Ragnar Northwest Passage: 200 miles of silliness

It takes a particular kind of crazy to enjoy a relay. You are signing up to spend ~30+ hours with 5 other people that you may or may not know, go without sleep or decent food, and run a total of anywhere between 15-18 miles. Throw in the added joy of living in a van that comes to resemble the aftermath of a small child eating breakfast, climbing all over each other's sweaty stuff, and it's a heck of a fun way to get to make new friends.

For the uninitiated, here's how a relay works:

• They're usually around 200 miles total, divided into 36 segments.
• Teams consist of 12 runners, 6 to a van.
• Each runner runs three times, for a total of anywhere from 13-18 miles.
• Runners go sequentially, and pass a wristband "baton" at defined exchanges, and cycle through the team. For example, I was runner #9, so ran leg #9 (6.8 miles), #21 (2.2 miles), and #33 (6.8 miles).
• Every 6th runner passes the wristband to the first runner in the next van, so each van drives to the next major exchange, and uses the waiting time to eat and rest.
• There is no stopping until the finish, so yes, you run through the night.

A big part of the fun is coming up with silly (often crude) team names, decorating the vans, and sometimes even wearing some sort of costume. Many teams create magnets with their names and "tag" other vans at the exchanges. "Chafing the Dream" was one of my favorites. "12 Hotties and a Squatty Potty" definitely had the best costumes.

This relay started at the Peace Arch up by the Canadian border, wound down along the coast, through Anacortes, across Deception Pass, and down Whidbey Island to end at Langley, WA. It was a beautiful course, hilly with lovely views, and a delight to run. In van 2, I barely knew one runner, and had never met the other four. We were four women and two men, early 40s to 57 (me). All of us were experienced runners; our paces ranged from 9:30 to 11:00 miles. We were not a fast group. The race starts Friday morning (start time depends on your projected paces), and you have until 9pm Saturday to finish. Our first runner started at 6:45am Friday, and we were projected to finish around 7:30pm Saturday.

Things went well through the first several sets of exchanges. My first run was mostly downhill, through some beautiful forest, on a 2-lane state road. Though hot, the 6.8 miles went by quite nicely. We cycled through the first 12 legs, and arrived in Burlington some time in the early evening. We used the time to get some pizza, then went to the van exchange for showers and rest. I was so tired I didn't care about the showers. (Why bother? Just gonna stink again in a few hours anyway!) Threw a bag on the ground and dozed for about 1.5 hours, but the noise level was far from sleep-inducing. We were on our way again around midnight. My second leg started at 1:45am and was short and flat, in downtown Anacortes. Two down, one to go!

At 5:40 am, we handed off the wristband to van 1. By this time, we were sharing fantasies about finding breakfast and passing out, in that order. Our swearing had begun to significantly increase, as we got slaphappy and more comfortable with each other. Despite vastly different backgrounds, we had begun bonding quite well. Nic is a seriously badass obstacle course racer, and Ryan and Severin aren't far behind. Ryan and Severin know each other from work, and have raced with Nic before. They were also our fastest runners. Donna is from New Jersey, so we had some good laughs about being East Coast assholes (she knew all about driving in Boston and being a Masshole driver). Marilou is a small package stuffed with a huge amount of honey badger, doing obstacle racing as well as a lot of endurance running events.

So, we're all dying to find real food and sleep, and figuring we have about 4.5 hours. It's 5:40 in the morning, most of us got zero sleep at the last van exchange, and last night's pizza had long worn off. That's when the shenanigans started up.

Runner #1 departed, and someone from van 1 makes an announcement: "We did the math, and it's going to take you guys 7.5 hours to do your last set of runs. We don't want to wait that long for you to finish (at the finish line). We're going to skip one run and leapfrog some others, so that we don't take much time. You guys need to find a way to shorten the time. Come up with a plan and tell us what it is when we get back with our last runner. See ya!"

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Seriously? Wrong on so many levels. To enumerate the level of effed-up-ness:

1. You just robbed us of our food and sleep break. You're going to be back in 2.5 hours, so there's no time to go find food. Nothing nearby is open. You also just shorted us on sleep time. Awesome.
2. The entire point of doing a relay is to tough it out and complete the challenge, not short-circuit it because you "don't want to wait". Go sign up for a 5k if you don't want to wait. Waiting is part of the deal.
3. Unless someone is injured or sick, there is no excuse for skipping a leg. Even someone IS injured or sick, it's up to the other team members to figure out who is going to cover for them and do their runs.
4. You just blew any possibility of having a legitimate time and ranking with other teams. No, we weren't going to win anything, but I'd still like to have an accurate time and see how we stack up against other teams.

My vote was to just run our legs and make them wait 7.5 hours. After venting a bit, we did all agree that we wanted to run our legs, but were willing to try to compromise somehow. Marilou and I both checked out of that conversation and threw a bag on the ground and promptly fell asleep for 1.5 hours, while the others stayed up and hashed out possibilities. They came up with a plan to leapfrog some legs, so that two runners were going at the same time. Our "official" time was already blown to hell, so why not. Apparently Ragnar is ok with leapfrogging. I rather doubt they're cool with simply skipping legs, but as long as I run my legs and get my swag, I'll deal.

At 8:30 we were ready to, waiting for runner #6 to arrive. That's when we got the text announcing that they were going to get some coffee before dropping off runner 6 to start her hour-long run. Are. You. Kidding. Me. So now we have to sit around for ANOTHER hour, when we could have been sleeping. Unbelievable. How about bringing US some coffee too, while you're at it? And food. You didn't happen to see any food while you were chillaxing, did you?

We sent Ryan off at 9:30, for his long 10.5 mile run. After a few minutes, we left to drop Severin off to start her long 9.5 mile run. When we passed Ryan, we got the wristband from him and gave it to Severin. We dropped her at the beginning of her leg (end of Ryan's), then waited for Ryan to arrive. He got done, and we went to fetch Severin and start runner 9, myself, and 10, Donna. I finished and we drove to Donna's finish. She was late because she was so sleep-deprived and hungry that she was quite addled, and missed a turn somewhere, turning her 5-mile run into a 7-mile run. She got back on track and came in strong. We sent Marilou off on her 3-miler, then Nic got started on his (and ours) last run of the event, 6 miles and change. Almost done!

We went to the finish, and waited for Nic so that we could run the last tenth of a mile in with him. At last he came chugging around the corner, refusing to slow down or take a walk break. He led us to the finish, and we all celebrated being done! Collected our medals, picked up some food, then headed for the car to share in the caramel apple pie they had picked up during my run. YUM. Nothing was better than sharing that pie around the hood of the van. It was a delicious end to two long days and cemented our bond. Van 2 rocks!

Finally got home to a lovely shower around 8:30pm Saturday. Paula made me a gigantic gin and tonic to enjoy while showering, and it was as heavenly as the soap.

I already have the team name for next time: All Lubed Up and Ready to Go. (It's not what you think: Google "runners, chafing, bodyglide".)

Half Marathon for Climate: Magnificent Fail

This blog post was originally going to be about running three half marathons in three weeks, but after Saturday's race, it's now much more interesting. The first two races, the Snoqualmie Valley Half (beautiful) and the Rock n Roll Seattle 5K and half (fun), were enjoyable and well-organized.

Half #3 of 3 was the Half Marathon for Climate. I chose this one because it was close to home, was a nice course, and the finish was a couple of blocks away from our favorite local brewery. This one was such a stunning implosion of failures that it's hard to know where to begin. The spectacular scale of the cluster-f**ked-upness makes this post run long. It might be faster to list what went right.

• Shirts were there.
• Food truck was there, and the food was free, as promised.

Here's the short version of what went wrong.

• No bibs. Didn't matter, there was no way to time anyone anyway.
• No information about anything.
• Four water stops, unmarked. The temperature was pushing 90 after a season of low 60's.
• No crossing guards or course monitors.
• No course markings.
• Where the hell is the finish? Not where advertised, and not marked.
• No promised free beer (or I couldn't find it).
• No medical staff.
• Website jacked up on Monday following the race.

Here's my theory. A group of 20-somethings (who are arrogant enough to think they already know everything, because the 20's are worse than puberty) are sitting around drinking and bitching about politics. Someone says, "Hey, why don't we put on a race to raise funds for an environmental cause?" OK, that's a laudable idea. Only problem is, no one in the group has ever run a race. No one in the group has any runner friends. No one in the group has seen a running magazine. No one in the group has ever even spectated at a race. No one in the group has the slightest clue. They throw together a decent, if information-lacking, website, set up a way to take people's money, find one (only one, of the many) available websites to advertise on, print shirts, and think they're done.

Seriously. That's what it felt like. I would put more thought into planning a block party.

I found this event on the biggest local running calendar, seattleruns. It looked reasonably legit, but I wasn't going to pay $75 for it. I contacted the organizer, and asked if she could use some pre-race help in exchange for a discount. Sure! Paypal $40. That's a little odd, but it's a donation, and I figured I'd register in the morning. (Usually they send you a promo code and you go register online using that code; other times you register with paper forms the day-of.) Just show up at 8:30 for a 10:00am start.

But.

I get dropped off, and there's one small canopy set up, some piles of shirts on the ground, and a totally-lost friend of hers who has zero idea about anything, but is friendly enough. I don't know if he was simply kept completely out of the loop or if he is extraordinarily inattentive, but whatever. After we stand around for ten minutes or so, the organizer comes screaming up with a tire that is hissing air and quickly going flat. Her passenger (who seems to have it together more than she), hops out and trots off with another volunteer to find water for the water coolers. What happened to the tire? Apparently she hit a curb on the way over. WTF. Ummm. Ok. She runs off to a mechanic to get the spare put on the car, but is gone forever, with less than an hour and a half before the start and nothing set up, and no one there that has any idea what's going on.

Meanwhile, there are no water sources to be found. We are at a city park, and the water spigots require some sort of key tool to open, and no employees are around. Friend-With-A-Clue and Volunteer load some of the coolers into Volunteer's car, and take off for friend's house (3 miles away) to fill the coolers. They also are gone forever.

By now it's approaching 9am, and people are starting to show up. Lost Friend then informs me that some email went out the night before about bibs not arriving in time. She had suggested to him that we randomly assign numbers to people, write it on their hand or something, and collect times that way. It's unclear to me what any of this was supposed to accomplish, as I see zero evidence of any timing mechanism. Sigh. I have already concluded that the day was going to be a massive cluster, and that the best I could do was calm folks down and have them join me in a no-pressure training run.

I spent my time informing people about the lack of bibs, and if they cared about their time, they should just keep track of it (most of us had phones or watches), and inform (whoever) at the (wherever) finish. Legitimate questions are being asked, and Lost Friend is deer-in-the-headlights. Is there a gear check? [What's that?] Are there timing mats? [Huh?] Is the finish marked? Is the course marked? [I don't know.] How many water stops are there? How are you getting people back to the start (it was a point-to-point)? [Blank stare.] Are.You.Shitting.Me?

After about a half hour of foolishness (and by now many more people are standing around confused and annoyed), I finally tell Lost Friend to call the organizer and find out some of these things. Her car has a flat, but her phone should be working. Sheesh. Answers are somewhat insufficient, but we get a little more information. Finally, the organizer shows up, all atwitter. She is just beginning to realize she has massively screwed up, but it's unclear to me that she fully understands the magnitude just yet.

In addition to all of this insanity, the weather was a major concern. It's been a cold year here in Seattle. Highs have been in the 60's. I can count on one hand how many days we've had over 70. Today it was supposed to get up to the 90's, and the run didn't begin until 10am. Not only hot, but also a lot of non-heat-conditioned runners. Between the 10K and the half, about 200 people had signed up. Water is a serious concern on a day like this. I was grateful that I had brought a (full) water bottle with me. Many people had done the same, but many had not, and it was a major issue. Four stops in 13 miles was nowhere near enough hydration for a day like today.

Finally we are rounded up into a gaggle, and told to start. Ummm. Ok. May as well be out for a solo run.

The course was wonderful, and could be a very nice event, if properly done. It was along a Rails-to-Trail path that runs along Lake Washington, and though it is urban, it's beautiful with plenty of trees and scenery. It's a shared path, with cyclists and pedestrians alike. At least it's hard to get lost…until the finish, or the split if you're running the 10K. I have no idea when the 10K course branched off. Shrug.

The day is heating up, so pacing is very important. I started out slow, and never sped up. Three miles go by. Where the hell is the water?? If I didn't have mine with me, I would be suffering by now.

Somewhere after 4.5 miles, I see the organizer and someone else standing by the path with some bottles of water and Gatorade. Of course, they're on the other side of the bike part of the path, so runners have to get in the way of cyclists if they want water. I'm not sure many people even saw her there. I still had plenty of water, so I kept going.

Just before mile 7, I spotted some random coolers stacked by the side of the road, with some paper cups. Of course there was no trash can, so people were trying to at least keep all of the empty cups in a pile. I drank up, filled up my bottle, shook my head at the incompetence, and got on my way.

I don't remember if there was another stop before mile 11, but by then it was really heating up. I had passed a beautiful public pool a few miles back and seriously considered trotting over there and jumping in, but had refrained. Now I was eyeballing the private boat launches into Lake Washington and considering a quick dip. Instead, I just reminded myself that I was only two miles out and slowed down more, still shaking my head.

I never did see any course monitors at any of the road crossings (required by law here in Washington state), or any course markings anywhere. There was no indication of where we were supposed to leave the path and head toward the still-mysterious finish. I guess it was asking too much to go get some chalk powder and draw some arrows or write "Climate runners this way" on the pavement. There was another runner standing around there, waiting for her son, and she told me to leave the path and turn right onto the street. (I really hope her son wasn't lying somewhere with heat stroke, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.) I exited the path, and headed towards the advertised finish, which was at the Community Center.

Got to the Community Center, and no one was there. Crickets. What in the holy f**k. Walked across the street to a local brewery, drank a large glass of cold water, and sat down in the shade, totally pissed off. Two other runner-looking types walked by, and said something that made it clear they had participated. They had somehow missed all of the water stops until mile 11 -- I honestly don't know how they finished. I commented that I couldn't find the bleeping finish, and they said, "Oh, it's right back there a block or two." Seriously? I walked right by it? Went back a couple of blocks and sure enough, there was a food truck parked in a business parking lot (NOT the Community Center), and a few stray runners standing around. Absolutely zero signage. Of course, there was NO medical staff anywhere at any point during the day. Didn't see the organizer, Lost Friend, Volunteer, or Friend-With-A-Clue either. I don't know where they were. Never did find the promised free beer, but as hot as it was, I didn't even care.

The so-called finish wasn't at the Community Center, but it WAS across the street from our favorite local brewery, so I grabbed my free food and shirt, and wandered over to the brewery to lay on their sofa before puking or passing out. By now my calves were completely seized up due to lack of electrolytes, and I really didn't want to pass out on the sidewalk. After laying there for a few minutes, I cooled down, the legs stopped seizing, and I felt pretty good after using their restroom to wash the crust of salt off my face.

I was extremely grateful that all I had to do was call my sis-in-law, who lives about 1.5 miles away. My car was parked at her house, so she came over, we enjoyed a beer, went and got some more food, then went home. The people who had parked at the start (13 miles away, remember) had to find the organizer (or someone, I have no idea how it worked), and call Lyft for a ride back to their car. Completely half-assed.

Oh, and I never registered, so haven't been on any of the follow-up mailing lists. Go figure.

Course: Outstanding.
Event: On a score of 1-5, zero.

Half #75: 3M Austin Half Marathon

There's a reason this one is called "Down hill to downtown" – the overall elevation gain is negative. Oh sure, there's some slight inclines, but nothing that qualifies as a hill. The declines are equally mild, but pleasantly noticeable. It's a good race if you want to set a PR.

I had no such ambitions; I just wanted to see how it felt to do 13 miles on a couple of months of decent training. I haven’t been remotely prepared for an event since the end of 2014, and was anticipating a pleasantly suck-free race. Even though I did a number of events in 2015 (a marathon, six half-marathons, and a few shorter runs), I was woefully under-prepared for almost all of them. It was time to actually enjoy one, start to finish. It was encouraging that the 12K's of Christmas run in December had gone very well, even though I was wearing a "borrowed" pair of test shoes. (FYI, Brooks Ghost running shoes feel great!) I was in town to visit my elderly mother and other family, so a Sunday morning run fit in nicely.

Typical of January in Austin, the weather was great. 30-something to start, warming to low-50s by the time I finished. Perfect running weather! There was no strategy for this one. I have misplaced my Garmin, and in my morning grogginess, forgot to even put on the FitBit. I was taking a risk by wearing my Newtons, which I had only run in a couple of times in the past year. As I was crawling into bed the night before, too tired to go out again, I realized I had forgotten to buy any food for a pre-race breakfast. Dammit. Scrounged around and found a protein bar in my luggage, so that was breakfast. My training runs had only been 3-5 miles, so I didn’t know how I would feel after that. Just gonna take it as it comes, since I was already half-assing it anyway.

I enjoyed eavesdropping and watching the sun rise while we all waited to start at 7am. A chilly breeze was threatening to kick up and become uncomfortable, but thankfully it never took hold. I put myself in the back of the 2:20 group, and tried to wake up. At some point I realized I had checked my sunglasses with my jacket. Sigh. The half-assery continues. At least I had remembered to put on pants.

Finally we were on our way. And it felt great. I was passing a lot of folks, but figured that would come to an end before too long -- it always does. But it felt good to start that way, especially when the vast majority of people that I passed were obviously at least twenty years younger than me!

Passed the 5K mat and course clock, and was pleased. Since I was gadget-free (due to my own incompetence), and there were almost no course clocks, I had no idea how I was actually doing, only that it felt good and I was still passing people. 5K in 31:something... I'd overheard someone earlier comment that it took six minutes to get to the start line, so I was doing pretty close to 10-minute miles. My treadmill runs had been considerably slower, so I was pleased with that pace.

The race is point-to-point, beginning up in Northwest Austin and finishing just shy of the Capitol building. The course isn't particularly scenic, but it's pleasant enough and well-supported. The neighborhoods are fun, with locals offering up anything from bowls of Gummi bears to small cups of Shiner Bock. I gave the Shiner some thought, but decided against it. That was around mile 6 or so, and I just wasn’t awake enough to find it appealing. Guys, can you move the beer down to mile 11?

Hit the 10K mat at an hour and a handful of minutes, deducting six, hmmm, pretty close to an hour (1:01:31). Maintaining the pace, great! Not long after that I caught and passed the 2:15 pace group. Can I possibly catch the 2:10 group? Not likely. Took a gel around mile 8, and choked that down. It was stiff, like it had been out in the 30-degree weather all night, so was the consistency of thick paste. Eating it, I was a squirrel with peanut butter and it took a few tries. But it's calories.

The clock at 9 miles was under 1:30. Seriously? How is that happening? Well, I guess I AM still passing people...consistently. Is it possible that I will PR today? Not gonna kill myself trying, but will push a little harder than I had planned and see what happens. Was noticeably tired by now, but still felt good, didn't hurt anywhere, and was still passing people. Why not? By mile 11 I did have to start taking walking breaks (until then I had only walked at aid stations), and was very very tired for mile 13. Tried not to walk, but was just running out of gas. Was still passing people when I did run, but needed those breaks.

Wonder how I'm doing for time? Never did catch the 2:10 group, but...

Rounded the last corner, and saw the finish clock getting close to 2:15…which meant I MIGHT break 2:10. Awesome! Forced myself to trot it in, and finished with a very respectable time of 2:09:35. Just under 10-minute miles. How did that happen? Couldn’t remember exactly what my PR was, but knew I was close. Didn’t beat it, but was close. Hey, I'll take it! Not a bad result for a no-expectation day!

Collected the medal (which is pretty cool), obligatory banana, water, etc., and found Shirley. Wandered into the nearby Starbucks with all the other finishers and relaxed a bit. Spent the rest of the afternoon yelling at my mother (she’s deaf as a post sometimes), then caught my flight back to Seattle.

The next day, I verified that my current PR is 2:07:56, so I missed it by a minute and a half. Not too shabby. This was half-marathon #75, but only my third under 2:10.

Overall: Course is easy and pleasant enough. Event is very well-managed, with about 6500 runners. Swag is interesting: an eclectic assortment of 3M products. Plenty of water stops, Nuun for electrolytes (not any nastier than other drinks of that ilk), gels around mile 8. Where there are spectators, they're laid-back and fun. The finish is very nice, in front of the Museum of Texas History with the Capitol as a backdrop. I didn't take the shuttle back to the start, but it looked like there were plenty of buses, and I didn't notice any long lines waiting for them. If you happen to be in town, do it!

Serendipity Epitomized: Bourbon Chase 2014

I'm not normally calendar-impaired, but occasionally it happens. I've spent much of my life "winging it", and this past weekend was a marvel of serendipity and the value of human connections. I don't recommend winging everything, and it's definitely a personality preference, but sometimes it's fun to just refuse to worry about ANYTHING and trust that things will work out. And if they don't...deal with it. At least there'll be no "what if" going on.

Due to my inability to read a calendar, about a week and a half out I realized that I was indeed free and available to do the Bourbon Chase. For those that haven't had to suffer through my gushing about this event, it is a 200-mile relay that stops at every distillery on the Bourbon Trail in Kentucky (there are many more that are not part of the official trail). It starts at Jim Beam, near Louisville, and finishes in downtown Lexington approximately 30 hours later. I've done this event three times, and I wasn't doing well with the idea of missing out this year for no good reason. This just wouldn't do.

Thankfully the Bourbon Chase people have a very efficient online bulletin board, where teams and runners can find each other. Sunday, five days before the race, I went online and found a team that sounded like a good candidate: happy with a slower runner (10:00 pace), all female (a first for me), a great team name (the Bourbonettes), and focused on enjoying the experience. By Sunday night, I was speaking with the team captain, Liz. While some members knew each other, most did not. This will be fun!

For those who have never done a relay, the logistics can get confusing. The Chase is 200 miles, and makes stops at Woodford Reserve, Wild Turkey, Heaven Hills, Four Roses, and Maker's Mark. It also passes through several quaint small towns along the way, and is a great way to see a lot of the Kentucky bourbon and horse country. This year there were 400 teams, and most teams had 12 runners. Like most teams, we had two vans with six runners each, and each runner had to run three legs, for a grand total of 36 segments. At the end of each leg, a wristband with a chip in it was handed off to the next runner. The average total mileage for each runner was 13-18 miles, with some legs longer (and harder) than others. I was runner #11, so was in Van 2. Three of us were Chase veterans; three were not.

Since Van 2 didn't have to be anywhere until after noon, I drove down to Louisville early Friday morning. One of the runners lived in Louisville, and could recommend a very safe place to leave my car: the parking lot across from a police station in an historic and relatively quiet part of town. Perfect! However, she was in Van 1 and had to leave Louisville before 6am, so I still had to hook up with my people somehow. Another runner flew in from Pennsylvania Thursday night and would be picking up our rental van Friday morning, then heading over to Lexington to pick up everyone else. She swung by to fetch me, and we rode together. Yet another runner lived in Lexington, where we picked up the rest of our crew. Time to head to Maker's Mark, get checked in, explore the distillery, and wait for runner #6 to arrive.

The team's first runner left Jim Beam at 9:45am Friday morning. Sometime after 2:30pm runner #6 arrived, handed off the wristband, and Van 2 was on our way. We cheered our incoming and outgoing runners, hopped into the van, and headed for the next exchange point. Now we would REALLY start getting to know each other, find out how accurate our pace estimates were (and how dependable we were as runners), and how well everyone did with lack of sleep.

Thankfully, we had a drama-free group. Everyone was there to do their part, have a good time, and make the most of the experience as a team. We breezed through our first six legs, with everyone having a good run. All of us either ran at pace or faster, and between the two vans we built a 35-minute lead on our estimated time. The predicted severe weather held off, and all we got was a few hours of rain. The runners in Van 1 had to deal with the worst of the rain, but everyone was happy it wasn't miserably cold and lightning. We handed off the wristband around 8pm, and went off in search of food and sleep.

Danville, KY is home to two major runner exchanges, and they have embraced the invasion of white vans and tired/hungry runners. The Hub coffee shop stays open overnight, and not only sells wonderful coffee, but very good sandwiches. It stays swamped with business all night long. This was the earliest I've ever been there -- years past it's been well after midnight. We got fed, and I ordered an extra sandwich for later. The local high school was renting out floor space in their gym for $5/head, so we went over there to attempt to sleep for a few hours. They had wrestling mats out, so we joined the other folks in their sleeping bags and laid down to rest.

We heard the heavy rain on the roof around midnight, when we needed to be getting up and ready to go. Oh joy. This could be a messy night. I don't think any of us slept, but we had all dozed some and enjoyed laying down and spreading out for a bit. Our lovely hosts had coffee and snacks, so we loaded up and headed out to the next exchange...and were thrilled that the rain had stopped. A quick check of the radar showed that the bad weather was done for the duration. We would be dry from now on, and the temp was going to stay perfect for running, in the 50's. Hooray! Life is good.

Somewhere in the night we ended up parking right behind some friends of mine from Indianapolis. I had no idea where they were, and they saw me first. Turned out they had grossly over-estimated how long it would take them, and they were going too fast. The race directors were holding them back for two hours before letting them run again, so they were cooling their heels. (Race organizers want all the teams to finish within a certain window Saturday afternoon/evening, and they plan aid station hours accordingly.) It was a remarkable coincidence to see them at all. They were staying positive, but were bummed about having to kill so much time.

Side note: Each year the race has a theme: this year it was disco. Some teams went all-out decorating their vans. We saw this team's vans throughout the race, and laughed every time. They had lights mounted to illuminate the disco balls, and one was playing disco music through a loudspeaker all night long. Very impressive.

Now we were running on narrow country roads with no lights whatsoever, aside from whatever light we were carrying and the occasional headlights of vans moving on to the next exchange. It was wonderful. This is truly horse country, and most of these roads aren't much more than a car-width wide. They wind around and through and up and down hills throughout farmland, and the area (in the daylight) is quite beautiful. Running at night in such a quiet, dark area is a very peaceful experience. You occasionally see the tail-light of another runner up ahead, or the headlamp of one catching up and passing, and that's it. Not even shadows, it's so dark. I finally had to hold my headlamp in my hand to better see the road ahead, and loved it. I knew I was almost there when I saw Four Roses illuminated up ahead on a hill. Handed off the wristband and helped myself to a bourbon ball (chocolate with bourbon inside). My first leg had been a 10k, this one was 5.3 miles, and it felt quite good. All of us had a good run, and handed off the wristband to Van 1 at Wild Turkey around 6am or so.

A couple of us passed out in our sleeping bags in the van and slept through Wild Turkey. Before I knew it, we were parked at a Cracker Barrel that was close to the next exchange. Even though I had inhaled my second sandwich at some point in the night, I figured it'd be a good idea to eat again. We had some breakfast, I ran into my Indy friends again on my way out of the restaurant, exchanged hugs, and went back out to the van to sleep some more. I've never gotten so much sleep at this event, and it was quite nice!

Our last set of legs began around 11am or so, and by now everyone was feeling the lack of sleep. Even though we all had good runs, they were far more painful than the previous legs. Finally I handed off the wristband to our last and final runner, and we headed to the finish line to run in the last hundred feet with her. The finish is in downtown Lexington, and the streets are closed for a giant outdoor party. Another team member lived about two blocks away, so we parked the van there and walked over. Before long our finishing runner rounded the bend, and the team followed her across the finish line. Go Bourbonettes! We finished just under 30 hours, in 29:49:06. That was good enough for 5th out of 16 Female Open teams, not bad for a group that wasn't even really competing! Now it was time to have some bourbon.

We were issued wristbands with four tabs to redeem for samples, and ushered into a giant tent. Tables lined the perimeter, and all of the participating distillers were handing out samples. I ran into my Indianapolis friends again, who offered a place to stay in Frankfort, about 30 minutes away. I really wanted to drink without worrying about driving, so I declined. The van was only two blocks away, I knew from experience that the bench seats were pretty comfortable, and I had my sleeping bag, so that was always an option. My teammates couldn't offer any space, but it wasn't too cold and I just didn't care where I slept. I wanted bourbon samples and food.

A little later, still in the very crowded bourbon tent, I looked up and saw two people from last year's team. I didn't even know they were running this year! They're both from Chicago, and had just done the race with only eight people, due to dropouts and injuries. Yikes. That's a lot of hard running. They had a room at the Hilton across the street, and had plumbing and a floor to offer. Sold! We enjoyed some more bourbon, then I headed to the room for a shower (which was a little slice of heaven). I went back out for dinner and another bourbon sample (friends gave me their unused tabs), then gave up and called it a night. My roommates were out until later, but I was too sound asleep to notice when they came back. Slept ten hours on the floor and made up for the previous two days' lack of rest. Thank you Brian and Jessica!

Sunday morning, I met the driver of the other van and we got on our way. I drove our van back to Louisville, got a ride to my car, then went to see a friend who lives about 30 minutes away in southern Indiana. We had a good visit, she fed me a wonderful pot-roast meal, and I headed home to my bed and two happy cats. Of course, once I got into my bed, I couldn't sleep. Go figure. Kill Bill 2 is always entertaining.

I'm not known for obsessing over details, but this was probably one of the most half-assed things I've done in a long time. I didn't plan anything beyond the bare minimum needed for the immediate future, and it somehow seemed to work. Solutions kept dropping into my lap, at the right time. Let's hear it for serendipity!

DFL > DNF > DNS: Redman 140.6

Toughest. Day. Ever.

Where to begin? The machine-wash heavy-load-cycle swim? The headwind on the bike that forced everyone to use hill-climbing gears? The unseasonably high heat and humidity? The Redman is a locally owned event in Oklahoma City, and features a half and full-iron triathlon. I did the full, because apparently there is something broken in my brain. But that’s a topic for another day.

Short story: It was brutal, wretchedly so at times, but thanks to the incredibly tolerant and patient organizers/volunteers, I finished. Dead last, an hour 20 minutes after the 17-hour cutoff, but I finished.

Long story follows.

Pre-Race

My sherpa, Suzanne, took the train up from Austin and met me in Oklahoma City. I had flown in earlier in the day, and checked my bike as baggage, using a sturdy cardboard shipping box that was designed to be used 5-6 times. This was my 3rd time using it. When I picked it up at baggage claim, I noticed that one seam wasn’t taped shut, and the box felt more flimsy than it should have. Did I seriously space out so badly that I didn’t tape it all up and didn’t notice while getting it to the airport in Indianapolis? Opened the box, and found the culprit: our wonderful TSA people had opened the box to inspect it. Apparently they’re not taught to leave things as they find them, so they didn’t bother to tape the box back up as it was, which severely compromised its structural integrity. Oh great. Pulled the bike out and put it back together, and it was intact. Except…why is the chain catching when I move the pedals? The chain guard was bent back into the chain. Sheesh. At least that is a very easy fix, and there are mechanics at the race site. I’ll let them deal with it. Was glad that was the only thing wrong, given TSA’s ineptitude at box-taping.

Friday we did a little sightseeing, then went to check myself and the bike in at the race site. The wonderful people from Schlegel’s bike shop were able to bend the chain guard back to its proper position and tighten everything down appropriately. (I had forgotten to throw the Allen wrench set into my bag.) All was well.

Race Morning

Got up at the relatively late time of 5:30am, ate the customary Greek yogurt/honey/blueberry breakfast, and headed out with all of my gear bags. Parking was a 20-minute walk away, and Suzanne had planned on dropping me at transition, then parking the car and walking over. Neither of us was thrilled to arrive and find that the road was completely closed, and everyone had to walk, carrying all their stuff. Great, there goes 20 minutes of valuable time. Since this was a full, and most of us were changing clothes between events, we had a swim-to-bike bag and a bike-to-run bag, and dropped those into tubs in the changing tent. The two special needs bags for halfway points on bike and run went into two other tubs. I put my nutrition on my bike, pulled on the wetsuit, and started getting mentally ready to swim 2.4 miles.

The Swim

Joined the herd of swimmers, and we all noted the stiff wind and the choppy water, and wondered how the wind was going to affect the bike. The water was choppy, but it really didn’t look as bad as Kansas, which had been whitecaps. It wouldn’t be restful, but I had swum in worse. I was in the second wave of swimmers, so we got started quickly. We walked out through some mud to the first buoy and waited for the start signal.

Then we all realized just how choppy it really was. There were swells. There were waves coming from every direction. There was no pattern to the chop, just random blasts of water to the face. It was impossible to get into any kind of rhythm, as it didn’t seem to matter when or on what side you breathed, it was difficult not to take in water. The course was a giant triangle marked by buoys, and we were to keep all the buoys on the left. The half-iron people swam once around it, the full-iron did it twice. The water was pushing everyone around very badly and it was tough to sight the buoys. The chop was bad enough that you couldn’t just lift your head up slightly to look; you had to lift it way up to see over the chop, or to avoid a snoot full of water. It was mentally exhausting, because you couldn’t just put the head down and swim, or you’d end up way off course. I did NOT want to swim any extra strokes in that mess.

I fought off calf cramps (legs took turns), mostly successfully, accepted the fact that this was going to be a mental game (because I knew the body was capable if the mind willed it), and slogged along for two hours. It was a relief to finally hit that last buoy and be able to stand up and walk it in. A volunteer was standing in the water nearby and asked if I needed help – most of us were a bit lightheaded when we first stood up – I told her no, I was peeing, and she may not want to come in any closer. She just laughed knowingly and said I wasn’t the first. It was nice to see Suzanne there and we chatted a bit as I walked to the changing tent. [Later found out they had pulled 12 people from the water, most of them disoriented and panicky. In addition, one of the buoys had drifted and we swam closer to 3 miles instead of the expected 2.4. That made me feel better about my two-hour slog.]

T1

Wow those volunteers were amazing! They had bath towels for us, grabbed our bags, dumped everything out, and packed up all our nasty stuff when we were done changing. I pulled on my bike shorts, jersey, shoes, helmet, drank some more calories, and took off. Was pleased that my T1 time was around eight minutes. Actually felt good when I left on the bike, and immensely grateful to be out of that washing-machine water.

The Bike

The course was two 56-mile loops, with plenty of gentle rollers, a few longer inclines, and a good amount of flat. Not a bad course, nothing extreme. The first 30 or so miles were uneventful. As the day heated up, however, the wind picked up and there were some pretty strong crosswinds. I could feel it pushing me to the side fairly regularly, but was glad it was at least a crosswind and not a headwind. That is, until we turned into one of the longest legs of the course. Then the headwind was incredibly annoying and physically tiring. There were aid stations every ten miles or so, and I stopped at all but two and either stood up or got off the bike entirely and topped off my fluids. I wasn’t particularly aware of being hot, but I was getting crusty from salty sweat and made an effort to stay hydrated. The aid stations all had either salt tablets or electrolytes, and I made a point to take those regularly. The volunteers were super cheerful and encouraging, and extraordinarily helpful. They couldn’t wait to bring us whatever we needed, be it a banana, cold water, Gatorade, bags of ice, whatever.

The police on the course deserve a special shout-out, as they held traffic to let us pass. Even with them there, I was cut off twice by inattentive drivers. I saw the first one coming and was able to just slow down and let him pass, but the second one went out of his way to be an idiot. I was almost home, probably around 105 miles, when he decided it was wise to cut over into the bike lane (which was marked off by cones), start to make a right turn, then stop dead in front of me. I had to hit the brakes hard enough to skid a little, but was able to avoid him. The cop was so pissed he kicked at the car as they finally started moving away. He was swearing loudly at them, too. My hero! The police were only supposed to be out until 4:30, but they stayed until the last few of us stragglers finished up around 6pm. It was really nice to see them there and know I didn’t have to fend for myself through some pretty busy intersections near the end.

T2

It was nice to see Suzanne’s smiling face when I pulled in from the bike. I had not expected to see her until maybe some time on the run, so that was a nice surprise. After eight hours on the bike fighting winds, I was spent. My leg extensors were completely shot, exhausted from pulling my legs up for so long. Once again, the wind required far more mental effort than otherwise, and like the swim, the ride had become a mental game. I was seriously considering the possibility of dropping down to the Aquabike category (swim/bike only) and calling it a day. In addition to being mentally and physically exhausted, (I realized later) the heat had drained quite a lot of energy.

As before, the volunteer in the changing tent was amazingly helpful and cheerful. As I changed into my running clothes, I made a comment about trying to beat the run cutoff. The volunteer then said something that was music to my ears: the race directors want everyone who starts the run to finish, and will stay out there until the bitter end. They’d even stayed until 2-3am in years past, waiting for people to finish. Wow. Ok, that made it easier to decide to stick it out and see what happened. Maybe my legs will recover and I’ll be able to jog some. As it was, I only had six hours 15 minutes to finish by the 17-hour cutoff, and feeling the way I did, I knew that would be a challenge. Tried to drink more calories, but the gut was having none of it. So I took the bottle with me and headed out, hoping the gut would settle down and I could take in more fuel while walking.

The Run

A total misnomer. There was no running. I joined the hordes of walking wounded, and started lap 1. I tried very hard not to think about the fact that I would have to pass this way three more times, and walked as fast as I could. The gut was hurting by now, and I fought off nausea for the first 6.5 miles. Made it to the turnaround and went back out for round 2, not sure if I was going to be able to finish this thing or not. Finally around mile 8.5 I was getting pretty woozy, and thought about a friend’s "involuntary nap in someone’s lawn" during Ironman Louisville (JD, sound familiar?). Decided if I didn’t sit down in the grass I would be doing the same thing. I sat, and promptly puked up everything I had taken in since getting off the bike. Everything. Nasty, but I sure did feel better! A couple of runners very kindly stayed with me for the few minutes it took to get my legs back, and one of them walked with me a bit to make sure I was really ok (I was).

At mile 11 I was finally ready to try to eat something again, but needed to sit down first. The volunteers were simply amazing (this station was manned by members of the local running club, the Landrunners). One kind soul was very encouraging. She noted that I felt cool (not a great sign) and forced me to try something new. They had baby dill pickles at all of the aid stations. I’ve seen this before, and it’s never sounded good. Sure did sound good now! Saltines and pickles seemed to stay down fine, so I did the remaining 15 miles grabbing a pickle or two at each aid station, an occasional saltine, and washing it down with plain water. Stomach felt fine for the rest of the evening.

My legs also had recovered completely from the bike ride, but by now my feet were ruined for running. I was wearing Newtons, which are very much designed for at least a slow trot, NOT for walking. For those not familiar with Newtons, they have lugs on the sole, on the front of the foot. This encourages a mid-sole strike and a lean forward. They’re wonderful for anything faster than a walk. However, if you walk in them, they’re pushing your heels back into the sole and applying more pressure to the ball of your foot than a normal shoe. This resulted in giant hot spots covering the entire pad of both feet, and deep blisters on my heels. The hot spots felt like giant blisters, and the heels just plain hurt. This all started around the time I puked, so I had to stagger more than half the marathon. I’m sure I looked like I’d been hit by a car.

The day's carnage was evident. I knew I was likely last, but I was not the only one missing the cutoff. About 30 yards past an aid station, I came upon a runner who was clearly not doing well. He told me he was woozy, and I guided him to the grass to sit down. He sat/fell in the grass, but was conscious. I told him to sit there while I staggered back to the aid station on screaming feet. Thankfully they had a golf cart there and gave me a ride back to the man. By then he was standing, unsteadily, with two other people holding him up. I knew he had help, so I continued on my way. I don’t know if they loaded him into the cart or not. I’m not sure he finished.

By the fourth turnaround I was really depressed and pissed off. Damn this was miserable. What the hell is WRONG with me? This just flat-out sucks, big time. Had to laugh when I came upon skunk #3 though, and watched it scurry back into the woods. Now wouldn’t THAT just cap off a truly wretched day?

With close to three miles to go, I knew I’d seen the last of the other late finishers. The SAG wagon caught up to me and followed me for the rest of the way, lighting the path quite nicely. The driver told me there’d been more than 70 DNFs between the half and the full (did not finish). Wow. This is a small race, so I knew that was a very high rate indeed. OK, I guess I can be a little less pissed at myself and be grateful I was able to keep moving. Suck it up, buttercup, and get this thing DONE!

Staggered in to the finish with my SAG escort. Poor Suzanne was still there waiting for me, and I finally crossed the finish line at 1:45am, 18 hours 20 minutes and 53 seconds after going into the water that morning. Oh it felt good to finish, but could I please sit and take my shoes off? The dawgs were screaming pretty loudly by then, but I felt surprisingly good otherwise.

Collected all my swag, marveled at all the genuinely supportive people that were still there, thanked them profusely for hanging around, and retrieved my stuff. One wonderful man gave me a ride to the car, and we chatted about the day. He was in charge of the swim, and also was caught off guard by how much worse it was than expected. Like us, he had looked at the water and thought it would be choppy but not scary. He said it became immediately apparent that it was going to be a tough day, as people were struggling shortly after starting. He pulled one guy out within the first few hundred yards who was swimming in circles. He’d become so disoriented that he couldn’t even tell them what year it was. Yikes.

This one was far, far more mental than physical. My body wanted me to stop, and many times I had to mentally check in and assess. Every time, it was clear that while I was hurting, I wasn’t doing any serious damage, and the body was capable of continuing. The REAL issue was mental. I was mentally tired early on, and constantly tried to reset throughout the day. When I started the bike, I forced myself to forget the swim. When I got to the turnaround and had to face the winds again (oh I really was wishing I'd signed up for the half), I just took a deep breath and tried to forget about the first bike loop. By the time I was truly hating life on the run, I was simply in too deep to quit. Especially when all those people were hanging around so I could finish! So even though I didn’t do it in the "official" 17-hour time frame, I did it, it still counts, and I still got the same swag as the first finisher. That works for me!

Stats

129 finishers/38 DNF
Swim: 2:08:58 (~2.8 miles, maybe more?)
T1: 8:46
Bike: 8:19:19
T2: 8:13
Run: 7:36:10
Total time: 18:20:53

Really, the only time that’s completely out of whack for me is the run. Not so bad! Everything else is a little slower than I had hoped, but not by much. Seven of us missed the cutoff, and I was only 8 minutes behind the one in front of me. I was surprised to find out it had gotten up to 88 and very humid. Well no wonder I was sapped off the bike. It's been a very cool year and I'm simply not used to that kind of heat. FYI: I shipped the bike back through the local bike shop, ground. Am avoiding the primates at TSA from now on!

Oh, and the title of this post? DFL (dead bleeping last) > DNF (did not finish) > DNS (did not start)

A Busy August

Back in August, I did two half-iron triathlons in a three-week span, and both are worthy of at least a brief race report. They were:

• Challenge New Albany (OH) – One of the Roth Challenge company’s inaugural forays into North America (Roth is a major competitor to the Ironman brand, but hasn’t had much of a North American presence until now).
• Ironman 70.3 Steelhead (St. Joseph MI) – My third time doing this race was unexpectedly difficult, not just for me but for just about everyone I know who did it. It was still a good day, though.

Prologue

18 days out from my “A” race for the year (Challenge Atlantic City, a full iron-distance tri), I came down with the cold-from-hell-that-becomes-hellacious-sinus-infection that has been striking down people all summer. I had only been antibiotic-free for three days when race-day came, so had to eat the entry fee and not participate. I lost three full weeks of training, so basically had to regroup and figure out what to do with the rest of the season. Do I give up on the iron-distance this year and relax a bit, or do I pick another one and plan the race/training schedule around that? Being a masochist, I signed up for the Redman in September, a full-iron distance in Oklahoma City.

Recovering from this “cold” proved to be challenging, and not exactly motivating to train hard, so I signed up for some events that would force me to get out the door and put out the effort. Besides, the Challenge brand of triathlons is well-respected in Europe, and since I had missed out on Atlantic City, I was still curious as to what their events were like. As fate would have it, one of their few North American events happened to be in a suburb of…Columbus, Ohio? Hmmm ok, that’s a bit odd, but it’s an easy drive from Indianapolis, so why not? Turns out that New Albany is a small little community that has chosen to bet its future on attracting things related to a healthy lifestyle, and has embraced the idea of being exercise-friendly. Who knew?

The event was an existing race that the Challenge people bought and adapted to their purposes. It was a smaller event, with around 275 people doing the half-iron distance, the same number doing the Olympic distance. The expo was small but quite adequate, with anything athletes might need.

This was a two-transition race. What this means is that the race starts at one location with the swim-to-bike transition there, the bike ride ends in a different location and the bike-to-run transition is located there. In this case, T1 was about 25 miles away from T2 (which was near the finish). This meant that we had to get our bikes to T1 on Saturday, the day before the race, then catch a shuttle bus race morning, dragging along everything else for the bike ride. After picking up my packet from check-in, I finally found transition after going to the incorrect address I was given. Apparently several flocks of Canadian geese had found it as well. There was a very healthy supply of nature’s fertilizer to step over. Oh joy. They really couldn’t hire a dog for the couple of days previous to keep the area clear? Stepping into goose poo on the way INTO the water wouldn’t be a problem, but I sure didn’t want to step on any coming OUT of the water, then pull on a sock and jam it into a bike shoe. Bleah. Oh well. It is what it is. Dodged the poo, found my spot, racked my bike, and went in search of dinner.

Race Day – New Albany

Early-morning logistics were a bit of a pain, since this was a two-transition race. After dropping off the run gear at our spot in T2, we had to pile onto buses headed for T1. Everyone was half-asleep, carrying a wetsuit, a bag with bike shoes/sunglasses/helmet/all the fluids for the bike/etc., stumbling around in the dark. After waiting for what seemed like forever (and realizing we had forfeited an extra 30 minutes of sleeping time for no good reason), all the buses pulled away in a convoy. I really hoped the lead driver was given better information than I had been given, or all the buses would be exploring the perimeter of the reservoir just like I had done.

Apparently the drivers had the correct address, but their directions were lacking. After a wrong turn, the convoy of buses got turned around and headed in the right direction. We all just laughed in between yawns, figuring they couldn’t start the race if all the athletes were lost on buses. Ha.

The rest of the day was snafu-free, and things went very smoothly. The swim was uneventful, in nice calm water that was just cool enough to be wetsuit-legal, but not so cool as to be shocking. It was very easy to sight, as it went up and down along the coast. If you weren’t seeing the coast on the correct side, then you had a problem. Once again, it was very easy to find my bike, since most of the planet swims faster than I do. I managed to dodge the poo at least long enough to get my feet into my bike shoes. (I have no idea what I stepped in on the way out of transition.) The bike course started out with very reasonable hills and decent roads, as promised. Around mile 20 or so, the Olympic distance triathletes turned off to head directly to T2, and we half-distance folks continued onward.

…and boy did it get hilly! There was a lot more chip seal roughness to deal with, and the hills seemed to get steeper and steeper. When someone would pass me on a hill, we’d commiserate about how much hillier this was than expected, and just laugh about it. It was definitely much harder than advertised, but a beautiful course.

After a fair amount of swearing up some hills, I finally got to transition and happily got off the bike. This transition was very long, and we had to walk the bike for what seemed like a quarter mile. Got quickly changed and headed out for the run. The weather had been cooperating all day, staying dry but with cloud cover keeping it from getting too hot, but it was starting to look threatening by the time us slow folks got out on the run course. After some mist, it finally rained a few times, enough to cool everyone down, then stopped. I know I wasn’t the only one that didn’t mind the small amount of rain.

Finished, collected my bling, rinsed off and put on some dry clothes, then went to the Starbucks near the finish line for a celebratory latte. The race included a decent dinner afterwards, which was greatly appreciated. It was nice to skip the search for food, and start the drive home fully caffeinated and on a full stomach.

The Roth Challenge series promises an inclusive experience, and delivers on that promise. They want everyone to finish, and don’t mind waiting for us slower folks. It’s nice to have the promised support at the finish, no matter how late. (By the way, I was not the last person to finish. Managed to catch and pass about a dozen people on the run, and there were several behind me coming out of transition.) Another successful day!

New Albany – The Verdict

Course: Beautiful
Swag: Nice shirt and medal
Logistics: Good
Support: Very good
Volunteers: Wonderfully encouraging
Recommended: Yes!

Race Day – Steelhead

By now I had FINALLY started feeling 100% and like my normal self in workouts, so I was expecting a better day with less struggle. Up to this point, almost every workout and race had felt like slogging through deep water, a constant grind, and harder than it should have been. I was looking forward to finally racing at full health. I've done Steelhead twice before, and like the course. There were quite a few of us from Indianapolis that were racing, and it was nice to have the group support.

Once again, I got lucky with Lake Michigan, and there were no dangerous currents or crazy cold temps. The water was chilly, but not miserable. It was colder than I would have preferred (don't remember the actual temp), however, and took forever for my heart rate to slow down so that I could settle into a decent swim. There were swells, much like the ocean, which most of us are not used to, and quite a few people had to fight off panic. For me, I just couldn't get the heart rate down, and looking around at others who were struggling, did a mental check to make sure the pounding heart was physical and not mental. Nope, not panicking, just can't get the body to relax. Well, it HAS to slow down sometime in the next 1.2 miles.

Eventually it did, but by that time my swim time was completely in the toilet. Oh well, finish, get out, and enjoy the rest of the day. I like the bike course here, and the weather is holding out with clouds keeping the heat at bay. Gonna be a nice day.

Had a good bike ride, and lolly-gagged the first 28 miles, enjoying the smooth roads and the scenery. Picked it up a bit for the second half, and enjoyed the long downhill/tailwind back to transition.

Left for the run as the pros were coming back to finish, and admired their running form and their bodies (not in that order). Was expecting a better run, but quickly realized that I just wasn't going to be able to run/trot as much as usual. Wasn't sure why, but looking around, everyone seemed to be feeling the same way. Finally realized that the clouds had dissipated, resulting in a hot, very humid afternoon. The hot heavy air seemed to affect all of the runners, so I was in good company with many many walk breaks.

(Note: It has been an unusually cool summer here in the Midwest, so none of us are heat-conditioned. Indianapolis had the coolest July on record.)

Mustered up a trot to the finish and was happy to head to a shower! Though this one was harder than I expected, it made me extremely grateful for good health and the ability to even do this stuff. I felt a little better about it when I heard other people saying they'd had a tougher-than-expected day too. Bad ju-ju? Who knows. But every finish is a success to celebrate, and I was just happy to be there.

IM 70.3 New Orleans: A Mixed Bag

The weekend got off to an unsettling start while waiting for my ride down from Indianapolis to check in to his hotel. A fellow competitor noticed my Indiana t-shirt, came over to chat, and immediately informed me that two cyclists had been hit by a car that afternoon. Both were in town to race; one had been killed, the other seriously injured. Oh great.

Logistical failings became clear the next day (the day before the race). Bikes had to be checked in to the transition area on Saturday. Transition was 11 miles away on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, but the host hotel was right next to the French Quarter. Sunday, race day, there were shuttle buses to get the athletes up to the race site, but Saturday, nothing. There were no public transportation options, and it would be a very expensive cab ride. The race organizers' answer to those who had flown in and not rented a car was not acceptable: take a cab or hitch a ride with someone. Really?

Thankfully there were plenty of us there with cars, and a friend of mine had driven over from Austin, so we were covered. One member of our group befriended a car-less Canadian woman who was roaming the parking garage looking for a ride. Unsat.

Sunday morning brought the usual gawdawful early alarm, and we were at transition setting up our gear by 6am. It was now time to relax, watch the sun rise, and await our turns to go into the water. It was a beautiful sunrise, and everyone stood around yawning and chatting to pass the time. My Austin friend enjoyed the human eye-candy.

Before the race started, the newly-minted widow of the athlete who had been killed spoke to us. He had been a firefighter, and left a young family behind. She told us that he would not have wanted anybody's day to be ruined by what had happened, and urged us all to have a good race. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house. We all marveled that she was able to hold it together long enough to even try to speak. The race director then spoke, and he was very plainly deeply upset. He explained that a fund had been set up to help the man's family, as well as help the surviving man's family pay for his rapidly-mounting medical bills. (I haven't heard any follow-up, but was told he had broken his back, along with multiple other injuries. He was still in serious condition when we left NOLA.) The crowd was very quiet for a few minutes, while everybody filed the experience away and got ready to switch gears into race mode.

The swim start was surprisingly efficient and kept swimmers from crawling all over each other in the water. I was in the very last wave, women 40+. Each wave worked its way down the dock to a floating platform, 4-6 swimmers lined up at the front of that platform, and went into the water every 15-20 seconds. All 1230 (or so) of us were in the water in under an hour, as promised.

It was a very nice, sheltered swim in a harbor off the lake, so no chop and relatively warm. The sleeveless wetsuit was perfect for the 68-degree water. My swim was slower than I had hoped, but it felt good. I had only swam once in the last six weeks, since dislocating my shoulder, so I didn't expect to do exceptionally well. I was very happy that the shoulder stayed put and felt solid, and annoyed at the constant fogging of my goggles. When they'd fog up so badly I couldn't see the buoys, I'd stop and tread water long enough to clear them out. Not great for time. Sigh. The hardest part of the swim was the exit, up some very steep stairs they had lowered into the water. I barked my shin on the bottom step, trying to find it in the murk. Ouch! The wetsuit strippers did their thing, and I was quickly carrying my wetsuit to the bike - which was very easy to find due to my slow swim! Waved hello to my friend, and got ready for a long-ish ride.

Took off on the bike, and immediately had to climb a 40-foot highway ramp. Lovely. However, I surprised myself by passing the two riders that were ahead of me, and got ready to enjoy the ride.

...which I did for the first 35 miles. The only hills were the occasional overpasses and ramps, and the wind, while annoying, didn't particularly affect the ride. The winter indoor training paid off, and I was averaging 18-20mph (great for me) and passing many people. A 64-year-old man (our ages are written on our calves) and I played tag for a while, passing and catching each other, until he finally passed me for good around mile 30. That one was actually pretty humorous. I was passing two people at the time (ages high 20's early 30's), and he passed me as I was passing them. I heard one of the young 'uns exclaim something to the other, and had to chuckle.

At some point it occurred to me that there had been an abundance of caution in how the roads were closed. Usually, they'll close one side and have traffic pass on the other. Not this time, not even where there was plenty of room. Later in the ride, someone had placed a bicycle that was completely painted white, handlebars, tires, everything, up against a tree. It was covered with flowers. Afterwards, several of us wondered if that was where the two cyclists had been hit. I'm quite sure the excessive road closures were a direct result of Friday's accident. Sobering.

After the race, there was universal agreement that the suckfest had begun around mile 35, when the winds got completely out of control. A weather front was blowing in, and the winds were all over the place, either pushing us from the sides or trying to stop us from the front. There was no tailwind, of course. The last 20 miles everyone just put their heads down and kept cranking as hard as possible. I have never used granny gear on a flat ride, but had to that day. The only encouraging thing was that I was somehow still managing to pass people, even though I was spinning a tiny gear and going painfully slow. The last half mile we had to go back up that 40-foot ramp, into a headwind. Are you serious? Oh well, I could see transition so I knew the torture was almost over. Thank gawd.

Headed out for the run, feeling all alone. Since I was in the last group to enter the water and had a pitiful slow swim, the bulk of people had long since left on their run. There were only two others in front of me for the first quarter- to half-mile, but it didn't take long to catch and pass them. It was very clear that the bike had beaten up everyone pretty badly, as virtually no one was running. The vast majority of us were walking/trudging/walking, and it really was a death march for many. As I would gain on groups of people, their silhouettes reminded me of the Walking Dead. It actually was quite humorous.

Somehow I managed to work my way up through groups of fellow wasted runners, and was soon within two miles of the finish. Hooray! It was great to see a friendly face around mile 11 and whine a little about the wind on the bike. She just smiled and reminded me the finish was near. At mile 12 I finally caught the woman I'd seen earlier who was doing the race as a relay, and clearly suffering. She was heavier, and it looked like this might be her first seriously long event. She had been maintaining a passable trudge earlier, but by mile 12 it was obvious her feet were really hurting. As I passed, I said, "I think we're going to finish this thing!" "Oh, we're definitely going to finish," she said, "I've quit four times today!" Excellent!

As usual, the last quarter mile felt like several, but finally I saw my friend and a fellow competitor from Indianapolis (who had already finished), and knew there were only a few yards to go. Huzzah! I'm done! Time for a good local brew and some red beans and rice. We found a place to sit, and gradually the Indiana contingent all found each other and bitched about the wind. I felt a little better about the bike after I heard that even one of the pros had commented on how tough the wind was. Ok, it's not just because I maybe went out too hard and got tired; it really was that bad. Whew!

And here is where the logistical failures again became clear. The finish was in City Park, nowhere near either transition OR the French Quarter/hotel. All of our race crap was back in transition, and had to be retrieved by 8pm. There was a shuttle to go back there, but then no way to get anywhere from there, especially not with a bike. Great. Once again, it was a good thing we had plenty of vehicles, but I know it was a real hassle for some who had flown in.

After a badly-needed shower, we hooked up with the group and swapped war stories. I almost fell asleep in my dinner, and had to call it a day.

So. Am I glad I did this race once? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably not. The bike course wasn't very scenic, though it's the first elevation chart I've downloaded that was all in the negative numbers(!). The swim and run were fine. However the pre- and post-race logistical failings were bad enough not to want to fool with it again. The expo also was far smaller than expected, and a bit of a disappointment.

But the beignets, fried shrimp po boys, and grilled oysters were heavenly!

Overall Time: 7:13:08
Swim: 54:54 (yeah yeah I know, slow)
T1: 5:47
Bike: 3:27:20
T2: 3:26
Run: 2:41:42

HUFF 50K 2013: A Gorgeous Suckfest

December 28 was forecast to be an unusually nice day, especially for late December in Indiana, so I couldn't use the weather as an excuse not to do the HUFF. The HUFF used to take place in Huntington, IN, hence the name: Huntington Ultra Frigid Fifty. It has since moved to a beautiful park in Albion, IN, but the name has stayed the same. It's a two-loop trail run in unpredictable conditions. Some years the course is flooded with icy cold water, other years it's a muddy slog, a bone-chilling cold run in the snow, or a perfect day to hang out in the woods. 2013 was a perfect day to hang out in the woods.

Temperatures were a warmer than usual (THIS year) low-30's, with a beautiful clear blue sky. For once it wasn't blustery, and there was enough snow on the ground to make it a classic winter-in-the-woods scene. The race started just as the sun was breaking the horizon, and the crisp winter light added to the positive energy. Everyone was looking forward to enjoying the day, our last warm one before the colder-than-usual temperatures predicted to return on Sunday.

This is a larger trail ultra, with a combined 900 runners between the full 50K, the 10-mile loop, and the 50K relay. Like most trail runs, and most ultras, the atmosphere is far more laid-back than at a typical road race. All experience levels were there, from seasoned pros to newbies like myself. Before the race, people compared opinions on running shoes, racing strategies, and previous HUFF race experiences. The start was a guy saying (not yelling), "Go!"

The first loop went well, with a spectacular sunrise over the frozen lakes covered in snow. There was no mud, as the ground was still frozen hard. I was surprised it was so hard, and while it was nice not to slog through mud, the hard uneven surface was tough on the feet. There were several times when I really wished I had dragged along a camera. I felt great at the ten-mile point, and still felt pretty darned good after completing loop 1 of 2. I was a little tired, but not horribly so, and the bottoms of my feet were starting to complain a little from the hard irregular surface, but nothing I couldn't manage. My goal was to finish the 50K under 7 hours, so I was happy with my time of 3:19 for the first loop...

...until about one mile into loop 2, when the foot annoyance became full-blown hotspots that felt like the entire pads of both feet were large blisters. I've had hotspots before, but never this bad. I knew they would hurt whether I walked or ran, so I settled into a walk/trot combo that worked out well. I was still passing people, and they weren't catching and passing me at aid stations, so I was happy with my pace. The day had warmed up into the 40's, thawing things out. There were several impressively deep mud pits the second time around.

At mile 24, the previous eight miles of compensating for aching feet finally caught up with me. One ankle had been slowly developing a sharp pain with each foot-plant, and I could no longer even try to trot with it. The pain was such that it felt like I was in real danger of seriously injuring myself if I insisted on anything faster than a walk. Up to this point I had been maintaining a decent pace, and was still passing people. My ankle made it clear that my pace was going to have to slow way down: I was going to have to walk the last six miles. Urg.

So, I trudged/staggered/limped the last six miles, and tried to focus on enjoying the day. "This is just a looooong walk in the woods on a beautiful day." "I'm still catching a few people, how is that happening?" "Oh crap, here comes that guy who had a real attitude when people were taking their time crossing a creek earlier. I really wanted to beat him." "I only have to hurt for another (fill in the number) miles. Don't think about how many minutes that will take."

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the guy with an attitude really was an ok person. I don't know why he was so impatient earlier, but he had since mellowed and was slogging along just like the rest of us. And since misery loves company, I felt a little better as I saw how slowly most people were tackling loop 2. I wasn't the only one who was forced to slow down to a death march: the suffering was widespread. Yet no one was considering quitting. It was getting more and more difficult to navigate the mud pits with aching feet, but overall was not nearly as muddy as I had expected.

The last mile I watched runner after runner pass me and pull out of sight. By this point, my frustration was blunted by the searing pain of each step. How is it possible for your feet to hurt this badly and not be blistered? At the last aid station less than a mile from the finish, the wonderful volunteers saw my hat ("will run for beer") and offered up a Sam Adams. I seriously considered it, but just wanted to finish and get off my feet. I asked for an oxy instead, but they were all out. Time to suck it up and get that last half-mile out of the way.

I crossed the finish at 7:32, surprised at my time since I had to walk so far. It had been a pitiful walk, with tiny steps getting smaller with each mile, until I had slowed to a 20-minute pace. I happily collected my very cool belt buckle/medal combo, and staggered to the food tent. Found a chair, and a fabulous runner/volunteer brought me some wonderful home-made corn chowder. He was wearing a ten-mile loop medal, so he had obviously run earlier and then stuck around to help the rest of us. A special person indeed.

After warming up and sitting for a while, it was time to attempt to get to the car, which was parked about a quarter-mile away. After an excruciating 10-minute shuffle that must have epitomized "pitiful", and much grunting and groaning, I finally threw myself into the car with a huge sigh of relief.

On the way out of the park, I forced myself out of the car (and yes, back on the screaming feet), to take a photo of a glorious sunset over one of the frozen lakes. No, it wasn't beautiful enough to make me forget about the pain, but it made me even happier that I had spent the day outside enjoying the gift of a perfect December day in Indiana.

PS: Now I know which socks NOT to wear in a trail ultra. Duh.