When I started competing in triathlons I have to admit I didn't exactly know what I was doing. That's not to say I didn't have structured workouts. I did. I was working out with a local running and triathlon club. I was working hard. I was training hard….and I was improving. As a relative beginner (even, at the time, in my second full season of racing) I was still seeing improvements, but the gains weren't as significant as they used to be. On the flip side, I had moved from struggling to keep up on morning rides to leading the group rides and being able to keep up with the more proficient runners in the lead pack of the group runs.
My improvement overall was
starting to slow. My wife had been suggesting that I join another
triathlon club in the area for a workout or two. I'd been invited to join
them for a group ride, but never acted on it. I was training with a club
that was more local to me and I was comfortable. But I was honored,
actually, to have been invited to join this other group. They were all
great athletes. The previous year they had five individuals qualify for Kona. Truth be told, I was intimidated.
Finally, after a month or so
had gone by, my wife gave me a good talking to. "You've gotten all
you're going to get out of this club. You need to train with people that
are better then you." This wasn't a dig on the group with which I
was running, riding, and swimming. They were great people. I
learned a lot, and improved significantly from when I first began competing in triathlons. But, I'd reached a point where I needed
more. The writing was on the wall: it was time to exit my comfort zone.
I reached out to our mutual friend who had extended the invitation (and ran the club at the time) and arranged
to meet up with him and his club the following Saturday for their regular group
ride. Upon arrival, and during introductions, I remember thinking that
everyone was really nice. They were joking around and there was a casual
atmosphere. We started our ride easy to get loose and I was feeling pretty
good. This seemed relaxed. "Maybe this won't be so bad,"I
thought.
That feeling of confidence
soon departed.
Ten miles into the ride the
pace had picked up to what I would have normally, up until a week previous,
considered a hard ride. They were all still talking and joking with each
other. I was barely able to get a drink of water without falling off the
back of the pack. Five miles later I was trying to figure out how I was
going to eat the Hammer Gel in my jersey pocket without being
dropped. My friend Rich, who invited me along, would come back to
the tail end of the pack to check on me. Between gasps I said I was
good. I remember him telling me: "Stay in the draft - you're doing
great!" Really? This is "doing great"?
This went on for another 15
miles. At one point I knew we were headed back and the suffering was
going to end soon (well, in another 10-15 miles). But then we hit the
really hilly section of the ride. I prayed for death. My heart rate
was pushing my theoretical max. My water bottles were empty. How
can these maniacs keep talking and joking around on a climb like this?
How do I ask these people if I can have some of their water? I finished
the ride, went home, and slept for 3 hours. How was I going to run with
them the next morning? How was I going to convince myself to ride with
them the following weekend? Somehow, I did.
I kept going back. I
refused to let myself be dropped from the pack. As much as it hurt, I
wasn't going to let them leave me behind. I worked my ass off that first
day - and again over the next handful of weekends. I don't know exactly
when it happened but suddenly, on a typical Saturday group ride, I took my
first turn at the front of the pack for a pull at the front of the pack before
dropping back to rotate forward again. My average speeds for the 40-50
mile rides were now faster than my previous average speeds for 15-20 mile
rides. To that point, I had more 50-mile rides in my first month of
training with this group than in my entire cycling career. I had exited my old
comfort zone and challenged myself. Improvements came.
Running with this group was
the same. Long Sunday runs were done with more intensity than I was used
to. I had to shorten my first few runs with this new group, but soon I was
able to stay with the pack for the full mileage - with some extra hills thrown in for good measure.
In past races I would
normally finish in the middle of the pack of my age group. In my first race after training with my new
club I finished 3rd in my age group. Wait, a trophy? This was a
game changer. Suddenly all the races I'd done in the two years past took
on new meaning. Revisiting these races and finishing in a place I'd never
envisioned myself in was surreal. A first place age group finish was not
only a possibility, but was actually happening. Top 10 overall finishes
were suddenly a possibility. How and when did this happen?
I'll tell you how it
happened. I got out of my comfort zone. Training with a group is a
great way to get motivated and improve your training. You push yourself, as in
any sport, by training with people who are better than you. This
isn't to say that you can't push yourself when training solo. You can -
and you actually need to learn how to do so. There will be plenty of
early mornings at the pool or the track when you need to keep the intensity at
a painful level. But being challenged by others - being forced to work
harder than you thought you previously could - is what's going to help
facilitate physical, mental, and strategic improvements that you previously
didn't think were possible.
It felt great to always be in
the lead on group rides and the strongest swimmer at open water swims with my
old club But improvement stopped. By joining a more advanced group I
had to challenge myself and struggle at the back of the pack again.
My advice? Find that
advanced club and leave your ego at the door.
Leading a group ride feels good.
But improving feels better.
