The bump on the road toward my A-race was just that, a bump.
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A jeopardized Ironman has lent a berry-picking analogy to my training. Maybe it can help someone else, too.
Training and racing show measurable progress not evident in other areas of my life.
2300 feet of climbing, 23 miles, and a wind burned face later, I returned home wondering why I haven't been camping in so long.
I will always remember the little race on the outskirts of one of America's coolest towns as my entrance into the sub-5 club.
As I get ready for another half-Ironman race, I bring you my latest taper cures.
My sixth half Ironman was bookended by delightful road trip companions, gracious hosts, and a week's worth of indulgences.
Five factors that contribute to that fleeting, hard-to-define feeling of race-readiness. And a recipe for Campari sangria.
As I learned in the red hills of St. George last Saturday, Ironman fitness might go stale after seven weeks, but it doesn't go bad.
Last week, I published my first piece on Greatist.com, one of my new favorite resources for health, food, and fitness.