Events Archives - Page 2 of 5

292 – The Illusion of Traction

Oct 192013

This doesn’t look promising… The rain started just as we were getting ready to go. My numberplate didn’t even make it to the start.

Traction is a funny thing, on a mountain bike. When you think you have it, you might not, and when you think you don’t, you may have more than you expect. Traction is a skill, to a point. There are visual cues, and setup tips, and riding techniques that will all help. Intangibles like istinct and feel each play a big part. But when the rain’s coming down, sometimes you’re at the mercy of chance. All you can do is stay loose, let it slide where it wants to slide, and be ready to bail at any given moment.

Traction was the number one concern for every rider in this year’s rain-delayed MoMBA XC Classic. After postponing for two weeks for torrential rain, the MVMBA decided to roll the dice on October 19th, even though the forecast was gloomy. There wasn’t much of a choice, really. The weather will only get more sketchy from here on out, and one rescheduling had already shrunk the prospective turnout dramatically. The decision was made to hold the race regardless of the weather, and issue coupon codes to those who chose (reasonably) not to race.

I prepped the bike for my ninth dirt race of the season the day before, and spent most of the day refreshing the hourly forecast, hoping to see some reason for optimism. None came. Every source I could find gave the same story, predicting the sort of steady, soaking rain that typifies Ohio in the fall. Fortunately, I do have a small assortment of gear for such conditions, but that doesn’t mean I was looking forward to having to use it.

What can you do but laugh, after something like this?

I got up early and got ready, opting for a light breakfast and a little coffee, and peeking out the window. To my surprise, the street outside was still dry. Maybe we’d get lucky after all! But a glance at the morning radar picture showed a huge, slow-moving wall of green approaching from the southwest. It was gonna be wet, no two ways about it. I got suited up, loaded the bike in the truck and skipped over to MoMBA to get registered. A scant few cars were there when I arrived, far from the capacity crowds we’ve enjoyed at most of the races this year. The sky was just starting to spit a few drops as I fixed my number to my bike, and wandered around, waiting for my wave to start.

Just as the first class rolled up to the start line, the rain began in earnest. The temperature seemed to drop as well, and I found myself wondering if I had dressed warmly enough for two laps in misery. At the last moment, I decided to dash home and add a layer of UnderArmour, and throw on my new Columbia top. The next few hours would show that it was probably the best decision I could make, short of staying in bed!

After running home and back, I was feeling less nervous about the race. I’d be warm enough, and all I had to do was go out and try to stay upright. Several riders had given up and left, once the rain started. There were only three riders who stuck around in my class, so all I had to do was survive, and I’d be on the podium. I didn’t harbor any delusions about that being an easy task, but at least the pressure to try and go fast in horrendous conditions was somewhat relieved.

The few of us ~~dumb~~ hardcore enough to stick around and race huddled under the tents at the start line, waiting for our wave to be called and heckling the riders starting ahead of us. I got a particular kick out of the few guys who were out “warming up” before their race, as if any amount of riding would be enough to really get warm. I figured the loop through the field at the start would be plenty of warm-up for me.

Soon it was time for my class to start, and the three of us stayed huddled under the tent until the 30 second call, then scrambled onto our bikes and rolled up to the line. Dan counted down to the start and we were off, splashing through the grass field and throwing up rooster tails of water behind us. I stayed with the other two riders until the entrance to Twisted, but not so close that I would get sprayed from their back tire.

We turned onto the single track, and all I could do was grin. The trail was still hard-packed, but already holding a substantial amount of water. With new tires and no desire to get a mouthful of leaves and mud in the first mile, I let the other two riders slip away while I got a feel for the conditions. Surprisingly, overall traction was adequate, but I had to pay a lot more attention than normal to line selection, as the best tires in the world won’t do you much good on wet roots and tree trunks. Mental acuity would be as important in this race as fitness and bike handling.

That is a happy mountain bike.

I got my mud legs under me after Twisted, and set a decent pace (given the conditions) through ZigZag. The tight and bumpy nature of the trail suited me and my bike just fine, and with the exception of the swoopy, off-camber section at the far end of the loop, there wasn’t much time to be gained from trying to push it up anyway. I caught sight of one of the other riders in my class again, and presumed that he had either crashed, or was having trouble coping with the elements. He had been shivering before the race even started.

I chased him through the rest of ZigZag and through Voodoo, figuring that I’d be patient and let him push into a mistake, allowing me to pass. That opportunity came at the exact wrong time however, as he tipped over just after we started Hawk’s Lair, and I nearly ran over his back tire. I had to dismount as well, and we slipped and jogged our way through the first technical feature. Normally I would have pressed my advantage to get ahead of him, but I had some trouble getting clipped back into my pedals, and then he stretched away from me on the first climb in Hawk’s.

Hawk’s Lair was the only trail I was really dreading today. On a good day, in dry, grippy conditions, I only clear the whole thing about half the time. I’ve figured out a few tricks this year to doing it right, but most of them involve having enough speed to attack obstacles. For obvious reasons, extra speed wasn’t on the menu today, so I wasn’t sure how I was going to do any of it, especially after getting balked right at the beginning. As we approached the rocky sections at The Ridges and Moonscape, I found myself unclipping preemptively, which almost guarantees that I won’t clear the section. But it also means I won’t be sprawling over the rocks halfway through. There aren’t many great places to crash, but Hawk’s in the rain is a particularly bad one.

For some reason, my front derailleur wasn’t shifting properly… Can’t imagine why.

I survived Hawk’s, but the price of my caution was that I had lost touch with the rider in front of me. My left pedal was giving me some trouble clipping back in, adding to my problems and further slowing my pace. Even so, I figured if I had been going fast enough to catch up to the guy once, maybe it would happen again. And anyway, I wasn’t sure I could go much faster than I was going already.

On the bright side, my equipment was working as advertised, even under such abuse. My gear was keeping me dry and warm enough, the bike was handling fine, my new-ish drivetrain was clicking along flawlessly, and my tires were holding on, even though this was far beyond what they were designed to do. My front derailleur was jamming up a little, causing some chain rub, but it wasn’t enough to really be concerned about.

For the rest of the first lap, I just did what I could. The only place I could put in 100% effort was going uphill, and then only if it was a smooth-ish bit of trail. I was averaging a paltry 8 mph, which is about 3 mph slower than my normal race pace on this course. I couldn’t even make up time going down hill without risking catastrophe. Of course, going slower robs you of momentum going up hill as well, which makes every climb harder than it should be.

At last, I was headed up the switchbacks that bring you out of Creekside, and my first lap was over. I was surprised, as I got out of the woods, just how soft the ground had gotten in the last hour, as the rain continued to fall. Pedaling through the grass up to the start/finish was like riding on a damp sponge, and I got more winded slogging through the field than I had been on the climb a moment earlier.

Kent demonstrates the proper method for breaking in a new bicycle.

I tried to put down some electrolytes from my bottle while I pedaled through the field back to Twisted for my second lap, but I was working too hard to get a drink. I kept looking down at my back tire, trying to see if it was going flat, but it was just that the ground was that soft. I was happy to get back into the woods, and onto relatively firmer ground.

The trail had worsened noticeably since my last trip through. Although there were fewer than 30 riders total in the race, the soaking rain had loosened the mud, and I found myself getting sideways more and more. By this point, I was as comfortable as I was going to be, and I just tried to remind myself to pick good lines, square off corners, and stay loose.

The worst thing you can do when the bike starts to slide is try to resist it, to fight it into going where you want, instead of where it wants. The bike is sliding because it ran out of traction, so to try and force it to go back to where it lost traction in the first place only makes you lose more. It’s best to just try and control the slide and let it continue until it grips, then correct your course and press on. This sounds simple and straightforward now, as I’m describing it from the warmth and comfort of my recliner, but executing the concept is far more complex. It’s a fast-moving ballet of instinctual response, body english, and no small amount of guesswork. And on a day like this, it’s happening with every corner, every pedal stroke, every brush of the brake lever.

As with any dance, you learn to trust your partner over time. Every slip that doesn’t end in disaster bolsters your confidence. At least until you slide just past that edge, and find yourself at the precipice of a crash, or on the ground. But while it’s working, while you’re waltzing on the razor’s edge, it creates the illusion of traction where there is none. The tires are in a near constant state of spin and slip, never quite tracking where you told them, but you’ve relaxed enough that you don’t care.

Two finishers in Expert, because the third guy said “$&%@ this” and left.

This is where I found myself in the second half of my race. I wasn’t concerned with pushing the pace any more. I had long since lost touch with the rider ahead of me, but I was confident that I could go on riding, and was comfortable doing it, thanks to my last-minute gear additions. The bike, on the other hand, was starting to complain of abuse, as the rear brake pads were gone, the chain was soaked with muddy water, and the front derailleur could barely move, with all the mud packed into it.

None of that bothered me. My placement in the race was assured, and I only had to endure the rest of a lap to collect a podium. Enduring misery is something I’ve gained a lot of experience in this year, and all of that work made this ride seem almost like no big deal. I splashed through Twisted, ZigZag and Voodoo, rolling easier and more relaxed than my first lap, since the pressure was off.

Worsening mechanical issues aside, I was comfortable enough to ride more assertively. I got a good run into the opening section of Hawk’s Lair and cleared it, which is an accomplishment for me on a warm, dry day. I picked my way to the top of the climb without issue, bounced and slipped my way through the rock gardens and back out to Lower Stealth, where I was hit with the realization that I was almost done! I only had a few more miles of relatively easy trail to go, and then the suffer fest would be over!

My rear brake was dragging hard now, and I stopped a couple times to see if I could free it, but to no avail. The combination of a dragging brake and pedaling through mud was wearing me out a little, but I had plenty of juice left to take me to the finish.

As challenging as the conditions had become, I had started to ride them reflexively. Now that I had become used to the job at hand, I started reflecting on my season in the dirt. From hill repeats in the bitter cold of late February, to reaching transcendence in Brown County in March, to sprints and enduros in August, to chugging through the rain and mud in my final race, it’s been an adventure all year long.

On the box!

I’ve learned to be a better rider, but more than that, I’ve learned about myself. I’ve learned that the strength of my determination sometimes exceeds the strength of my body, and that the former can carry the latter beyond its normal limits. I’ve learned that mental preparation is at least as important as physical, and that skimping on either can have serious consequences on a race, no matter the length. I’ve learned to get everything I can get out of every ride and every race. Whether that’s just surviving to the finish, coming in seconds before the cutoff, or raging through a lap at full steam, snapping at the heels of a podium finish, what matters is that I gave everything I had, and performed to the best of my ability.

Given the intensity of the season, the way it ended was anticlimactic. I spun up the switchbacks at the end of Creekside and squished through the mud and grass back to the finish line, to the cheers of the small, shivering crowd. After exchanging mud-soaked riding gear for dry clothes, the other riders and I hoisted celebratory beers and munched on hot dogs and chili while we waited for the other classes to finish. The rain had let up at last, and we swapped stories from the race, laughed at our own silliness for racing in the first place, and at our good fortune in finishing without incident.

In the final tally, I had finished my two laps in 2:07, which isn’t hateful on a day like this, but was 14 minutes off the winner. My buddy Kent, demonstrating that mud is not an excuse for a slow ride, banged out three laps in 2:46, which is nonsensically fast. He stood on the top step in the Expert class.

For me, finishing meant that I stood on the podium in a mountain bike race for the first time all season. Given what it took to get there, it felt more earned than automatic. As someone pointed out to me, I beat everybody who chose not to race in such conditions, and with a crowd as hearty as mountain bikers tend to be, that isn’t nothing. As the race season gives way to the off-season, I’ll be putting in the work to make sure that next year, this isn’t the only way I’ll step on the box.

286 – Just. Finish.

Events, Running 2 Responses »

Oct 132013

Feeling nervous before the start. Turns out, I was right to.

“Your brain writes the checks, but your body’s got to cash them.”

Truer and more timely wisdom has seldom been uttered in a race. I was less than a half mile from the finish at the 37th Dayton River Corridor Classic half marathon, but instead of pushing up the throttle for a triumphant and powerful finish, I was crouched to the ground, trying to stretch a little and talk my aching hips into jogging just a little bit more. There was no glory in this race, no joy for me, only suffering. I was totally beaten, and though I hadn’t quit, I felt that I might as well have, for all the time I had spent walking, stopping to stretch, and shuffling along at what could only be called a survival jog.

It’s been three weeks since my remarkable performance at the Air Force Half Marathon, where I smashed my previous PR to bits, having one of the best races of my life. Only a week after that, I charged through an abbreviated 10k to a podium finish. But this morning, my body let me know in unmistakable language that it had had quite enough of this running nonsense for awhile, thanks very much.

The warnings were there, I just didn’t heed them. My left hip has been bothering me a little bit for months, and I aggravated it again by coming back to running club too soon after the Air Force Half. It quieted down enough to run the 10k, and I haven’t done a running workout since, but neither have I been taking it easy. In lieu of running to get ready for this weekend’s race, I opted to step up the intensity on the road bike, hoping that the lessened impact would help my hip, but still have me strong enough for the race.

But it wasn’t enough rest, or maybe I’m just hurt worse than I’m being told. Warming up before the race, it was already apparent that I was going to have problems. No matter, I thought, I’ve been dealing with hip pain, off and on, for well over a year. I could surely just grit my teeth and make it through this race, and maybe even set a decent time. The conditions were perfect to do it, too. Partly sunny, warm and with a slight breeze on the return leg, just cool enough to refresh you when you needed it most. In October in Ohio, you can’t ask for much better.

After yet another inexplicably delayed start, the gun went off and we headed out of the parking lot of the Payne Recreation Center in Moraine. As we turned onto the road, the crowd thinned enough for me to have a little room, and I dialed in a comfortable pace, focusing on running as smoothly and gently as possible. I wasn’t pushing hard, but I was trying to run fluidly enough that I would be able to minimize further damage to my hip.

Womp, womp.

For the first couple miles, it seemed like it was working. My hip hurt some at the beginning, but then it tapered off, much like the knee pain I had dealt with early in the season. Maybe, I thought, I’d be alright, and be able to turn in a decent result after all! But right around mile five, the pain returned, this time with a sense of finality to it. I set my jaw and soldiered on, hoping against hope that it would hold together long enough, just long enough to take me to the finish.

It wouldn’t. The pain in my hip increased, and I eased off the pace, intentionally at first, and then more, simply because I had no choice. While my first five miles had all been sub-8:30, the next four slowed to 8:45, 9:18, 9:22, 9:58… I was falling apart physically, and nothing I was doing mentally was going to overcome it. Somewhere in mile 9, my left foot abruptly went numb, and my mindset went from annoyed and disappointed to concerned. Pushing through pain and running through an injury are acceptable, but I was starting to have reason to worry about more permanent injury. As I passed the 9 mile sign, I realized that my hobbled pace wasn’t even sufficient to keep me breathing hard, so I slowed to an uncomfortable walk.

My buddy Joe caught up to me just then, and walked with me for awhile. Neither of us seemed to be having the race we had planned, but he was as positive and cheerful as ever, and it helped. My hip started to hurt a little less as we walked, and he talked me into jogging to the next water station, only a couple hundred meters ahead. I did, and it felt as okay as it was going to feel. We walked again through the water station and then picked back up to a jog again, but I didn’t last long. My conservative 9:30 pace soon became a 10:30 slog, and soon I was walking again, as Joe trotted off ahead of me.

This was to become the pattern of the rest of my race. Walk until I had recovered a little, jog until I couldn’t stand it, then walk some more. It was a little strange, if I’m honest, being back in a part of the pack that I haven’t seen for most of the year. Further ahead, where I thought I’d be, the runners are strong and practiced, and the attitude is relaxed and convivial. Somewhere between where I wanted to be and where I was, though, something changed. This is the part of the race with the suffering. It’s were you’ll find the people who are injured, who are enduring their first ever race at this distance, who are clearly working very hard but not having much fun doing it. This is where I was last year, and where I started the season this year, and it was humbling to be brought back to it.

Strange as well were the messages from my body. My muscles were rested and well-fueled, and urged me on. I had plenty of power and energy, and the racer in my head was screaming “GO, RUN! You’re so much faster than this! You can beat all of these people!” But I couldn’t, not today. On a good day I am a great deal faster, but today was not a good day. Maybe it wasn’t a good day for many of the racers struggling alongside of me, or maybe it was about to be their first great triumph, but it was clear that on this morning, I wasn’t faster than any of them.

This guy was literally slinging pancakes at the finish. Pretty cool!

I tried to jog all of mile 11, just to have this race over with, but I only made it a half mile. I walked over the penultimate bridge and stepped off the course to stretch a little, hoping to bring a little life back into my hip to get me home. My right hip was hurting now too, a sympathetic injury developing from the miles of favoring my left. I set off again just as I heard somebody say that there was a mile and a half to go. The first few steps felt okay, and I chugged along at a nine-minute pace for a little while, picking up positions again and telling myself that surely I could make such a modest distance. That feeling lasted about a quarter of a mile, and I soon sputtered out.

This sucked. It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t what I wanted, and it certainly wasn’t what I signed up to do. I’ve been riding a wave of momentum all year, improving nearly every race on bike and on foot, and the progress has begun to feel common to me, almost expected. I had it in mind earlier in the week that this would be a great race to try and break 1:50. During my warm up I figured I’d be pretty happy to stay under 1:55. After things started to hurt again at mile five, I just wanted to be under two hours. Now? All I wanted was for it to be over. All I wanted was to finish. Just. Finish.

I passed medic stations and a bridge where I could have cut out of the race. I could have taken off my bib, walked through the crowd and called it quits, but I just don’t know how to do that. I’ve raced hurt before, particularly at the end of last season, but I’ve never DNF’d, and I didn’t want to now. I wanted that finisher’s medal, and I wanted to earn it. So as I limped over the last bridge, I looked at the distance remaining, and made up my mind I would at least run through the finish. With a half mile to go, I crouched by the median, not exhausted but feeling defeated nonetheless, and tried to stretch my hips.

The things I endure for these cheap little pieces of metal… This one is pretty cool, though.

“Hey big fella, c’mon, you got this.” It wasn’t a cheer, it was a statement. An older runner was approaching, looking right at me. Without thinking, I got up and returned to a jog beside him.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” I said, “it’s hard to believe a few weeks ago I was PRing at 1:51.” It was at once a confession and an excuse. Selfishly, I didn’t want anybody to think that this was as fast as I could go.

“Well,” the man replied, “you brain writes the checks, but your body’s got to cash them.”

I chuckled, and picked up my pace a little. “I think today my body came back NSF!” I called over my shoulder as I trotted ahead. It was the pickup I’d needed. I’d make it from here. I turned into the parking lot, jogged around the building, put in the world’s saddest kick, and thudded across the finish.

Katie was there, as she almost always is, all smiles at my finish, even though she knew I’d be disappointed. She told me she was still proud of me, that I should be happy to have finished despite everything. And she was right. Even with crashing and burning in the second half of the race, I finished in 2:11:32, which is faster than I went a year ago at the same race, and not much slower than I went at the Xenia half this spring. Now it’s time to recover, and heal, and start planning for my next running season. Here’s hoping it will be one free from injury.

279 – Rained Out

Events, Mountain Biking 1 Response »

Oct 062013

Today was supposed to be the MoMBA XC Classic, the last mountain bike race of the year in this area, and the culmination of my biking for the season. But it rained all night. Buckets. The race directors made the call to postpone the race early, based on the forecasted thundershowers overnight and through the day Sunday, and I have to say they made the right call. Racing on wet trails with some 200+ riders damages the trails, and that sucks, but when it’s this wet, it almost isn’t any fun. You spend so much time slipping and sliding that it’s hard to have any fun, particularly on a trail system like MoMBA, which has some sections that are a little tricky even when the grip is good.

Cancelling the race, which was also supposed to be the final event of the weekend for MOX, wasn’t something anybody wanted to do, but there just wasn’t any other choice. Hopefully the sponsors and riders will be able to make the rain date, and we’ll still have a nice, big turnout.

278 – MOX

Events, Mountain Biking 1 Response »

Oct 052013

This weekend was the Midwest Outdoor Experience at Eastwood Metropark. It’s a combination expo, outdoor sports event and festival that takes place every year just a few miles from my house. MOX showcases many of the reasons I love living in this area, from mountain biking and hiking to kayaking and road cycling. This year, I volunteered to help out at the MVMBA booth, letting kids try out BMX and Strider bikes on little obstacle courses, and talking to their parents about the club.

A rack full of fun for the kiddos.

The weather didn’t exactly play along for the weekend, with scattered showers coming in throughout the weekend. But the crowds seemed unphased, and while I don’t have any official attendance numbers to compare to last year, it didn’t seem any less packed.

And the “cutest cyclist” award goes to…

I was slightly disappointed that they didn’t run the off-road 5k this year, which is a race I’ve run a few times before. Last year, it featured a category for dogs, and Max and I nearly won it, until I had some technical difficulties that put us behind. In the place of the 5k was a 12 hour endurance running event, that I had no interest in even attempting.

Hannah trying slacklining.

The number of different activities featured makes it fun for everybody. Sports you might not have even heard of, like orienteering and slacklining, had demonstrations and trials running all day. The DK Bikes stunt team was flying through the air all day, there was an Ultimate Air Dogs competition, paddleboarding, rock climbing… If you can do it outside, you could probably find it at MOX.

FRMP staff rescued this little guy.

Overall, the weekend was a success for all involved, despite the weather. MOX is one of the many reasons why I love living here, and I hope we managed to inspire a bunch more people to get out and live, and enjoy all the fun stuff the area has to offer.

People think I’m crazy when I say I love living here, but…

275 – Streaking at Sunset

Cycling, Events No Responses »

Oct 022013

Time Trial (n) – A gathering of men and women on expensive bicycles with funny shaped helmets.

This evening brought the final installment of this year’s Blue Streak Time Trial series at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. The series takes place monthly, but scheduling conflicts have meant that I only made the July and October races. Given that I’m racing a time trial on a road bike, that’s not a huge loss to me, but I would have liked to try it a few more times. Oh well, there will be more next year!

Yours truly having a typically disorganized start.

I rode to the race from my house, arriving what I considered to be reasonably early: 40 minutes before the start. But my pragmatism was exceeded by the enthusiasm of the rest of the field, and I was preceded in registration by some 84 other riders! With one rider released from the start every 30 seconds, this meant I wouldn’t start until 6:42 pm, well over an hour from when I arrived and just a half hour before the sun would be fully down. So much for the ride down from the house being an effective warm-up!

As has happened to me before, the lengthy wait allowed me to lose focus. I meandered around the parking area, pedaling enough to keep my legs somewhat warm, and chatting with a couple friends. Katie showed up from CrossFit a few minutes before I was supposed to finally start, and I lollygagged with her for too long before heading to the start. I thought I would be okay, as the clock on my cycle computer showed me a couple minutes early, but it turned out that my clock was a couple minutes slower than the race’s clock.

I rolled up to the line just a few seconds before my scheduled departure time. I barely had time to get stopped and get my phone out before the marshal told me to go, so I sputtered away from the line, phone in hand. I got Strava started and my phone stowed in just a few dozen yards, but it was hardly the charging start I had hoped to duplicate from the last race.

The side effect of my distracted, disorganized start was that the rider ahead of me was well out of sight, and so I missed seeing where they took the first turn. My last attempt at the Blue Streak had come just after some torrential rain, and so the course had been altered to an out-and-back to avoid a flooded back section. This time we were running the traditional course, and I wasn’t sure where the first turn was, and there is an inexplicable lack of signage at this race.

I got to the intersection where I was pretty sure I was to turn right, and asked the Security Forces guy there which way the bike race went. He seemed surprised to see me for some reason, but finally nodded and pointed to the right, just as I caught sight of a rider far off up the road. I had nearly come to a stop, trying to get the cop’s attention, and now I stood and raged on the cranks, trying in vain to make up for my sloppy start.

A wave of anger and frustration crashed over me, and I pounded on the pedals and pulled at the bars as if everything that troubled me in this life was the bike’s fault. All I had wanted to do in this race was break a 21 mph average, which would beat my previous performance by a decent margin. In a time trial, that’s hardly fast, but at my size, and with my inexperience, and on an aluminum road bike (vs. a carbon time trial bike, which the majority of the field brought), it would be enough. The first three miles of the course are the fastest, due to a slight decline, and I had pretty much squandered them with my sloppy start.

The back part of the course rises slightly, and I was having a difficult time talking my legs into creating the 22 mph I wanted to see on the computer. It’s an interesting predicament for me, as a three-sport athlete. A ten mile TT on the road is roughly equivalent, in terms of effort, to a 5k run, and a bit easier than a 1-lap sprint on the mountain bike at John Bryan. At the same time, the efforts are completely different in how they feel. The 5k, for me, is all lungs, and the MTB sprint is equal parts lungs and legs. The TT is all legs, and my performance is a direct reflection of the available power in them (or lack thereof), my lactate threshold, and how well I manage my pacing. Trying to draw on my experience on foot and on dirt has proven to be less helpful than one might think.

Flashing past the finish. The photographer can’t be blamed for missing somebody this fast! (He says, tongue firmly planted in cheek.)

As I passed the halfway point, I was looking for something to pull me forward. Part of me just wanted this race to be over, for the misery to stop, so I could go home and sulk. I passed one rider, but was passed by two others, and the speed disparity between all of us was too great to be of much use psychologically. My speed was hovering in the 20s, but I was sure it wouldn’t be enough to get me over the 21 average I was looking for. I wasn’t even sure it was enough to beat my last performance.

The course turned south again, angling toward the finish in the final leg, and I mustered what I had left to try and sprint to the end, but it wasn’t much. I hammered the last half mile, coming across the line out of the saddle and out of breath, with at least the small satisfaction of putting in a full effort.

The results of this race continued the trend that seems to have run across my whole season: have problems, work hard, improve anyway. While I missed my target of 21 mph, I did improve my previous time by over a minute, finishing in 28:46 for an average of 20.86 mph. I’ll have unfinished business with this TT heading into next season, but that’s not all bad news. Having something to shoot for has always kept me training, and in the end, that’s the point of all of this.

271 – Placing

Events, Running No Responses »

Sep 282013

It struck me today that, while running is an individual sport, our best performances still come with the help of others.

I was up well before dawn on the second consecutive Saturday for the Live Out Loud 5k and 10k, a memorial race for Janet Adducchio. Janet was a wife, mother and nurse who fell victim to thymic carcinoma earlier this year, and as with so many victims of the disease, she inspired those around her by her life and attitude before she passed. Her kids organized the race in her memory, to raise money for the Jack and Jill Late Stage Cancer Foundation.

10k races aren’t as prolific as the ubiquitous 5k, so while both distances were offered at this event, I chose to establish my 10k instead of trying to hammer my 5k time deeper under my goal for the year. I don’t race at the 10k distance much, so the pacing was going to be a little bit of a challenge to figure out, but I’ve been wanting to establish a PR at this distance for awhile now.

Crisp, clear fall air awakened me as I slipped out of the house at 6:45am, and a pleasant sunrise greeted us at the registration desk. Near the gazebo that housed registration, they had a chalkboard with the heading “BEFORE I DIE I WANT TO…” I looked at that board for a long time, trying to think what to write. A side effect of living life as emphatically as I do is that I don’t have much in the way of a bucket list. Don’t misunderstand, I have many, many things I want to do before I die, but I couldn’t come up with anything I must do before then, which is usually the point of these questions. They are meant to prompt introspection, to awaken the inner dreamer in all of us, and encourage us to go to the grave without regret. But I can say with all honesty that I am living life as fully as I am able, and if it ended tomorrow, I wouldn’t be unsatisfied by the experience.

I took my time warming up, careful to be gentle with my hips, which have been bothering me again for the last few weeks. I left my warm-up pants and hoodie on as long as I felt was prudent, and then headed down for the start. But the start was delayed for some time due to an issue with the timing company, and I had started to get cold again by the time they were finally ready. At last, the race director ordered all the 10k runners to the front, and then we were off!

I set what I felt was a conservative pace for the first mile, staying with the lead pack but not trying to get to the front of it. At a larger, more popular race, the faster runners would have left me immediately, but the smaller turnout for this inaugural event meant that most of the field was much closer to my level. A couple runners I had been chatting with at the start stretched off ahead of us, but there was a small group of about 6 of us giving chase, and I kept them in touch as my legs came in. That took longer than normal on this chilly morning, due in equal parts to the temperature and time between my warm up and the start.

Just after the first mile, I decided that the gap to the runners ahead of me was getting too large, so I dialed it up a bit. I wasn’t sure how much I should push, with so little experience at this distance, but I at least wanted to take advantage of a tow, if I could get one. I took my time catching the runner ahead of me, then hung around for the next mile, “resting” before trying my next push. My legs were feeling good now, but I still wasn’t sure just how fast I should be going, and we hadn’t yet reached the turn-around at the half way point.

A small cluster of runners had formed now. I had pulled myself up to two guys who were chasing a girl with impossibly long legs, and a couple guys behind me had towed themselves forward to me, in turn. I decided to make my next move at the turnaround, the half way point in the race, where I would at least be able to make an educated guess at the pace I could hold to the finish. The course angled south along Dye Mill Road, and then abruptly, there it was. Two guys stood next to a card table full of water cups and a cluster of cones, unmistakably a turnaround. It felt early, and everyone in our little group was a touch confused. I yelled ahead as I approached to ask if it was the turn for the 10k and they said it was, so I shrugged, pivoted around the cones, and headed back toward the finish.

I passed a couple people at this point and decided to put in a little push, to see if I could drop them and get out on my own. We did drop the girl, and one guy in a Tough Mudder shirt. But another guy, in a white shirt, stuck with me. The sun was at our backs as we strode northwest, and his shadow was always just behind mine. I could hear his footsteps, and every time I tried to push the throttle up, he responded and stuck with me. I just couldn’t break this guy! I knew, even as it was happening, that this was the best possible scenario. In a race distance that I haven’t practiced much, it was to my advantage to have someone pushing me, as I tend to be too conservative on my own.

When we reached the turnaround for the 5k, things got a little sporty! The 5k runners were already through, but a huge number of walkers were arriving just as we were, and the bike path suddenly got very narrow. I spent the next half mile engaged in an obstacle course of strollers and small groups of chatting friends, few of whom seemed to have noticed there was a race going on in the middle of their social event. To be fair, their entry fee supported the race’s charity the same as mine, but the other runners and I sure would have appreciated if they had tried to stay to one side of the path. “ON YOUR LEFT,” I called ahead of me whenever I could spare the breath. Most people got out of the way the best they could, but it was still a little dicey.

I quietly hoped that the traffic would allow me to slip away from my pursuer, but it just wasn’t to be. As the traffic thinned I checked over my shoulder and there he was, only a yard or two behind, with a determined pace that seemed to almost threaten me with its consistency. I pushed harder. My pace dropped into the 7:30s, and I gained a couple yards. The finish was nearly in sight now, just over a slight rise by a bridge. I made up my mind to drop the hammer as soon as I could see the finish arch, but I could still hear footsteps behind me. Was it just my imagination, or were there several sets, now? Was I going to get passed by a whole group just before the end?

We were at the bridge now, me and the mob I imagined was just behind me. I let loose, easing my speed up by increments, intentionally increasing the pace of my breathing to keep up with the demand. My pace dropped more, to 7:00, 6:30, 6:00 as I mentally pulled the finish line back to me. I was pulling back the lone runner in front of me as well, something I didn’t at all expect, as he had been out of reach for the whole race. He was kicking to the finish, but I was kicking harder, and the gap was closing fast. The carrot of beating one more person was fuel on the fire and I was at a dead run, every muscle and fiber straining with whatever power it had left. We flashed across the line, the man with the wild, gray hair and I, side by side and breathless. I thought I had got him, but only just!

I was elated. The post-race endorphin rush hasn’t been that strong for me in a long time, and the euphoria had me laughing before I had even caught my breath. I shook hands with my two close competitors, who had pushed and pulled me along, without a word, for the whole race. My GPS revealed that the course was indeed short by nearly a mile, but no matter. That was a race the way races are meant to be, and the minor detail of not establishing a proper PR took nothing away from the experience.

I stuck around for the awards, hoping that the results would be posted and I could see how I had done. But they were only going to announce the male and female overall winners for both races, so I wandered over to the snack table and started munching on a couple granola bars while I listened. When they got to the Men’s 10k, I was surprised that the third place finisher was a kid I had passed, and who I was fairly sure hadn’t passed me back. Then they called my name! I had finished second overall, which was a complete surprise to me, even having as good of a race as I did! I got my medal and stood next to the third place finisher as they announced the winner, the man with the wild gray hair, who had just held on at the line to beat me by less a tenth of a second. Less than a tenth!

It would be easy to be mad about being beat by so small a margin, but I felt enormously lucky just to have done as well as I had. The two runners who had gapped the field at the start had run right past the turnaround, ending up in Tipp City before they figured out something was wrong! So I had been gifted at least one place already, and I knew I owed my performance to other runners, anyway. Without them to pull and push me forward, forcing me to run harder than I ever do by myself, I would have been nowhere near as fast.

A coach and a group of like-minded people at a running club make fast feel easy. A stranger with a sign on the side of the road cheers you on, giving you just that little push you needed to keep going. A random stranger pushes and pulls you through an entire race, shakes your hand at the finish, and you go your separate ways. Running illustrates our dependence on each other in ways not unlike the rest of life, often in beautiful and deeply meaningful ways. When people ask me why I run, or how I’ve improved so much over the past couple years, I often find myself struggling to give the individualistic answer I think they’re looking for. Today reminded me that it’s because it was never just about me in the first place.

264 – Twenty-Six Minutes

Events, Running 6 Responses »

Sep 212013

It seems strange to me that I can feel humbled by something I did, but that’s exactly how I feel. I had an outstanding race today. Despite all my worries about under training, despite having run only 5 times– at all– in the last two months, despite the rain and the clouds, and a hurried start, and almost no warm-up, I turned in a half marathon race that I didn’t know I had in me. And while I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, and of the hard work I’ve put in to get here, the overwhelming feeling in my heart is one of being blessed, like I’ve been given a gift. I can’t explain it.

Dinner the night before can make or break a race.

It had been three months since I ran for distance, when I hit my PR at the Heights Half Marathon. I’ve done some running since (ten runs, to be exact), but nothing near a simulation distance (~9-10 miles). I’ve hit a couple of 5ks, done some interval training with my running club, and put in a few easy jogs, but nothing like what most training plans would have you doing to get ready for a race of this length.

I’ve already hit my goal for the year at this distance, so the self-induced pressure to go fast has somewhat relaxed. With the 5k being cancelled last night, that pressure returned a little, but I still wasn’t terribly worried. I wanted to beat my previous PR, but if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. The Air Force Marathon features pace groups, led by experienced runners whose job it is to help you maintain level splits and hit your target time. My strategy was to go out with the 1:50 group, see how long I could hang with them, and then drop back when I had to, still finishing ahead of the 2:00 group, and setting a new PR.

The buildup to a race like this starts days in advance. I stay away from the beer fridge, start loading up on water and salt, and limit my dairy intake. My workouts taper off, generally ending with a gentle bike ride or a long walk with Max. The night before, I have a larger-than-normal dinner, heavy on complex carbs and protein, to make sure my body’s stores are topped off. The morning of the race, I wake up 3 hours before the start, have a small breakfast and a little coffee, and get together my stuff for the race. Cell phone, arm band, shoes, socks, heart rate monitor, lucky shorts and shirt… It’s a careful, well-rehearsed ritual that I’ve developed over the dozens of races I’ve done over the past couple years. When it all goes right, it almost always leads to me having a good race.

Hydrate, nourish, caffeinate.

This morning’s ritual went mostly according to plan. I had wanted to ride my bike to the start, since it’s only five miles from my house, and thus avoid the traffic. But a rainy early morning nixed that plan, so we drove the truck down, instead. The parking situation was the usual level of chaos, made more exasperating by the cops not allowing left turns into the gates. We finally got parked 45 minutes before the race was scheduled to begin, but had well over a mile to walk to the starting area. The field we were parked in was a veritable swamp, so I chose to hand carry my shoes in and walk in my flip flops, which cost me more time.

To warm up before a race, I usually like to jog a mile or so. A slog through a muddy field in flip flops wasn’t what I had in mind, but it had to do. At the start area, I took a quick detour to the porta-johns and then changed into my shoes, trying to wipe as much of the mud from my feet as I could. This wasn’t the calm, relaxed start I like to have, but sometimes there’s no helping it.

I arrived at the line in a rush, a cough drop tucked in my cheek and my phone still booting up Strava. I found the pace group sign for 2:00, and was surprised at how far up they were in the crowd. I presumed the next sign I saw was for the 1:50 group, but couldn’t get close enough to tell. Soon the announcer was calling “1 MINUTE!”, and the crowd crushed forward in anticipation. This is normally one of my favorite parts of the race, as the building tension of thousands of runners surrounds me. But due to my late arrival, all I could do was try to get in a notch for a good start, get my GPS running, and wait for the gun.

Did you ever get the feeling that you were being followed?

Starting a race with almost six thousand other runners is an amazing experience, but the first few moments are always a little strange. The crowd presses forward toward the line, the anticipation builds, the gun goes off… and nothing happens. There are so many people ahead that it’s often a couple minutes before you can do anything but shuffle forward, and sometimes you can barely jog even after crossing the line. I was far enough forward in this race that there wasn’t an awful delay to get across the line, but it still seemed anticlimactic.

The first half mile was an obstacle course. I’m normally happy to just roll along with the crowd while my legs come in, preferring to make my first moves once things are a little more spread out, but I had to catch that sign. I weaved in and out of traffic, putting in little bursts of speed when I had an opening, until I was running just a few feet from the pacer. There was a huge cluster of runners around the sign, and I realized that the mental benchmark of coming in under two hours was a powerful draw for a lot of runners. The herd thundered up Springfield Street to the top of Huffman Dam, angled slightly left, and started down a gentle descent. Our pacer, sensing a lot of us were holding back, said “if you want to let loose, go for it!” And I did, allowing my stride to stretch out and gravity to pull me forward. Soon I could see the sign for the next pace group up, and I momentarily toyed with the idea of reeling them in, but cooler thoughts prevailed.

Just after the water station at the bottom of the hill it started to rain. The sky hadn’t given any clues as to its intent all morning, and I had worried that I might spend the whole race getting wet, but this turned out to be the only real precipitation we experienced. The rain spritzed us gently for a quarter mile, and then stopped.

I was running easy, making sure not to waste myself in the early stages, and paying attention to my form. I kept listening behind me to hear if the 1:50 pace group was catching me, but I was surprised to find that they were still 25 yards or so behind. I thought I was going to have to work much harder just to stay with them from the beginning, so when I was staying ahead of them without pushing at all, it was encouraging.

I dunno what the lady on the right is all smiling about. This crap hurts!

They finally caught me at the water station on Skeel Avenue. I only started using water stops this season, preferring to run with a pack before. My relative inexperience was costing me time at each station, something I’ll have to remedy in the future.

We came upon the 4 mile mark in what seemed like no time at all. I said “wow, already?”, mostly to myself. A girl running next to me heard and agreed, and we struck up a conversation. She was from Canada, and this was her first half marathon, although she had benefited from training advice from her father, who was running his 66th full marathon this morning. Crucially, the small talk kept me distracted, and the Blerch off my back, for the next several miles, until we got separated at a water stop and I couldn’t reel her in again.

The second and last little hill, climbing up State Route 844, wasn’t nearly as steep or long as I remembered it being. A death metal band was jamming for all they were worth at the bottom, giving us a little boost before we started up. An interesting side effect of running in a much faster part of the race this year was that there weren’t nearly as many people struggling to make it up that hill, either. Last year, it seemed like I passed half the field going up that hill, as so many people in my speed bracket just weren’t prepared for any sort of climb.

Things got serious for me right around nine miles. I was having to really work to maintain the pace of the group, and joints were starting to hurt. This isn’t unusual for me, as things usually start to hurt around the 9-10 mile mark, but then I’ve never had such a strong anchor pulling me forward through the pain, either. I had drifted back from the group by about 20 yards, and felt that I was in serious danger of being dropped, if I didn’t catch them and hang on through the next water station. I had to hang on as long as I could, and I was starting to think I just might be able to make it all the way to the finish with them!

But right at mile 10, the unthinkable happened. We reached the top of a roller and the pacer pulled up and limped off to the side. He had cramped, and couldn’t continue. He called out to us to press on, that we had this, but I wasn’t so sure! The pace group had been my life boat for the last couple miles, keeping my speed up and pulling me forward, but in the absence of that little sign on a stick, it fell apart. I hadn’t been paying much attention to my pace for most of the race, as I just allowed the group to do my thinking for me. Now I was forced to reengage, and I have to admit I was a little disoriented.

Over at last. After running for so long, walking actually feels a little funny.

I looked ahead for other people in the pace group, but couldn’t find any. I had slowed considerably and I knew it, but I was having a hard time picking back up to the pace we’d had. My right foot was starting to become an increasing problem, as a blister was forming under my arch and one of my toes started to feel funny.

Strava would show, after the race, that I lost about 30 seconds per mile on my last three miles. Not all of that was down to having lost our pacer, but that did allow me to concentrate on my own problems more than I had been. Without the ability to focus on staying with the group, I was left to focus only on myself. After running over ten miles, that’s not a particularly good thing to focus on.

I was getting passed by a lot of runners now, which added to my mental struggle. I hadn’t been passed much for the whole race, but now that we were nearing the home stretch, other runners were picking up their pace, just as I was struggling to maintain my own. I knew this part of the course well, since I’ve biked and run countless miles along this stretch of road, and I tried to break it down into smaller pieces in my mind. As runners came past me, I tried to latch onto them for a tow. I calculated the miles to go, and how long that would take at what I guessed was my pace. But try as I might, none of my tricks were working. The throttle was as far forward as it was going to go, and I just had to keep trying.

Some may contend that a finisher’s medal is a reward for mediocrity. To them I say, I beat myself, and that is enough.

I had been looking forward to going down the Springfield Street hill on the way to the finish, as a way to make up a little easy time and pass some people. But with the problems my right foot was having, each step on the downward slope was excruciating, and I barely gained any speed at all. Whatever pace I did pick up didn’t stick with me as the ground leveled out again, and I was back to what was becoming a survival jog.

We passed the one-mile-to-go mark just as we turned back into the gate to the base, and I wanted to kick, but I just couldn’t. I got some water from the final station and tried to pick it up, tried to talk my body into some sort of acceleration, but my body wasn’t answering the phone. In a way, it was a satisfying feeling, because it meant I had put in everything I had to this point, and I wasn’t leaving anything on the table. But racers race, and I wanted to pass some people before this thing was over!

I was in the loop now, the 3/4 mile finishing area that takes you between the Air Force Museum’s outdoor display aircraft and thousands of cheering fans. I saw Bonnie, an old family friend and my second mom, and she cheered me on as I rounded the final corner. Finally, my body responded to my demands for more speed, and my stride lengthened. It wasn’t much, but I was kicking now, and passing people on the way to the line and picking up steam.

More for my growing collection!

The familiar euphoria of the finish overwhelmed me as I reached the line, and exploded over me when I saw the clock. I felt like I had slowed so much since losing the pacer that I would be lucky to beat my PR at all, but the clock showed me finishing in 1:52, and my chip time would be faster still! I did it, and in grand fashion! The child inside me leapt for joy even as the grown man around him wanted to cry. I slowed to a stop, dumbfounded at the performance I had just completed.

Katie was there at the finish, and she was as emotional as I was. We shared a long, sweaty kiss over the barriers, and her eyes shined at me to underline her words, that she was so proud of me. I laughed the breathless laugh of a man who has cheated death, collected my medal from the throng of officers, grabbed some recovery drinks, and wandered into the crowds of victors to bask in the glow of an unbelievable personal victory.

This same race last year was my first ever half marathon. I had trained hard for it all year, slowly increasing my distances, fighting through injuries, and learning by my mistakes. Last year, I had exceeded my expectations and finished in 2:17:43, which satisfied me entirely. This year I finished in 1:51:49, an improvement of nearly twenty-six minutes! That’s an eternity that I feel represents the hours and miles I’ve done in the year between. It’s a reward for hard work, but one so rich that it’s hard to feel anything but awed and humbled. I am a very blessed person.

263 – The Race That Never Happened

Events, Running No Responses »

Sep 202013

A finisher’s medal for a race that never started.

It would seem I was granted a bit of a reprieve.

Depending on your perspective, the weather conspired either for or against me tonight. I ate well and stayed loose all day, in anticipation of racing, then refueling and going to bed. I haven’t run on back to back days in a long, long time, but I was fairly sure that if I went easy for the 5k, I’d still be able to turn in a respectable finish for the Half tomorrow.

Then it got cloudy. Really cloudy. A look at the radar revealed an absolute monster of a storm front coming up from the Gulf of Mexico, which threatened to soak the whole weekend. Just what I wanted, right? Not only would I have back to back races to contend with, but now I would get to do them with soggy feet.

I showed up to the Nutter Center early and sat in the truck, checking the radar on my phone. It looked ugly, and sure enough it started to rain as soon as I parked. Then it started to pour. Then there was thunder. After about 20 minutes, it let up some, and I jogged from my truck to the arena to be nearer to the race start.

About five thousand runners were wandering around the arena. Their bibs told me they were also there for the 5k, and the looks on their faces told me that they were looking forward to it about as much as I was. I ran into a buddy of mine and we sat in the stands to wait, trading jokes and people watching.

A voice came over the PA five minutes after the race was scheduled to start, telling us that the race had been delayed, and to remain in the arena for further instructions. Captain Obvious repeated this message periodically for the next ten or fifteen minutes, before finally confirming what we all suspected. The race was cancelled on account of the weather, particularly the lightning in the vicinity. But we were all welcome to head to the arena floor to collect our finishers’ medals!

I thought it was silly at first, but I did pay for the thing. Why not take home the medal? I’ve earned medals in a few races that I didn’t stick around to collect, so on balance I suppose it works out.

In all, the 5k being cancelled is news as mixed as the weather. On the one hand, I’m off the hook for racing twice in a weekend. On the other hand, there went my excuse for not turning in a PR tomorrow…

The only race going on this night was the race to get out of here.

262 – Two Bibs

Events, Running No Responses »

Sep 192013

Two is better than one? Guess we’ll find out…

Early registrations can be a dangerous thing.

Back in January, in the heart of the offseason, registration for the Air Force Marathon weekend opened. They offer a pretty significant discount if you register on 1 January, the first day it’s available, and I wanted to take advantage, so I registered that day for the 5k and the half marathon.

Why two races, you ask? Well, let me tell you about January. In January, I was invincible. I hadn’t run a step in a month, I was eating as I pleased and lifting whenever I wanted, and was seeing substantial gains in the weight room. I was in that utopian limbo where nothing hurt from last season any more, and the real work of the next season hadn’t yet started. The sky was the limit, as far as my ambition was concerned, and so long as I kept working at it, there was positively no reason I couldn’t run a 5k on a Friday night, and then turn around and run a half marathon the next morning!

That was January, and this is September, and now I am not so sure this was a great idea. A long, hard season of running, riding, racing and crashing has left me a little battered and bruised. My joints are complaining at the constant demand with increasing volume and frequency, and I’m developing a very familiar relationship with my bottle of Advil.

Still, there’s not much I can do about it. I signed up for both races to prove that I could do it, and now it’s time to find out if I really can. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel just a little bit like a badass, picking up two different bibs at the Expo this afternoon. Ask me Saturday at lunch if I still feel the same.

It’s sort of a big event.

240 – Podium Girls

Events, Mountain Biking 1 Response »

Aug 282013

My niece and I, getting warmed up pre-race.

Tonight was the final round of the MVMBA Fast Laps series, but for my niece Hannah, it was a first. She’s had a lot of firsts this season, from running track, to racing in a triathlon, and now racing her mountain bike. As much progress as I’ve made this year, she’s made heaps more, and is only going to get loads better for the next several years. Watching her take on new challenges is a bit like watching a nuclear explosion from a distance.

I’ve taken her mountain biking a couple times before, and she’s done well each time. On the Sunday afternoon after the six hour, my buddy Tom and I took Hannah and his daughter Grace, along with my neighbor kid Gage to John Bryan for a little practice for them, and some recovery for us. Both the girls had decided they wanted to race on Wednesday, so we figured at least one lap of the race course will be a good idea before they tried it “for real.”

Come Wednesday, the girls were ready, and so was I. This was my last shot to turn in a really good time, and judging from the times from the previous two weeks, I was in with a shout at the podium, if I cranked out a real scorcher.

The trails could not have been more perfect. The weather had finally stayed dry enough, long enough that all the mud patches were gone. Better still, Mark and the trail crew had put in some serious repair work on a badly rutted section of Frankenlight just before the six hour, and the hundreds of laps turned in at that race had worn the fresh dirt in nicely.

I was all-in for this race. It was to be a 100% effort or a crash, and nothing in between. I double checked the bike stem to stern, lowered my tire pressures as low as I dared (26/28 psi) for extra grip, and warmed up lightly but thoroughly. At the last moment, a storm cloud rolled over the park, threatening to scuttle the whole affair and dimming the already sketchy light under the canopy in the woods. I switched to clear lenses on my glasses to account for the light, and scolded the storm to go elsewhere. It listened, and we stayed dry.

Despite having just raced the six hour on Saturday, I was surprisingly loose and fresh. My hamstrings were a little tight from yoga, but nothing too awful. I rolled up to the line feeling confident, and hit the opening sprint with easy speed, enjoying the sensation of racing without a pack again.

Did I mention that the trails were in awesome shape? This was JB the way it was meant to be ridden; fast, flowy and with almost endless grip. I carved through Abracadabra with glee, carrying so much more corner speed than I was used to that it was almost dangerous. I hit one jump substantially faster than normal, and nearly locked up both brakes trying to make the right turn that comes just after. The trails were fast.

The rest of the lap was a blur. I hammered what needed to be hammered, flowed what needed to be flowed, and carried speed in parts of the trail that normally slow me down a lot. I came up behind my friend Julie and another female rider just as we reached the tight section of Great Scott that I call The Thicket, but instead of slowly picking my way through, we bombed through it like I never knew you could. As the trail opened up into Frankenlight after that, I passed the girls and dropped the hammer again, looking down at one point to see 24 mph on the speedo!

After the day-long sufferfest on Saturday, it felt like this lap was over so, so quickly. I busted out the last couple climbs out of the saddle, stomping on the pedals with everything I had, burning legs and gasping lungs be damned. After the last few jumps, I punched out of the woods and across the line, satisfied even before I caught my breath that I had put in my fastest lap ever. I was right, as I had crossed the line in 45:00.6, nearly two minutes faster than the week before, and a full four minutes faster than the same course last year! It wasn’t quite enough for the podium though, as I was a mere 32 seconds slower than third place, and only 2:20 off the sport class winner. Even better than my improvement on my own time was that I had pulled back 1:46 from the class winner both last week and tonight, which is a surer sign of progress.

Before I could even begin to be bummed at missing my own podium though, I saw that our girls had made theirs! Hannah and Grace raced and giggled their way to a 1-2 finish, crossing the line together, but a minute apart on the clock. They both had a blast, and neither can wait to do it again. Now that’s what I call a successful race!

The winners!

236 – Metric Six

Events, Mountain Biking 1 Response »

Aug 242013

The madness that is a LeMans-style start.

I think that if a race prep went completely smoothly, I wouldn’t know what to think. The night before the John Bryan 6 Hour, I had a near disaster. Those of you who know me well know that I have… a problem with sunglasses. I keep losing them, and leaving them, and having to buy more. I’ve probably bought 20 pair of sunglasses in the last three years. It’s a little obscene. Well, after Fast Laps last week, I set my brand new pair of Tifosi frames on the back of somebody’s car as I was trying to catch my breath, and never picked them up. I thought I had put them back in their case, but when I was getting everything together on Friday night, they weren’t there. I just about lost my mind trying to find them, tearing apart the house, the truck, the garage.

Fortunately, some kind soul had picked them up after the race and turned them in to the race directors, who had them waiting for me on Saturday morning. Crisis averted!

Race prep in the early morning.

My new friend Erik and I rolled into JB early, and took our time setting up our pit. We ended up with a 4-top of EZ-ups, sharing the space with Tom, Jason, Kent, Kelly, Aaron and Katie (Carney, not my wife). After I got my glasses back, I felt like the rest of the day was a victory, no matter how the race went! We all went quietly about our business, getting dressed, checking tire pressures, snugging bolts, munching pre-race snacks and warming up gently. Erik and I were the only ones in our combined pit who were going to ride the whole race solo, but our approaches were different. Erik is a very experienced cyclist with a 12 hour race already under his belt, and so appeared totally relaxed. Whereas I am a relative newbie, just dipping my toes in the water of endurance racing for the first time this season, and so was fussing and fretting about all sorts of details.

All at once, it was time to get lined up, and nearly 100 riders rolled over to the start area, laid their bikes at the line and walked the 50 yards back to the start. The JB 6-Hour features a LeMans-style start, which serves both to add a bit of drama and spread the riders out before they hit the singletrack. During the pre-race announcements, I thought I heard Dan, one of the race directors, say that whatever lap you had finished when the time was up was the most laps you would get. That surprised me, because it was a departure from last year, when you could start a lap right up until the last second, and it would count. This will become important later.

The start itself went well enough, although I probably let a few too many people past me. Knowing that I had a long day on the bike ahead of me, I didn’t exactly sprint to my bike, and wasn’t interested in setting any records on the mile-long drag race to the entrance of Abracadabra. But once we were on Abra, I was all over the back of a whole line of riders, and nobody was letting anybody past for the first mile or so. There was finally a little shuffling in the last half mile, and I picked up a few places from guys who were apparently a little uncomfortable with riding near trees.

Picking my way through Powerline

Once we finished Abra we hooked left, back onto Arboretum. There were a couple Double Track Heroes, guys I had already passed who had serious trouble with the tight singletrack sections, but wanted to show how good they were at sprinting once we were out on the jeep road. I rolled my eyes as they came steaming past, knowing I’d just have to pass them again on Powerline, where the trees are, in places, even tighter than Abra. Another line of riders stacked up, and it took me nearly all the way through Powerline to get through seven or eight riders and get some clear trail ahead of me, a task made more complicated when two of them inexplicably crashed on a muddy, but straight section of trail.

After all that sorted out, the first lap was good old fashioned MTB fun. I was riding loose, jumping everything and just having fun. I wasn’t in a sprint race for once, so while I was riding with purpose, I wasn’t beating myself to death on every hill and out of every corner. Despite the frustration, being stuck in traffic actually allowed me to relax more than I have in a bike race before, and it was pretty fun. I felt light, and so did the bike, and we sailed off the jumps with uncharacteristic ease. It’s amazing how relaxing can change your riding.

My cycle computer decided that it’d be a great day to act up, for some reason. I noticed it was only reading intermittently, and would sit at zero for nearly a minute at a time. I was aggravated at first, but decided it didn’t really matter that much anyway. Strava was running on my phone, and the laps were a measured distance anyway, so I could get the numbers I wanted later.

I finished the first lap (including the start chute) in a modest but respectable 1:04:11. Mentally, it felt like it was over very quickly, but I didn’t want to get too excited too early, so I swigged from my electrolyte bottle, slurped down a Stinger gel, and got my mind set for my second lap, where I expected to ride more my own pace.

Get up!

Lap two was down to business. I dialed in a pace I felt was realistic, working to maintain momentum up the rises but not killing myself on the flats and declines. I spent a couple miles stuck behind a few teenaged riders who couldn’t or wouldn’t make room for me to pass, which was frustrating, but I was trying to remain strategically patient.

Outside of those few kids, the course was largely without the traffic I had to deal with on the first lap. I was able to concentrate on the trail, taking mental notes for future laps. I concentrated on flow, on not charging when I didn’t need to, and pedaling efficiently. Mostly, I concentrated on concentrating, which is the hardest task in any endurance race, particularly one in which you spend so much time by yourself. It’s very easy to get distracted, to let your mind wander or just stop thinking about what you’re doing. On the road, that generally leads to you getting lazy, letting your pace and cadence drop. In the woods, that can lead to you pinging your head off a tree, and that would make an already long day substantially longer.

I cleared lap two in 1:02:02, which was pretty satisfying, since I had set 1:08 as my mental target. Both of my opening two laps had been well under that, and while I didn’t anticipate maintaining quite that pace for the whole race, it put me in the right part of the curve.

Toward the end of lap two, my lower back started aching, a rare occurrence on a bicycle, for me. I had stopped in to the chiropractor the day before, thinking a quick adjustment would be just the ticket for me to stay comfortable on the bike all day. In retrospect, I should’ve gone at least two days before the race, to let everything heal up more completely before subjecting it to that kind of abuse.

By the end of the lap, I was suffering far more than I should have been so early in the race, so when I pitted (as planned), I took a few extra seconds to take some ibuprofen. I swapped out my bottle, munched on a little food and headed back out, trying to remain optimistic that the next two laps would be as relatively easy as my first two.

On lap three, my lower back started to feel better, but my upper back was a touch worse. I was starting to wonder what I was doing out there, beating myself up, running solo, while almost all of my friends were running on a team. Seeing my friends in our pit had had an unexpectedly depressive effect on my psyche, like a parched man watching someone else drink a glass of water. It was entirely too early to be getting that down on myself, but the pain in my back had taken the glow of perfection off the day. When that happens in an endurance race, it’s all too easy to lose your mojo entirely.

Churning through, mid-race.

I fought back, reminding myself that I was in the middle of completing one of the goals I had set for myself for the year, and that whatever happened, I would finish. While it’s always my goal to do as well as I am able, the first time I take on a new race of any kind, the biggest goal is to finish. That’s how I approached my first half marathon last year, and the Death March this year taught me just how important that goal can be.

So I went about my business as well as I could, letting off the throttle a little bit, and trying to relax my back whenever I was able. But when I got to the long, gentle climb on Frankenlight, I didn’t have any power to keep my speed up. My legs weren’t hurting yet, but neither did they have the juice to push too hard. The climb, which is really more like a false flat, sapped my pace hard, and I limped along pathetically for a half mile before I could get some speed back.

Lap three was over in 1:15:01, including several minutes for my first pit stop. I was still more or less on pace, but the jump in time was worrying. I hoped that I could at least maintain for the next lap.

By my fourth lap, I was in a regular dialog with The Blerch. My back and neck were starting to get painfully stiff and sore, and I was using every trick I knew to mentally pull myself back to the pits, where I could have a break and a short rest. I wanted so badly to sit down and relax, to take off my sweaty kit and get in a cool shower, or just to eat some real food instead of gels and electrolyte water. I wanted to go chill with my friends, who were apparently having much more fun than I was, riding on relay teams and relaxing while their teammates were out riding. All thoughts of the glory of a personal victory were gone now, and all there was in my head was the battle between the desire to quit, and the desire to survive to the finish.

I’ve been to this place in my mind before, of course. Through the several endurance events I’ve done this year, I’ve become familiar with it, but not friendly. In retrospect, it is a part of each long race I remember most clearly and yet not at all, because I am fully involved in the fight in my head, even while my bike is winding its way through the woods. It is a place of raw emotion that, while created by physical sensation, drowns it out almost entirely.

Suffering, but rolling smooth nonetheless.

The only way out of that hole is distraction, and so I went to my old standby, mental math. Trying to calculate how far I’d gone, and how far I had to go, and what my average speed was, and what it needed to be, and how many minutes per mile, and all of that. Doing so got my mind off of my suffering and reassured me that I was going plenty fast enough, so long as I just kept going. Besides, since I wouldn’t get credit for a sixth lap, as I had planned on doing for the weeks leading up to the race, I only had one more lap to do after this, and then I’d be done.

Lap 4 was over in 1:08:55, surprisingly on target, despite all my struggling.

Katie (my wife, not Carney) was there when I got back to the pit, and helped me get reloaded and refueled. Just seeing her was enough to lift my spirits and restore my focus and optimism. I realized that I was still ahead of Erik, and made up my mind that, while I knew he was catching me, I was going to stay ahead of him to the finish. He rolled into our pit only a few minutes behind me, so I got rested and ready as fast as I could, and then jumped on my bike and headed out for the last time, ready to leave it all out there on a final, frantic lap.

I rode hard, as hard as my body would let me. In several places, the trail reverses on itself, and I could see Erik’s yellow jersey through the trees, gaining on me. I put in everything I had, tried to roll through corners as fast as possible, picking efficient lines to keep my pace up. The bike was working perfectly, as it had all day, and I tried to repay it by riding well. By the end of the lap I was thoroughly used up, and I crossed the line too exhausted to sprint, and rolled back to my pit. I had managed to stay ahead of Erik by a mere 44 seconds, finishing my fifth and final lap in 1:15:54, including my second pit stop.

But as I came to a stop, people started asking me if I was going out for a sixth lap! What sixth lap? The clock was already at 5:46! It turns out that I (and a few other riders) had misunderstood the pre-race announcements, and the rule was whatever lap you started before the clock ran out would be your last lap. I was in shock. I had just completely drained whatever reserves I had left, trying to stay ahead of Erik and put in a good last lap, and now they were saying I could do one more, and hit my goal?

I looked at Katie, mouth hanging open in disbelief at my error. Erik rolled back into the pit and called me to go with him, but I just couldn’t. I was exhausted, in pain, out of juice, and just didn’t want to go any more. At the risk of feeling like I was quitting, I made the hard decision to hang it up for the day with 5 laps done and time left on the clock. I hated that decision. The next ten minutes were an eternity, while I sat in the pits and sipped water, watching the clock run out to finalize my decision. A few of my friends urged me to rest a little and go out with 5 minutes left, just to get that last lap, but I just didn’t want it. I felt like I had used myself up on my fifth lap, and to go out and struggle through one more was more than I could contemplate.

In the final count, I finished tenth of twenty in the solo men’s class, completing five laps in a total clock time of 5:46:04 and covering some 62.7 miles. Going out for another lap would have netted me another two positions, but I still would’ve been miles from the podium. In terms of goals, I did manage to tick two out of three boxes for the day, both in finishing the 6 hour race solo, and completing a metric century (100 km) on my mountain bike. That’s a big deal for me, since one of my goals next year is to do a 100 mile mountain bike race, and 100 kms is a big stepping stone for that. So with mixed emotions, I’ll call my performance a win, with the caveat that I have unfinished business with this race next year.

234 – More Like It

Events, Mountain Biking No Responses »

Aug 222013

Flying! Well, for me, anyway.

Fast Laps #5 was last night at John Bryan, and I’m happy to say that I acquitted myself of last week’s shoddy performance. There were still quite a few wet corners on the course, reinforcing JB’s reputation as a perpetual swamp. I was going to go out and ride Powerline as a warmup, but my buddy Kent talked me into just running through Abracadabra instead, to get a more accurate feel for the course conditions. I’m glad he did, because what I found out was that while some corners were fully muddy but had grip, some of the corners with smaller puddles were pretty greasy, and could catch you out if you went in too hard.

With that in mind, I used my warm up to practice squaring off the corners and firing out, which proved to be a successful (if more tiring) strategy. Remembering the lessons of the previous week, I paid close attention to my prep, thought about what I was going to do, and arrived at the starting line ready to go. I went out hard, knowing that momentum is the key to going fast through the opening stretch of double track, although I still don’t have quite enough juice to sprint the whole thing.

The race was happily uneventful, at least for me. I pushed where I thought I could push and held back in the corners that looked slick, and it paid off. About half of the other racers crashed at least once. Kent managed to crash three times before calling it quits, tossing his bike back into his car and leaving. But I managed to keep the rubber side down for the whole race, using the knowledge gained from my warm up and previous weeks’ training and racing to anticipate which corners could be railed and which required more finesse.

It all paid off when I crossed the line, finishing with a time of 46:54, a full two minutes faster than last week. As important, I pulled back significant time from the riders ahead of me, which means I’m clawing my way toward the podium!

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