and I was so happy to be reaching the midway point of my full training week in such high spirits. Thursday night I wrapped things up by joining Liz at yoga for an hour and half to help flush out all the damage that had accumulated during the week.

Fridays are always my off-days, and I savor every single minute of every off-day. This past Friday I took off from work a touch early and treated myself to a delicious cappuccino from one of my local haunts; put on some good tunage, and just had some “Joe-time” while watching the temperatures plummet into the single digits before my eyes. A cold-front like no other was coming into town, and I had a full plate of workouts on deck for Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday and Sunday are always all about the bike and the run… With equal parts both. Saturday I went out and did my hour and a half run, then immediately hopped on the bike for another 45 minutes to round out the aerobic effort. Sunday was the bike first, with 2 hours of quality work, followed immediately by an aerobic run. In all, almost 15 hours of volume for the week. Cha-ching! It was good to waltz back into the bank of Ironman like I owned the place.

Saturday was a good day to be out running. It wasn’t because the sun was shining, because it wasn’t. And it wasn’t because the temperatures and the conditions were favorable, because they weren’t (15 degrees with 30mph gusts)… No, it was grey, and cold, and windy. But it was quiet. It was damn quiet. Not a soul was out. Just me, my music, and my foot strikes. At first, the environment was infiltrating my mind: “Why does it have to be so cold? Why won’t the wind die down? Why do my legs feel so heavy today?” and I felt dirty from the negativity. But with time, my mind turned to other things, other people. Other people with different circumstances. Some of them being survivors of one form or another, some of them, simply curious onlookers to my life. Some of them aspire to run/walk a marathon and ask for my reassurance that they can do it, while many of them simply phase into my life and offer me their most heartfelt well-wishes. For these people, I push. And I push without the need for any gift. I push without the need for the weather to cooperate, for the winds to die down, or for the temperatures to warm back up. I push without the need for the sun to be shining, nor for the need of company when I’m alone on the road. I am driven without the need for attention, and without the need for products or sponsor. I am driven… I push, for all the people who have ever believed in me.

And as the road turned up along that long stretch of pavement this past Saturday, where the bike path veers onto River Road and the headwind of all headwinds is yours for the taking, I remembered that which drives me.

Thanks for reading.