My dog Jack knows nothing of pacing. He always, always starts out way too strong. He gallops along in the first mile, tugging at his leash, chasing leaves and pouncing at each approaching tree like it's the first tree he's ever seen.

Every year there comes a time when I'm out on the road riding somewhere, over on the track suffering like a dog, or floundering around in the deep end of the pool where - seemingly out of no where - the thought of "life after the season's big event" first comes into my head.

I'm going to talk to you right now about inspiration. So get ready. In fact, you might want to get your sorry butt up off the couch before you read this. There is something about that piece of furniture that magically and mysteriously sucks the inspiration right out of you.

Well, we’re almost at our destination. For the third year in a row, I’ll be making the plunge into Lake Monona, tackling the hills of the urban Midwest, and plodding through downtown Madison.

And on, and on. This is our racing season.

Things have changed. I knew they would, but I never really thought they would like this. Five years ago, I stood on the beach to start my first triathlon. I was scared, but ready. I was nervous, but confident. I had no idea what I was getting into.

As you all know, there’s no such thing as a free lunch – and World Championship slots don’t come easy.

It felt like this day would never get here. But I should back up. Friday, I had a 4,000 yard swim. I was still tired from Thursday night's 2 hour ride, but I was pleased with my results. I'm consistent in my time at that distance, so that's good. And, I felt like I could have a) kept going and b) gone harder. So I feel like I've established my race pace and I feel comfortable with it.