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.

RAIN Ride Across Indiana 2014

At some point, I was ready to shoot that masochistic voice in my head that encourages me to sign up for such idiotic things as riding 160 miles on a bicycle in one day. This ride began in Terre Haute (next to Illinois), and finished in Richmond (next to Ohio), and we had 14 hours to complete it. "Hey that sounds like fun!" the little voice said. "It'll be a great day!" "You can do this!" "Why not?", she said. Some day I may learn to ignore that little bitch, but I haven't figured out how to do that just yet. So I drove to Richmond, IN Friday afternoon, and caught a bus back to the start in Terre Haute. The ride started at a little college in the middle of nowhere, aptly named St. Mary Of The Woods. The school rented out dorm rooms, which made it very convenient the following morning.

Unfortunately, breakfast was a disappointment. The promised eggs were nowhere to be seen, and the last thing I want to eat before 12-14 hours of hard effort is link sausage or fried hash browns. I settled for several cups of (non-Greek) yogurt with a little fruit. Not being Greek style, the yogurt was loaded with sugar and not-so-loaded with protein, but it would have to do. I only had to go 2.5 hours on the bike before getting to more food.

I started about 25 yards behind the "Just Hope To Finish" sign, behind hundreds of other riders. I think there were around 1200 riders, and it was really something to be part of that group. Certainly not a place I ever expected to be – spectator, perhaps, but not a participant. This is kinda cool!

We heard some sort of commotion waaaaay up there (there were so many riders we couldn't see the start, up around the bend), and figured we'd be moving soon. Sure enough, a movement passed through the mass, made its way to us, and it was time to go. The Sheriff and local police provided an amazing escort through Terre Haute, all the way out of town on the other side. They were fabulous. It was wild to be riding easily in a large group of people, and every so often have a couple of Sheriff’s vehicles go zooming past us to catch up to the lead riders and manage car traffic while we passed.

There were four SAG (Support and Gear) stops and one lunch stop. The first leg was the longest of the day, at mile 40 or so. The rest of them were 20-25 miles apart, so not quite so difficult mentally. It was time to just settle in and get to stop #1.

Everything about this was a new experience for me: the distance, the number of other riders, the pace. I've never ridden with a large group (only some group rides from the local bike shop, sorted by speed), so wasn’t sure what to expect. Thanks to the local group rides, I did at least have an understanding of basic etiquette, but that’s about it. I was also one of the few people who were riding a tri bike instead of a road bike. [This matters because a tri bike is designed to be more comfortable when you are down low in the aero position, but you have less control down there. This makes it bad etiquette to go aero if you are anywhere near a group of people that you could take out if you lost control. I'm lucky this bike is reasonably comfortable in either position, or it would have been a truly miserable day.]

The day was far too long for a blow-by-blow, but the following is a summary of the essentials.

1-40 (2.5 hours) – Almost sabotaged myself by not taking in any calories. Felt good but drained by the time I got to the SAG stop.

SAG #1 – Half a banana and half a PB&J. Filled up front water bottle with Gatorade. Didn't sit this time except for pee break. Plan was to pee at every stop just to confirm I was taking in enough liquid, and to make sure I loitered long enough to get some rest. Averaged about 15 minutes per break.

41-64 (1.5 hours) – Felt horrible due to the calorie deficit from miles 1-40, but it passed after 45 minutes or so when the food from SAG 1 kicked in.

SAG #2 – Banana, filled water bottle with Gatorade.

65-94 (2 hours) – Bananas are wonderful things. Had a nice burst of energy when it kicked in. Had a light rain for most of this segment, but didn’t mind.

LUNCH – Banana, half PB&J, veggie wrap, potato chips, Gatorade. Enjoyed sitting for a while, watching it rain.

95-115 (1.5 hours) – Felt great after lunch. Rain stopped after a handful of miles. By now, the riders were more spread out and there was more opportunity to go down into the aerobars, so that helped conserve energy.

SAG #3 – Ate nothing, continued drinking Gatorade. Probably not a smart move, but there weren’t any bananas and none of the processed stuff looked appetizing. Should have shoved something down the gullet anyway, I know that now. Enjoyed sitting (NOT on a bike) for a bit.

116-120 – Still felt good, but was beginning to tire of the whole thing. I would have been ecstatic if I could have gotten off the bike and run a marathon instead of riding the remaining distance.

121-133 (1.5 hours) – Mentally getting harder to stay motivated. Realizing that there's a reason I like multisport: my attention span just isn't that long. Had to keep reminding myself that at this point it was mental, my body was holding up just fine.

SAG #4 – Banana, half PB&J, Gatorade, frozen popsicle drink, sat for a while and people-watched. The stop was at a small volunteer firehouse, and they made us very, very welcome. In addition to the popsicles, a firefighter was filling our bottles with ice. Wonderful, since it was getting pretty warm and muggy by now. Thankfully the cloud cover never quite broke up, but it did heat up for a little while.

133 – Only 28 more miles to go! Woohoo! I can wrap my brain around that. I got this!

137 – OK, it's no longer just mental. My legs are tired. And my back. And my neck. Surprisingly, the ass is just fine, only some very minor chafing where my left leg lightly brushes the side of the saddle. Easy to deal with, given the alternative.

140 – How am I going to finish this?

143 – How do people do this year after year? Why?

145 – How the HELL am I going to finish this?

156 – Saw sign that said, "5 miles to finish". Hot damn and Hallelujah! Hardest five miles I have ever ridden.

157 – OK, this qualifies as a hardcore suckfest.

161.5 – Is that really the turn into the finish? Can it be?

161.6 – Can I stop and stand up without falling over? Surprisingly, yes! Came in just behind two other riders. We all unclipped and stood, got our finisher keychain, and stood in a very short line for our finisher photo. I could see my car from where I was standing, and immediately started fantasizing about sitting in it. Rode the bike the few yards to the car, got off, and hurled myself into the passenger seat, where I sat, being completely pitiful, for at least five minutes.

Time in the saddle: 10:30:49

Total time: 12:03:00

Rinsed off in the cold showers at the college that served as the finish line, put on some clean clothes, stopped at a local family restaurant and ordered a fried chicken dinner to-go, and drove the 70 miles back home to my inviting bed.

Other than the disappointing breakfast, everything, and I do mean everything, about this ride was incredibly well organized. The SAG stops had the promised items, all the logistics made sense, and every single volunteer (and there were plenty) was cheerful and helpful. Their good spirits really helped lift our spirits. They were outstanding and deeply, deeply appreciated. And I would love to personally thank whoever convinced the weather gods to take it easy on us. The radar was looking pretty scary at lunch, but nothing materialized and in fact it stayed much cooler than the typical July day in Indiana.

Overall, I am very pleased with how I did, and still not quite sure I really did it. I had figured I would need the entire 14 hours, so was very pleased to finish a full two hours sooner than expected. Was also very happy that the first 100-112 miles really weren't that bad, and not something to be so intimidated by. Even though I was exhausted when I got home, my body was so physically wound up that I had a very tough time falling asleep. I woke up twice in the night to visit the refrigerator and eat. Today (Monday, two days later), I am not sore, and Pilates felt really, really good.

Almost 53, rode 160 miles in a day on a handful of 2-3 hour rides, no pain or soreness? I’ll take it!

Random thoughts:

• Never inhale as you pass road kill.
• Make the most of the downhills, no matter how slight the incline.
• Butt lube is a wonderful thing.
• Heated car seats are the bomb!

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.

Brrrrr! Flying Monkey Marathon 2013

This is a most irreverent race that sucks you in with its sarcastic attitude. I survived this one last year, and was once again unable to resist the temptation to invite bodily pain.

You see, the Harpeth Hills Flying Monkey marathon boasts a total elevation change of 7200 feet (or 7500, depending on which statement you believe). In any case, it's a brutal combo of steep ups and downs, and the downs never seem to be quite as long as the ups. The slogan of the race is "Running is Stupid", and that attitude pervades the entire day.

Flying Monkeys are said to inhabit a beautiful park just southwest of Nashville, TN, and are rumored to occasionally attack runners. You are encouraged to deal with the hills as quickly as possible, or risk attack. This is not a "race" for most participants however -- it's an experience to survive, and most people are quite laid-back about the whole thing. There are a few genetic mutants who actually do race, and the rest of us watch in awe when we see them coming, on their way to finish a good two hours before us mere mortals.

It's a small race, about 300 runners. Part of the swag is a personalized race bib and tech shirt, and you are asked for your "monkey name" when you register. Since I was stupid enough to subject myself to this again, knowing full well what was ahead, I chose "Stupid". Not everybody was as self-aware as I, but I did run into Idiot before the race. There was also a red cape in the swag bag, to go along with this year's "Faster than a speeding banana" theme, but I forgot to wear it. Sigh.

The weather in Nashville in late November can be a total crap shoot. Last year it was a very comfortable high-40s range and dry. This year it was a beautiful sunny day, but the temps were in the 20s with wind-chills in the teens for most of the race. Some people were thoroughly bundled up, most were like me (knit hat, gloves, tights, couple of tech shirts and a running jacket), and a few crazies were wearing shorts and/or nothing on their arms. Ummm. NO.

Everyone gathered in the park for the casual start, stood around trying to use other bodies as wind blockage, and got ready to enjoy the gorgeous day ahead, cold wind be damned. One very nice runner offered me an extra set of hand warmers. I took one, and asked him to give the other one to another needy runner. I'm sure he had plenty of takers. I was carrying a camera in the other hand anyway, so it would be warm enough. Trent (the race director) said, "Ready, set, go!" and we were off. No ceremony. It was wonderful.

Before the first mile, we saw our first sign in the "I hate Trent" series: "Trent Sucks". Awesome. I ran with Dorothy for another mile or so. I remembered seeing her last year. She has run the Monkey every year, this was #8, and she drove up from Birmingham AL She had red-sequin slipcovers for her running shoes, and didn't think the wig would get too hot this year. She was going to be happy with anything under six hours. I didn't want to be that cold for that long, so I went on ahead.

After another mile or so, I caught up with group of guys who were running together, obviously old friends. We were all walking up a hill, and one of them was wearing a blade prosthetic. I asked him if his monkey name was "Badass". He laughed and said, no, he just stuck with "Matt" this time. I hung with them until we got to the top of the hill, then took advantage of the downhill. We would leap-frog each other for about 18 more miles before I finally left them behind for good. I don't care what Matt says, he's a major badass and I am in awe.

Thankfully the trees and hills provided some coverage from the wind for most of the course, but there were a few spots on the tops and outside edges where the wind was painfully cold. The biggest problem with stopping to drink or suck down a cold, stiff gel was the chill that could set in if you dawdled too long. I was amazed at the cheerfulness of the volunteers at each and every aid station. They HAD to be miserably cold, yet were smiling and supportive and very helpful. One was even breaking the thin crust of ice in the water cups before handing them to us!

Personally, I had a great day. After I passed mile 20, I decided that I wasn't going to let anyone catch and pass me for the last 10k...unless they were really moving. I steadily caught and passed runners, and managed to stay ahead of them. Things started hurting but not too badly, and finally I passed the mile 26 marker. There stood Paula, holding my cape! I was happy to use that as an excuse to stop long enough to put it on, then run to the finish, passing someone else along the way. I managed to finish three minutes faster than last year, at 5:13:54, relatively pain-free.

...until I got back to the car with my medal and beer. The second I stopped moving, my legs started bitching loudly about the hills. The quads were actually fine, but the hams and calves were just itching to seize up. Somehow I avoided a full-on cramp-fest, and was very happy to sit in the warm car with the seat heater turned on. We had to get Paula back to Indianapolis in time to work that night, so there was no hanging around to socialize or try to score any more swag. Along with the free beer (from a local brewer, Yazoo), there was a pot-luck feast of goodies. I grabbed a plate of food and munched on that all the way back home. Wonderful way to end a race!