American Birkebeiner (2014)

What I Wore:

1 Medium weight wool hat

1 neck buff (pulled up over my nose when I wasn’t climbing)

1 pair of sunglasses

3 light-to-medium weight long-sleeve top layers

2 pairs of gloves (incl. glove liners)

1 pair windproof boxer briefs

2 pairs of bottoms

1 pair of wool socks

1 “strap-on” with water bottle and emergency food

1 GoPro

Executive Summary:

It was cold. It was slow. I barely survived.

Full Analysis:

This was year two for our Birkie crew (Charlie, Sam and John; and year one for Katie). We just have to string together a few more appearances until we have those elusive purple race bibs (20+ finishes). With all that experience under our belt, things ran much more smoothly in the run-up to the race.

A week before the race, I flew down to Key West to prep for the bitterly cold Wisconsin weather by lounging by the pool in 80 heat. It was a lovely week with Annie and the rest of the Helm family. I did a 10 mile run with Annie, but otherwise I was in full-on taper mode.

On Tuesday night, Charlie and the rest of the crew gathered in my basement to wax the skis for the upcoming conditions. We heard it was going to be cold, so they put on the coldest wax I have: purple. There were various brushing strategies employed. I asked for nylon, wax, bronze, horsehair. Charlie and Sam did wax, bronze, nylon, horsehair. None of us really have a clue what’s proper waxing procedure. We did observe that we went down hills faster than our competitors, although that could have been a product of our winter weight instead of the wax.

We decided to arrive in Minneapolis-St. Paul on Thursday night, to give ourselves a buffer in case of bad weather, and to allow ourselves a bit more time to relax in Hayward on Friday. The crew was kind enough to bring my skis from Boston, so I didn’t need to bring them to Key West and then to MSP. I’m not sure the Key West airport knows how to handle skis, anyway.

On Wednesday morning, I started freaking out about the snow storm about to hit the Midwest. Were our flights going to be cancelled?! Would we make the Birkie at all?! Would the grand total of 7 hours of training be for naught?! Soon my panic infected the rest of the group.

I watched my phone all day on Thursday, waiting for notice of a flight cancellation, but none came. I boarded my Key West to Miami flight, thinking that I would at least be able to get out of Miami early Friday morning if necessary. I arrived in Miami and my flight to MSP was delayed an hour. Not a good sign. I started tweeting with American Airlines, however, and they made me feel hopeful that I would get in that night. My flight did leave only an hour late and landed in MSP in the middle of a blizzard. Kudos to the airport crew there for keeping the planes flying.

I met up with the rest of our Birkie crew a bit before midnight and we retired to a hotel at the airport for some much needed rest. Charlie (henceforth Little Prince Haakon because of his penchant for issuing royal decrees) stated that no one was allowed to wake up before 8 AM.

We hit the road around 9 AM and were astounded by the amount of snow on the road. One entrance ramp to the interstate had not been plowed at all (after 15 inches of snow) so we were glad we were in a tank/Surburban. Sam did a good job driving us safely to Hayward and we did a good job telling him exactly which turns to make so he didn’t drive us to Duluth (like he tried to last year).

Upon arrival in Hayward, we went directly to bib pick up where we all looked over the gloves for sale with great interest. We discussed over and over what would be appropriate race wear. With temperatures around zero, we thought that being too cold would be miserable. On the other hand, if you were too warm and you started sweating and then cooled off, that would be even worse. Around and around we went.

We went to the Angler for an early dinner and had classic pre-race dinners such as: full pizzas and reubens. After a soak in the hot tub (with beer), we snuggled into our beds and dreamt of winning the Birkie.

Saturday morning, we woke at 5:30 to get the free breakfast at our hotel, the Flat Creek Inn. Then back to the room for race prep. We left the hotel at 6:40 and drove the “back way” up to the Telemark Lodge. We had purchased a parking pass that allowed us to sit in the warmth of our car, steps from the start line. Originally, I was skeptical of this purchase. I thought it elitist and thought we would miss some of the pre-race mingling that makes up the Birkie experience. That morning, however, with temperatures at 0 degrees Fahrenheit, the Telemark Lodge closed, and the heated tent collapsed because of snow load, I was glad to be sitting in our warm car. Plus, I’ve heard that the recent snow made the traffic for those using the buses even worse than usual. Many people were late for their start.

Geared up for the cold

After even further discussion about what to wear, we set off to the start line for our 9:10 start in Wave 5 (skate). John, Little Prince Haakon and I all started in the same wave. At 9:10, I shot from the starting gate and was the second skier from wave 5. I was comfortably V2ing behind the first skier and feeling pretty good. As I made the left to face the Powerline Hill, I was shocked to see it empty. Last year (wave 9), it was packed with people walking up the hill from all waves. This year, most of the skiers from wave 4 had made it up the hill by the time I got there, so I could go up it as fast as I wanted. This was not good. I wouldn’t say I sprinted up the hill, but I was working at a rate far above anything I could sustain for 50K.

I was passed by another skier from Wave 5 and then we started to really get into the Wave 4 skiers. I skipped the first aid station to pass more people, but on the ups and downs following the Powerline Hill, I was in the midst of a very clogged trail. I was frustrated by the pace and used far too much energy passing people and squeezing through tiny gaps. In retrospect, I should have just gone at the group pace and banked energy to turn up the speed in the second half of the race.

After about 10 K, I was focused on hitting the high (elevation-wise) point of the race. When I got there at 13K, it was not the picnic I anticipated. The new snow was much slower than I anticipated and I couldn’t get any good glide going. As a result, although I much prefer V2 and practiced it all winter, I was forced to V1 almost the entire race. (V1 is a slower and more energy-intensive skating style).

From 13K to 25K I was just cruising along, I didn’t feel particularly strong or particularly weak. I was still passing people and being passed by very few. I was skating with people from waves 2 and 3. But I noticed that I was now looking forward to the uphill sections of the course being clogged with other skiers. I didn’t have the energy to ski them properly anymore and was happy to get in the line of people duck-walking up the hills.

At about 30K, I started to feel really badly. I had bonked. I tried to drink more “energy” (HEED drink) and eat more Nilla Wafers, but nothing changed the fact that my ankles hurt, my legs felt heavy and my arms and back ached every time I poled. I started playing mind games with myself to count down the kilometers. I thought if I could get to 40K, I could easily finish. Each kilometer seemed more painful than the last. I was far, far away from thinking about my goal finishing time of 3:15 (Ha!). I just needed to make sure that I finished at all.

New snow is slow. Cold snow is slow. New, cold snow is very slow. At least I was in good company in my miserable slog to the finish. Everyone looked like they wanted to die. I kept thinking that if I simply stopped, I would freeze to death on the trail before anyone got to me. So that thought inspired me to keep moving towards the finishing line.

At 45K, I couldn’t believe how slowly I was skiing, but I was still in the top 10 of Wave 5 skiers, and I didn’t want to be caught by any more. I passed at least one person from waves 1 through 4, and was passed by at least one person from waves 6 through 9. So I saw it all!

With a bit over 2K to go, we hit Lake Hayward. And got hit with a strong headwind. I looked for someone to ski behind, but everyone was barely moving (I was skiing through the dregs of Waves 2 and 3). That 2K on the lake was probably the slowest I’ve skied since my first day on x-c skis at Weston Ski Track junior year of high school.

After that interminable lake, we got back on shore and made the turn onto Main Street in Hayward. I turned my GoPro back on to squeeze some more battery life out of it. Spurred on by the crowds lining the street and the sight of the finish line, I V2’ed up the street. After crossing the finish line, I grabbed a railing and bent over to catch my breath. I was shaking a bit and my skis flew out from under my feet and I was down on the ground. A volunteer was soon taking my skis off of my feet and asking me if I knew where I was. I was in Hayward! At last!

The calm before the (race) storm.

All the snow had collapsed the changing tents, so we had to make a too-long walk to the elementary school. By the time I got there, my fingers were bright red. Rewarming them was one of the more painful things I’ve experienced. I was almost crying.

After changing and getting a cup of soup (poured from a spackle bucket), I went to the Moccasin Bar for beer and to wait for the rest of the crew. It was packed to the gills (pun intended) in the bar. (The bar features countless taxidermied fish. Hayward, Wisconsin is, after all, the freshwater fishing capital of the world.) Katie and I enjoyed $7 pitchers of beer. Little Prince Haakon joined us, then John, then Sam. We toasted our survival of the toughest Birkie ever (seriously, as deemed by those in theknow), and limped home (after getting more beer and some McDonald’s, of course).

(Results here (Rob 1097, Little Prince Haakon 2149, JL 2326, Sam 3189) and there were hundreds, if not thousands of people who started and DNF; and Katie at 74th in the Prince Haakon Classic race)

(As further evidence for how slow this race was: Last year, with a broken ski, I finished in 4:10. That was good for 2412th place. This year, with a time only 6 minutes faster, I moved up 1300 places. A 4:10 time in 2014 would have been good for 1193rd place.)

We were truly exhausted by the race, so although we were planning to walk, Sam drove us back into town for dinner. The Angler wasn’t really serving food so we went to the Chinese restaurant in northern Wisconsin. After dinner, we went to the hot tub with beer, but we were all so tired we kind of just stared at each other in silence. We got in bed pretty early and I went to bed to the soothing voice of Bob Costas telling some dumb personal interest story about an Olympian I’d never heard of and would never hear of again.

Next year has got to be easier. So I guess I’ll win the race then. #Birkie2015

American Birkebeiner (2013)

This was my virginal Birkie experience. I will be back for more.

I skied for a couple of years in high school, but then promptly forgot about the sport. Despite being very enthusiastic about acquiring x-c ski gear in the last two years, I probably only skied about nine times between 2000 and February 23, 2013 (“B-Day”).

So with that solid block of experience behind me, in the summer of 2012, I signed up to ski 50 kilometers in northern Wisconsin in February. Through some backroom negotiations, I managed to talk my brother Charlie, my cousin Sam, and my friend John Lamb into skiing with me. In July, I received my confirmation: Skate wave 9 at the American Birkebeiner.

December rolled around, with its snow and cold weather, and our thoughts turned to the Birkie. “Where are we going to stay?” It turns out that was an excellent, but long overdue, question. My first few inquiries into lodging availability were met with scoffs or outright laughs. In one of my early calls, the hotel said they had a single queen room available due to a last minute cancellation, but I said “no thanks, we’ve got four people.” Little did I realize that any place to lay your head within 300 miles of Hayward should never be taken for granted on Birkie weekend. After a few more calls, we were looking at staying in Ashland or Duluth – hours in the wrong direction, considering we had to get back to the Twin Cities to fly out. So I called back up the hotel that had the last minute cancellation on the queen bedroom. I called three different times. Each time I was told that the particular person that handled Birkie weekend reservations (a special person?) was unavailable. On my fourth call, I finally got through and practically begged for the room that I had turned my nose up at days before. Success! Not only did we have a place to sleep, it was in Hayward and within walking distance of the finish line.

Over the next few months, Sam, Charlie, John and I did some training. For me, this consisted of three trips to Weston Ski Track, one trip to Great Brook, and one trip to some place in Park City, Utah. I put in 1.5 to 3 hours whenever I went and I was sure that I was ready for the Birkie.

Sam, John and I flew to Minneapolis on Friday morning, lucky to dodge a winter storm and got in around 2 PM. Charlie met us at the airport, having insisted on flying United for the frequent flyer miles. Luckily for us, he was able to check all of our skis for free (one of the perks of his insistence on always flying United).

We set off together in our rental mobile for the plains of northern Wisconsin. We commented on the flat terrain and comforted ourselves by telling each other that Midwesterners didn’t know what hilly was -- the Birkie was going to be flat! After a brief stop in St. Croix Falls to grab chips and beer (30 pack of Hamm’s for $13!!), we set northeast again. Sam drove us quite safely, but his lack of direction (or ability to read road signs) meant that the other three of us were full-time navigators (we almost ended up in Duluth).

We stopped for a quick meal at “Bistro 63” south of Spooner. We were initially eyeballed by the other Birkie competitors eating at the bar, but when they saw us sit down and order a round of beer, they let their guard down.

We finally arrived in Hayward at bib pickup around 8 PM, just as all the exhibitors were pulling their booths down. Sam, John and Charlie all got cool Birkie stickers in their swag-bags that showed the distances they were skiing (50K for Charlie and John and 54K for Sam). I got a Korte sticker showing the 23K I was going to ski. WTF? I hoped I wouldn't ng to be racing against children the next day.

We checked in at the hotel and were pleasantly surprised to find that we had a room with two queen beds! (Now we’re grandfathered into this room and never giving it up!) After a quick goodnight Hamm’s, we were off to bed.

We had agreed to get up at 5:25 AM in order to catch the 6 AM shuttle bus from the hotel to the start at the Telemark Center in Cable. However, as game theory could have predicted, Sam set his alarm for 5 AM so he could be the first one into the bathroom. So we all got up at 5….

We got on the school bus with our gear at 6 AM sharp, and had a pleasant ride north to Cable.[1]

We arrived at the Telemark Center and set out to find a place to rest for the 2 to 3 hours before our waves went off. We found a back hallway on the third floor to lie in, but there were so many racers running around, yelling for each other and slamming their doors, that sleep was a dream. Sam was set to go off in the classic wave 9 at 9:35 AM, so we ambled out around 9 and set off for the start. After a few minutes of spectating, we saw how they were staging the waves. John, Charlie and I dropped our bags, said our goodbyes to Sam, and got ready to enter the corrals.

At 9:50 AM, the flag dropped and we were off in the skate wave 9. (Having never raced this before or qualified, we were put in the last wave. It was a real mixed bag.) I went out with all the other guys in the first couple of rows. That is to say, too fast for me. I was wearing my GPS watch and heart rate monitor and saw that I was around 175 BPM. Yeah, I could hold that for 60 minutes. I was not so sure about 180 to 240 minutes.

I came around the first substantial turn and saw Powerline Hill. So they do have hills in northern Wisconsin. Why didn’t we see things like this on our drive?! There were hundreds, if not thousands of colorful skiers stretched across the hill and all the way to the top. I wish I had taken a photo. Because we were in wave 9, there were wave 7 and wave 8 skaters just standing at the top of each little rise catching their breath (and blocking traffic). I’ve done enough long distance racing to know the importance of pacing and of not “burning your matches” with stupid sprints. But apparently I don’t know enough to prevent myself from charging up Powerline Hill and darting into any opening between the masses of terrible skiers in front of me. By the time I was at the top, my heart rate was around 180, but there were still lots of slow people in front of me.

I tried to settle into a rhythm, and actually found an older guy who was a very good skier. I followed him up and down the rises (the endless ups and downs) and through the traffic. I thought of him as my fullback. He had a killer spandex suit with electric bolts on it. (Note to self: get cool spandex suit for next year). Although he was quite tactical, we were definitely slowed by the traffic. We would have decent momentum coming down a small hillock, but we’d almost have to put the brakes on at the slightest uphill because traffic came to a near stand-still. It was frustrating. I knew Charlie and John were slightly behind me and hoped that we could all ski together for at least a bit.

At about mile 4.2, I encountered my first real downhill of the course. I guess that it was a 25 to 35 foot vertical drop, but it was quite “skied off.” Thousands of skiers who had come before me had snowplowed their way down. They’d left vertical alternating ribbons of ice and fresh powder. The conditions left many people timid and pussyfooting their way down the slope. I saw some people sprawled out at the bottom, recovering from their falls, but I figured I’d ski around them. I was tired of being behind all these slow people!

I pointed my skis downhill and went for it. I was nearly at the bottom when my right ski tip got caught in one of the powder ribbons. It immediately slowed dramatically. My beefy body did not slow. I was unceremoniously flung down onto my face and chest, knocking the wind out of me. The next thing I remember was telling myself to breathe. I had needed air! My skis were all tangled and I couldn’t stand up as people continued to barrel down the hill towards me. My first priority was standing up. Then I checked myself and realized that I was okay. I put my sunglasses up on my head (as they were full of snow) and headed out again. Ohhh-noooo…...

The first 12 to 18 inches of my right ski was flopping around like a fish. It had snapped when it got caught in the snow and my body (and the rest of the ski) was flung forward). I skied just like that for 50 yards and then pulled over to pull the tip off the ski entirely and fling it into the woods. Unfortunately (but eventually fortunately), the tip was still attached via the top laminate, and I limped on with it dangling. Every time I moved my right leg, I had to give a little toe flick so the broken tip didn’t get caught under the remainder of the ski. Some guy skied by and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Then some guy came up and said that I should tape and splint it at the next rest area. So I carried on and got to rest area 2. There I went to the pole replacement station (a lot of people suffer broken poles) and asked if he could tape my ski and if he had a splint. He told me to put my foot up and proceeded to wrap duct tape around my ski, creating a lump on the bottom, but preventing the tip from flapping around. I asked him for a splint, but he said he didn’t have any and couldn’t give me other people’s broken poles.

It was better not to have the tip flopping around, but the tape was creating a terrible braking force on the ski. On top of that, it made the right ski so unstable that I had better control trying to balance on one leg rather than on two. That was interesting. I thought about Jens Voight and how he always continued biking even after he’d broken his face. He was my inspiration. I gave up my dreams of a 3:15 Birkie, but was determined to finish. I knew that I needed to fix this shitty tape job, so I pulled into rest area 3 and took off my ski.

At rest area 3, I did the taping myself. I guess there wasn’t enough blood in my head because my tape job was terrible. It wasn’t lumpy like the first one, but I started at the top of the ski and taped down, creating a reverse fish-scale effect. I saw Charlie skiing by, looking strong as I was coming out of “duct tape area 3,” and I skied with him for a while. The drag was terrible and I was well under 1/3 of the way done. Charlie and I skied together, but agreed that I should go ahead because it would take a while for me to re-tape.

I pulled into rest area 4 and went to the pole replacement center for more duct tape. This time I taped from the bottom up. Even better, the guy manning the station offered me a 3/4 x 3/4 piece of wood to use as a splint. This guy didn’t know shit about skiing, but I was so glad he had decided to volunteer and had noticed that someone else used a similar splint (I saw two other people with broken skis. One was missing an arm!). I also put my broken ski on my left leg because I was experiencing problematic muscle imbalance since I was putting in more effort on the side that wasn’t gliding well.

The splint improved matters, but I still had terrible problems with the tape getting caught in the snow. At station 5, I decided that the glide properties of the waxed ski were less important than the need to avoid tape-drag issues. I finally taped the entire underside of the ski from the break all the way to the tip. Now I’d be skiing on a lot of duct tape, but at least the snow wouldn’t be working its way under the tape. This worked brilliantly! After what I’d been skiing on, I felt as if I were skiing on glass.

Soon I caught up to John Lamb, who I’d never seen pass me. I proudly showed him my good-as-new ski and charged ahead.

Ironically, there are two significant downhills on the course at which snowmobilers (‘chiners) congregate and cheer for wipeouts. I survived both of them without incident by step-turning, even before I’d hit upon my eventual duct tape solution. I am confident that I will make it next year with no more breaks.

I tried to settle in to a comfortable rhythm, which was more than necessary given that I had more than half of the course ahead of me. Eventually I spied Charlie on a hill ahead of me. I caught up to him and we decided to ski together.

As you’ve surmised, I know next to nothing about cross country skiing, but I thought the course was pretty chopped up and slow. I’m sure that all the fresh snow had been groomed, but by the time us wave 9’ers got there, we were skiing in mashed potatoes. Even so, by this time, the course was trending downhill and my ski was acting pretty normally. So naturally, my thoughts turned back to winning the race.

Every time I saw a new person ahead of me, I thought: “there is no way this jabronie is starting ahead of me next year.” By about mile 20, I was exhausted and very thirsty. I knew from Couer d’Alene that you can radically change the way you feel if you radically change what you’re eating and drinking (hopefully the change is for the better). I threw down some Gu’s and “energy” drink[2] and kept going.

Charlie and I crested the last hill together and I started to really pick up the pace. It turned out it was too early for that, because I was still roughly 3K from the finish, but I was pushing it across the lake as hard as I could go. I passed a slew of people on the lake and then finally got into town, where they had thrown snow down on the roads for the skiers. This snow was really chopped up and difficult to ski in. But with the finish line in sight, it was easy to plow ahead. I finished at 2 PM, about 4 hours and 10 minutes after I started.

According to my watch, I spent 45 minutes standing still (probably taping my skis), and I have additional time to gain but not being stuck behind the slowpokes in waves 8 and 9. I think there’s a lot of time to be gained by conserving momentum over the rises and dips. I’m hoping for a 3:15 in 2014. This is all assuming I don’t break my ski again, of course.

Charlie finished a minute behind me, and after a quick hug (he was so salty), we went to change into warm clothes and get some soup.

We should have stayed in town and started drinking immediately. But being rookies, we walked back to the hotel for showers. JL met us there soon afterwards and Sam joined us a bit later. By the time we’d showered and walked back to town, the skiers were emptying out of the bars and the townies were coming out. At the Moccasin Bar, Sam ended up in a conversation with two guys about the relative merits of east coast vs. Midwest hunting and bow vs. gun hunting. One of the guys told us to be on the lookout for cops as he already had four DUIs.

We then went over to the Angler for dinner. At that bar, after enjoying some $8 pitchers, a drunk patron spied our medals (only first timers get medals, everyone else gets a pin to correspond with their year). He got us up on chairs and announced our names to the bar and that this was our first Birkie. As they say: there’s no time like your first time.

We got back to the hotel around 8 or 9 and went down to the hot tub where we met some ski patrollers skipping their team meeting. By 9 or 10, we were safely back in our room and watching Old School (the movie). I managed to stay awake for at least 15 minutes before Sam, Charlie and John started taking pictures of me asleep. They told me that I was skiing in my sleep.

That’s a sure sign that I’ll be back for Birkie 2014. When does registration open?

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[1] One of our neighbors on the bus told us about the Canadian Ski Marathon—a two day ski affair in which you ski 120 miles and camp out overnight on a bale of hay with whatever equipment you brought on your back. I need to do that.

[2] At the rest areas, they were offering “water” or “energy.” The “energy” was HEED, a sports drink, but with that type of marketing, how is water supposed to hold its own?

Ironman Coeur d'Alene 2012

Swim
After a 3:48 AM wakeup, we ate breakfast and Shaina and I drove into town. Shaina took a nap in the car while I made a critical trip to a port-a-pottie. The good news was that it was relatively clean at that hour.
Transition was a lot less stressful than in Florida. Perhaps it was because I knew what to do. Perhaps it was because I was not particularly worried about finishing (I knew I could) or any particular time goal (it's hard to know what a reasonable goal is on a new course).
At 6:15 I headed over to the start and stood next to Tim O'Donnell (a pro) as he was putting on his wetsuit and kissing his girlfriend, Mirinda Carfrae (another pro), goodbye. What a power couple. Their babies would be so good at exercising.
At 7 o'clock the cannon went off with little warning and we waded into the 59 degree water. The beach was relatively narrow and we were all packed in there. Stupidly, I started in the middle of the beach. The first 400 yards of the swim I felt as if I were in a washing machine. I wanted to stop swimming and just wait, but I realized that I would just be swum over by the people behind me. It was a truly awful experience. I should have just started wide and done some extra distance to avoid the madness. And it wasn't just me. I heard from many other people that the swim was especially chaotic. I say especially, because anytime you have 2800 people start swimming at once, it's going to be chaotic. Imagine lining up for a marathon, and having everyone close their eyes before the gun goes off. You have the Ironman mass start. The cold water exacerbated the panic. It was so cold that one person was pronounced dead out of the water (but then revived at a hospital by the marvels of modern medicine).
After making the turn back to shore for the first lap, I was sighting on the wrong building and went way wide. At least there was clear swimming out there in the middle of nowhere. On lap two I was actually swimming very fast for a bit (the key to improving my swim technique?) but it was too tiring and I fell back into my modified doggy paddle for the rest of the lap. I had a blinding headache for the swim. It was probably the too-tight swim goggles that caused that. Why didn't I know that they were too tight? Because it was my first time wearing them, of course. Everyone knows that it's a good idea to try things out for the first time on race day.
There's not much else to say about my swim except that I was 5 or 6 minutes slower than Florida after taking lessons and getting lots of practice over the last 7 months. I think my next strategy will be to take no lessons and stop practicing in the hopes that that approach has the opposite effect. I got out of the water 1:24 after starting.
T1
Transition from swim to bike was much faster than Florida. Instead of going into the changing tent and fighting for a bit of space, I just plopped myself down on the grass and did my thing. My hands and feet were pretty numb so I was not as agile as I would have liked. I actually used the volunteers to pull my wetsuit off of me because I was so dizzy and out of it. A volunteer helped me grab my bike and I was off to the bike. T1 took a bit over 5 minutes.
Bike
I set out on the bike under overcast and rainy skies. The air temperature had also dropped to 56. I was just wearing my onesie and my feet were numb but I figured that I would warm up as I got moving.
We had driven the bike course earlier in the week to scout the hills. It was hilly. The course is an out and back along the lake (approximately 15 miles total) and after you return to town, there is another out and back along a hilly highway (Idaho 95) south of town (approximately 41 miles). You do this entire circuit twice. Along the lake, there is a smallish half mile hill just to soften your legs up. Along the highway south of town, there are three monster climbs on the way out and one on the way back. During our scouting trip, we convinced ourselves that the hills were shallow enough that you could really cruise up them. That was delusional.
After setting out on the bike, I really tried to keep myself in check. It's easy to get caught up in the excitement of the race and forget how long your day is going to be. On the first little hill, there were some guys who charged up, but I stayed in my little chainring and spun up the hill and talked to the guy next to me. I love talking to people during these races.
I liked riding to a certain power number a lot. It got me working on the flats and downhills much more than I would have otherwise. And then I backed off on the uphills more than I would have otherwise. I'm convinced that it's not just a different way of riding, but that it's better. I was passing (on the flats and downhills) and getting passed (on the uphills) by a group of guys for about 30 miles. But then they faded behind me as their surges on the uphills took their toll.
The ride out of town on Idaho 95 was a bear. We were facing a headwind and monster hills. I was riding up at about 8 mph for 600, 500 and 300 foot climbs. It was nice to be able to sit up out of the aero bars, but I could tell that even though I felt stronger than Florida, my time was going to be slower. You never get the speed back on the downhills that you lose on the uphills. Speaking of downhills, the ride back into town on Idaho 95 was glorious. For the most part, it was down two huge hills and I was cruising along between 25 and 40 mph.
I was planning to pee myself on the bike, but it was so cold for the first 40 miles, that I couldn't bear the thought of being wet. Like a weinie, I pulled over and peed in a port-a-pottie around mile 35. I was concerned that I was over-hydrating given the cool and wet conditions. Later, my concern swung in the opposite direction.
On one downhill on the first lap, there was a group of people clogging the lane riding up on their bikes (not tucking for max speed). As I'm flying down the hill, I have to hit the brakes and I start screaming "Left! Left!" They eventually moved over and I continued down the hill. At the bottom of the hill, one guy from the pack caught up to me and started screaming "What's your problem? That was a no passing zone." (There were a few no passing zones where the road was too narrow). In my calmest tone, I explained that he had missed the sign that said end of the no-pass zone and that he should look more carefully for it on the next lap, but that if he didn't believe me he could take my number down and report me if it turned out I had passed illegally. I never saw that idiot again but I was hoping that I would if only so I could ask him for an apology.
As I came back into town to start lap 2, Claire told me that I was only 2 minutes behind Shaina. Unfortunately for me, that news coincided with the great "power outage of 2012." I felt as if I were flying for the first 56 miles. I guessed that training was paying off. Then around mile 58 or 60, I felt dead. I could only muster about 70% of the power that I was pushing earlier. Maybe this was the time during all my training rides that I had stopped for outrageously large lunches and my body wasn't ready to push on. I was feeling so delirious that I was staying out of the rightmost part of the lane (where you are required to ride unless passing) because I was afraid that I was going to blackout or otherwise veer into the oncoming vehicular traffic. I was quite worried about what was happening at this point.
I knew that something needed to change. I noticed that the sun was out and it was warmer so I considered that I might be dehydrated. I started drinking 20 oz of Gatorade every 10 miles, ate a salt pill and started eating Clif bars much faster. I struggled for the next 10 miles, getting passed by three 40+ year old women and almost being peed on by one of them. But I did something right, because by about mile 70 I was back and passing people left and right (this is an idiom, obviously I was obeying all USAT rules and only passing on the left). I could almost sustain the power numbers that I had on my first lap. From almost a mile away, I could see Shaina in her outrageous orange and pink bike garb and used that as further inspiration to keep going.
As I mentioned, the sun was now out and I was regretting not having sunscreen on. I wouldn't realize how much I would regret it until the end of the day when I looked at my back and saw a color that could serve as "fire engine red" for Benjamin Moore. The downhills were great on the way back into town and I started preparing myself for the run by spinning at a higher cadence.
I finished the bike in 5:51, or 19.1 mph. Not as fast as IM Florida, but the course was much more difficult and I think I did a much better job.
T2
I came into T2 and gave my bike to a volunteer and ran to the bike-to-run bags where a volunteer handed me my transition bag. Then in the changing tent, where yet another volunteer helped me get what I needed and packed up my bike stuff for me. There was no volunteer to help my apply some vaseline to my crotch, but that was probably for the best as it was all dudes in the transition tent. I stepped outside the tent and 4 women applied sunscreen to my arms, legs, back and head while I did my face. It was like a 20 second massage. I would have stayed, but there was racing to do. T2 took just under 4 minutes.
Run
Out of the gate, I was jazzed to be on the last stage of the race. So jazzed that I looked at my watch and saw that I was running 7:15 miles. Uphill. I almost had to bring myself to a stop to get to my goal pace of 9 min/miles. I pretended Drew was there, I was running with him and we were cracking jokes and mugging for the camera. My plan was to run the first 3 to 6 miles at 9:00 and then gradually pick it up. By mile 3, the fatigue was setting in and I was running 9 min/miles without trying to run that slowly. I decided to inch it up to 8:30 or 8:45 miles. At the turnaround at mile 6.5, I saw Shaina right behind me. I thought we were going to run together. But I also needed to pick up the pace and I started running 7:45 miles with one or two 7:30s thrown in. I was feeling great and felt that I was getting enough calories from the cola and sports drink that I was forcing down at every aid station. But by the time I got back into town at 13.1 miles, I was feeling pretty tired and I fantasized about wading into the lake for an ice bath instead of heading back out on the course for another 13 miles.
I tried to banish such thoughts and hit the turnaround. I was down to about 8:00 miles and was increasingly thirsty. I was trying to drink and drink but it was starting to cause me "sloshy stomach" and seemingly did nothing to quench my thirst. I wondered if the salt pill had been a little too effective. On the way out of town, I told myself that I only had 11 miles to go because the last two didn't count because they were so close to the finish. Soon I had 8 to go. Then six. The course designer put the cruelest hill on the run course at mile 5 and 19. You have to run up a 5% grade for .5 miles, then down for about .25 miles, then turn around and do it in reverse. I did everything I could to keep my legs moving and not fall down to a walk. I managed that, but my pace dropped to 9:30 or worse. By the time I had finished with that hill, I was telling myself that I only had 3 miles left (actually 5 miles) but I couldn't pick up the pace anymore. I was walking for about 30 feet through each aid station, drinking 3 cups of water in an attempt to quench my thirst and giving myself a cramp in the process. I considered walking a few times, but remembered the sign that I had seen that said "If this was (sic) easy, it would be called Your Mom." One foot in front of the other. Then I came across the lawn party where they were drinking beer and playing party tunes. I starting wondering why I wasn't doing something like that instead of doing this stupid race. With 1 mile to go, I tried to pick it up, but no go. I think it was that I was in so much pain already and I couldn't convince myself to make it more painful for almost no gain.
I know that I had energy left because with about .4 miles to go, I realized how close I was, saw Claire screaming encouragement and starting running 6:30 miles. So obvioulsy, there was something left in the tank. But with 1 or 3 miles left, I couldn't convince my body that finishing  in 11:04 or 11:05 (instead of 11:06) or finishing in 48th in my age group (instead of 49th) was worth the extra agony. The entire experience has left me thinking that half of these races is being trained and half of it is convincing your body to give you all its got. I think that very few people can actually get their body to do the latter; it's a matter of how close you can get. The run took me 3:42. A whole minute faster than IM Florida! (To be fair, it was hillier).
The finish was a slight downhill and the crowd support was terrific. I crossed the finish line in 11:06, started wobbling before someone grabbed me and carried me to a chair. From there, someone else carried/walked me to the medical tent where I drank as many fluids as possible while icing my Achilles (which had started hurting at mile 13). I tried to eat some food, but felt like vomitting.
Post-Race
It was quite hard to walk around for a while, but changing out of spandex into cotton (including my Touch Me To Finish sweats) helped me tremendously. Most importantly, we met up with the group we were staying with and went out to dinner. I could only drink two beers because I wanted water so badly. After dinner, two beers, and three cups of water, I peed for the first time in about 11 hours. Ooops. We went down to the finishing chute to cheer on the rest of the runners, including many of the ones we were staying with. There is a 17 hour cutoff for this event, and one of our group was very close to the cutoff. There was a lot of nervousness until she crossed with about 4 minutes to spare. Then one woman came across about 12 seconds too late. She'll never be on the official roll of finishers, but someone who just made the 17 hour cutoff gave her his/her medal and a bouquet of flowers and she got to celebrate with the crowd. We got home at 1:15 AM and despite a valient effort to stay up, were asleep within the hour.

2010-2011

It's a new era. I'm going to resume blogging. Soon to come, a recap of the disastrous 2010 Boston Marathon and the amazingly fun 2010 Timberman Half-Ironman.

Running on Turkey. And more!

It's been awhile, I know. I blame the stress at work that is making the rest of my hair fall out. Let's see, what's happened since November 16th.

MIT Biathlon (November 22):
The beginning of a tradition. Those two squash/swimming powerhouses, Canada and the US, represented by Alan Lee and Rob O'Brien respectively, squared off at the "Z-Center" at MIT on Sunday night. It was a split, with the US narrowingly winning the squash competition and Canada swimming circles around the US in the pool. Granted, I was going up against a champion swimmer, but the depth of my failure made me consider using some sort of motorized propulsion system for my next triathlon just to stay in the thick of things. More time in the pool can only help.

Donahue's Turkey Trot (November 26):
Sunday, November 22nd I came down with a mean cold. That had me waylaid until Wednesday. Coincidentally, that was the first day of my Thanksgiving vacation. What luck! It meant that I was going into the Turkey Trot on stale legs. But I'm getting ahead of myself. In 2008, the O'Brien/Howard/Schweizer/Bernstein family started a family tradition--running in the Donahue's 5K Turkey Trot in Watertown. This year, almost the entire family ran. Here are some notables: aunt Susan Howard won her age group, mother Karen Howard and father Chris O'Brien ran very well for their first races ever, brother Charlie O'Brien took several minutes off his time from a year ago. I, on the other hand, got slower. Fortunately (?) this year, I was wearing my new GPS watch which allowed me to see that I ran the first mile in a blistering 5:49 and the third mile at a crawling 6:24. Bad pacing.... I have already found many scapegoats: 1) the lingering cold; 2) my lack of training in the month of November; 3) a holiday spirit that made me smile and talk to my fellow runners and thank the volunteers instead of crushing the competition. Whatever it was, maybe I'll do better next year. Although, as a wise man once said, every year I get older and they stay the same age. (please submit your guesses as to the reference guesses in the comment section).

November 30th:
Miracle of all miracles, I got up to run on a weekday morning. I was obviously well-rested if I convinced myself to get out of bed. I was recovering from some "runner's knee" that I got during the Turkey Trot and this run definitely didn't help matters. The experience actually led me to believe that I should shut it down for the rest of the week. That happily coincided with a string of 4 weekday mornings during which I didn't want to get out of bed.

Rehab:
Following a discussion with my unofficial injury coach, Meggie S., I spent a good amount of time stretching and doing some leg strength exercises. Here's a link to a great blog post of hers about the benefits of stretching (and ways to do it).

Winter triathlon (December 6th):
Yesterday I decided to get back at it (after an indulgent weekend that pretty much necessitated it). Under clear and crisp (cold?) skies, I donned my tights, long-sleeve, vest, hat, gloves, shoes, and ridiculous watch and headed out for a run along the Charles. I actually decided to run backwards this time! Not actually backwards, mind you, just in the opposite direction from which I usually run. So I headed down Cambridge St., across the Longfellow Bridge, and west along the river to the Weeks Bridge. I crossed over and ran back to the Longfellow Bridge, down Charles St. and up Beacon St. My nifty watch told me this was 8.92 miles. For you runners out there, you can probably agree that running a course backwards is somewhat akin to running in completely new neighborhoods. It was a real breath of fresh air, almost as fresh as the cold air that I was actually breathing.
After some football watching and beer drinking, I headed to MIT to meet up with Mr. Canada for some more squash and swimming. The squash match was very streaky, with very little consistent play. The swimming was more consistent, in that I was consistently on the border between "swimming" and needing to be rescued. Hmm, that scene from the Sandlot comes to mind, maybe I'm on to something here. Actually, I thought I was swimming better than last time, I felt like I could swim for quite a while. That should come in handy when I need to swim 1.2 miles this August. Post-swim, Alan and I had burritos and hot peppers from Anna's. The hot pepper made me forget all about my aching legs and made me focus on my burning mouth. Maybe I should try some variation of this strategy during my next marathon....

Swimming Past Boredom

I'm staying at the Peninsula Hotel in Chicago (free slippers!), and I woke up this morning at 6 to jump in the pool to do some laps. The pool was beautiful and quiet as I "swam" back and forth, back and forth. Despite the near idyllic settings (picture here), I soon found myself growing quite bored. There was no music to listen to; no runners running, dogs playing, or geese pooping to observe; no one next to me to talk to (as I can riding side by side on the roads).

My mind was wandering and getting tired of it; I wanted more stimulation (and oxygen). I tried to focus on the bottom of the pool and observe exactly how far I was able to glide with each stroke, but without any focus points on the bottom, that was hard to determine. Some people say it is this very inability to focus on external objects that makes swimming so enjoyable--they are able to enter into a Zen-like state. As I sit here writing this, that sounds great; but I wasn't able to get there. Between my muscles burning and my gasping for air, there wasn't much room for a peaceful, meditative state.

I don't have this problem with boredom when I swim at Walden Pond. Perhaps because the distances are longer and I'm focused on making it to a particular point on the far shore. Perhaps because I'm swimming with other people and trying to keep up with them.

If I'm going to get serious about swimming, I'll be spending a lot more time in the pool this winter and I'm going to need something to keep me from watching the clock on the wall. Does anyone have any tips on how to make swimming laps more enjoyable?

Tights and Tight Buns

This morning marked the beginning of the running pant season for me. While it's definitely possible to run through a Boston winter in shorts, I think it's better for the leg muscles and joints to keep them warm (and supple) while you are asking them to perform. So I throw on a pair of pants or running tights if the weather is cold enough that I would end my run with pink legs. This morning was one of those mornings.

I either wear a pair of running/wind pants with poly-pro boxer briefs underneath, or I wear running tights (here are the ones I own). This morning was a tights morning. About half the running population along the Charles agreed with me that some sort of extended leg covering was appropriate. The other half stubbornly clung to their shorts. Of that half wearing pants, about half wore running tights (or were they leggings? A category of clothing I didn't even knew existed until two weeks ago), although most of those wearing tights were women.

Anyway, fearlessly onward to the point of this entry--please, for the love of God, do not wear things under your tights. They are meant to be worn sans underwear. 1. No, your underwear/panty lines do not look sexy; 2. putting cotton(?) underwear under performance wicking fabric defeats the purpose of that fancy fabric you paid extra for; and 3. you are asking for chaffing issues and no, I will not have any sympathy for you. Furthermore, if you wear them without underwear, you have to wash them after each use and that means the manufacturer gets to sell more! Obviously, that's how the manufacturer meant them to be used.
Finally, in case you need more convincing, imagine that you are running along the Charles on a bright, crisp morning. Do you want to run up on this or this? For the sake of humanity, make it the latter and leave the underwear at home.

The same goes for biking. I never want to see underwear under bike shorts/bibs. You just paid anywhere from $50 to $400 dollars for special shorts that elimate chaffing and give you some padding. Why would you ruin that?

I also need some tips. On very cold mornings, I get dangerously cold--well, I guess I'll just be adult about this--my penis is freezing! Any recommendations? For all the above reasons, I'm not about to add underwear under my tights, and it also happens with the boxer brief/wind pant combo. This has created some real problems on long runs in the winter and I'd be forever appreciative if someone could tell me how to solve this. Yeah for winter running!