On to a New Chapter: Triabetes 2009

On Monday I'll be returning home to the Pacific Coast. During the course of my flight--in the time it took to run my fastest marathon--I'll collect approximately 1,531 frequent flyer miles.

As Minneapolis disappears beneath the clouds, I'll surely take a moment to reflect on the marvels of modernity. "To whom do I owe this magical sensation? Who ever imagined a world in which 53,000 pounds of turbine engine thrust could carry 180 passengers through the air at 500 mph?"

I suppose it will be a silly question to ask, one whose answer is as shapeless as the clouds beneath me. But I'll reflect on it nonetheless.

History is rich with leaders, I'll conclude, whose imaginations have served the next generation by refining an idea, demanding change, or bringing forth something new on which to build a better world. The greatest of these are remembered especially for expressing a vision characterized by selflessness, a vision much bigger than themselves.

By the time the flight attendant arrives with a cup of coffee, I'll have traveled deep into what was once considered a new frontier. Lewis & Clark will naturally come to mind. It will have been 200 years since President Jefferson had sent them into the great unknown of the American West. Perhaps it's to them I owe this feeling of gratitude.

After all, it wasn't fame that Lewis & Clark were after. Nor was it glory or riches. They sought not merely to be the first of their kind to discover a new world, but to leave guideposts so that others might follow them.

In so many ways my Triabetes teammates in 2008 were like Lewis & Clark: Courageous, determined, selfless. Their guideposts will lead the next generation of diabetics into a new frontier of better health, and consequently they'll earn their chapter in history.

On Sunday I had the unique opportunity of watching each of the Triabetes team members cross the finish line at the Wisconsin Ironman. As the crowd reeled each of them into their final grasp, my hope for the future grew.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Triabetes 2008. Thank you for setting the foundation for generations to come.

Brian Foster
Arguably the fittest of the bunch, Brian had an phenomenal Ironman debut in Wisconsin. The twitter account talks about his guts at the finish line--that's just the half of it! (The other half of his guts were vomited up at mile 22).

Steve Chop
A man of his word, "Chopper" remained steadfast in his priorities all throughout the year: Family first, Triabetes second. Not a bad finish for a full-time professional, husband and dad.


Joe Brady
Here's a guy who was back in a classroom teaching while the rest of us were still recovering from an exhausting race day. At 53, an inspiration on so many levels (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFhEtDjLma0). I was on the verge of tears when I saw how strong Joe looked after 140 miles.

Bill Carlson
So proud to say that Bill has become one of my best friends in the last 12 months. With hopes of qualifying for Kona at this particular race, Bill showed us all what it means to be a team leader. Reduced to a walk for most of the marathon due to unspeakable stomach issues, the 5-time World Championship competitor crossed the finish line with a winning smile and a positive spin on the day.

Steve Ahn
Never a negative word out of this guys mouth since I've known him. The smile on his face at the finish was the same on he wore all day long--all year long, in fact.


John Moore
Got married, began and completed his MBA, moved across the country, managed a good chunk of the Triabetes project--all in just 12 months. Recipient of the first ever John Moore "Return with Honor" Award. No wonder why.

Anne Findlay
The only Triabetes team member to complete two Ironman triathlons in one year. A strong performance for a strong leader and all-around great role model. Anne, looking forward to many more adventures to come!

Steve Parker
Less than a year ago, Steve didn't know the first thing about diabetes because he didn't have it. Already he's done more for his health than most diabetics will do in their lifetimes. Hats off to you, Steve.


Larry Smith
60 years old...you wouldn't know it. Here's a guy who knows what it means to be thankful for good health, and he's earned it--one step at a time. One hell of an athlete, Larry.

Dave Shack
What more can you say about this guy? The self-proclaimed "couch potato" who shed more than 20 pounds to clinch the fairy tale finish. A perfect day with perfect blood sugars...More than just 140 miles, Dave journeyed from a time in his life when he went 2 years without testing his blood sugar...at all.

Aaron Perry
Though not in his running gear, Aaron made it back to the finish line to cheer on his teammates and be with his IronKid. That's the kind of guy Aaron is. Better yet, he's vowed to return to race in 2009.

As for me, it was good to be back to the Ironman finish line. I never would have guessed I could be so inspired to get up an train for all of those miles...through all the blood sugars, sweat and tears.

I have mixed emotions about making the announcement that I won't be back to race in 2009 as a Triabetes team captain. As fun as it's been, it's really up to the next generation to carry this project into the future. There's much to be done still with the documentary, web development, and outreach programs. Ironman is a magical thing, but should always be approached with care.

My greatest hope is that our work has inspired other people with diabetes to consider exercise as a preferred form of therapy. If you're unsure of how to get involved with an exercise program, please don't hesitate to use any of the Triabetes team members as resources to you.

Or better yet, stay tuned for Triabetes 2009. It's gonna rock the world...

Race in Racine

Race update coming soon.

Rattlesnakes, Woodchucks, Bunnies & Ketones

Top ten reasons I haven't blogged in over a month: Tucson, Denver, Minneapolis, Moab, St. Paul, Milwaukee, Madison, Chicago, Boulder, Durango.

That's right, 10,000 miles in less than 6 weeks. In case you were wondering, those weren't all done on my bike. Some were. Others were in running shoes, a few in the pool. A fair number in a canoe, even. But most of those miles I owe to my mobile home for the month, a 2007 Honda Fit.

Put simply, I had a few errands to run. Thankfully Bill Carlson is a good mentor. He's taught me many things over the course of this year. Among them is this important lesson: Never drive anywhere without a pair of running shoes; you never know when you'll come across that perfect trail. So I brought the shoes...and a bicycle.

There were rattlesnakes in Tucson. Actually I only saw one of them, but it was exciting nonetheless. Our friends at TriSports.com were gracious enough to let me tag along on their Thursday morning ride. I wish I had a Steve Irwin-esque story about the snake, but really we just rode by some old ladies who were training their poodles to stay away from venomous critters. (They actually do this, I discovered.) We stopped for a glance, then carried on for what ended up being a lovely desert ride. This city has yet to disappoint me, nor have our sponsors at TriSports.

On the way to the Midwest, I figured I'd stop off for a swim in Denver to stretch the limbs and keep the blood sugars from climbing. Speaking of climbing, have you ever tried to swim at altitude? I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to know what it feels like to drown.

Minnesota is my birth place--biologically, but also as a triathlete. I arrived in the afternoon of May 23rd with little time to spare. The next day I'd be picking up international arrivals for our Insulindependence "Best of the Southwest" Expedition. So I loaded canoes as fast as I knew how, then loaded some carbs...it was dinner time and I was off on a favorite ride down Memory Lane.

If you want to get specific, the road I was on is not really called Memory Lane. It's the Gateway Trail, which connects downtown St. Paul with some of Minnesota's best riding in the St. Croix River Valley. Rolling hills, pristine road conditions, minimal traffic, tranquil scenery, and on this particular ride, woodchucks and bunnies. Thanks to the summer solstice, I snagged a solid 50 miles.

I was sad to leave my bike behind, as well as any realistic hope that I'd squeeze any good runs or swims in next couple of weeks. But my mind and body had been working overtime since the new year, and it was going to be nice to find some recovery time in the desert.

The expedition to Southern Utah was fantastically beautiful. I could write volumes about it here, but since this blog is really my story as a member of the 2008 Triabetes team, I'm going to cut it short...

11 diabetic adventurers from around the world, 100 miles on the Green and Colorado Rivers. Couldn't have picked a better place to celebrate Insulindependence's third year of adventure.

You can read more about this adventure by visiting the Insulindependence website: (http://www.insulindependence.org/best_southwest.asp)

We pulled our canoes back to Minnesota through the night on the way home. I made my rounds in and around St. Paul, catching up with friends and family, preaching the Triabetes gospel at every turn. Onward now to Madison to catch up with my big brother, and naturally, spy the Ironman bike course.

The map to the right looked good on paper, which is precisely how I carried it in my back jersey pocket. But I got lost. Lost to the tune of 25 miles. It all started when a cross-eyed road construction worker pointed me 180 degrees in the wrong direction (Go figure).

In the end I got to ride the whole course, but it ended up being a frustratingly slow, 8-hour day. Ironman course 1, Peter 0.

Later that evening I was treated to a delicious stay at JR and Suzanne Roever's home in Milwaukee (JR is Insulindependence's legal adviser), complete with dinners I still can't pronounce and a breakfast that JR boasts he's "had every day for the past 7 years." By the time my expedition clothes were laundered, it was time to hit the road again--I was already late to Diabetes Training Camp in Chicago, where four of my Triabetes teammates were working with Dr. Corcoran's coaching staff.

Joe Brady, Aaron Perry, Steve Parker and Triabetes' Senior Most Team Member Larry Smith were all in attendance. It was great to meet the guys I hadn't seen in person yet (Larry and Steve in picture to left). And of course to feel the magic of DTC in action again. The energy that Dr. Corcoran has created at these camps is unmatched. So I gleaned what I could and jumped back into my car just a few hours after I'd arrived. It was 9:00 p.m. on a Wednesday evening. I had two days to cross the Iowa floodplains and get to Durango, Colorado. John Moore was scheduled to run in a half marathon there on Saturday, the day of his wedding. Nate Heintzman and I were asked to join him, each of us representing the Insulindependence Board.

I was dying to get back on my bike at this point. Flood or no flood, I was going to get to Boulder to do some climbs. How could one justify driving straight through a triathlon mecca without seeing what all the hype's about? I made it in time for a quickie on Friday morning. Just got a taste of it, enough to know that I'll be back.

The sun was setting when I got to Durango later that night. The groomsmen had long since started causing mischief. Tempting as it was to join in on the festivities, I had enough trouble of my own--cornered in a city pub with a feast of a dinner on the way, my pump was nearly depleted of insulin.

It turned out I'd forgotten to change my pump site in the midst of all the chaotic traveling. Now I was about to commit a cardinal sin--switching infusion set just before bedtime on the eve of a race. Too tired to set an alarm for 2 or 3 a.m., I figured it'd be okay.

The first thought I had at 5:00 a.m. was this: "Where can I vomit?" The second was "Uh-oh, this feels like it might be..." I tested in at 320. Maybe it was a wild miscalculation at dinner last night? 7 units ought to have done the trick. They didn't. As we were leaving for the race course at 6:00, my BG was flat in the 300's.

I left it be on my way out to the car, thinking there might be a chance it was still going to drop. As a precautionary measure, I put in a second site, leaving the first infusion to keep my options open. I also grabbed the trusty needle and vial, then hopped in the car. 10 minutes before race start, I'd climbed to 360. I was beginning to remember what it felt like jut before being diagnosed (Luckily I had one of John's groomsman with whom to commiserate, who'd partied his way all through the night).

I was radiating ketones. "Dehydrated, no breakfast, on my way to DKA...13 miles. I wonder if I could pull this one off? " For whatever reason, I really wanted to be a part of this race. So I did what diabetics do in these situations; I invented a random strategy and waited to see how things unfolded.

Four units at the start line via syringe and a Clif bar down the gullet. John lent me a bottle of homemade, highly condensed super-gluco-potion just in case things went amok, which they did. As soon as the gun fired I spilled the bottle all over both hands (This makes for a good time when you're wanting to test your blood-sugar).

It was a battle, but we all made it across the finish, the groomsman included. Taking out the site later revealed to me what had actually happened--I'd had the dreaded kink (pictured above) and been without insulin throughout the night.

Lesson learned.

Wildflower

The finest course I've had the pleasure of racing. An even greater pleasure was spending the weekend with my Triabetes teammates, Bill Carlson and Anne Findlay.

When I arrived at the Carlson residence to pick up Bill, it was Thursday at 10:00 p.m. The garage door was open, the light on. That's where I found Bill, sweating it out during a spin session under a vintage poster of Mark Allen. The fading autograph read: "Dear Bill, You Kick *ss. You're faster than me. Mark Allen".

Bill saw me, cranked up the volume on a woodgrain stereo, then picked up his cadence until the bike trainer literally broke in two. "All RIGHT! I broke my roller! That's AWESOME! Let's get some food."

The next morning we were running late, so I was thankful to hear Bill say that he knew of a shortcut. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me when we wound up at a dead stop in a fitness center parking lot. "Just one quick swim workout. Let's go."

This, I realized, is what legends are made of.


By the time we met up with Anne and pitched our tent at Lake San Antonio, the sun was already setting. Bill and I sorted our gear with our headlamps, our stomachs full with typical Carlson pre-race nutrition: the $3.00 Mexican value meal.

The next morning I got a flat on the way to the transition area. Luckily this would be the last of my issues. The race went off without a hitch on a perfect day in paradise.

My blood sugar was a bullseye going into the lake, so I unhooked the pump, slammed two small bananas and a gel packet. Out of the water, I tested at 200 and bolused one unit.


I stuck with a normal nutrition routine (about 60g CHO/hour), which proved to be just about right at a normal basal rate. At mile 50, I lowered the basal by 50%.

Nutritionally, I was playing a bit of catch up for 13 miles. No lows, but I was taking in more Gatorade and gels than I'd have liked. I think I could have cut the basal closer to mile 30 and been just fine.

In any case, I crossed the finish line at 124. A solid race.

Anne's friends from the Golden Gate Triathlon Club were gracious enough to feed us that night, and we all slept like royalty.

We were all thoroughly impressed to find Anne up early the next morning, preparing to go out on a ride. Bill and I figured we'd cut our losses and head to Denny's.

A Fateful Mourning

It was 6:25 when I awoke yesterday morning, furious. I was scheduled to meet a friend at Solana Beach for the triathlon club's weekly ocean swim at 6:30. One alarm clock, it turned out, had been set for p.m. The other two I'd simply slept through.

I leaped out of bed, dialed up my training buddy and confessed that I was running behind. "I could still hustle up there if the group wouldn't mind waiting a bit..."

I was told not to worry. My friend would hop on his bike and give me a call in a few hours when things warmed up a bit. The water was cold this time of year, after all. The two of us would just go later.

Just before 11:00 I got the voicemail: "Hey man, it's a good thing you slept in today, 'cause...well...one of the tri club members got attacked by a shark on that swim..."

Certain that this was a joke, I did a quick Google search on the off chance that there had actually been an incident. When I saw the headline I felt a chill that would be with me for the rest of the day:

"Shark kills triathlete at Solana Beach"

My mind flashed back to the previous week, when I'd driven up to Solana Beach to meet this same group of swimmers, and ask some questions about their weekly swim. The conversation I'd had was with an older gentleman, who was a perfect match to the victim's description in the early headlines.

We'd talked briefly about swim logistics, but mostly about predatory sea creatures. He shrugged it off: "I've been swimming in the ocean my whole life--never seen a thing."

"Still," I insisted, "it only takes once. And when it happens, you don't want it to be you."

(For the record, it wasn't the same fellow, though I spent most of the day thinking that it had been.)

I spent my day in an eerie, philosophical wasteland. My stomach was upset as I considered the "why's" and the "what if's". Is there a reason things happened this way, or does everything happen merely by chance?


Later in the evening, I joined a few dozen other triathletes at Solana Beach to honor Dave Martin, who'd been privileged to die doing what he loved.

Among those who were gathered were some of the swimmers who had woken up to their alarms that morning, including the young woman who'd been swimming closest to Dave at the time of the attack. We all watched in silence as the sun melted into the sea, and I wondered again about destiny.

Race Day

In a perfect world, everyone who paid their $475 Ironman registration fee would show up on race day, have eight hours of fun, then return home with a ticket to Kona in their back pocket. But the world isn't perfect, which I suppose is what gives the Ironman its legendary mystique.

What most people don't realize about Ironman is that the race is 1% about getting to the finish line, and 99% about getting to the start. This is a picture of me last Sunday, the day of Ironman Arizona. Needless to say, the most I got out of my $475 is a hard lesson in race scheduling.

Two Ironman events in one season looks great on paper, but if I've learned anything from this year, it's this: our bodies can only give us so much mileage. Luckily I made the right decision this time around, so I've still got a full tank for a great weekend at Wildflower in a few weeks.

Diabetes Training Camp

I have to confess: I had very few expectations on my way to Santa Barbara for Diabetes Training Camp last week. In my opinion, Dr. Corcoran was--and still is--the best endo on the planet. But I still couldn't see how he was going to make me a more successful diabetes manager/world-class athlete within the context of such a diverse group of campers. From 5-time Ironman World Championship competitors to new-onset adolescents to aspiring middle-aged 5k contestents, our group had it all. But as I considered how much work Matt (Dr. Corcoran) had put into preparing the week, I decided to keep my mind open to whatever experiences might come my way.

I was blown away on so many fronts. First, by the phenomenal group of individuals who had come together to learn more about diabetes and life, and talk about the experiences that had brought them to camp in the first place. Never an flicker of judgement from any one of them--just a universal understanding that we were all in this together.

Matt's staff was nothing less world-class. Heck, Rick Crawford was a former coach of Lance Armstrong. What's more impressive is the fact that Rick was willing to sit down with each and every one of us following our VO2 Max tests, to discuss our athletic goals--whether they include the Tour de France or a daily stroll around the block.

We had opportunities to meet in lecture, workshop, or one-on-one settings with a nutritionist/CDE, a sports psychologist, olympic-calibur coaches from various athletic disciplines, and of course, a certified MD/endocrinologist. They were available to us at all hours of any day (how often does that happen in life?).

I went to camp thinking I knew it all. Whew! By the time I left on Saturday, I could see that my diet had been essentially worthless, my training had been upside down, and that most of those inexplicable highs and lows could have been avoided with proper precaution.

Like the other campers, I was vulnerable to criticism from the DTC staff. You know, the deconstructive kind diabetics are accustomed to receiving during a 5-minute doctor's visit--the kind that's usually followed by some abstract insulin/training/life strategies with no potential application in our personal lives.

But it wasn't like that at all. Matt's staff understood the difficulties that come with balancing diabetes with sport. They listened more than they talked during group sessions, and did an astonishing job using their respective backgrounds create comprehensive, individualized diabetes/life training plans for each of their campers.

Dr. Corcoran is really stepping up in a world strained with increasing demand for authentic healthCARE. I'm definitely looking forward to seeing where things go with this in years to come. Great job, DTC!