A week ago E and I got in a “test set” on the bike trainers inside. It was after work and it was appropriately hard as each interval kept getting shorter and was supposed to be all-out and fast. Then we ate dinner and when I headed for bed, E headed out to work. He didn’t get very far as our second car, which hasn’t been driven much, wouldn’t start. I was floating in and out of sleep, ignorant of all of this, while he cleared space in the garage (which we had just tidied the weekend prior, thankfully) to push the car in and hook it up to the battery charger.
The next morning I woke to a full-blown spring snow storm, grabbed Izzy-dog, and headed out for a tempo run (3 min at ½ marathon pace, 2 min at 10 k pace, repeat for a total of 30 min in a 60 min run). It was dark when we started and very quiet. Slowly we watched the wintry day unfold as our run progressed. The footing was wet, but not too sloppy and not yet icy. It was a great run. Our loop took us over trails and neighborhood roads we are well acquainted with, it felt like running with a comfy familiar friend. The paces were challenging, but do-able. The only thing missing was E. On our last effort we were cruising around the Twin Lakes and spotted one of the elusive neighborhood owls – always a treat. Then it was off to work for me. Thankfully the car started on the 3rd try, it would have been a sloppy bike-commute.
During the day on Friday, the storm ended up dumping a bunch of snow, but the temperature never dipped much below 30. E drove home at ~10 am after working all night and said the roads were awful, but by the time I headed home around 5pm, things were quiet and slow but very drivable. The next morning we woke up to 7 F with 14.7 inches of fresh snow and plans to hit the trainers for a 2.5 h over-under LT set.
Less than 9 min later, E was on the phone with work and we soon realized he was going to be heading in to work to deal with a problem that came up overnight. We sneaked in breakfast first at Dot’s Diner in NW Boulder, but the planned Costco trip (to make up for last week’s uber-fast spree through the store for essentials) would have to wait. I was probably going to be on my own for the day, without any new movie or TV show DVDs from Costco for my bike ride, either. I got some laundry started in the washer, did a few other chores, then started to prep for the trainer ride. As I was filling my water bottles up at the kitchen sink, I looked outside and saw the brilliant sun on the snow. It was only ~37 F, but they were predicting highs in the 50’s for the day. And it was sunny. I made the immediate decision to ride outside that day on the cross bike. I figured the over-under sets would work fine on the road, and the cross bike, especially on the road, would handle any residual road-gunk (sand, water, etc.) from the storm just fine.
The decision to ride outside was one of the best choices I have made in a very long time. The roads were clear. The sun was strongly shining. The air was fresh and clear (no brown cloud!).What I chose to wear, however, was one of my worst recent choices. I donned a buff for the head/ears, a long sleeve undershirt, fleecy bib-knickers, low socks, mountain bike shoes, and a fleecy team jacket. It was sunny, and supposed to get up into the 50’s. I was all set and I looked good, but soon was freezing. Luckily, I grabbed my overmitts for the hands, but the bare skin on the legs was causing my feet to freeze. I had been too lazy to throw a waterbottle cage onto the bike, so two jacket pockets were being used for bottles. The third pocket was used to hold my phone and other goodies that I always carry, including a bit of food. This left no room for my “spare” tights, which I left at home. At ~ 50 minutes, I stopped and put hand warmer packets in the toes of my shoes, but there was never enough air flow there for them to really start heating. At ~ 90 minutes I stopped at a park to use the unheated pit-toilet and spent a few moments in sun with each shoe off rubbing my toes and massaging the blood back into my feet. Then it was off to hit the intervals, which went well. Afterwards, I was thinking about the Clif recovery hot-chocolate waiting in the cupboard at home as the temp had never risen much above 40 F. That and a few cups of tea and I was back to normal. The rest of the day was spent making cookies, starting a batch of granola, and washing more laundry.
Sunday I did a mini triathlon. Again I was training solo. The big item on the docket was the run of the day, but before I could get to that, a swim and bike needed to get done. I got organized, which took longer than expected, and headed over to Flatiron Athletic Club, which would be my transition zone for the day. I jumped in the pool for a 40 min straight swim just in time to complete the effort before Jane Scott’s Master’s class would start. The 40 minute straight swim can get boring but I did my best to spice it up by imagining myself swimming open water back in Sullivan Lake in NNWW Washington state (that is not a typo, Sullivan Lake is about as North and West in Washington state as you can get, roughly 10 miles from both Canada and Idaho). I also broke it into 300 m segments, which were taking roughly 5 minutes each, before I’d check my running time on the watch.
Then it was out of the pool and into bike gear. This time I brought tights and overbooties for the legs and feet. I was dressed perfectly for my preferences, even though this day I saw many more riders than on Saturday, and many of then wearing shorts or kneewarmers only with some exposed leg (I was the only fool with bare skin the day before, even if it was less than 8 inches per leg). I tooled around to the east and south of Boulder, areas we rarely ride. The fresh snow made all of the mountains look very spectacular, it was a beautiful ride. It did have some tempo pieces, though, so not all at “Scenic Sunday Drive” pace. I also included and interval up The Wall, made famous in American Flyers and a bit of recon on the bottom dirt section of the Koppenberg Circuit Race course which is scheduled for this next weekend. It was smooth and firm and rode very well and fast with the cross bike, at least up to the first wooden bridge where I turned back around. Then I got to ride downhill Marshall Road, to the west. This has to be one of my favorite roads in the whole county, it is peaceful and scenic.
Soon I was back in Boulder, off the bike, and changing into running gear. The weather was getting very nice, but I had only packed running pants for the day. I ditched my undershirt and ran in just a long-sleeve technical t-shirt. Armed with 24 oz of drink (carbopro and nuun) I headed east and south back towards the Koppenberg course. This time I inspected the top portion. The paved road was sandy, but is chip-sealed, so most of the sand was trapped in the chip-seal and not moving around (this should make it pretty safe for the bike race). The dirt portion on the top was slightly damp, but firm and smooth, not tacky. I was doing 20 min race pacing, but paused the 2nd effort to do some course inspection of The Hill. Goodness, it was slick. I was off on the side (it would be the right side if you were coming up the hill) in the “grass” but it was all I could do to not slip and fall and get sucked into the mud forevermore as a fossilized triathlete. Off on the left side of the “road” portion there was a full-bore river raging, draining all of the snow melt off the mesa top. Even though the roads were drying out nicely, the hill was a soupy, gloppy mess. I carefully picked my way back up to the top, then found a sturdy weed to dig the mud out of my treads before resuming the run. By the end, I had a stellar run in the bag. The day brought ~ 5 hours of solid training, but I was pooped and in need of some more fluids (24 oz was maybe half of what I needed for that run, oops!). A full Nalgene bottle of drink, 24 oz bottle of water, and a 15 minute sauna later and I felt like $1,000,000. One thing of note: I had my first road-rage trash hurled at me when a red-neck pick up truck threw their gas station soda pop cup at me. It was a Big Gulp, I think. They must have sensed my need for more fluids! Luckily their aim was poor and they missed their target: my head.
Once home E and I swung out for a nice dinner at Café Blue before he headed back to work at ~6:30 pm. Once I was on my own, I called family, walked Izzy, used the NormaTec, and finished making the granola before hitting the hay.
Monday we carpooled in to work. I was planning to start up my big project at work, but was delayed due to the equipment needed more cleaning. I biked home from work and then headed out for an easy run with Izzy. It was windy, but warm and nice to be outside. My body was starting to feel the work form Sunday. All Sunday I felt great. Strong. Fit. Etc, etc. Monday was a challenge. Things were tight and sore, but it the way that lets you know you worked hard, not in an injured way.
Tuesday I headed off to swim while E got some more sleep (he worked most of the night again). Then another major storm blew in, this time dumping 11.6 inches of wet, wet snow. I was supposed to get in some hill climbs on the bike, but the weather was not going to allow that. I kept trying to talk myself into simulating the efforts on the trainer, but there was no hiding the fatigue in my body. With many folks out sick at work and with plenty of work stress from my about-ready-to-start project, I decided to skip the bike or wait for another day. E and I took a much needed night to cook together and veg a bit on the couch.
Yesterday my project’s start was again delayed, so I headed home at a normal time, while E was still at work working on a newly surfaced problem, and took Izzy for the Long Run of the week (short this week, it is a rest week). I could have used a bit more clothes, and headlamp by the end, but it was another really, really good run. And no fatigue (I think skipping Tuesday’s bike was a good call, even if it was a hard one to make, I don’t like to skip workouts AT ALL).
Today the plan at work was to start bright and early at 7am. I begged off being here until after the swim. I figured get in a little “me time” when there would be other folks to cover that part of the start and then I’d be willing to be here as long as it takes to get things rolling along today. A snafu with a newly installed piece of equipment had us trouble shooting most of the morning. But now we are back on. It’s go time, and, well, I gotta go. Later.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
E's About 7 Weeks Out to St George
With just under 7 weeks to St George and less than a week until some big projects start at work promise to lead to some crazy times at the Rydholm household. But, we'll manage. We hope.
We've switched some workouts around due to potential work constraints and that led to the longest ride of the year this past weekend on a beautiful, classic Colorado kind of day. Our longest swim of the year (5.1 k) was done under skies that went from partly cloudy to completely overcast on Sunday morning.
The biggest challenge of the weekend was getting most of our Costco shopping done in 10 minutes after finding out that the store closed much earlier than expected.
For me, the most humorous point was hearing A through the wall ask Josh whether he dislocated her shoulder when we were at Tri-Massage.
Time to make dinner for A...
Eric
Friday, March 5, 2010
The next phase of Progression
February has now ended, and with it the Olympics have opened and closed, the last glass has been raised for stout month, and another Mt. Taylor Winter Quadrathlon has been completed. We got in a good block of training, and enjoyed life.
Now March is upon us and it seems like more than just the flipping of another page in the calendar. Our workouts have more purpose and focus (and are longer in duration!), and free time is getting tighter as both E and I have work obligations ramping up. The athletic focus is Ironman St. George. The work focus is projects that will finally be going Big Time, requiring us, the engineers, to provide technical support to the other staff running the manufacturing-scale equipment (this is just a little stressful, but also exciting to see our projects move into their next phase of progression).
All this has me thinking. Actually, it started a few weeks ago after Mt. Taylor and while the Olympics were still going on, I just haven’t had time to sit and reflect enough on it yet to get something composed enough to post here, but I digress.
Anyways, lately I have been thing about progression and growth. It fist started after Mt. Taylor was done and I noticed the close groupings of my finish times. Each year has its own story (the first year when I was only a few months out from peaking for agegroup worlds in Cancun, the year I got food poisoning AND forgot my bike shoes, the big-headwind-on-the-bike-down year, the “let’s try the ski up with no skins” year, the year of the new bike, etc.) yet all but 2 of the 7 finishes have me finishing within an 11 minute span that falls between 4:41 and 4:52. And I really want to be consistently under 4:30, which I have only done once, and just barely. Despite this fixation on a 4:30 finish time, I have not significantly changed my training, preparations, or mindset going into the race since year 2 (the goal year 1 was to finish and scope it all out). I want to “play with the big girls” without doing the work to move up to their level.
And that, my friends, is the problem: I keep putting the same “variables” in and expect a different output back.
I am a smart and intelligent person. I would never expect to use the same ingredients in a cooking recipe and get a tastier result. I would never expect to run the same chemical process at work and have a better yield or faster cycle time. Why, then, am I expecting to show up to Mt. Taylor with a good fitness base but no real hill climbing work, no snowshoe races, no change in training volume, effort, or composition (ratios of hard, easy, long, etc.) and expect to magically be 15-25 minutes faster than I always have been? Since the mountain is not getting shorter, less steep, or closer to Grants, NM, the only way I will race faster is if I get stronger, faster, smarter, or fitter. None of these changes come from wishing for them, they come with harder and smarter training.
This was a rough realization for me. I honestly had been thinking why can’t I break out of this mold and race faster at the Quad? I did the same things I’ve done every other year, and…… Oh. Yeah……Right. Guess it doesn’t work that way, does it. Well, shoot!
I’m only thankful had this little self-awakening before doing the next 2 ironmans, for that is something where I am also no newby yet feel like I have not yet reached my fullest potential. And so, with this little gem of knowledge re-learned, I continue on my athletic journey. A journey with a jam-packed 2010!
To keep focused and on track as this busy year progresses, I need to stay keenly aware of the fact that it doesn’t get any easier. The training, the personal choices and sacrifices needed to reach a challenging athletic goal all get harder to do as the bar is raised to a higher, better, faster goal. Exponentially so. Just to achieve past success takes a bit more effort, so any improvement will always require lots of creativity and hard work.
With that sobering, thought, I am ready to proclaim I AM READY. And I don’t mean maybe.
I am taking rest and recovery seriously this year (that almost seems like I’m showing my age, but faster, longer, harder doesn’t cut it anymore, I am no longer a twenty-something…..). I am making true efforts to make our healthy diet even healthier (tonight’s crock-pot dinner of red cabbage, sweet potatoes, apples, vinegar, and summer sausage is colorful, from scratch (except for the sausage), and anti-oxidant rich). I am willing to get on the trainer any night the schedule says to (we finally made peace sometime in February, the trainer and I), but I am also trying to hit target workout times right on the nose, no extras. I’m getting good sleep. I’m scheduling regular massage and supplementing that with good home-care. And I’m dreaming big, excited by the challenge, ready for the journey.
This brings me to my second reflection point of February: why I am an athlete and why I race. I started thinking about this during the Olympics when a high-school friend from long ago mentioned on facebook that she has the hardest time watching the Olympics, or any sporting events, because she finds it heartbreaking to watch people’s life-long dreams shattered in a split second if things go wrong.
While I think she has a point (there is no do-over in the Olympics, no insurance that if you Try Hard you will have Success, no assurance that you won’t get hurt), I also think she has completely missed the point. When an athlete shows up to the Olympics, or to any major event for them, they don’t bring their B-game. They bring their A-game. Something they have thought about, dreamed about, trained for, sacrificed for. Along the way they have grown and changed, shaped by the challenge before them. If the stakes are high enough, they might be a bit nervous, but also in awe of the opportunity they have had to grow, change, challenge, learn new things about themselves and what they are mentally and physically capable of, and now humbled by the opportunity to compete and further test and challenge themselves.
Yes, only one person wins the Olympics. They do not give out finisher’s medals, you have to be top-three to get hardware there. While everyone stating each competition might feel they are worthy of a medal, only 3 people will come away with one. And that can be heartbreaking. But rarely is it will-breaking. Even in defeat, we saw Olympians who were gracious, honorable, and continuing in their journey of learning and self discovery. And when it matters most, like at the Olympics, is when we give the most of ourselves. Todd Ludwig’s performance during the first Nordic Combined race was a classic example. This man had come out of retirement for these games because the US had a chance to finally medal in a sport where they have long lingers at the fringes. During the race he worked hard at the front while the lead pack drafted off of his efforts. In the final sprint to the finish, he ended up forth and was clearly frustrated that he had no medal to show for his enormous effort. Yet his teammate, Johnny Spillane, had hung with him and earned the US its first Olympic Nordic Combined (silver) Medal. And now the bar has been raised and more work will be needed to compete with the best in the world....
Bottom line? This is not a pony-ride, folks. You don’t expect to put in your penny and bob up and down for a few minutes while the music plays, and then have that very thing happen. To dream big, to risk big, is risky business. It can be very rewarding. It can be very disappointing. But, to me at least, it is also very life-giving. Taking that risk is hard, but the journey is oh so very worth it.
Here’s to hoping you all have something worth taking the risk for. Dream big….
-A
Now March is upon us and it seems like more than just the flipping of another page in the calendar. Our workouts have more purpose and focus (and are longer in duration!), and free time is getting tighter as both E and I have work obligations ramping up. The athletic focus is Ironman St. George. The work focus is projects that will finally be going Big Time, requiring us, the engineers, to provide technical support to the other staff running the manufacturing-scale equipment (this is just a little stressful, but also exciting to see our projects move into their next phase of progression).
All this has me thinking. Actually, it started a few weeks ago after Mt. Taylor and while the Olympics were still going on, I just haven’t had time to sit and reflect enough on it yet to get something composed enough to post here, but I digress.
Anyways, lately I have been thing about progression and growth. It fist started after Mt. Taylor was done and I noticed the close groupings of my finish times. Each year has its own story (the first year when I was only a few months out from peaking for agegroup worlds in Cancun, the year I got food poisoning AND forgot my bike shoes, the big-headwind-on-the-bike-down year, the “let’s try the ski up with no skins” year, the year of the new bike, etc.) yet all but 2 of the 7 finishes have me finishing within an 11 minute span that falls between 4:41 and 4:52. And I really want to be consistently under 4:30, which I have only done once, and just barely. Despite this fixation on a 4:30 finish time, I have not significantly changed my training, preparations, or mindset going into the race since year 2 (the goal year 1 was to finish and scope it all out). I want to “play with the big girls” without doing the work to move up to their level.
And that, my friends, is the problem: I keep putting the same “variables” in and expect a different output back.
I am a smart and intelligent person. I would never expect to use the same ingredients in a cooking recipe and get a tastier result. I would never expect to run the same chemical process at work and have a better yield or faster cycle time. Why, then, am I expecting to show up to Mt. Taylor with a good fitness base but no real hill climbing work, no snowshoe races, no change in training volume, effort, or composition (ratios of hard, easy, long, etc.) and expect to magically be 15-25 minutes faster than I always have been? Since the mountain is not getting shorter, less steep, or closer to Grants, NM, the only way I will race faster is if I get stronger, faster, smarter, or fitter. None of these changes come from wishing for them, they come with harder and smarter training.
This was a rough realization for me. I honestly had been thinking why can’t I break out of this mold and race faster at the Quad? I did the same things I’ve done every other year, and…… Oh. Yeah……Right. Guess it doesn’t work that way, does it. Well, shoot!
I’m only thankful had this little self-awakening before doing the next 2 ironmans, for that is something where I am also no newby yet feel like I have not yet reached my fullest potential. And so, with this little gem of knowledge re-learned, I continue on my athletic journey. A journey with a jam-packed 2010!
To keep focused and on track as this busy year progresses, I need to stay keenly aware of the fact that it doesn’t get any easier. The training, the personal choices and sacrifices needed to reach a challenging athletic goal all get harder to do as the bar is raised to a higher, better, faster goal. Exponentially so. Just to achieve past success takes a bit more effort, so any improvement will always require lots of creativity and hard work.
With that sobering, thought, I am ready to proclaim I AM READY. And I don’t mean maybe.
I am taking rest and recovery seriously this year (that almost seems like I’m showing my age, but faster, longer, harder doesn’t cut it anymore, I am no longer a twenty-something…..). I am making true efforts to make our healthy diet even healthier (tonight’s crock-pot dinner of red cabbage, sweet potatoes, apples, vinegar, and summer sausage is colorful, from scratch (except for the sausage), and anti-oxidant rich). I am willing to get on the trainer any night the schedule says to (we finally made peace sometime in February, the trainer and I), but I am also trying to hit target workout times right on the nose, no extras. I’m getting good sleep. I’m scheduling regular massage and supplementing that with good home-care. And I’m dreaming big, excited by the challenge, ready for the journey.
This brings me to my second reflection point of February: why I am an athlete and why I race. I started thinking about this during the Olympics when a high-school friend from long ago mentioned on facebook that she has the hardest time watching the Olympics, or any sporting events, because she finds it heartbreaking to watch people’s life-long dreams shattered in a split second if things go wrong.
While I think she has a point (there is no do-over in the Olympics, no insurance that if you Try Hard you will have Success, no assurance that you won’t get hurt), I also think she has completely missed the point. When an athlete shows up to the Olympics, or to any major event for them, they don’t bring their B-game. They bring their A-game. Something they have thought about, dreamed about, trained for, sacrificed for. Along the way they have grown and changed, shaped by the challenge before them. If the stakes are high enough, they might be a bit nervous, but also in awe of the opportunity they have had to grow, change, challenge, learn new things about themselves and what they are mentally and physically capable of, and now humbled by the opportunity to compete and further test and challenge themselves.
Yes, only one person wins the Olympics. They do not give out finisher’s medals, you have to be top-three to get hardware there. While everyone stating each competition might feel they are worthy of a medal, only 3 people will come away with one. And that can be heartbreaking. But rarely is it will-breaking. Even in defeat, we saw Olympians who were gracious, honorable, and continuing in their journey of learning and self discovery. And when it matters most, like at the Olympics, is when we give the most of ourselves. Todd Ludwig’s performance during the first Nordic Combined race was a classic example. This man had come out of retirement for these games because the US had a chance to finally medal in a sport where they have long lingers at the fringes. During the race he worked hard at the front while the lead pack drafted off of his efforts. In the final sprint to the finish, he ended up forth and was clearly frustrated that he had no medal to show for his enormous effort. Yet his teammate, Johnny Spillane, had hung with him and earned the US its first Olympic Nordic Combined (silver) Medal. And now the bar has been raised and more work will be needed to compete with the best in the world....
Bottom line? This is not a pony-ride, folks. You don’t expect to put in your penny and bob up and down for a few minutes while the music plays, and then have that very thing happen. To dream big, to risk big, is risky business. It can be very rewarding. It can be very disappointing. But, to me at least, it is also very life-giving. Taking that risk is hard, but the journey is oh so very worth it.
Here’s to hoping you all have something worth taking the risk for. Dream big….
-A
Friday, February 26, 2010
E's - 9 weeks out to St George
Swim:
Expect for my still banged up hand, swimming hasn't been too horrible. Some more volume and I'll be fine.
Biking:
It is definitely possible to train for an early season IM when you live in Colorado, but it means checking the weather constantly to see if your long bike is going to be inside or out. Fortunately, the snow we got yesterday didn't amount to anything and tomorrow should be outside.
Otherwise, we got finished with season 3 of Alias this morning on the trainer. I think we are considering getting some of the 24 seasons to get us through March and April. Which seasons are the better ones?
Run:
We hate the treadmill and don't mind snowy trails or roads (except for the possible hand injuries), so the weather hasn't affected our run schedule. It does mess with paces, but considering how hard the St George course will be, I think strength will rule over foot speed.
Nutrition:
Stout month is almost over. General nutrition should improve after that.
Expect for my still banged up hand, swimming hasn't been too horrible. Some more volume and I'll be fine.
Biking:
It is definitely possible to train for an early season IM when you live in Colorado, but it means checking the weather constantly to see if your long bike is going to be inside or out. Fortunately, the snow we got yesterday didn't amount to anything and tomorrow should be outside.
Otherwise, we got finished with season 3 of Alias this morning on the trainer. I think we are considering getting some of the 24 seasons to get us through March and April. Which seasons are the better ones?
Run:
We hate the treadmill and don't mind snowy trails or roads (except for the possible hand injuries), so the weather hasn't affected our run schedule. It does mess with paces, but considering how hard the St George course will be, I think strength will rule over foot speed.
Nutrition:
Stout month is almost over. General nutrition should improve after that.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
E's Mt Taylor Quad 2010 Race Report
So, I've been a little melodramatic on FB about A beating me at the Quad. She has beaten me pretty consistently over the years at the race, but this time I had a real shot. But, I was stupid. I'm getting ahead of myself, so let's start at the beginning.
The Mt Taylor Winter Quadrathlon. Quite simply, 42+ miles of pain and suffering. Although it takes roughly the same time as a half ironman triathlon, the nature of the race is much different. Simply put, you bike, run, ski, and snowshoe from the town of Grants, New Mexico to the top of Mt Taylor. Then, you turn around and snowshoe, ski, run and bike back to Grants. The elevation gain is 4770 ft to the top, starting at a not quite sea level 6500 ft and going to a lung busting 11,300 ft. So, unlike a triathlon were your goal at the start is to pace yourself evenly for the whole race, at the Quad, it starts hard, keeps getting harder, gets even harder, gets freaking hard, gets easier, gets a lot easier, gets harder and gets ?. And you have 6 transitions as well.
Okay, timeout. So far, I've just listed good reasons to NOT race. Why do the race? First, it is the "Ultimate Challenge" according to their brochure. Second, the volunteers are the best. With all of the different transitions, you send up your equipment for the run and ski/snowshoe the night before and then when you get to each transition, the volunteers try their best to get you going to the next leg as fast as possible. Third, the whole feel of the race is awesome. For someone who has gotten tired of the hoopla (and cost) associated with WTC/NAS races, it is really refreshing go to such a homegrown race that is very affordable. And finally, where else can you do a Quadrathlon?
Timeout over. The day before, you send up a bag of running stuff and anything you might want for the bike down to the first transition. You also send up your skis, your snowshoes in a backpack and anything you want for the run down to the second transition. You have to bring your snowshoes up with you on the ski as they can't readily bring them up.
Race start is at 9 am, which is pretty late for us. We got a bit of a run warm up in after getting the bikes ready. Last year, we got some flats while biking to warm up, so we didn't feel like risking that too much and spun around just to check the bikes out.
The bike starts out going up a little hill. I started right behind Amber in the second row. A doofus in the first row almost took us out when he stopped pedaling and swerved left while tightening his toe clips. After that little scare, we got situated into the main pack. Like all of the legs uphill, the bike starts with some elevation gain, but ends with the steep stuff. Once we were out of town, it became really clear that there were going to be tough headwinds for most of the bike. A and I lost the front group after a bit but were able to stay together and draft off each other and a few other guys.
- We interrupt this post as A got her race report out first. So, if you have managed to get through hers and the first part of mine, you have shown enough endurance for the race. But, I'll leave out some of the planned details from now on since she had them. Now back to the post -
Near the top, Jenny S caught back up to us and A did a nice job of jumping on her wheel. I got dropped.
T1 went pretty smoothly and I wasn't too far behind A coming out of transition. I felt pretty good and tried to have a decent turnover. I passed A and ended up going back and forth a bit with Jenny S until it got steep near the end of the run. A was just behind me.
During T2, I got interviewed. I was in good spirits and answered four or five questions. Off to the ski. Started trekking up the ski course and my head was really warm, so I took off my hat and easily put it in a back pocket on my jacket. A bit too easy. Hmmm. Crap, I forgot the backpack with the snowshoes in it. Stupid interview. Head back down the trail. Go by A. Ski around the timing chip mat. Yell for my bag. Get my bag. Take off my poles. Put the backpack on. Put on my poles. Go back out of transition. Head back up the trail. Not sure how long it took, but a crappy way of losing time (and getting passed by A). Rest of the ski was brutal, but at least my legs didn't cramp like normal.
T3 was okay. There is nowhere to sit easily to it always a bit of a pain to switch from ski boots to snowshoes. Up the snowshoe is a hard grind, but is pretty short compared to the run and ski. I saw A in her windbreaker up ahead and wondered how she could wear it without overheating. She saw me without my windbreaker and wondered how I wasn't freezing.
At the top, the call out your name and the woman there asked if A was my wife. I answered yes and said something about catching her.
The snowshoe down went pretty well. The snowblown steep part was a bit difficult. Mind you the last time on snowshoes was Mt. Taylor last year, so some practice couldn't hurt.
T4 was a mess. My area was on a hill and I nearly fell over a bunch of times trying to get my skis on. The ski down was pretty quick, but I did fall once due to the soft conditions.
T5 went fine. I caught one guy on the run, but otherwise it was down right lonely out there. I kept hoping to see A up ahead but she put more time on me on the run.
T6 went smoothly. I had to convince the family helping me that I didn't need a bunch more clothes for the way down. During the decent I actually stopped and tighten the axle of my front wheel as it showed a gap that freaked me out. Otherwise the ride was lonely. Usually, there is a team or two that catch me on the bike as they start an hour behind, but none this year. Almost did get hit by a car that turned into the coned off lane, but there was room in the driving lane to swerve around them.
Well, that's the recap. Not sure about my feelings of the race. Some good parts - felt strong even though we didn't train for the race or taper at all, some bad parts - mental mistake with the snowshoes. Overall, I guess I'm pleased. I guess.
Hope to see YOU in Grants in 2011.
If it snows for IM St. George, we'll be ready......
Today's work out was a toughy. Originally, it was just supposed to be a 4 h (3.5- 4.5 h, to be precise) group ride. Then a 4-day snowstorm moved in, and for safety reasons, it looked like the 4 h group ride was fast becoming a 4 h trainer ride (in hind sight, the temps warmed to just above freezing and the cross bike on the roads probably would have been some good, sloppy, safe fun, bit that was not how it was looking on Thursday). On top of all this, E found out he had to work on Saturday, and thought it would be an 8 am start, so I was going to get to do this solo.
I started freaking out at the thought of riding my trainer, solo, for 4+ hours. Eek! I know there are folks out there doing this kind of thing, but I was overwhelmed by the thought this time around (I think my record is 3 h, but I was in a bit better condition then and had the summer olympics to occupy me, where here the winter olympics coverage would not start until after noon).
Anyway, I emailed coach J and asked what I should do. I mostly wanted to know how to occupy myself on the trainer for 4 h and what to focus on/think about since a "group ride" it was not. What I got back from J was something completely different:
90 min on trainer with 2x20 min at ironman watts
60 min run, building into ironman pace
60 min on trainer with 2x20 min at ironman watts
30 min run, at ironman pace.
This all looked like an abbreviated version of Linsey Corbin's super duper birthday workout from last week. And while it was not 4 h on the trainer, it had me intimidated. About this time, E's work schedule changed, giving me a partner for at least part of this suffer-fest... I mean "growth experience." If we got up early, on a Saturday, that is.
The alarm went off at 5:15 and we were on the trainers not long after (quick breakfast and some drink/gel prep). The legs were stiff and heavy after last night's high RPM/big-gear work. A 30 min warm-up helped get them moving, but that first 20 min piece of ironman-watt work was tough. I was also struggling to get comfy on the bike as my current saddle position feels ready to launch me off the front, requiring a lot of arm, back, and glute strength to stay put.
Soon enough the first bike portion was finished and we were trading sweaty shorts and t-shirts for long-johns, poly-pro tops, jackets, hats, gloves, and screw shoes for the first run. E's hand is still bothering him from his fall a month ago, so I got to hang on to Izzy. We all headed out the door and quickly were settling into ironman-pace (a bit slow from a true pace perspective with the soft footing from the fresh snow, but the effort was in the right spot). Then, right at 15 min into the run, the strangest thing happened (again). I say again simply because it became the norm last year during our bricks for this same thing to happen to me.
No matter how long the bike, 2.5 h, 4 h, today only 1.5 h, the same thing always seemed to happen on the run, and like clock-work, it always seems to hit at 15 min into the run. It is kinda-like a bonk, the legs get heavy and numb, I get groggy and have trouble focusing, there is a very strong desire to lay down and nap, and my hear rate falls off at least 10 beats per minute. I feel helpless when this happens. I try and focus on "quick feet, quick feet" but usually it does not help. Usually, at this point, I take a gel and start to feel better in ~15 minutes. Today, I let E go, then I started to panic, got the gel out of my pocket, but just held onto in in my hand.
At about 22 minutes we met a runner and dog who was off-leash. Izzy sniffed noses and then something switched and they were going at it, having a bit of a tiff. Izzy was "protecting" me, keeping herself between me and the other dog, but that made it very hard to get them separated. The whole thing spiked my heart rate pretty well, but didn't last long. Izzy and I continued on our way, but E had turned back to help us out so the whole family was running together again. And I felt fine. Totally normal. Groggy-heavy-numb feelings were gone. I put the gel away again. I kept a steady, strong sustainable tempo for the rest of the run. My heart rate rose to "normal" for this type of effort, and it felt challenging but sustainable, like an ironman training run should.
What is going on? As this has happened before, often even, I am pretty sure it is not all in my head but is physiological. I also know that I can't will it away by focusing or thinking happy thoughts. But today, I finally saw a glimmer of hope, realizing that if I keep moving and wait it out, it goes away and I can get back to business as usual and run strong, on pace, and with good turnover. Without any gel or calories. Now I just need to figure how to prevent it in the first place.....
The rest of the workout was tough, but not too eventful. E got called in to work right about the 3 h mark (after the 1st ironman-watt segment of the second bike portion) so I continued on solo from there. The last two bike efforts were mentally tough. I am not sure if I am just tired from last night, or what, but I couldn't help wondering "how in the world am I going to ever be able to hit target watts for an entire ironman bike? 20 minutes is tough enough!" Hopefully today helps some growth and development down that pathway, May 1st is coming fast!
The same running phenomenon hit me again during the second run segment, but not until 18 min and not until after my heart rate had risen to "normal" levels for the effort. It took a little longer to work through the second time, but everything did come around again eventually. Two good snow-runs in the books!
Izzy was filthy when we finished, so she got toweled off quickly. Then I jumped in the shower, grabbed some leftovers to heat up, and plopped down in front of the TV for some olympics recovery time in the NormaTec. Unfortunately, the men's 30 k pursuit did not air then, like I had expected. I did get to see some interesting arials prelims, but had to wait 3.5 h for the pursuit. It was good motivation for getting the weekend chores started while I waited.
Happy Weekend!
-A
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A's race report for the Mt. Taylor Winter Quad 2010
I win, I win! I got my race report posted first! No pictures yet, but lots to read. Enjoy (if you have the time to sit a bit and read all this!)
Even though this blog post is a race report for the 2010 Mt. Taylor Winter Quadrathlon, it is written mostly for myself for next year and the years to come. This year marked my 7th year racing The Quad. Each year the packing and prepping seems to get easier to do, yet there is always an underlying sense of urgency and anxiety to get everything done at home and in Grants, NM, before the race. This year things went very smoothly, so I though I should blog about it sooner than later and help keep the “things I need to remember for next year” fresh by the time next year rolls around.
First, though, before I start writing myself notes, I should probably explain what the Mt. Taylor Winter Quadrathlon is for anyone unfamiliar with this fun, tough, unique race. The race can be done as a soloist, pair, or team of 3-4 people. The soloists race always starts at 9 am on the Saturday before Presidents Day in February. Racers bike 13 miles from the Grants, NM, Chamber of Commerce up the canyon for 13 miles to the end of the pavement. Then you switch to running gear and run 5 miles up to the start of the ski. Here you again switch equipment, grab your backpack with your snowshoes, and ski up 2 miles to the snowshoe start. From there it is only 1 mile more to the top of Mt. Taylor, where you get to turn around and do everything in reverse back to Grants (the ski down is the only part that is a different course, for safety).
2010 marked the 27th year of the race. It is an El Nino year, so the mountain had lots of snow (snow-packed for the whole run and beyond, a first in the years I have done it since 2003). As usual, the race volunteers were the best part of the day, but the tough course and long standing race history make the event very special, too. Grants is a smaller town, about 1 hour west of Albuquerque on I-40, and The Quad is a big event for many of the folks in town. And it shows. Where else can a $65 entry fee get you support for a 42 + mile race, gear schlepping up and down a mountain, an all-you-can-eat spaghetti feed the night before hand, a $7 meal voucher good at most restaurants in town (El Cafecito!!!!), Subway sandwiches after the race, and pretty affordable hotels right in town? The main race coordinators work hard to get people to come do this race, yet still keep it grass-roots in feel. It is a gem.
Anyways, back to the 2010 race report….. This year we started the packing the weekend before with assembling snowshoes (running shoes already bolted on), skins, ski boots, extra gloves and hats, wheels, bike shoes, and random gear bags lining up in the spare bedroom.
Here is what finally went up the mountain:
in bag #1 (bike-to-run): light weight racing shoes (lunar racers) with screws, visor, stretch-gloves, water bottle;
in bag #2 (run-to-ski): ski boots, ski gloves, water bottle;
in bag #3 (run-to-ski): skis with skins on, poles;
in bag #4 (ski-to-snowshoe): snowshoes with shoes attached, hat, extra socks, extra gloves, lightweight wind pants (just in case) and a gel;
wrapped separately for the way down:
in bag 2 (ski-to-run): different screw shoes (heavier, dry), run socks, gloves, visor, wind breaker, vest;
in bag 1 (run-to-bike): buff for the head, vest;
Then I wore triathlon racing shorts (some compression, light weight pad), tights, long smartwool socks, a camelbak shirt with a 64 oz. reservoir, short-sleeved poly undershirt, my new heavy weight GS boulder jersey, and a buff for the head and cycling gloves (full finger) for the ride. I also carried 1 gel, 64 oz (6 scoops) of carbopro in water, over mittens, and a light weight jacket. I used regular bike shoes and put on my toe covers. I rode the road bike, no aero bars (they might be good to have, but this is my lightest bike) with race-wheels and sew-ups.
This year the race started off at a good clip and I lost the lead pack before the 4 mile mark (at the prison). My legs were just not feeling capable of catching back on, and the group easily split and broke free out front while I was left worrying in their wake about my fitness. Only two women made the break, though, so I was still sitting OK, with a lot more racing left to do. Looking around, I saw my friend B. Hunter and my wonderful E right with me. We worked to bridge up to the leaders, but only B made the jump. In the process, though, we caught the second place woman, J. Smith, and towed a couple of gents along for a bit. Up front the pack was starting to splinter as the climb began. I had L. Isom, lead woman, in my sights, but never could close the gap, and as the climb continued, she slowly pulled further away. Things moved along, ebbed and flowed as the climb continued. Luckily, E and I were racing at a similar level this year, and I was able to use him for a good draft as we had a steady headwind to fight as we climbed the ~1800 feet to T1. In the last mile or so, J. Smith reappeared and woke me up a bit as I grabbed her wheel for the final ride to the top of the bike portion of the race. We finished in a small pack of 4 (2 other guys got swallowed up in the final push) with E a mere 15 s behind us. Time for bike up + T1: 1:00:44.
On with the racing flats, visor, a swish from the water bottle, and I grabbed a handful of my stretchy gloves and took off. The timing mats have me 1 s up on J. Smith, but she soon moved in front of me and never looked back. I was contending with cold, stubborn feet who did not want to wake up. I focused on a staccato tempo as I tried to be light and airy for the next 5 miles and ~1200 feet of climbing. I figured my feet would come around by the ~2 mile mark where there is a water stop. This is where things usually start to feel good (right before it starts to get steeper) but they never did. Not even when the guy wearing the “barefoot shoes” passed me. Instead, my calves both started to feel stiff and numb. It was a very interesting sensation. I plodded on, though, and hoped that my inability to feel anything was a blessing in disguise since I would never know if I should be in pain and suffering (then again, my lungs and upper legs had plenty of suffering going on, so I guess I was in the thick of the race either way). Oddly, though the run portion seemed much loooooonger than I remembered, it also seemed less steep. The camelbak was only sloshing a little and provided easily accessible, readily absorbed nutrition. Soon I was making the final approach into T2 with E and J. Smith both still just in sight (a relay team member waiting in T2 shouted out that I was only a few minutes out of 2nd). Time for run up + T2: 54:07.
I found the volunteer who had grabbed my bags and brought them to the benches, so I plopped down and started switching my run shoes for ski boots. Glove switch, hat switch, another swig of water and I was ready to clip into my skis and continue marching up the hill while strapping on my poles. A few meters out of transition and up the first few bumps of the climb and I saw E turned around and headed back towards me. He had forgotten to grab his backpack with the snowshoes and had to head back to T2 to retrieve them. Onward I plodded. This year, the snow had already been tracked into grooves by the skiers before me. I simply did my best to march along in their wake. I was approaching something of a kick-and-glide even with the kickers skins we had on, especially on the few flat or even slightly downhill sections. Next year, though I need to be more careful with my skin placement so that less overlap hangs off the sides. They may even need to be trimmed. And they definately need to be mounted farther back, with the fronts no further up than "C" in "RXC" on the Kestles.
Most of the uphill ski is steep. And uphill. It is also mostly through some beautiful trees. Onward I staggered, then crossed the first meadow. Next I was passing the “Quad 20” road sign (Garmin said 19.99 miles), then out through the second meadow, dashing through the last bit of trees, then breaking out into the sunshine with only Heartbreak Hill in front of me. By this time, no one had passed me on the ski, no one was really insight in front of me on the ski, and a few snowshoers who were on teams (they get to hike up from the start of the ski) were all I had for company. My legs were burning, my glutes were fried. Getting up that hill was not sounding like a good idea, but it was the only way to continue on, so it was what I did. One ski after the other. Often I was able to step straight ahead, but at times it was too steep for that, so a herringbone step was required. Then, after a good long haul, I neared the top of the climb, glided over the ridge to transition, and was quickly changing gear for the snowshoe. Time for ski up: 39:16.
Off with the skis, boots, poles. Off with the skins (fold those onto themselves and toss into the snowshoe bag). Snowshoes went on quickly and were just as quickly cinched using my lace toggles. Then I was off. My plan is always to run the flat part of the snowshoe and power hike the steep part. This year that was a struggle, and I even walked a few steps a couple of times on the flat section to get my camelbak hose in my lips. My legs were heavy and tripping seemed eminent. I was getting tired, but knew this leg was my best bet for getting nutrition in. The flat seemed to be more of a struggle than normal, but it was also very soft from all of the new snow. And it was very uneven. Then came the Edge of the World. I turned down the shot of J. Daniels and hurried on past the volunteers in their party attire to the steep part, the climb up. Quickly I pulled out my wind jacket and threw it on over the top of my other clothes. I even put on the hood. The wind was blowing here and I was sweaty and wet from the rest of the climb, so I knew the windbreaker would be key to a good decent. No one was in sight in front of me and there was a gap (back to E I think) behind me, so I only had my thoughts to keep me moving up, up, up. The track here was “groomed” by snowmobiles and was often rutty and off camber. And if you looked down and studied the snow a little bit, you could see the hoar frost thickly covering the ground. Time for T3 + snowshoe up: 25:11.
A few more big wind gusts and I reached the top, went through the timing chute, grabbed a Dixie cup of water, paused to drink it and discard the cup in the trash, then started the free-fall-descent-on-snowshoes of the steep part. I love that feeling of riding your tails down a steep powdery hillside. This trails was again “groomed” by snowmobiles so it was a bit grabby with the cleats in some places, but it was still magical. The last two years they have made the steep up and steep down of the snowshoe two different routes. This has plusses and minuses. I like the new trail down. I like it a lot. But I miss the chance to see everyone in front of and behind me, to look them in the eye, to wish them good luck, to scope out the competition. Soon enough my magical free fall down the steep powder hill ended, I was back at the Edge of the World and facing head-on traffic from all the racer nearing the top of the mountain and the halfway point of their race. Many were wobbly-legged (as was I, still). That, combined with a trail that was more rutted and deformed than normal made for a few interesting passes and near collisions. In the end, catastrophe was avoided (at least on my watch) and I was back to my skis ready to change gear once more. Time for snowshoe down: 10:10.
I picked the snow clumps off my socks, changed gloves, stuffed my feet back into my ski boots, threw the snowshoes into the backpack and then onto my back, then grabbed my poles and clipped into my skis to start the glide back down the mountain. Once moving I strapped my poles on. Again, there was no one in sight as I began my descent. Soon, I would see I was the next racer to follow a snowcat groomer as he kept moving down the hill. The wind was swirling fresh snow onto the trail and he was trying to keep a track open. At the first tight corner, after crossing the meadow, he pulled over and I zoomed by. This year I carried more speed into the turns, but the snow was also soft and slow, so my time was comparable to year’s past. Near the bottom, in the whoopty-whoop section, I passed two racers. I caught another in transition, but he soon motored past me on the run down. Time for T4 + ski down: 17:24.
In transition I threw on my shoes, grabbed a handful of stretchy gloves, threw on my visor, took a swig of water, and shot off. Unfortunately, as I was now a human popsicle, I was still wearing my wind jacket with hood. The visor slipped on over all of this easily enough, but the extra jacket and hood nicely hid my ski hat that I was also still wearing. As I started to thaw, I pulled off the jacked and stuffed it into a back pocket, and only then discovered my hat. I knew I wouldn’t need it for long, but the easiest way to carry it would be to keep wearing it, so I did just that from most of the run down, until it got flatter and warmer and was just too much to leave it on my head. The run down this year felt good. I focused on feeling light and having quick turnover with the feet. I was very happy to have chosen my racing flats for the trip down, too (I had a second set of screw shoes that were beefier, more of a training shoe, that I thought might be well suited for the greater impact of the steep sections in the initial portion of the run. The Lunars held up well, though, and were awesome later on when things got flat and the legs were feeling heavier and tired. Feet held up OK, too, only a few blisters that likely would have happened in any shoe. Time for T5 + run down: 39:39.
Into the last transition. My bike was WAY down at the end (women get the low numbers and are racked at the start of the transition on the way up, which is the back of the transition on the way out. Both the first and second women were late to register and got high numbers, so were racked at the other end from me. Of course, by now, they were so far in front of me that I never saw them, but technically they had less running to do since riding in this transition is allowed). Anyways, my nice boy-scout volunteers convinced me to throw on a vest (didn’t hurt, but cost some time probably) and a head band (buff). Then a change of shoes, donning of the helmet, and I was off. I took the upper curves cautiously after Roger’s spill from 2008. The road was in good shape, though, and I was soon cruising through the flatter parts, thankful for no head wind this year. I was trying to discern if it was a tail or cross wind all while going as fast as I could. A few times my compact crank set-up had me maxing out with no more gears to shift into, so I just spun as fast as I could. I felt OK now, but really, really, really wanted to get done with this race. I had not looked at my watch after the top of the hill and had no idea where I was at, time-wise, I just was ready to stop moving for a bit. The entire bike down, I saw no one, again (this was very strange all day, as I usually jockey around with a few guys and start to know who’s who. No teams even passed me, this may have been a first). Back in town there were a few head-wind sections as we jogged our way back over to the chamber of commerce (wind was definitely from the west now), then I crossed the finish line. Time for T6 + bike down: 34:44.
Total race time for 2010 was 4:41:12 and good enough for third woman. A hearty 8 min from second and 17 min from first. E was the next finisher, 7 min back.
Total times from year’s past:
2003 – 4:42:48
2004 – 5:05:31 (food poisoning and forgot bike shoes, used run shoes and home-made toe straps)
2005 – 4:44:39 (major headwind on bike down = major bonk)
2006 – no snow, we did not race
2007 – 4:52:35 (no skins, bad, bad decision)
2008 – 4:44:02
2009 – 4:29:26 (break through year, great race)
2010 – 4:41:12
This year was strong, but the fresh snow made it slow. Clothing was good (changed gloves a lot but never changed socks). Nutrition was good (has been a problem). We also did not train especially for this race or taper for it at all. We trained right through it. And as a test of fitness….. I think we’re fit!
From coach J: “Wheww! Glad this one is done and you were strong and no worse for the wear. So great that you were able to hit 3rd without any focus on this event besides being in good general conditioning which you certainly are. …and think of all the sports energy you still have to put into your St. George Training. Be pleased!”
Be pleased…. I think I am! Until next year. Then it will be off to break 4:30 again, or maybe even 4:20….. until then, stay tough!
Even though this blog post is a race report for the 2010 Mt. Taylor Winter Quadrathlon, it is written mostly for myself for next year and the years to come. This year marked my 7th year racing The Quad. Each year the packing and prepping seems to get easier to do, yet there is always an underlying sense of urgency and anxiety to get everything done at home and in Grants, NM, before the race. This year things went very smoothly, so I though I should blog about it sooner than later and help keep the “things I need to remember for next year” fresh by the time next year rolls around.
First, though, before I start writing myself notes, I should probably explain what the Mt. Taylor Winter Quadrathlon is for anyone unfamiliar with this fun, tough, unique race. The race can be done as a soloist, pair, or team of 3-4 people. The soloists race always starts at 9 am on the Saturday before Presidents Day in February. Racers bike 13 miles from the Grants, NM, Chamber of Commerce up the canyon for 13 miles to the end of the pavement. Then you switch to running gear and run 5 miles up to the start of the ski. Here you again switch equipment, grab your backpack with your snowshoes, and ski up 2 miles to the snowshoe start. From there it is only 1 mile more to the top of Mt. Taylor, where you get to turn around and do everything in reverse back to Grants (the ski down is the only part that is a different course, for safety).
2010 marked the 27th year of the race. It is an El Nino year, so the mountain had lots of snow (snow-packed for the whole run and beyond, a first in the years I have done it since 2003). As usual, the race volunteers were the best part of the day, but the tough course and long standing race history make the event very special, too. Grants is a smaller town, about 1 hour west of Albuquerque on I-40, and The Quad is a big event for many of the folks in town. And it shows. Where else can a $65 entry fee get you support for a 42 + mile race, gear schlepping up and down a mountain, an all-you-can-eat spaghetti feed the night before hand, a $7 meal voucher good at most restaurants in town (El Cafecito!!!!), Subway sandwiches after the race, and pretty affordable hotels right in town? The main race coordinators work hard to get people to come do this race, yet still keep it grass-roots in feel. It is a gem.
Anyways, back to the 2010 race report….. This year we started the packing the weekend before with assembling snowshoes (running shoes already bolted on), skins, ski boots, extra gloves and hats, wheels, bike shoes, and random gear bags lining up in the spare bedroom.
Here is what finally went up the mountain:
in bag #1 (bike-to-run): light weight racing shoes (lunar racers) with screws, visor, stretch-gloves, water bottle;
in bag #2 (run-to-ski): ski boots, ski gloves, water bottle;
in bag #3 (run-to-ski): skis with skins on, poles;
in bag #4 (ski-to-snowshoe): snowshoes with shoes attached, hat, extra socks, extra gloves, lightweight wind pants (just in case) and a gel;
wrapped separately for the way down:
in bag 2 (ski-to-run): different screw shoes (heavier, dry), run socks, gloves, visor, wind breaker, vest;
in bag 1 (run-to-bike): buff for the head, vest;
Then I wore triathlon racing shorts (some compression, light weight pad), tights, long smartwool socks, a camelbak shirt with a 64 oz. reservoir, short-sleeved poly undershirt, my new heavy weight GS boulder jersey, and a buff for the head and cycling gloves (full finger) for the ride. I also carried 1 gel, 64 oz (6 scoops) of carbopro in water, over mittens, and a light weight jacket. I used regular bike shoes and put on my toe covers. I rode the road bike, no aero bars (they might be good to have, but this is my lightest bike) with race-wheels and sew-ups.
This year the race started off at a good clip and I lost the lead pack before the 4 mile mark (at the prison). My legs were just not feeling capable of catching back on, and the group easily split and broke free out front while I was left worrying in their wake about my fitness. Only two women made the break, though, so I was still sitting OK, with a lot more racing left to do. Looking around, I saw my friend B. Hunter and my wonderful E right with me. We worked to bridge up to the leaders, but only B made the jump. In the process, though, we caught the second place woman, J. Smith, and towed a couple of gents along for a bit. Up front the pack was starting to splinter as the climb began. I had L. Isom, lead woman, in my sights, but never could close the gap, and as the climb continued, she slowly pulled further away. Things moved along, ebbed and flowed as the climb continued. Luckily, E and I were racing at a similar level this year, and I was able to use him for a good draft as we had a steady headwind to fight as we climbed the ~1800 feet to T1. In the last mile or so, J. Smith reappeared and woke me up a bit as I grabbed her wheel for the final ride to the top of the bike portion of the race. We finished in a small pack of 4 (2 other guys got swallowed up in the final push) with E a mere 15 s behind us. Time for bike up + T1: 1:00:44.
On with the racing flats, visor, a swish from the water bottle, and I grabbed a handful of my stretchy gloves and took off. The timing mats have me 1 s up on J. Smith, but she soon moved in front of me and never looked back. I was contending with cold, stubborn feet who did not want to wake up. I focused on a staccato tempo as I tried to be light and airy for the next 5 miles and ~1200 feet of climbing. I figured my feet would come around by the ~2 mile mark where there is a water stop. This is where things usually start to feel good (right before it starts to get steeper) but they never did. Not even when the guy wearing the “barefoot shoes” passed me. Instead, my calves both started to feel stiff and numb. It was a very interesting sensation. I plodded on, though, and hoped that my inability to feel anything was a blessing in disguise since I would never know if I should be in pain and suffering (then again, my lungs and upper legs had plenty of suffering going on, so I guess I was in the thick of the race either way). Oddly, though the run portion seemed much loooooonger than I remembered, it also seemed less steep. The camelbak was only sloshing a little and provided easily accessible, readily absorbed nutrition. Soon I was making the final approach into T2 with E and J. Smith both still just in sight (a relay team member waiting in T2 shouted out that I was only a few minutes out of 2nd). Time for run up + T2: 54:07.
I found the volunteer who had grabbed my bags and brought them to the benches, so I plopped down and started switching my run shoes for ski boots. Glove switch, hat switch, another swig of water and I was ready to clip into my skis and continue marching up the hill while strapping on my poles. A few meters out of transition and up the first few bumps of the climb and I saw E turned around and headed back towards me. He had forgotten to grab his backpack with the snowshoes and had to head back to T2 to retrieve them. Onward I plodded. This year, the snow had already been tracked into grooves by the skiers before me. I simply did my best to march along in their wake. I was approaching something of a kick-and-glide even with the kickers skins we had on, especially on the few flat or even slightly downhill sections. Next year, though I need to be more careful with my skin placement so that less overlap hangs off the sides. They may even need to be trimmed. And they definately need to be mounted farther back, with the fronts no further up than "C" in "RXC" on the Kestles.
Most of the uphill ski is steep. And uphill. It is also mostly through some beautiful trees. Onward I staggered, then crossed the first meadow. Next I was passing the “Quad 20” road sign (Garmin said 19.99 miles), then out through the second meadow, dashing through the last bit of trees, then breaking out into the sunshine with only Heartbreak Hill in front of me. By this time, no one had passed me on the ski, no one was really insight in front of me on the ski, and a few snowshoers who were on teams (they get to hike up from the start of the ski) were all I had for company. My legs were burning, my glutes were fried. Getting up that hill was not sounding like a good idea, but it was the only way to continue on, so it was what I did. One ski after the other. Often I was able to step straight ahead, but at times it was too steep for that, so a herringbone step was required. Then, after a good long haul, I neared the top of the climb, glided over the ridge to transition, and was quickly changing gear for the snowshoe. Time for ski up: 39:16.
Off with the skis, boots, poles. Off with the skins (fold those onto themselves and toss into the snowshoe bag). Snowshoes went on quickly and were just as quickly cinched using my lace toggles. Then I was off. My plan is always to run the flat part of the snowshoe and power hike the steep part. This year that was a struggle, and I even walked a few steps a couple of times on the flat section to get my camelbak hose in my lips. My legs were heavy and tripping seemed eminent. I was getting tired, but knew this leg was my best bet for getting nutrition in. The flat seemed to be more of a struggle than normal, but it was also very soft from all of the new snow. And it was very uneven. Then came the Edge of the World. I turned down the shot of J. Daniels and hurried on past the volunteers in their party attire to the steep part, the climb up. Quickly I pulled out my wind jacket and threw it on over the top of my other clothes. I even put on the hood. The wind was blowing here and I was sweaty and wet from the rest of the climb, so I knew the windbreaker would be key to a good decent. No one was in sight in front of me and there was a gap (back to E I think) behind me, so I only had my thoughts to keep me moving up, up, up. The track here was “groomed” by snowmobiles and was often rutty and off camber. And if you looked down and studied the snow a little bit, you could see the hoar frost thickly covering the ground. Time for T3 + snowshoe up: 25:11.
A few more big wind gusts and I reached the top, went through the timing chute, grabbed a Dixie cup of water, paused to drink it and discard the cup in the trash, then started the free-fall-descent-on-snowshoes of the steep part. I love that feeling of riding your tails down a steep powdery hillside. This trails was again “groomed” by snowmobiles so it was a bit grabby with the cleats in some places, but it was still magical. The last two years they have made the steep up and steep down of the snowshoe two different routes. This has plusses and minuses. I like the new trail down. I like it a lot. But I miss the chance to see everyone in front of and behind me, to look them in the eye, to wish them good luck, to scope out the competition. Soon enough my magical free fall down the steep powder hill ended, I was back at the Edge of the World and facing head-on traffic from all the racer nearing the top of the mountain and the halfway point of their race. Many were wobbly-legged (as was I, still). That, combined with a trail that was more rutted and deformed than normal made for a few interesting passes and near collisions. In the end, catastrophe was avoided (at least on my watch) and I was back to my skis ready to change gear once more. Time for snowshoe down: 10:10.
I picked the snow clumps off my socks, changed gloves, stuffed my feet back into my ski boots, threw the snowshoes into the backpack and then onto my back, then grabbed my poles and clipped into my skis to start the glide back down the mountain. Once moving I strapped my poles on. Again, there was no one in sight as I began my descent. Soon, I would see I was the next racer to follow a snowcat groomer as he kept moving down the hill. The wind was swirling fresh snow onto the trail and he was trying to keep a track open. At the first tight corner, after crossing the meadow, he pulled over and I zoomed by. This year I carried more speed into the turns, but the snow was also soft and slow, so my time was comparable to year’s past. Near the bottom, in the whoopty-whoop section, I passed two racers. I caught another in transition, but he soon motored past me on the run down. Time for T4 + ski down: 17:24.
In transition I threw on my shoes, grabbed a handful of stretchy gloves, threw on my visor, took a swig of water, and shot off. Unfortunately, as I was now a human popsicle, I was still wearing my wind jacket with hood. The visor slipped on over all of this easily enough, but the extra jacket and hood nicely hid my ski hat that I was also still wearing. As I started to thaw, I pulled off the jacked and stuffed it into a back pocket, and only then discovered my hat. I knew I wouldn’t need it for long, but the easiest way to carry it would be to keep wearing it, so I did just that from most of the run down, until it got flatter and warmer and was just too much to leave it on my head. The run down this year felt good. I focused on feeling light and having quick turnover with the feet. I was very happy to have chosen my racing flats for the trip down, too (I had a second set of screw shoes that were beefier, more of a training shoe, that I thought might be well suited for the greater impact of the steep sections in the initial portion of the run. The Lunars held up well, though, and were awesome later on when things got flat and the legs were feeling heavier and tired. Feet held up OK, too, only a few blisters that likely would have happened in any shoe. Time for T5 + run down: 39:39.
Into the last transition. My bike was WAY down at the end (women get the low numbers and are racked at the start of the transition on the way up, which is the back of the transition on the way out. Both the first and second women were late to register and got high numbers, so were racked at the other end from me. Of course, by now, they were so far in front of me that I never saw them, but technically they had less running to do since riding in this transition is allowed). Anyways, my nice boy-scout volunteers convinced me to throw on a vest (didn’t hurt, but cost some time probably) and a head band (buff). Then a change of shoes, donning of the helmet, and I was off. I took the upper curves cautiously after Roger’s spill from 2008. The road was in good shape, though, and I was soon cruising through the flatter parts, thankful for no head wind this year. I was trying to discern if it was a tail or cross wind all while going as fast as I could. A few times my compact crank set-up had me maxing out with no more gears to shift into, so I just spun as fast as I could. I felt OK now, but really, really, really wanted to get done with this race. I had not looked at my watch after the top of the hill and had no idea where I was at, time-wise, I just was ready to stop moving for a bit. The entire bike down, I saw no one, again (this was very strange all day, as I usually jockey around with a few guys and start to know who’s who. No teams even passed me, this may have been a first). Back in town there were a few head-wind sections as we jogged our way back over to the chamber of commerce (wind was definitely from the west now), then I crossed the finish line. Time for T6 + bike down: 34:44.
Total race time for 2010 was 4:41:12 and good enough for third woman. A hearty 8 min from second and 17 min from first. E was the next finisher, 7 min back.
Total times from year’s past:
2003 – 4:42:48
2004 – 5:05:31 (food poisoning and forgot bike shoes, used run shoes and home-made toe straps)
2005 – 4:44:39 (major headwind on bike down = major bonk)
2006 – no snow, we did not race
2007 – 4:52:35 (no skins, bad, bad decision)
2008 – 4:44:02
2009 – 4:29:26 (break through year, great race)
2010 – 4:41:12
This year was strong, but the fresh snow made it slow. Clothing was good (changed gloves a lot but never changed socks). Nutrition was good (has been a problem). We also did not train especially for this race or taper for it at all. We trained right through it. And as a test of fitness….. I think we’re fit!
From coach J: “Wheww! Glad this one is done and you were strong and no worse for the wear. So great that you were able to hit 3rd without any focus on this event besides being in good general conditioning which you certainly are. …and think of all the sports energy you still have to put into your St. George Training. Be pleased!”
Be pleased…. I think I am! Until next year. Then it will be off to break 4:30 again, or maybe even 4:20….. until then, stay tough!
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