March 20, 2011
A vacation to No-Man's-Land
It's the same story on a different day; the same story I feel compelled to repeat at the start of every season. I'm way too excited about the first triathlon of the year to get as much sleep as I had the opportunity to get. First race aside, there isn't a thing in the world that's particularly exciting or ominous about this race. Regardless, and despite my better reasoning and experience, I found myself wide awake at 5 am, five hours prior to race start with nothing to do except try to keep as quite as possible.
When 6:30 finally rolls around I'm lucky enough to get to get up and eat breakfast. And that's it... let's kill another hour...
And then it's probably okay to leave. I get the idea to kill time by checking out part or all (end up seeing all) of the trail-run part of the run course; it's the only part of the course I haven't seen yet. I make a mental checklist of hills, technical descents and mud puddles, and feel better both having seen the course and that I've managed to kill another hour. It's FINALLY time to start getting ready. I drag my bike and transition bag out of the hotel room and start to set up. It's little more than reserving my spot and dropping my stuff off, since I'm not dressed yet.
A little out of order, I drop off my stuff, get dressed, set up my transition area, fill bottles and shoot the (triathlon) shit over the next hour (what are we up to now, 4 hours?) before I go warm up. Run warm up of NMA, A/B/Cs and 4 long strides. I drop off my shoes and hop on my bike for 4 accelerations up the massively steep initial climb out of the park; it's more to select my gearing and practice getting my shoes on than a true "warm-up." After putting the finishing touches on my transition area, I grab my swim gear and my elastic band for a dry land swim warm up during the race briefing. No time for a swim warm-up. Wouldn't want to anyway, water temp's a balmy 54 degrees.
So, the meeting ends and we line up at water's edge. I'm number 13 and won't have to wait too long before I get to hop in. Pop a GU and a 5 hour energy a fair amount of time after I'd planned to (about 9:55), zip my suit up and dump my first of two gallons of warm water in my suit. This is a tip I picked up at the coaching clinic (and a free one to you). Rather than hopping dry into frigid waters and dealing with a quick plummet in core temperature, fill up some gallon jugs with warm water from the hotel room. Dump the water in the neck of your suit before race start. Of course, most of the water leaks through the legs, but it still helps.
55 seconds after the first swimmer, I'm cued for takeoff. I hop in the water and am filled with nostalgia from two years ago. This water's freakin' cold! Face gets very cold VERY quickly, hands and feet go numb before the first turn buoy, head starts to hurt a little, hypoxia and I can't see a flipping thing because I can't focus. All I hear are alarms in my body telling me to proceed to the nearest exit. It takes a second to get everything under control mentally and I soon remember that I'm typically a better swimmer than people I race with. I can't find any feet during the initial out to the first turn, but find a guy worth sticking with on out way towards the second and final turn. It's still not anywhere near comfortable, but I make peace with the cold water and the lack of oxygen and begin to pass people. Good to know I didn't forget how to swim during these last few weeks of heavy biking and newsworthy running.
There's a pack of three swimmers swimming abreast heading into the second and final turn buoy. Once it's rounded, I decide they're not going fast enough and go for the drop. I veer off course a bit in doing so and only pass two of the three, but I'm on dry land soon enough (after a dolphin dive, of course). Denise, per my request, announces that I'm 7th out of the water. Cool thing to hear. I'm panting like I just TT'd a 100 and can't help but wonder just how high my HR is as I jog to T1. Getting the suit off is a pain, but I wager I still do better in transition than most of the people who showed up. I get my suit off, slap on my glasses/helmet and take OFF. My Garmin 500 turned itself off during the swim (lame), but I was able to get it rebooted before the mount. I have no idea what my swim time or transition times are, but at least I'll know my splits for the rest of the day.
Swim time: 6:53 (1st in AG, something like 4th OA)
If the swim distance truly was 550 yards, that's 1:15 per 100. Yeah f*cking right.
T1: 1:13
I knew I was 7th out of the water, and estimated I was 10th in. Unbeknownst to me I'm 3rd mounting my bike, having past 4 people in transition. Really guys? Transition is FREE SPEED! Doing it well is NOT THAT HARD...
I mount and get my feet into my shoes without any effort or error and am in that moment thankful I had practiced pre-race. My HR is absolutely out of control going up the ludicrously steep hill climbing out of the park, but priority 1 was simply to get up it. I expect my heart rate to come down very rapidly once I'm over it. I'm still struggling to breathe, but searching for my rhythm and my legs. I've really worked hard on my bike over the last 2 months and really want to see what I can do. I quickly pass a girl who exited transition just ahead of me and find myself with the road all to myself. I wait around for company both in front of and behind me as I climb my way out of the generally uphill first 2 miles. I've reconned the course and know it's very generally uphill to 2, downhill to 4, uphill to 8 and downhill to the finish, but with noteworthy climbs at 10 and 12. It's a relatively fast course, but I'm comforted that I knew what to expect.
Things are a whole lot of the same after the first 3 miles. I'm still all alone, still struggling to breathe and still trying to get my heart rate down. After approaching 10 field tests over 2 years, I know my LTHR for the bike is anywhere from 163 to 167. Over the first 10 minutes on the bike, I've yet to see it under 180; something is amiss... In addition to sneaking suspicions that my 5 hour energy had a hand in my predicament, it is making me pretty bloated and gassy. I'm quite uncomfortable for the majority of the ride. I let out 4 or 5 good belches over the course of the first 8 miles before I start to feel better and my side stitch starts to wear away. No bueno.
The bike is going well. I'm getting over the climbs and staying low on the descents. I'm spinning out my biggest gear, which I've never been able to do before this year regardless of where I'm racing. I'm looking around for people to start roaring past me. I'm accustomed to being a strong swimmer and a weak biker, and to seeing dozens of cyclists exploiting my weakness. The peak of mile 2 comes, the valley of mile 4 comes, the cool waterfront section at mile 5. Still all alone. I get my first visitor around mile 7. I'm handling the rolling terrain better than I've ever been capable of handling before and a motorcycle passes me going the opposite direction. There's an official-looking guy riding in the back who flashes a peace sign to me as he passes. In the most beautifully innocent moment of inexperience and naivete, I wave at him. It takes a few seconds for me to connect the dots. Who was he? Why did he flash me two fingers? Was it two or three? Is that what place I'm in? Am I really leading the race? This is so wholly different from anything I've ever experienced.
Although it's admittedly the best trip I've ever taken there, I find myself in the geographic center of No-Man's-Land. And I have no idea what to do next.
The most logical conclusion is to forget it ever happened and pledge to sort this out later. I'm still wondering where all of the strong bikers are and I crest mile 8, mile 10 and prepare to finish the bike leg up. I'm doing calculations as I go, and am more or less averaging 20 mph on the nose, which is a nice round number I've never seen in a race before. Once I get over the mile 12 hill I'm happy to generally be finished climbing for the day. We turn off onto the little 1.5 mile connecting road and this time I don't mistake it for the final .5 mile descent into the park. Finishing up this section and nearing the final turn, I look behind me and for the first time see another cyclist on the hunt. Not that I'm worried about him catching me over the final .5 miles. I know fully well how to handle the steep descents of Park Lodge Rd. and when to get out of my shoes. I touch down just before the dismount line and hear Denise inform me that I'm 2nd off the bike. Holy crap! And I didn't get past ONCE over the ENTIRE BIKE COURSE! Holy double crap. I feel like I just borrowed someone else's legs for the last 45 minutes.
Bike time: 44:40; 20.15 mph (tied for 1st in AG)
Per the Garmin: 44:27; 14.89 miles; 20.1 mph
Total Ascent 856; Total Descent 925
Avg HR 179 bpm; Avg Cadence: 91 rpm
My heart rate never did go down; I ended up with some really strange HR data. Obviously I didn't have the luxury of viewing the detailed Garmin analysis, but I'm in all kinds of inexperience right now. My feet are way too tender on the asphalt, but I make a very quick transition and head out on my run. Let's try to hold this together.
T2: :43
The rider who almost caught me at the tail end of the bike course makes a pretty decent transition as well, and we exit onto the run at essentially the same time. One of the volunteers tells us we should "work together." I'm making plans to myself to do so until the end of the trail section, then see if I can drop him on the road. I offer to let him enter the trail first if he feels good, but he declines and we enter pretty much together. It takes about 3 minutes for me to realize that I was WAY too tired to be racing a 5k, much less one through the woods. I suppose I've caught my breathe since the swim, or at least as much as I can expect I will be able to between now and race finish, but my heart rate has been hovering around insanity all day. I very soon find myself running at a 9 minute per mile pace, and doing so with very poor form.
We run for about .75 miles before he makes the pass. I have nothing to do but let him. I'm out of gas. Utterly out of gas. I've wholly blown my load accomplishing a series of cycling PRs. I searched for any way I could think of to make the 2.8 mile run shorter than that, but all I could do was plug along at marathon pace and hurt like a character in a Saw movie doing so. I begin to feel a bit more empathy for the Chris Lieto's and Bjorn Andersson's of the world. It really sucks ass when you come to the realization that you might have overdone it on the bike. There's a lot of alarmism in it, and not a lot of hope. What little hope that exists centers around minimizing how many people catch you over the eternally long stretch of road between you and the finish tape.
That's essentially my run. I exit the forest in 11:49 for an abysmal 9:00/mi avg (per the Garmin) and just do what I can to get home as fast as possible. I lose touch with the guy I'd run with on the single track and run alone for a while. I pass the one aid station on course about mile 1.75 and grab two cups. And walk. And sip. And just about get run down by another racer. I start running again, but the pass is inevitable. He passes me, and I'm looking at 4th overall. I struggle to the turn back onto Park Lodge Rd. and see yet another runner behind me. I'm far too tired to take full advantage of the downhill finish, and get nipped at the line by him. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I finished about 1.5 seconds back and the only emotion that existed in me was relief that this race was over and I could stop now.
Run Time: 24:16 (2nd in AG)
Per the Garmin: 24:19; 8:33/mi avg;
Forest: 1.31 miles in 11:49; 9:00/mi avg;
HR: 184 bpm avg
Road: 1.53 miles in 12:30; 8:10/mi avg;
HR 182 bpm avg
Total Time: 1:17:45
More fun with numbers:
:40 from 5th overall
:57 from 3rd overall
One of 7 bikers (out of 81) to avg 20+ mph
1:12 ahead of 2nd place in my AG.
They award overall awards 5 deep. I'm 6th overall. >:-(
There's not a lot of celebrating to be done at the finish line. Death has its hold on me and it takes a little while to shake it off. I eventually wander back to where Denise is holed up and let her fill me in on how the race unfolded from the transition area. I'm still reeling at what a wholly different experience it was than I was expecting, or ever could have anticipated. Of course it's only fitting that I have to kill another two hours before the awards ceremony. I talk to some fellow racers about the course and the day, sharing stories in our usual narcissistic ways, trying our best to pretend that we're listening.
A vacation to No-Man's-Land
It's the same story on a different day; the same story I feel compelled to repeat at the start of every season. I'm way too excited about the first triathlon of the year to get as much sleep as I had the opportunity to get. First race aside, there isn't a thing in the world that's particularly exciting or ominous about this race. Regardless, and despite my better reasoning and experience, I found myself wide awake at 5 am, five hours prior to race start with nothing to do except try to keep as quite as possible.
When 6:30 finally rolls around I'm lucky enough to get to get up and eat breakfast. And that's it... let's kill another hour...
And then it's probably okay to leave. I get the idea to kill time by checking out part or all (end up seeing all) of the trail-run part of the run course; it's the only part of the course I haven't seen yet. I make a mental checklist of hills, technical descents and mud puddles, and feel better both having seen the course and that I've managed to kill another hour. It's FINALLY time to start getting ready. I drag my bike and transition bag out of the hotel room and start to set up. It's little more than reserving my spot and dropping my stuff off, since I'm not dressed yet.
A little out of order, I drop off my stuff, get dressed, set up my transition area, fill bottles and shoot the (triathlon) shit over the next hour (what are we up to now, 4 hours?) before I go warm up. Run warm up of NMA, A/B/Cs and 4 long strides. I drop off my shoes and hop on my bike for 4 accelerations up the massively steep initial climb out of the park; it's more to select my gearing and practice getting my shoes on than a true "warm-up." After putting the finishing touches on my transition area, I grab my swim gear and my elastic band for a dry land swim warm up during the race briefing. No time for a swim warm-up. Wouldn't want to anyway, water temp's a balmy 54 degrees.
So, the meeting ends and we line up at water's edge. I'm number 13 and won't have to wait too long before I get to hop in. Pop a GU and a 5 hour energy a fair amount of time after I'd planned to (about 9:55), zip my suit up and dump my first of two gallons of warm water in my suit. This is a tip I picked up at the coaching clinic (and a free one to you). Rather than hopping dry into frigid waters and dealing with a quick plummet in core temperature, fill up some gallon jugs with warm water from the hotel room. Dump the water in the neck of your suit before race start. Of course, most of the water leaks through the legs, but it still helps.
55 seconds after the first swimmer, I'm cued for takeoff. I hop in the water and am filled with nostalgia from two years ago. This water's freakin' cold! Face gets very cold VERY quickly, hands and feet go numb before the first turn buoy, head starts to hurt a little, hypoxia and I can't see a flipping thing because I can't focus. All I hear are alarms in my body telling me to proceed to the nearest exit. It takes a second to get everything under control mentally and I soon remember that I'm typically a better swimmer than people I race with. I can't find any feet during the initial out to the first turn, but find a guy worth sticking with on out way towards the second and final turn. It's still not anywhere near comfortable, but I make peace with the cold water and the lack of oxygen and begin to pass people. Good to know I didn't forget how to swim during these last few weeks of heavy biking and newsworthy running.
There's a pack of three swimmers swimming abreast heading into the second and final turn buoy. Once it's rounded, I decide they're not going fast enough and go for the drop. I veer off course a bit in doing so and only pass two of the three, but I'm on dry land soon enough (after a dolphin dive, of course). Denise, per my request, announces that I'm 7th out of the water. Cool thing to hear. I'm panting like I just TT'd a 100 and can't help but wonder just how high my HR is as I jog to T1. Getting the suit off is a pain, but I wager I still do better in transition than most of the people who showed up. I get my suit off, slap on my glasses/helmet and take OFF. My Garmin 500 turned itself off during the swim (lame), but I was able to get it rebooted before the mount. I have no idea what my swim time or transition times are, but at least I'll know my splits for the rest of the day.
Swim time: 6:53 (1st in AG, something like 4th OA)
If the swim distance truly was 550 yards, that's 1:15 per 100. Yeah f*cking right.
T1: 1:13
I knew I was 7th out of the water, and estimated I was 10th in. Unbeknownst to me I'm 3rd mounting my bike, having past 4 people in transition. Really guys? Transition is FREE SPEED! Doing it well is NOT THAT HARD...
I mount and get my feet into my shoes without any effort or error and am in that moment thankful I had practiced pre-race. My HR is absolutely out of control going up the ludicrously steep hill climbing out of the park, but priority 1 was simply to get up it. I expect my heart rate to come down very rapidly once I'm over it. I'm still struggling to breathe, but searching for my rhythm and my legs. I've really worked hard on my bike over the last 2 months and really want to see what I can do. I quickly pass a girl who exited transition just ahead of me and find myself with the road all to myself. I wait around for company both in front of and behind me as I climb my way out of the generally uphill first 2 miles. I've reconned the course and know it's very generally uphill to 2, downhill to 4, uphill to 8 and downhill to the finish, but with noteworthy climbs at 10 and 12. It's a relatively fast course, but I'm comforted that I knew what to expect.
Things are a whole lot of the same after the first 3 miles. I'm still all alone, still struggling to breathe and still trying to get my heart rate down. After approaching 10 field tests over 2 years, I know my LTHR for the bike is anywhere from 163 to 167. Over the first 10 minutes on the bike, I've yet to see it under 180; something is amiss... In addition to sneaking suspicions that my 5 hour energy had a hand in my predicament, it is making me pretty bloated and gassy. I'm quite uncomfortable for the majority of the ride. I let out 4 or 5 good belches over the course of the first 8 miles before I start to feel better and my side stitch starts to wear away. No bueno.
The bike is going well. I'm getting over the climbs and staying low on the descents. I'm spinning out my biggest gear, which I've never been able to do before this year regardless of where I'm racing. I'm looking around for people to start roaring past me. I'm accustomed to being a strong swimmer and a weak biker, and to seeing dozens of cyclists exploiting my weakness. The peak of mile 2 comes, the valley of mile 4 comes, the cool waterfront section at mile 5. Still all alone. I get my first visitor around mile 7. I'm handling the rolling terrain better than I've ever been capable of handling before and a motorcycle passes me going the opposite direction. There's an official-looking guy riding in the back who flashes a peace sign to me as he passes. In the most beautifully innocent moment of inexperience and naivete, I wave at him. It takes a few seconds for me to connect the dots. Who was he? Why did he flash me two fingers? Was it two or three? Is that what place I'm in? Am I really leading the race? This is so wholly different from anything I've ever experienced.
Although it's admittedly the best trip I've ever taken there, I find myself in the geographic center of No-Man's-Land. And I have no idea what to do next.
The most logical conclusion is to forget it ever happened and pledge to sort this out later. I'm still wondering where all of the strong bikers are and I crest mile 8, mile 10 and prepare to finish the bike leg up. I'm doing calculations as I go, and am more or less averaging 20 mph on the nose, which is a nice round number I've never seen in a race before. Once I get over the mile 12 hill I'm happy to generally be finished climbing for the day. We turn off onto the little 1.5 mile connecting road and this time I don't mistake it for the final .5 mile descent into the park. Finishing up this section and nearing the final turn, I look behind me and for the first time see another cyclist on the hunt. Not that I'm worried about him catching me over the final .5 miles. I know fully well how to handle the steep descents of Park Lodge Rd. and when to get out of my shoes. I touch down just before the dismount line and hear Denise inform me that I'm 2nd off the bike. Holy crap! And I didn't get past ONCE over the ENTIRE BIKE COURSE! Holy double crap. I feel like I just borrowed someone else's legs for the last 45 minutes.
Bike time: 44:40; 20.15 mph (tied for 1st in AG)
Per the Garmin: 44:27; 14.89 miles; 20.1 mph
Total Ascent 856; Total Descent 925
Avg HR 179 bpm; Avg Cadence: 91 rpm
My heart rate never did go down; I ended up with some really strange HR data. Obviously I didn't have the luxury of viewing the detailed Garmin analysis, but I'm in all kinds of inexperience right now. My feet are way too tender on the asphalt, but I make a very quick transition and head out on my run. Let's try to hold this together.
T2: :43
The rider who almost caught me at the tail end of the bike course makes a pretty decent transition as well, and we exit onto the run at essentially the same time. One of the volunteers tells us we should "work together." I'm making plans to myself to do so until the end of the trail section, then see if I can drop him on the road. I offer to let him enter the trail first if he feels good, but he declines and we enter pretty much together. It takes about 3 minutes for me to realize that I was WAY too tired to be racing a 5k, much less one through the woods. I suppose I've caught my breathe since the swim, or at least as much as I can expect I will be able to between now and race finish, but my heart rate has been hovering around insanity all day. I very soon find myself running at a 9 minute per mile pace, and doing so with very poor form.
We run for about .75 miles before he makes the pass. I have nothing to do but let him. I'm out of gas. Utterly out of gas. I've wholly blown my load accomplishing a series of cycling PRs. I searched for any way I could think of to make the 2.8 mile run shorter than that, but all I could do was plug along at marathon pace and hurt like a character in a Saw movie doing so. I begin to feel a bit more empathy for the Chris Lieto's and Bjorn Andersson's of the world. It really sucks ass when you come to the realization that you might have overdone it on the bike. There's a lot of alarmism in it, and not a lot of hope. What little hope that exists centers around minimizing how many people catch you over the eternally long stretch of road between you and the finish tape.
That's essentially my run. I exit the forest in 11:49 for an abysmal 9:00/mi avg (per the Garmin) and just do what I can to get home as fast as possible. I lose touch with the guy I'd run with on the single track and run alone for a while. I pass the one aid station on course about mile 1.75 and grab two cups. And walk. And sip. And just about get run down by another racer. I start running again, but the pass is inevitable. He passes me, and I'm looking at 4th overall. I struggle to the turn back onto Park Lodge Rd. and see yet another runner behind me. I'm far too tired to take full advantage of the downhill finish, and get nipped at the line by him. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I finished about 1.5 seconds back and the only emotion that existed in me was relief that this race was over and I could stop now.
Run Time: 24:16 (2nd in AG)
Per the Garmin: 24:19; 8:33/mi avg;
Forest: 1.31 miles in 11:49; 9:00/mi avg;
HR: 184 bpm avg
Road: 1.53 miles in 12:30; 8:10/mi avg;
HR 182 bpm avg
Total Time: 1:17:45
More fun with numbers:
:40 from 5th overall
:57 from 3rd overall
One of 7 bikers (out of 81) to avg 20+ mph
1:12 ahead of 2nd place in my AG.
They award overall awards 5 deep. I'm 6th overall. >:-(
There's not a lot of celebrating to be done at the finish line. Death has its hold on me and it takes a little while to shake it off. I eventually wander back to where Denise is holed up and let her fill me in on how the race unfolded from the transition area. I'm still reeling at what a wholly different experience it was than I was expecting, or ever could have anticipated. Of course it's only fitting that I have to kill another two hours before the awards ceremony. I talk to some fellow racers about the course and the day, sharing stories in our usual narcissistic ways, trying our best to pretend that we're listening.
As the adrenaline of the race wears off and the exhaustion starts to come out, I notice I'm feeling rather druggie. Kind of a dull headache and a general feeling of weakness. Just a hungover feeling. It doesn't take me long to lay the blame on my choice of pre-race energy drinks. I don't care that it's worked well in a race before, I don't see myself using Five Hour Energy in a race again. For a number of reasons. My experiences with it today have inspired me to enter another post comparing energy options against each other and taking some of the speculation and benefit-of-a-doubt out of it for me.
I don't really get an opportunity to see my time until about 5 minutes before when they say they're going to start awards, so I figure I'll just wait around for the ceremony and let it be a surprise. This accomplished two ends: it allowed me to leave race site without ever seeing my split times and it afforded me another opportunity to waste a half hour doing absolutely nothing. When it finally started, I waited with baited breath to see how I stacked up to the field behind me. I didn't hear my name in third place, fourth place or fifth place, and couldn't help but be a tad disappointed. After some more categories, I get called up to accept 1st place in the M25-29 age group. We were told on the race website to expect "unique prizes;" what we got was a piece of paper denoting our place and an envelope full of cash. I opened the envelope to see $20 in it. I'm less excited about the money as I am the prospect that I'm now a professional triathlete. Is there paperwork I have to fill out now?
In hindsight it's obvious I pushed too hard on the bike. Whether or not the Five Hour Energy exacerbated the situation is up for debate. If I was trying for a better placement, it makes sense that I should have taken it a bit easier on the bike and saved my legs for the run a bit better.
Obviously.
That said, I don't regret it at all. It's been a bike focus year, and I came into this race focused on the bike. I wanted to see what I could do on the bike more than anything else. Aside from ultra-endurance, I've never really experienced pushing too hard on the bike. I didn't know what it felt like, for the bike or the run. It was a great race to make that mistake, and I feel like I'm a smarter athlete because of it. I'm also rather confident I'll make the mistake again and again before I figure out where the margins are. Or before I buy a power meter.
Obviously.
That said, I don't regret it at all. It's been a bike focus year, and I came into this race focused on the bike. I wanted to see what I could do on the bike more than anything else. Aside from ultra-endurance, I've never really experienced pushing too hard on the bike. I didn't know what it felt like, for the bike or the run. It was a great race to make that mistake, and I feel like I'm a smarter athlete because of it. I'm also rather confident I'll make the mistake again and again before I figure out where the margins are. Or before I buy a power meter.
Through all my mistakes, miscalculations and leaps of faith, I managed to take home first prize in my age group for the first time in my life. The guy who got second congratulated me and told me he was gunning for me next year. I talk to him for a bit and find out he finished about a minute back. I'm sure he will be gunning for me, but I'm confident he'll have a much harder time beating me next year.
After racing twice in two weeks, I have a weekend off between now and the double-race weekend in April. I kinda wish I could just go ahead and race again now.
2 comments:
Thanks for the water tip. Also trying out the swim bands at my first race for the first time. Great to see a first place in age group. I find it easier to train to run ok after killing yourself on the bike. I find that gives me peace of mind on the bike about my effort. I always back off for about 1 min. I am always watching my HR during my 5 on 5 off trainer intervals and I can be back down to Zone 1 in about 40-45 seconds right now from above 10M TT pace for the 5 min.
This should be an interesting year. I have found as I get better at biking I am also able to push harder the whole time so running doesnt get easier right off the bat but then it comes way down. I think you are on a great start. Thanks for the report.
Great post! I learned a lot from you.
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