death valley miles
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.
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.
The story of a San Luis Rey virgin, a cycling guardian angel, and trial by fire in the peloton.
Ah, Ragnar. That weird and wonderful blend of pseudo-runners that's part Halloween and part high school pep rally, topped with the all-day energy of an Ironman.
Apparently the ticket to TT-ing success is a potpourri of rest, curry, bacon, beer, and cocktails. Should've known.