in like a lion
The triathlon season came in like a lion for us Southern Californians. Does that mean it will go out like a lamb?
The triathlon season came in like a lion for us Southern Californians. Does that mean it will go out like a lamb?
My triathlon season ended the same way it began: with a 140.6-mile journey known as Ironman.
What bubbled up during a visit to our old stomping grounds in Central New York state.
Training and racing show measurable progress not evident in other areas of my life.
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.
My sixth half Ironman was bookended by delightful road trip companions, gracious hosts, and a week's worth of indulgences.
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.
The story of a San Luis Rey virgin, a cycling guardian angel, and trial by fire in the peloton.
For those of you who've been asking, here is my "official" Ironman Los Cabos race report.
What surprised me on Sunday at Ironman Cabos wasn't the journey of heart and lungs and legs.