Just got back from yet another dinner full of pasta and lots more salt loading. The food has been really good and somehow they figured out how to make bulk chicken without drying it out and making it taste like cardboard. I focused on putting down more carbs, probably the most carbo-loading I have ever done for any event…ever. I am bursting now with energy that I better use or else I’ll blow up.
Before hitting the sack to wake up at 3am, I reflect back on what Ironman means to me. Since my first Ironman back in 2005, Ironman has come to symbolize more than just a physical endeavor. It is a true test of will and spirit; anyone can do the mileage and get physically to a point where they can finish. Overcoming the mental convolutions and hardships during the race is the real challenge.
So training and finishing Ironman is really about spirit training and training of the heart, because without it you’ll be hard pressed to cross the finish line. Chances are you’ll quit.
Which is why Ironman translate so easily to real life. How many times have we thought of quitting when we should not have? When the chips are down and we are on our last legs, can we summon that last iota of energy to make to the end? Ironman is very much about the same spirit in a physical contest as in real life. We train to strengthen our hearts and minds and to shore them up against adversity.
It’s why I come back to race Ironman every year.
Once you finish Ironman, all those other bothersome things in your life seem so miniscule because you realize that getting through those situations now are nowhere near in comparison to forcing your body to cross the finish line at Ironman.
Nuff Said. Good night and signing off probably until after the race….Watch us race at Ironman Brazil’s Web Site or on Ironman Live.

Views of my room, my race stuff almost ready to go:

Dropping off the bike and my bags at T1 and T2. This year they have volunteers putting on our bike numbers. Also, views of the bag pickup racks and changing area for men.

The incredible staff of EST, without whom we would be hopelessly lost fumbling Americans.

After lunch, Scott and I went out for an ice run. Ice is for the nice freezing ice bath I’m gonna take after the race so I recover faster.

Shoving it all into the fridge; kinda doesn’t fit.	Duct taping the fridge door so it stays shut.
Scott employing his Stanford education to figure out how to make his calling card work to call his wife.	Me with some of the local Brazilian flora and fauna.

OK enough trash talk about my experience getting here. Yeah I’m a spoiled product of the 21st century and I’ve had the roughing it bred out of me (or I’d like to say I’m the victim of the fact that there are 21st century travel agents booking into 19th century travel operations). However, today I sit here after breakfast on the eve of the big day and my mood is buoyant in anticipation for my 3rd Ironman.

View from my balcony to the ocean with cloudless, sunny skies
It is once again a beautiful morning over Florianopolis. The winds have picked up and it is choppy out there on the water. A bit chillier also, but under the sun it’s not bad. If the wind dies down just a little, it will be a glorious race day tomorrow. At breakfast I talk with some people who haven’t done an Ironman in a few years and also to some virgin Ironman racers. There is nervousness there, and I remember back 2 years ago at IM New Zealand when I was one of them. Yes it can be very daunting in the hours leading up to Ironman if you’ve never done it before. There is always some hesitance, some fear, but it all seems to disappear as you get moving on race day.
I will relax pretty much all day today and then mid-afternoon I will prepare my race bags and get them down to the transition areas, as well as my bike. Almost everything gets handed in to transition the day before so as to remove a possible mad rush to get all that stuff organized the morning of a race.
Back to watching the rest of the episodes of Season 1 of 30 Rock on my iPod….

The score is:
Minuses:
+ Phones don’t work.
+ Elevator to my section was under repair, needed to use the service elevator to get upstairs.
+ Doesn’t sell stamps.
+ No bar or cafe at all.
+ Can’t figure out the freakin’ heater. Is it even on? BRRRR…
Pluses:
+ Elevator to my section finally got fixed.
+ It’s pretty swank compared to the other more older hotels.
+ Rooms are pretty updated and very comfortable.
+ Unbelievably, there is WIFI through the whole hotel.
They can keep the WIFI network up but the phone system and elevator are busted. What gives? Oh wait…it’s BRAZIL. I forgot.
After this journey, I have come to realize that only parts of the US are truly in the 21st century (and many parts are definitely NOT), while the rest of the world is somewhere else…

Going to the pasta party is always an interesting affair. The pasta party was held in this big building which was FREEZING. Florianopolis, while sunny and warm in the sun, drops to Bay area chill when the sun disappears. No tea or coffee in sight, my bones were chilly through dinner. It was tough paying attention to the show, which was mostly in Portuguese. They gave away some stuff by calling race numbers, but I could not understand what they were saying and probably won something but had no idea.
I stuffed myself with two plates of pasta, and then wolfed down some fruit. After eating my fruit, I did learn something really useful. My buddy grabbed a mango and we proceeded to fumble through cutting it open. It was then a lady sitting next to us from France, with a truly disgusted French look on her face, grabbed it from my buddy and said something like “Geez, let me show you how it’s done.” She cuts a crosshatch pattern into the mango slice and then bends it open. Voila! You now can take bites out of it.
You learn something new everyday, even from French people…

My buddy Keish and new found buddy Scott at check-in:

The expo and transition area under construction:

Shopping on the street near the hotel, the restaurant I ate lunch in, the local supermarket “Braulio SuperMercado”:

The Jurere Beach Hotel in the morning at sunrise:

The EST course tour with Ken Glah narrating:

Me about to head out for a bike ride. Do I look like something out of X-files?:

A few today, definitely more tomorrow:

Standing in line for 30 freakin minutes	Check out my new IM Brazil 07 Kit!
EST bike mechanics at work.	My rejiggered bike – love it!

Today I rolled into Florianopolis this morning around 9am, after yet another crazy check-in line adventure. I swear, every business, every person in Brazil or working for a Brazilian company moves in slow motion. There is no urgency or sense of customer service anywhere in the place. Even at the line to pick up our Ironman registration bag, I spent 30 minutes waiting in a line with only 4 people in it.
Thankfully, Ken Glah’s triathlon travel company, Endurance Sports Travel, made it all worthwhile. They had this huge bus waiting for us and drove us to our hotels. One unfortunate thing: probably 70% of the athletes didn’t get their bikes and/or luggage. How nice. TAM is SO efficient.
Thankfully, my dear readers, I have my bike and luggage. Many thanks for my Ritchey Breakaway which, when disassembled and packed into its case, masquerades as a normal piece of luggage and not some big ass bike box to be thrown about and left behind.
I went to grab lunch and then put my bike together. Before dropping off my bike with the nice EST bike mechanics, I went for a swim under a beautiful sun. I threw on my wetsuit and found the water to be cool but not so cool to freeze my toes, and not so warm to be uncomfortable in my wetsuit. Perfect water baby yeah!
I walk my bike over to the mechanics. I tell them to do 3 things and WHOA they rejigger everything on the bike making it sing. BONUS!
I make it out to expo to pick up my Ironman registration bag where I wait a ridiculous 30 minutes in a line with only 4 people in it. Before I get my bag, I spend some serious dough buying some great Ironman Brazil wear. They have some pretty cool stuff here this year and I gotta look cool when I get back home.
A bit of dinner when I get back and I meet up with my lone buddy from the Bay Area who comes out, except that he crashed his bike and probably can’t race. Go figure.