Just Call Me Coalman

A new theme. Fun. Race day was actually fun. And why shouldn't it have been? I wasn't there to win the race on business. I wanted to enjoy my first foray into the iron-distance. This doesn't mean the race was "play video games with friends" style fun, it was more of a focused, enjoy what my body is able to do after 6 months of training fun. I decided I'd try to let all the fear and self-doubt that had been dwelling be a tool to force me to pace myself, to consume proper nutrition, to hydrate properly, and to wear the right clothes. So I didn't bonk or be 10 hours from the finish line and feeling miserable. I also figured, if I felt good, I could always run faster at the end. But my goal was to finish.

T0:
More or less previously described ad nauseum. I was fortunate to have the experience from the big training day to reassure myself my breakfast and preparation plans were solid. I dressed, prepared, and drove to the race site. Set up the T1 and T2 areas, dropped off my special needs bags, chatted it up with a few other first time iron-distancers, donned my wetsuit, and waddled over to the lake. The warm up swim was freezing, but not the worst I'd had, so the ice cream headache and numb toes didn't bother me too much.  I'd also managed to find another TNT suit donning triathlete, Ron, friend of Sean and Lisa, and coach. We briefly chatted about the day.

Swim (2.4 miles):
This would mean 4 loops of the course. The race started before I'd realized it! Whelp, off I went. I told myself to focus on keeping my forearms vertical right after the catch (start of the stroke) and pace myself a bit more than I did for the Scott Tinley's 1.5 mile swim. The first two laps were chaotic as we started the same time the half iron distance triathletes did. So there were the usual zig-zagging swimmers right in front, hands clonking me in the head, and idiots stopping to float right in front of me. Par for the course. As the way out was in shallow waters, a sizable current could be felt. Near the turnaround buoy I was able to just let myself float into the turn. Whee! After each lap I exited the water, ran around some cones, high-fived the race director, said hey to Sean and Lisa, and jumped back in. It was smooth swimming after the half-ers finished for the last two laps. I told myself to mentally prepare for T1 the way out for the last lap, and just enjoy the swim the way back.

T1:
Not too different from a usual T1, just a lot slower and more methodical. I decided to wear an extra thermal shirt on top of my jersey due to air temperatures in the 40s and still being wet from the swim. Caught up with my Dad briefly and told him I'd see him in, what, 7-8 hours? Hah!

Bike (112 miles):
3 laps of the full course. Time for the "Keep my heart rate in Zone 2, or about 130-140 bpm" game. The first few miles were fun. Ever so slightly downhill, so I was able to stay in about a 20 mph groove. This slowed down as the course flattened, but things were going smoothly so far. I kept an eye out for Clemens wondering if I'd see him. There was nothing too spectacular about the course itself, just a residential area with an occasional school and property full of barking dogs. The backdrop of desert mountains made the scenery enjoyable, though. I hit the full course lap turnaround and headed back to transition. I tried to mentally mark how each section felt and what my speed and exertion levels were. One lap down, was averaging around 16.5 mph. Hit all my nutrition markers. Sweet. There was a mild climb back to transition, but no big deal. It also meant I'd get that nice downhill burst again on the way out. I did, and got cheered on by Sean and Lisa out for my second lap.

Hit the turnaround point again and got encouragement from a race volunteer who told me I was half way done with the bike! Shortly after the turnaround, I realized a cyclist was riding closely behind me. Then I realized he was drafting. Wow. He'd back off as we neared the aid station or when a car drove by. Fortunately, after about 5 or 10 miles he seemed to just completely drop back. After the second turn on the way back, I noticed a pretty strong crosswind forming. The trees were swaying and some random trash was blowing around. The wind was coming from the West, and sure enough, the next turn was West and directly into the wind. Yikes, the crosswind became a nasty headwind. I got in full aero position and figured I'd just keep the heart rate in check and not push through too hard. It was an annoying stretch, but not devastating. I estimate my speed dropped to around 9 mph through the gusts. Although, I would later find out a fellow participant fell off his bike into a ditch after a particularly strong gust! I survived and headed out for lap 3. It felt great when that headwind became a tailwind!

I only stopped once on the bike; I performed some minor bodily functions near the turnaround for the third lap. At this point I had begun to feel the length of the day catching up. When I re-mounted, I encountered the familiar "starting to bonk" feeling. Crap. And I still had a solid 20 or so miles and then the run. I figured my nutrition was right on schedule, so maybe I was in need of hydration. I quickly scarfed down a full bottle of HEED and one of water. The weirdest thing was that I instantly felt it work and my energy came back. That was the scariest moment of the race and I feel pretty lucky hydrating fixed it pretty quickly. As I reached the turnaround, I told myself to prepare for T2 and the run. Then, after the turnaround, I tried to enjoy the way back. The wind had apparently grown in strength to become a sandstorm and moved South. So for lap 3 I hit the nasty headwind on the FIRST turn West. Man, back to trying to be patient. I was worried it would be that way the WHOLE return ride. But, it wasn't. It mellowed out for the second West stretch. I briefly chatted with another rider, so the time went by quickly. Before I knew it, it was dismount time!

T2: Again very simple transition. Donned a few more pieces of clothing and I was ready. Caught up with my Dad again who was concerned my eyes were bloodshot. I figured that must have been from the sandstorm. My Dad had just returned from a hike, so he was in good spirits. I told him I might need to walk the whole marathon, so I gave him an estimate of about 7 and a half hours!

Run (26.2 miles): But I wasn't feeling THAT bad. My mind was just occupied with the worst run legs I'd had. My first triathlon, the Wildflower Olympic course, when I was shocked by how tired my legs were. The beach run for Alcatraz. And most recently the dehydrating, hilly long course run at Wildflower earlier this year that induced vomiting around mile 1. And since I'd never run the iron distance marathon, I was fearing the worst. This was compounded by only having run 18 miles in training, whereas training in other distances allow you to run the entire distance. My strategy was to leave transition relatively quickly, after verifying I had all run needs, then walk the first 10 minutes to 1 mile. I figured, if I could handle that walking pace at around 16 minute miles, I could convince myself finishing was doable and fall back on that. I grabbed a head lamp as it was twilight and headed out.

Surprise, I felt fine. By mile 2 I turned on the 15 minute run/5 minute walk plan. Lisa and Sean ran with me for a few minutes and I gave Sean a delusional camera interview. I still felt fine after the walking portion so I picked the pace up to a 25 minute run/5 minute walk. I continued this pace, along with a few minute break after consuming a GU, for pretty much the rest of the run. I found a zone, and it did feel like the training runs. I was more or less ecstatic about that. I headed out for the second lap and near the final turnaround saw a car pulling nearby. It turned out to be T.C. and his wife Sally, who had also decided to support the race. Pretty sweet. No sign of my Dad though.

Lisa and Sean found me, too, and Lisa gave me a bag of sugary goodies to refuel with. She told me to keep focusing on moving forwards, questioned where I had come up with my 25 run/5 minute walk plan, and most importantly made me think about the finishing photo. I was feeling good on the way back for the second lap! Stoked to see Sean, Lisa, T.C., and Sally out there. Pretty sure I was going to finish. So I upped the pace a bit. Just a bit. And I skipped a few walk breaks towards the last 2 miles. And there, lo and behold, was my Dad walking on the course. He found me and was surprised I was on the last lap, as I'd end up finishing a solid 2 plus hours ahead of my estimate. He ran me in, and by about 9:35pm I'd finished!

T3: The finish scene was surreal. The sun had entirely set and the finish chute was illuminated by blindingly bright lights. I was extremely exhausted and insanely wired simultaneously. Think downing 20 straight Red Bull Vodka drinks. I didn't even want to sit or put warmer clothes on. Crazy. Awesome. I introduced my Dad to the TNT/TBS crew. I was lucky, also, my Dad had had the foresight to pack my truck with all my gear so I just needed to jump in and return to the hotel. I made it back, and then probably slept about 2 hours the whole night.

The next three or so days were filled with probably my favorite feeling: an exhausted satisfaction. I mentioned the race was fun, but I was worn out afterwards. I couldn't bend my knees, walk more than 5 minutes without getting exhausted, and struggled to down my only meal of a Jamba Juice the first day. Finally, the process was over. I used the little energy I could muster up to drive through Joshua Tree park on the return trip, whilst being the U2 dork I am and blasting the album. Then, back to the real world and Mountain View. Sigh. I'm indebted to those that cheered for me. It was a LONG, arduous, at times incredibly lonely process, and the taper period was brutal, but the tradeoff was a fun race and feeling on top of the world for a few days. I THINK the direction I want to head now is back to a more balanced lifestyle of more moderate exercise and being much more social. But who knows, I have plenty of places to improve in the iron-distance. And I am bitten by the bug.

Finally, I caught a picture of myself on Facebook taken by Sean as I finished. I was clad in dark black clothes, donning a bright head lamp, and my face was covered with the dirt and bike grease from the day. I looked like a coal miner! I should have had the prescience to pose in a Blue Steel Zoolander manner.

The Darkest Parts With Some Light

At the end of the previous entry, I had really just begun to enter the full taper period. Looking back, a lot of that entry was pretty incoherent, rambling, and full of triathlon or otherwise endurance sport jargon (bricks, tapering, big day, zone 2 heart rate etc.). Not that my other entries aren't rambling and incoherent to my full two blog readers, but if even I can look back and say that about my own entries from my perspective, you KNOW something must be off. Pretty clear why.

I was nervous. Full of self-doubt.

It started with a twinge of nerves after the Monday swim of the first week. It was relieved when I felt good on the 2 hour run that Friday, but grew again for the Sunday ride. Positively, the nerves went away after about an hour on the bike, so I at least was able to take away that you can feel bad at the beginning of a ride and still make it successful. But it grew worse. With a vengeance. It hit its peak over Thanksgiving break in Sacramento, probably because of all the down time. NOTHING TO THINK ABOUT BUT THE RACE.

I'd still hit all the workouts, but I'd feel flat. Slow. Like I'd lost all the conditioning I'd worked for. I felt "asymptomatically sick". I was sure I had a cold, or the flu, but I had no sore throat, no fever, no nausea. I had "phantom injuries". My right achilles tendon was horribly strained, it felt. My left knee couldn't extend fully. I had exertion headaches. Then mentally I was exhausted. I couldn't keep negative thoughts out of my head. I thought I was too proud by trying to work out independently of a group. I thought about Tony, a fellow TNTer, who was training for his first Ironman in Cozumel when he was hit by a bike and fractured his collarbone, then was diagnosed with a cancer following the X-rays. It wasn't some noble line of thought that I would continue on for those who didn't have the chance to race, it was more like, "Crap. I don't want to race, and I have NO excuse. I'm weak." I thought about my Mom's family history of heart disease. And my Dad's heart condition that could require surgery as early as next spring. I thought maybe I just wasn't cut out for this. I'm too heavy, too big. I thought about my online friend from Tacloban City in the Phillipines, and how awfully her life was changed by the Haiyan/Yolanda typhoon.

Dark!

But trying not to be too Disney, or preachy, if you just keep going, there's light. I read about how these self doubts, fake illnesses, and lethargy were normal in my training book and old emails from coaches. I talked to non-triathlete friends who understood, somehow, and Lisa and T.C. who'd been through it themselves. And that was enough to make me want to toe the starting line.

I made my final preparations, packed my gear after double and triple checking, and drove down to Palm Springs. Crazy how quickly a 7 hour drive goes by when you've been riding a bike for the same time period. Got myself geared up after a final check in with Lisa, the pre-race meeting, a course drive, and dinner with my Dad. Who tried to dissuade me from a glass of red wine that I have no regrets about drinking. And that was it. Up at 4 am for pre-race breakfast, and off to Lake Cahuilla!

The Iron Journey: Darkness and Light

Aside: Oh man, this title sounds like the subtitle of a Final Fantasy Installment.

Aside #2: I had planned on publishing this post well before actually doing the race, but I was too chicken, worried I might "jinx" the race somehow. Anyhow, here it is now.

It's occurred to me, recently, that my posts about races and treks generally follow a very standard, consistent formula. Along the lines of 1) Explaining why I decided to do this activity. 2) Knocking myself out with an overly self-indulgent narration of the event describing such minutiae as bodily functions and fleeting conversations along the way. 3) Attempting to describe some lesson learned or create an overall thematic wrap-up of the activity.

But more importantly the posts have in common that they were all written AFTER the activity. And what that means is the whole story wasn't really told. It's pretty easy to pretend that in hindsight I knew things would work out. But for just about every activity I've blogged about, I've had SOME sort of doubt along the way. Now that I've officially undertaken the journey to start my first iron-distance race, I figured it's fair to give a more complete perspective and post about the darker side of preparing for an event.

I've been wanting to sign up for an iron-distance race (Ironman? brand name infringement?) ever since I finished the Wildflower Long Course in 2010. Finally, I figured it fit into my life this year. So, in typical Matt fashion, I figured I'd just start with a training plan I liked the most, and see where it took me. Then if things were looking up, I'd commit and sign up for a race. This generally works for me because I can break a long, arduous process into manageable chunks with progress markers and decide when I know I am ready. Not so much with Ironman brand name races though.

Ironman TM races often sell out a year in advance. So you really have to decide and commit before you even begin training. Ironman Cozumel, however, DID have the more unusual Ironman trait of not selling out until a few months prior. That coupled with having friends signed up made me seriously consider going for it. I started training seriously. Training went well. Up through my scheduled Olympic race. But, upon researching Cozumel more, I learned it would be wetsuit-less (manageable). More troubling though, it would be hot, humid, and windy. I figured going from long course to full iron-distance, I would want to keep as many other variables in check. I tend to have a tougher time with heat and humidity, so I prudently decided to find another iron-distance race where heat, humidity, and wind would not be factors for my first iron distance race. Smart!

K, bullshit Matt.

Ironman Coz sold out. Mixed thoughts in my head. "Yeah, for ME personally, not an ideal first iron race." "But I've got this momentum going with training. It will be more painful to just stop." "Life is gonna be lame for a few months now." Ugh. Google search "iron distance races December". And believe it or not, I found one in Palm Springs with the HITS series December 7. Upon investigation, it's flat, has mild temperatures, low humidity, and the swim is in a lake. It's manageable in terms of logistics and is reputable. PHEW. Not an Ironman TM, but iron distance and looks ideal for me. Back to training. I AM happy. And then the long rides and runs on the weekend ramp up.

I'm happy with schedules that call for a 90 minute ride on Saturday and a 60 minute run on Sunday. I can sleep in a bit for the weekend, do the workout, and still have energy to go out later on. I'm also happy enough doing longer rides with TNT early Saturday morning knowing I'll have company the whole way and be able to do something later that night after an afternoon nap. But 4, 5, 6, 7 hour rides alone get tedious. I'm usually able to settle into some sort of zone after an hour or so, but that first hour can take forever. And it's just me, my bike, and my Garmin 310XT out there playing the "keep my heart rate in zone 2 no matter what, but try to average 15mph" game. On one particularly tough ride I underestimated how cold I would be, how hilly it would be, how long it would take, and how far it was between water stations. I bonked, and found myself breaking down to ask cyclists how far it was until my next turn. I nearly gave in to call someone to pick me up, but I couldn't turn my phone on. Made it back, but yikes.

And then I planned a ride with my friends Peter and Keeley, who were training for Cozumel, the next weekend. The rides were night and day. It was fun again. I picked up a peanut butter and nutella sandwich recipe that beats shot blocks for energy and taste hands down. I got in a full 80 miles and a brick run. And I even had some energy left after the run. Just prior to this weekend I had also met up with T.C., one of my coaches during the 2011 season. He went over my training plan with me and gave me advice. I had underestimated how much I missed training with friends and having an actual person to talk to as opposed to reading a book and perusing the web.

I was on my way through the 5 week peak training period. I had NO energy to hang out with friends during the weekend during this push. NO energy to try anything new and fun. I had to focus as much as I could to just keep up at work. Stanford football kept me excited, though, as I was still able to make the home games and watch the away on TV. But I was far from social. In a weird way though, this rhythm sort of grew on me. I wouldn't say I exactly looked forward to the long runs, but I did enjoy them in a certain way. Up to 3 hours along the bay trails with just me, my ipod, and a couple of Gu's. Long rides were hard, but I'd find a rhythm. And then, after 2 super push weeks, the first weekend involving a big day of 2 miles swimming, 75 bike, and 12 running, and the second weekend involving 18 miles running, 112 biking, and 2.4 swimming, that was it. Taper time.

Taper for me is a 4 letter word. One of my key ways to handle stress is to work out. It doesn't solve your problem, but it calms you down and gives you energy to hopefully rationally analyze it. So, now I have 3 weeks to taper and think about the race. And if I get stressed about the race itself, what can I do? Not work out as much as I have been, because I'm tapering! Grrr.....  but one sort of neat effect was that I was able to come within 2 seconds of my half marathon PR during a taper run. And this is without pushing it (until the end).

Base Training and A Folsom "Homecoming" Race

Running.

What does that word bring to mind?

Trying to remember what images it conjured up for me when I was a kid, I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of a couple of people racing down a track, lunging their chest forward to some finish tape, then hyperventilating while hunched over with their hands on their knees until they collapsed. A sprint. And the longer the distance, the harder I was sure it was. Then I learned what a marathon was, and I thought, "26.2 miles of THAT??? That's torture!" (I still do think it's torture, but perhaps for different reasons.)

And if I ask most of my non-running friends what running brings to mind, the answer is something like "God, I HATE running." They, too, are imagining the Prefontaine-esque mantra of the "pure guts" running. The longer you can suck it up, the longer you can run. I'm not even going to ask my running friends what they think of running, because I see it in their facebook posts made merely 10 seconds after they finish a workout, via smartphone, as they prepare to drive home.

But two facts remain. One, you can't "suck it up" and go 100% for 26.2 miles. Two, maybe Prefontaine actually could. The point is I know I couldn't. And I remember being pleasantly surprised the first time I ran 6 miles and actually didn't hate it. The key, I learned, was to pace yourself. Sure, if you have energy with the finish line in sight you can sprint it in, but you'd better start running a long distance at or even slower than your average goal pace. I learned this a long time ago, though, when I was 14. But eventually this hasn't been enough for me.

I put my recent mile time into a Runner's World prediction calculator which estimates your potential times for longer distances. Great. But my potential 1/2 marathon time is a good 26 minutes off my PR! And an hour for my full marathon. Why haven't I been able to achieve this "potential"? Grrr. And in restrospect, my Olympic distance tris generally have a decent time, but my longer distance tris have plenty of room for improvement. I haven't been happy with this uncertainty. Then a buzzword I'd heard over and over again came to mind. "Base Training". I'd heard this from coaches Barney and Dave. From a teammate who recommended training at a low heart rate. From my old Capital Crew pal Whitney. What is this magical "base training"?

It's the idea that your training for an event should be for a longer duration, and at a low intensity in the beginning. Mark Allen describes it quite well: http://www.markallenonline.com/maoArticles.aspx?AID=4. So this is what I've been up to. Trying to teach myself the discipline of working out within a low, primarily aerobic heart rate. Laying down this base and developing your aerobic engine is crucial to longer distance success. I do believe this to be an important part of my goal of one day completing an Ironman.

While experimenting with this base training, I decided at 8 weeks into the training I had a great opportunity to race at the Folsom Triathlon near Sacramento. It would mean a trip home to spend time with the folks, and a chance to swim in my old Capital Crew home of Lake Natoma. So I jumped at the chance and raced 2 weeks ago. Don't worry, I'll keep this recap brief :)

I woke up around 5:30 am to a homemade oatmeal breakfast after a night's rest in my childhood bed. I couldn't help but think as I drove to Lake Natoma that this brought back many memories of early morning regattas. Simpler times. The swim was somewhat surreal. I once had to swim in Lake Natoma long enough to prove I didn't need a life vest while in a rowing boat and nearly didn't make the 100m! Now I considered myself reasonably strong and enjoyed the course. The bike was fun. My first race with aerobars, and, YEAH, you do go faster with a more aero position.

I was annoyed as my Garmin gave out around mile 20 on the bike (perhaps some water found it's way in the display unit). I was also annoyed that we rode a total of 26 miles (the Olympic distance is 40k or around 24.9mi.) But I was most annoyed that our run course mile markers were significantly off on the way back. At the very least there was a half mile left following the 6 mile marker (10k distance). Meh. I need to know exactly where I am to pace myself! But it was fun. Even though I had no idea what my course time was after the Garmin gave out, I did see the time clock near the end of the run. And I sprinted to break a 3 hour time.

Did the base training help? Maybe? My dad mentioned that I looked a lot better after the race than I had after the Alcatraz triathlon. So maybe my aerobic engine and endurance, if not speed, had been a bit higher? Plenty of work remains, though...

Beginner's Luck and Blasts from the Past

In the Alchemist, Paulo Coelho describes beginner's luck as, "... the principle of favorability... because there is a force that wants you to realize your destiny; it whets your appetite with a taste of success" (page 30).

So, what made me think of this quote. Well, I've been a part of the Team In Training spring/summer/let's just call it Wildflower season for 5 years now. Naturally, 5 years is a good chunk of time to reflect on an activity. In my first season, I felt my own sense of beginner's luck; certainly after finishing the Wildflower Olympic course my appetite was whet and primed for far more triathlon exploration. But something I've also been reflecting on more recently is a common theme across all 5 years, that each season has brought me a "blast from the past". I promise I'll get back to beginner's luck later...

My first season, 2009, was merely a reminder of my first TNT season, 2003 with the run team, not so far in the past. It gets a bit more interesting. The 2010 and 2011 seasons re-introduced me with Joe, first a Kimball resident and later a co-resident staff member at the Stanford Summer Session in 2002. The last time I had seen Joe I was tired and at the end of my rope for my passion working as an RA, yet in 2010 I was just beginning my passion for working as a training captain. Opposite ends of the spectrum. 2012 re-acquainted me with Justin, who was my softball manager when I started playing at Twin Creeks back in 2003. I went from him telling me how to play softball to me serving as a training adviser for him (of sorts, he was just fine by himself.) And finally this year was a true blast from the past, being on a team again with Whitney, a former high school Captial Crew teammate.

I remember some time last year finding Whitney's profile in my Facebook suggested friends section and thinking that we must have had a lot of mutual Capital Crew friends. I was instead surprised to find out that we had a lot of mutual TNT friends. I then found out she'd be serving as a training captain, and I thought, "Wow, now things are REALLY full circle." Crew was the first time I'd ever done any sort of endurance sport. And to this day I still think back to crew workouts as the most physically demanding activities I've ever done. And I'm incredibly thankful for the toughness they've given me. So it was really cool to reminisce with Whitney about our old crew days and draw inevitable comparisons to TNT workouts. I also happened to randomly remember way back in Crew days Whitney telling me she enjoyed her first season the most. That concept was lost on me the time, how could anyone not enjoy something the more proficient they were at it? But now it makes sense. As, wait for it, beginner's luck.

And, that's what keeps me coming back to TNT, I think. Re-living the beginner's luck that guides the first time triathletes to finish their first race. I see those pre-race jitters in them the night before the event at camp. I tell them that it's going to be hard, and something unplanned will inevitably happen, but the key things to remember are they're prepared, they're giving themselves to something greater by fundraising for cancer and racing, and they're NOT the only ones who will find it hard. Especially the last one, because I'm nervous and know I'll be suffering in my own race.  But I'm also jealous of how they'll feel afterwards, that suddenly so many doors are open to them. Once I felt that rush.

Then the morning comes and they muster up enough bravery to jump in that water and mix it up with others in their wave. Before they know it, they've swam nearly a mile, or even over a mile and are back on land. Transition is a blur, and SOMETHING goes not as smoothly as hoped. But they survive and end up out on the bike, and they climb the first hill. They cruise back in to transition, pop their running shoes on, and man, they're almost done! And then, they feel the first true meaning of the word "brick" as their legs provide them with zero energy, at first, to start their run. But they struggle through while being cheered on by the TNT coaches. Then they prepare to descend Lynch hill for the last time, a great vista for us spectators. And I see in their face, at the top of the hill, the look of strength, grit, the look of "I am SUFFERING. But I'm also having fun, and I'm gonna finish this damn thing." It's powerful. It's human. They finish, greeted by and greeting their other TNT teammates and feel the rush. The relief of all their pre-race jitters. The, yes, glory, of getting a medal draped around their necks. Clock times, speed, blisters on their feet, sunburn, doesn't matter much. To paraphrase Coehlo, the universe had conspired to help them succeed because they decided to.

But finishing the first triathlon is just the beginning for these budding triathletes. It's a taste of success. What's next? Is there another dream?

“Before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve moved toward that dream. That’s the point at which most people give up. It’s the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one 'dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon” (page 139).