OCTD

Remember when we knew nothing about heart rate training, cadence, lactate threshold and such nonsense? When going for a bike ride meant going out on a bike and riding and feeling good about it? Do you remember those days? Well I don't. I've got no memory of them anymore than I can remember a life beyond TiVo or e-mail.

Since I got quote-unquote serious about this whole triathlon lifestyle crapola, my life has been a series of non-stop measurements. Heart rate this, lactate threshold that, aerobic, anaerobic, VO2 and glycogen stores. Truth be told, I don't even know what a glycogen store is and where I'd even start to find one. Perhaps it's associated with the "nugget" part of the chicken. Or maybe it's actually a store.

I went to www.glycogenstore.com thinking I can probably pick up a few packets (parcels? liters? gaggles?) of glycogen, whatever the heck that may be. But apparently there isn't really a store, despite the name. If there is, they are really bad marketers.

Anyhoo, whatever this glycogen hogwash may be, I'm sure it needs to be measured and monitored and scrutinized. Cause that's what we do in triathlon. We take one step forward, then study it from all angles in all ways to determine if we can take a more efficient step in a more effective way in order to bridge that gap of three feet in one trillionth of a second less than it took us to walk across the previous three feet.

Maybe if we had lighter shoes, or more wind resistant shorts. Perhaps if I lost a little weight and had some plastic surgery to make my body more resemble one of those swanky Cervelo frames. Maybe that'll help.

After all, over the course of 140.6 miles, that one trillionth of a second adds up to....ummm..... a bunch of one trillionths of a second. And maybe that's the difference between finishing in 1028th place and 1029th.

In the realm of things, apparently that's really really important to people like me. Though when I write it down like this, I can't quite figure out a reason why. In fact, it makes me feel like a bit of a boob.

I suppose it's about control and structure when you break it down to it's barest bones. It appears that all of this gobble-dee-gook adds more structure to an already highly structured environment. I'll admit, I like a good solid structure as much as the next guy. You can't crucify me for that.

But there comes a time in one's life when enoughs enough. When even though the rash has finally healed, you still can't bare to click that strap around your chest one more time. When you start your bike ride to notice that the heart rate number doesn't show up on your trusty watch and you suddenly realize that you really don't give a shit.

There comes a point when you realize that you are such a slave to your training numbers that it's gotten out of control. And one day down the road you just end up flipping out at a restaurant when a friend casually asks you to calculate the dinner check and the only thing you can do is to start rocking in your chair and mumbling heart rate zones, lactate threshold levels, VO2 max peaks, watt outputs, cadence averages and max zones until everybody else at the table is staring at you in bewilderment, mouths agape. Maybe shortly after that evening you'll realize that your friends don't really want to hang out with you much anymore. Whenever you call, they're busy. But that's ok, because you're too swamped with your training schedule anyway. Your doing your best to manage your Obsessive Compulsive Training Disorder.

So maybe you'll catch up with them again next week. Or maybe after the next race. Or the next season. Or the next Ironman.

Maybe I should take up a different sport.