Overall Results:
Total time: 2:43:32.8
Rank:
325/647 (includes relays)
AG Rank:
13/20
Pre-Race:
Crew: My wife was my crew. The recommendation is to have two crew
members: One for the mountain, and one
at the bike/run transition. Because of
the driving detour from the mountain, your mountain volunteer can’t be there at
the bike/run transition.
The bike/run
transition really boils down to just having a pair of running shoes. I didn’t want to burden somebody being at
that location at a specific time just to hand me some running shoes. I opted to swap out my clipless pedals on my
bike for platform pedals with toe-cages.
This allowed me to just wear my running shoes on the bike and not need
somebody at the transition area for me.
The day
before the race, I dropped off the kayak.
The news crew was setting up to do a live report. I made a joke about sticking around and
jumping around behind them. Then they
set up the cameras and broadcast live from where I set the kayak. It was kind of funny.
The morning of the race, we just go up to the mountain. I set my bike up in the Nordic/Bike transition area. I put my running shoes with the bike so I would wear them on the bike ride.
I gave my Nordic equipment to my wife to have in the transition area for the Alpine/Nordic Transition area.
I missed the cutoff time for doing a warm-up run on the race course. Instead, I did
As this was
happening, I employed my first personal race tactic: I watched what other people were doing and
chose different. As people were lining
their skis up at the ski start, I saw a few things that would inconvenience
their race. Instead of doing what
everybody else was doing (squeezing my skis with other people’s skis along the
start line), I put my skis behind other
people’s skis at the ski start line. I
did this to eliminate having to fight for space to get my skis on. It seems much more efficient to me to put on
my skis without fighting for elbow space, and ski through those people who are
fighting for space.
We walked
down to the start line.
Everybody
lined up with their toes on the line.
Now there are 30 people on this line, again…shoulder to shoulder. There were several people who chose to toe
the start line even though it meant adding another 20 meters across the running
course to get to the skis. I found this
odd.
I looked at
the people and determined who were probably the fastest people. Instead of toeing the start line, I chose to
stand behind these people. They would
run fast up the mountain and provide me space to run at my own pace without
being shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone else.
Alpine Ski
Through all
of the training I did, the uphill run was what I was most nervous of. Out of 32 miles, I was most nervous of the
first 100 meters. It was strange…but I
knew that running in heavy/stiff ski boots was no fun and there was a
possibility to cramp or burn my quads if I didn’t think about it. That would affect every mile for the rest of
the day.
30 seconds
before the gun went off is where there is no such thing as a racer who isn’t
nervous. There is a lot of last moment
chuckles. “See you guys in three and a
half hours…”. “Can we all agree to start
when they say ‘Go’ and not on ‘2’?”
It’s weird what you laugh at when you have butterflies in your stomach.
“3,2,1,Go”. We did it.
Nobody cheated, unlike the women’s race.
It was up the mountain we went.
Just as I planned, the fast guys took off and this gave me room to feel
ok. The run wasn’t as bad as I thought
it would be. We had our poles. I levied a lot of power from my arms and
consistently powered up. It was just a
blur of snow being kicked up and ski poles.
Halfway up people started slowing down…yes...50 meters into the
race. I worked my way around one
person. When I got to my skis, there
were 3-4 other people at their skis. I
clipped in and pushed off. The race was
officially on.
The veterans
who have done this race tell people to “Be conservative on the ski course. It is better to go slow than it is to
crash.” When approaching the first gate,
I realized that people were skiing really conservatively….like….going around
gates with a 4 foot gap and turning across the fall line. I reminded myself to be conservative, but I
felt like I was going to be snowplowing behind people.
….And then
it happened: Somebody blew past me
between gates. That subconsciously
flipped a switch that I didn’t consciously have control over. “I beat them up the hill. I beat them onto the skis. I am being safe….and they just passed me
because I am being nice. Screw this”
I pointed my
skis down the fall line and started skiing it how I feel comfortable: “If you’re not first, you’re last.” There were 2 gates where I had to sneak in
between a person and the gate. I felt a
little bad about that. There was one
where our skis got really close, but my edges held and my thighs had my turn
locked. It was a pretty flawless
turn…but it was dangerous. Sorry, man…it
was either that or dump all of my speed.
The last
half of the course was skiing gates how they are supposed to be skied and
trying not to dump speed. The transition
area was in view, I re-passed the guy who triggered me and another person, and
I was feeling perfectly dialed in. I
feel comfortable at high speeds and my legs can hold my skis solid when they
are bouncing through spring ruts.
I saw my
wife (crew) and dumped my speed as I entered the transition chute. I then transitioned into my skate skis, which
took longer than the entire downhill ski race itself.
Nordic ski:
They have a
180 degree turn right out of the transition chute. It is mean.
I mean, it’s fun for the spectators…but it is pretty cruel for the
athletes. You see…when you are carving
heavy-G turns on locked bindings with heavy boots, it is a bit hard to switch
your brain to dynamic bindings on skinny little skis in light flexible
boots. In short….It is really easy to
fall.
So I
did. But I recovered quickly…any points
for that?
As I was
getting into the new rhythm, I had to really relax. This is really difficult to do on Skate
skis. Your heart rate jumps and the more
you feel a rhythm, the more you want to push it. I had to keep reminding myself that I had a
long day ahead of my and to stay in my “simmer” zone. No boiling…just simmering.
Just about
every time I went skate skiing this year I was breaking trail or there was a
gnarly storm rolling through. This was
the first time that I would describe it as “ideal” circumstances. My skis had a little glide to them and it
wasn’t snowing. So I just rolled with
it.
I had skied
the course a couple of times in training, so I knew what to expect. I knew where it would be cramped and where it
would be open. I just kept cranking. Clumsily.
At 3 miles in, there is a giant hill.
It’s called “Screamer”. This hill
has destroyed me in the past and I didn’t want it to destroy me during the
race. I never stopped, but I slowed it
down to make sure I consistently moved up the hill. I was still burned pretty bad at the top…but
I didn’t have to stop and rest. I was
able to keep going. There was another
short and steep incline at the very end.
As I was approaching it, a person I train with passed me…right where I
thought he would. Halfway up that, I
thought about just taking off my skis and running…but I kept going. At this point, I saw my kids following with
me and that was cool. I got my skis off
and wobbled my way to my bike. As I was
changing my shoes, my training partner got on his bike and took off. I was determined to pass him on the first big
hill of the bike course.
Bike Leg:
…But I never
did catch him.
This is my
favorite bike ride. Not just because it
is almost all downhill, but because it is beautiful. It isn’t a complicated course at all. The only thing you need to be aware of is
keeping your balance in winds and being as aero as possible. One complicated thing about the course is
pedaling. You spend a lot of time going
a speed that is just right outside of pedaling range. This means that when you are in your hardest
gear, it only actually “catches” when you are pedaling at a cadence of 95. Pedalling at that high of a cadence at that
speed is difficult because it will make you start wobbling. I am constantly trying to figure out if I
should just “coast” or pedal at high cadence to try and apply power. First world cycling problems, I guess.
I knew that
I just needed to keep my head down and be ready for the three up-hills. On this race, I had a different drink and
gels than my last training run. I don’t
think it worked as well…or I just need to accept that my body doesn’t care
about bike races. My stomach felt “full”
and I really never ‘craved’ nutrition.
It was hard to take it because of the “full” feeling.
I planned on
3 gels on the ride. I am not quite sure
what happened, but I never took my third gel.
I was planning on taking it about 15 miles in…but I never thought of
it…or saw it…or anything. Weird. I was just cranking away and trying to stay
consistent. It is also the time that
people started passing me. I wanted to
fight, but I just didn’t have any “extra” in my legs beyond what I knew I would
need for the run. I just had to let it
be and hope I could make up the difference on the run.
I started
slowing down. I knew it was because of
the combination of the previous two events, but it was hard to accept it as I
watched people pass me by. I cared about
the rest of the race, but my quads did not.
Fatigue was starting to set in and I knew I would just have to “deal
with it”.
About ½ mile
from the end of the race, I saw my training partner on the run. I knew that with a ½ mile lead I just didn’t
have what it would take to catch him. He
is well trained and fast. I think that
at my peak we have neck-to-neck races but I was definitely not at my peak.
Run Leg:
I knew that
I had to work hard on the run to make up what I lost on the last 5 miles of the
bike. I handed my bike to the volunteer,
took off my helmet and took a last swig of beverage. And then I was off.
In
triathlon, this point is pretty nice just because you get to put on nice dry
soft shoes. It is like a little bit of
comfort among the pain. This race, I
wore my running shoes on the bike ride so I could make an efficient transition
to the run. I was a very efficient
transition as planned but there was no “comfy dry” feeling. They were the same sweaty shoes I had been
wearing.
It took me
about ½ mile to find my legs. I felt
this was pretty efficient considering the two legs of skiing before the bike. I caught and passed two people who passed me
on the bike. There were a few others
that I didn’t see so I must have passed them in transition.
Once I found
my legs, I determined where I was at physically. My body was feeling like it was on mile 6 of
a run. I couldn’t find any comfort
during this time. Usually, I can find a
pace that stops adding fatigue. I can
find a spot that “maintains” fatigue but doesn’t add to it. It may require me to run at a slow pace, but
when I starve off the fatigue, it helps my body put resources where they need
to go, which will provide for a swift run later on. I tried different paces to find that
point. I couldn’t find it. I would have to walk.
1.5 miles
into the run, I got honest with myself:
“Everything hurts. It is not
going to feel better. It is just going
to keep getting worse. Run how you normally run.” It is difficult to realize to yourself that
everything hurts, but there is one way out of it: Which means it is going to get a lot worse. And it did.
There were a
few points where I wanted to walk. But
there were people in front of me and behind me and relay people were passing
me. I was in a race. I felt I needed to suck it up, embrace the
pain, and just deal with it.
My stomach
was still a bit bothered. I took in
another gel. At aid stations, I took a
quick swig of water and dumped the cup over my head. Each time I did that, my pace got a bit
faster.
When you
have spent your day up at the mountain, it is always weird to come into
town. There are people out for walks and
on the beach. It feels like a different
world when you are back in town. It may
be the change in elevation…but everything just seems sunnier, happier, and more
welcoming. Even though it is just as
sunny up there, it just seems different.
I don’t think I can describe it further than that.
This part of
the race got difficult. I was thinking
about everything that I had done so far and trying to gauge where I might be in
the race. While I am doing that, people
are zooming past me. They are not
sweaty. They are not in agony. They have comfortable loose clothes on. They are the relay athletes. The person is already halfway through his leg
in the relay. I want to try to pick up
and math their pace…but there is no chance of that happening.
3.5 miles
in, things got real rough. My legs were
on auto pilot and I was just stomping down the course not really aware of what
was going on around me. There was a lot
of people and a lot of yelling and a lot of kayaks on the river, but it was
just kind of blurred out. I felt more
like I was witnessing the event instead of in it. My body was just doing it’s own thing and I
was along for the ride.
When I got
into Riverbend park, I wasn’t 100% certain my wife would be there to help with
the kayak. As I entered the transition
area, I saw her and it was like “Oh…thank God.
It is so nice to see you!” It was
a huge relief. She ran with me through
the maze of kayaks to where I put mine.
I got my life jacket on and for a moment just stared at the boat. I really wasn’t sure if I could lift it. I didn’t think I had energy to do anything
more than just stare at it. In fact….If
she weren’t on the other end holding it up and waiting for me….I would probably
still be staring at that boat to this day.
But she was there…with her end lifted.
I sucked it up, picked up my end, and began running the kayak to the
water.
Kayak Leg:
Kayaking is one
of those sports: The primary and majority factor of your success is based on
how much money you spend on your equipment.
I have no kayak. I borrow it from
a friend. I am not an experience
kayaker…however I am an experienced swimmer so getting into a kayak isn’t a
foreign thing to me. I knew I wasn’t
going to compete in the kayak leg. That
being said, it is still difficult to be
working your butt off in something and watch people breeze past you because
they spent $2800 on their boat to do so.
It is hard to watch.
Going up
river, I stayed in the location of least resistance. I stayed consistent with my strokes. It was difficult at this point because
everything in the race was catching up to me.
My legs thought it was all done so they were going into recovery. I just had to keep stroking and keep going.
At the
bottom of the river, I could hear the finish line crowd. I knew that I would be there in about 15
minutes. I just needed to keep
working. I continued up river and got to
the finish area.
Near the
finish, some dude started back paddling backwards into us. He hit the boat behind him which caused him
to stop, I hit that guy which caused me to stop. The guy behind me hit me. It was like a 4 boat pileup because he
paddled backwards for some idiotic reason.
It caused us all to go off balance and completely halt our progress.
I think all
4 of us yelled at him at the exact same time.
He promptly looked over his shoulder and responded “Big deal!”
Now, his
choice to go backwards was dumb and made zero sense. But he could have totally recovered from
it. He could have said, “Crap. I’m sorry”….or “My brain is broken”…or “I
have no idea why I didn that”. But he
doubled down on his idiocy. He
consciously made an effort to express that everybody else should be responsible
for his dumb choice. It made me wonder
how many other times in his life he has yelled “Big deal!” out his car window
or at his coworkers. *Cue Arrested
Development Flashback real* “Big Deal!”
“Big deal!”
is my new nickname for him. I hope to
see him at a running race running the course backwards yelling “Big Deal!”.
Athletes in
multisport events who are cranky because of neglected nutrition crack me
up. My favorite was a guy yelling at a
volunteer. The volunteer wouldn’t let
him take a bike out of transition without proving it’s his bike. It makes perfect sense to me and most
people. But that guy wanted to
physically harm a volunteer and berate him with swearing. He stormed off evangelizing about how stupid
the system is that he needs to prove the bike is his. If his blood-sugar wasn’t through the floor, he
could have done what every other person did: just shown his race number on his
arm to the volunteer. Unfortunately, he
was totally bonked and didn’t even consider that. Everybody else was a fool…but not him.
“Big Deal”
sits in my head with that guy.
Sprint Leg:
I am not quite sure if this can be called
“Sprinting”, because my pace really wasn’t any faster than my 5 mile run. I ran
as fast as I could because the finish line…but everything was settling in
pretty deep. I felt like I had to run
because it was the finish, but I really didn’t have anything to run with. It was a fast hobble. In grass.
That is lumpy.
It was such
a relief to see the finish arch. It
meant more to me than most other races.
It was a tough test. It was my
first PPP. I knew without a doubt that
it would not be a last. There have been
races that I have done in the past that weren’t enjoyable. But even though I was in agony, that race
covered so much that the finish made all of the agony worth it.
Bend is a
great town for outdoors, and the PPP is like the Prom for Bend. You just do it.
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