Taste Death, Live Life...

WHY do I go sailing in storm conditions when no one else is on the water?

So I can 'Taste Death, Live Life...'

That's how me and my brother have put it as long as I can remember.

Taste Death, Live Life.

Pretty sure he came up with it, or one of our crazy friends, Sam-geet or Steve-clot or maybe it was Sphincter; one of us anyway.

Always try to choose the most dynamic shots. Naturally, t'would have been boss to have brought our go-pro with us; that would've been some dynamism bro'. We forgot it though. We were too focused on getting out on the water as soon as possible, so the two above will have to do. The first one is us reaching for home at the end of our ride and the second one is the moment we 'docked', which amounted to blasting into the bay, jumping off and grabbing onto the boat before she hit the shore.

Here's how it happened...

I actually got out of bed before the rest of my family (while on vacation) last Wednesday morning to go and check the wind, 'cause I could hear it whistling in the pines above our bunkie. Got down to the dock, sure thing; big wind. That's what I call it, "BIG wind". It's about the best thing I can say about a day, other than that my wife's gonna' be there, ideally in a bikini. If I get a day with big wind, on a body of water, with my catamaran AND my wife there, ideally scantily-clad, I'm winning.

So I race back into the cottage and text my brother who was staying at a place 15 minutes away. "Bro. Big wind. Real big." I hit send and don't have to wait more than a minute or two. "Be right there..." comes the reply, and I know it's ON.

And, wouldn't you know it, in the cottage next to us, on his family compound is my buddy Mike who happens to be up for the same week we are and who also happens (along with my brother Jess and my friend Jones) to be one of the guys I've sailed most with over the past 15 years. Like the other dudes I mentioned, Mike knows what to do without me saying a thing. I can just focus on keeping us alive (working the tiller and mainsheet like they're live beasts) while he, and Jess, hang their 250lb-plus bodies off the side of the boat by airplane wire (trapeze) hooked to harnesses that cinch their privates up tighter than a, well, I shouldn't say.

Did I mention they do this while we're hurtling over the water at 30+ mph on a SAILBOAT?

That's right.

The only other boat on the water was a windsurfer and he wasn't going much faster than us, and he was wearing a crash helmet. That's how serious the conditions were.

About 20 minutes into it we started noticing cottagers out on their docks with binoculars, watching us. "GUYS!!" I shouted, "We're the best show on two hulls!"

We basically got far enough out into the bay, beating upwind which is NOT a Hobie 16's strong suit, until we had enough sea room to just blast reach from cove to cove for about an hour and a half. It was all out, unadulterated fury, terror and exhilaration rolled into one.

At the end of each blast across the bay we'd tuck into a cove and just lay there on the tramps, howling, screaming and laughing at what had just happened, then we'd turn around and do it again.

Suddenly, in the middle of blasting along at speeds a seadoo can barely match, I hear my brother shout, "That's it, reach for home Todd..." And, without a word of protest, I bore off and we started downhill sledding for home.

Why?

'Cause we'd hit our limit. He knew it. I knew it. See, there's a point in extreme sailing (as in life) where you realize you've pushed it as far as you can and, after that point, you're going to start breaking down. When you're sailing in 'expert' conditions you can't afford a breakdown, 'cause that usually means injury, or in this case, death--if you're unlucky or careless or just too tired to do what's needed if/when events take a turn. It's all fun and games 'till it 'aint fun no more.

Know your limits.

We know ours, we've sailed enough to know.

Have you lived enough to know yours?

See, it's possible you need a little more excitement in your life, a little more risk. There's a chance you're just 'continuing' (in the words of C.S Lewis) and that you could be doing much more with the life you've been given.

Sure, it might be stormy out there, but--if you have the tools, the training, the experience and the moxy, you can change a storm into an opportunity.

Just make sure you've got some friends to take along with you and that, together, you know when to call it a day.

Then, get out there and 'Taste Death, Live Life...'

T

Running the race...

So, that was Friday afternoon, getting ready to drive north. My race (an Olympic Distance Triathlon) was the next day (Sat July 12th) so we had asked our good friends (the sweet Donaldsons) if we could crash at their place in Port Carling the night before, so that race morning would be little more manageable.

My sweet Mother in law (thanks Julie) took the kids so my wonderful wife and I could drive up together. Last time we did that (drove up to Muskoka just the two of us) was, literally, more than 14 years ago. What a treat. We LOVE our kids, but were reminded that, come 'empty-nester' days we'll be fine just the two of us, 'cause we still really enjoy each other's company. The drive was fun.

Pulled into Donaldson's at 9:30pm, hung out with them 'till 11pm then tried to sleep. Was very restless, up every hour for sure, just like before a shoot day or a Sunday when I'm in the pulpit. I wasn't stressed though, just accepted the fact that, nights like those, I'll never really sleep well.

Up at 5:30am, out the door at 6:00am, and at the race start by 6:45am, all's well. Sign in, get my bike and my gear settled, hang out with my wife (who knew many of the hardest-core racers, as she's moving in higher and higher circles as a pro-trainer these days) then took in the race day briefing and walked to the Segwin Ferry for our ride out to the swim course start.

Now, before you go any further, you should read THIS which is the tale of my first 'tri' which was, truly, a life-changing--but horrible--experience. Then you should read THIS, which tells the tale of last year's race, my first time running the Olympic distance, and my first real 'redemptive' experience after the debacle of 2010.

Now, on to 2014.

That's my exit from the swim course. Swim was tougher this year than last. Part of that was surely due to the fact that I'm now swimming the course all front-crawl, whereas in the past I'd split the time between front-crawl and breast-stroke. Front crawl is harder work but makes for a faster time. There was also more boat traffic in Gravenhurst Bay this year than last and that contributed to some significant chop on the last 1km stretch from out in the bay into the wharf. That said, I swam faster and felt pretty good getting out of the water. I think I took maybe 5-10 minutes off my time from last year.

Then the bike.

You'll know, if you read the links above, that--first time I did this--the bike was my undoing. Last year was my first year with my new (used from a friend) bike (pictured above) and I was a lot faster and more solid than before. This year I added about three to four km/h average to my bike, which doesn't sound like a lot, but is. My arms were sore from the swim so I was actually looking forward to getting off the bike and onto my feet for the run portion.

The run.

As a former University linebacker I'm built (and have trained) to sprint ten yards and hit somebody really hard. I never wanted to be 'skinny' until I started these races; now I envy my twig-like friends and want to 'grow up' (by the time I'm 45) to be just like them. Re-training my body to run longer distances has been quite the journey. I'm thankful to say that this year was the first year I felt like I truly 'owned' the run.

I'd planned to run the first half at 2/3's capacity (until my legs 'opened up' after the bike--which usually happens somewhere between 2-4km into the run) and then run the last 5k as fast as possible, ideally getting faster each km.

And that's what I did.

The best part of the run was that no one passed me after the 5k turnaround (and I'd been passed A LOT so far that day) and I managed to pass 17 people and, when I heard some of them cuss as I passed them (like I used to cuss when I got passed), I will admit to allowing myself the slightest rush of satisfaction.

At the 9km marker (1k to go) I started feeling my emotions rise to the surface again and, rounding the last turn (pictured below)...

I started sobbing a bit (keeping it in my chest as much as possible) and that had the strange effect of constricting my throat so that I couldn't breathe. I thought to myself, "This must be what asthma feels like..." so I forced myself to quickly calm down so I didn't shame myself (and my family) by passing out fifty yards from the finish.

And, just like that, I was done. Official times aren't posted yet but we're pretty sure (Niki timed me as I went) that I took 20-25 minutes off last years time which, in triathlon, is a HUGE accomplishment.

Pretty cool.

Never thought I'd be 'that' guy. Never thought I'd do this kind of thing, but I've been telling people that the discipline from competing in this sport is leaking over into every area of my life and, for that, I'm truly thankful.

Thankful to my sweet wife for continuing to urge me to get and stay fit. Thankful to Robbie and Kate for suggesting the first one back in 2010. Thankful for what that first miserable failure taught me. Thankful that I've promised myself I'll never feel that bad again. Thankful that I've been able to keep at it. Thankful for friends like Miki and Tom who keep me inspired and feeling somewhat inadequate. Thankful for a body that works. Thankful for forgetfulness, wherein I forget how bad that was, and begin training for the NEXT one.

Ironman 70.3 is the next rung on the ladder. Swim 1.9km, Bike 90km, Run 21.1km. DOUBLE what I just did.

Oyyy. Better start training.

(later today, in fact)

T