This post will be a rolling commentary on what Trevor wrote about Stage 6. I'll post what he wrote in italics and quotation marks, then follow up with my comments.
"Instead I had a different variety today" He's referring to the challenge he would have today, which was mostly exercising patience, minimizing frustration with me, and trying to motivate me. I know the feeling. I did 8 days of Outward Bound in 1999 and despite the constant reminders from Outward Bound to train hard for this endeavor, several gals in our group showed up woefully unprepared. Instead of long distances, big climbs, and hard days, I had to do what Trevor did today. It's not terribly fun. Guys like us aren't used to using these skill sets; we'd much prefer the ones that make us cross-eyed with exertion. Alas.
"But today JP was in so much pain that he told me he couldn't talk." Indeed, conversation on the steep (read: painful) downhills of stage 4 were great for me. Today, I needed to think. I had to figure out how to manage the pain, how to shift my gait to be faster, how to, basically, keep moving forward. I couldn't come to grips mentally with how awful this situation was. Had it been a hike I would've bailed on the road and called for a ride. Had it been a solo race I would've...I don't know. Quit? Laid on the ground for a while? Just walked at whatever pace I decided was comfortable? Had it been a training run, I never would've started. It was none of these things, though, and I had to figure out how to get it done. The answers were not apparent. In the end, it was simple. Gut it out, tough it out, finish it. It's not going to be fun, it's not going to be pretty, but you're out of options, so deal with it as best you can.
"We have never really raced/trained together, thus we have never experienced each other in Camp Shit while competing. So I didn't know how to react when things turned bad." These were the same questions I had in the early stages of the race; I wanted to call KJC and ask her what to do. I still don't know what I need to hear when I go bad. Historically it's been my stomach, which just takes time to clear. But this was altogether different. There wasn't much help anyone without a needle and some pain-killers could do for me I don't think.
"I do recall in Stage 1 JP telling me when I was in the red, that when he goes, he goes hard. It was all happening as he said." Cut to Trevor Mills, Mark Beaty, Andrew Kurzon, Joe Aubin, Matt Berrien, and David Bertino all nodding in agreement.
"I also continued to jog albeit at a very slow pace and sometime in place. I wanted to keep going. I'm not sure if this shuffling of feet behind him was motivating or annoying." It was highly encouraging. I remember thinking, "Geez, if he's still jogging, I must be walking really fast!" I told you my mind had seceded from the union.
"I had constant fears that an argument/blow out between us was imminent. These were uncharted waters for me and for JP and I." Haha, had I only known at the time, I would've calmed Trevor's fears. I had no energy to be pissed off. Though when his Garmin shit the bed (mine had quit at mile 4, perhaps its way of telling me to bag it up) with 1 mile to go up the climb, and beeped every 5 seconds, I wanted to rip it off and chuck it in a stream.
"I also insisted that he eat something. Unfortunately all we had was gels." You've never seen someone eat a 1oz gel in 5 slurps over 10 minutes before. I was in a - bad - way.
19 September 2011
01 September 2011
Stage 6...not the ending we hoped for
This is 3 weeks and 2 days late in the writing. It's basically taken me almost this amount of time to get my head around what happened that day. And a change of jobs and several doctors appointments have kept me pretty busy.
Before we get to Stage 6, let me talk more about Stage 5, as it has so much to do with what happened, and didn't happen, the next day. With about 2 miles to go on Stage 5, I tripped on a root and put the inside of my left knee into a tree, while going downhill, on a very good day. We were moving decently and I hit the deck backwards and on my back, knowing right away my knee was in trouble. Blood was running down my leg and it hurt pretty badly immediately. We finished the stage and when I should've spent the post-race time doing the things that had kept me going all week. Instead, my family was in town and so was the US Pro Cycling Challenge. My recovery would not be what I needed on this day.
I showered, got some food, had the medical tent doctor up my feet a bit, and walked on down to the bike race. This all sounds normal, but the truth is every day I specifically got off my feet for as much time as possible in between the race finish and dinner. On this day, I walked quite a bit and was playing with my 2-year old son, swinging him up in the air, carrying him on my shoulders, and towing him in his wagon back to the car. Now, before I come across as an asshole, I loved seeing my wife, my son, and my mother-in-law. I loved playing with Colin. I was in pain this whole time, but I was mostly ignoring my senses and enjoying myself. ...not unlike how I spent some of my racing.
I returned back to camp and set about icing and getting off my feet. Dinner wasn't far away and I only managed a 15-minute nap. Again, this is all coming across as selfish, but when you've run 100 miles in 5 days with 24 to go the next morning, you've got to be serious about recovery and taking care of all parts of your body. None of these activities helped me at all. Dinner was incredible; grilled steaks and vegetables and yams, and I loaded up. Also, for the first time all week, I allowed myself a cookie for dessert. Then another. I figured the furnace was burning so hot and so fast I was fine. Maybe next time I would've stopped at 1. Alas.
My night was tough; I had to pee in the middle of the night and was accused of being drunk as I stumbled, staggered, and limped to and from the bathroom. My right foot, with 5 blisters on it was killing me. My knee on the other side, was no better. I'd been dinged up all week, but typically with some elevated extremities overnight as well as some doctoring in the morning, I'd been able to make it.
I was wrong about my body this time.
I woke up and for the first time all week I couldn't get out of bed. The swelling had not subsided, nor had the pain and throbbing. My toes. My ankles. My knee. And, also for the first time all week, my muscles were sore. The pace we set up the climb on Stage 5 caused my calves to be a bit sore, something that would only contribute to the extreme amount of pain I would find myself in a few hours later. Trevor got up and did some things, I just laid there. I had a bad feeling about that day. 23+ miles, 5,000' of climbing, 3 monster climbs and worse, 3 monster descents.
The climbing I could fake. The pounding was minimal, and our pace relative to our competition was close. The descents, though, were excruciating. My toes, 6 of which were blistered, would slam into the front of my shoes. It was awful. My left knee, swollen, bruised with at least 3 colors (brown, yellow, and purple were all distinguishable), when called to perform like a brake, felt as if someone was hitting it on the cap with a metal hammer. To take the pressure off my knee, I'd land only on my toes on my left leg, causing my already sore calves more stress. This hitching on my left side caused me to compensate on my right side. Basically, I looked, ran, sounded, and felt like someone twice my age. It was horrible. And all the while, I knew our rivals were literally running away from us.
I keep it loose at races. My personality, my demeanor. I'm not pro, nor ever will be, and after logging 350+ races in my life, I've found it better to be loose and free than nervous and tight. To anyone listening to me, I was perfectly fine at the start line. To anyone looking at me, they'd wonder just what in the hell I was doing there. My only hope, the only thing keeping me somewhat optimistic, was that each morning it was chilly my joints would ache. This morning was again chilly, and I was hoping against hope that I would warm up after a few miles and the pain would subside. We started off uphill on some trail and then onto a couple of miles of concrete and asphalt, and I was a dead man running. I ran hard-ish on the rollers to the first climb, trying to get some blood flow going and loosening up. No such luck. My knee was getting worse, not better. The first paved descent let me know: JP, you're in trouble today.
We had 19 minutes on 10th place overall, and we were happy to be in the single digits in the highly competitive Open Men field. My goal for the day was to preserve that placing. I actually believed we could do it until half-way through. I had to call Trevor back (maybe only the 3rd or 4th time all week) before check 1, and at that station I was looking for anything that would help me. Arnica, Traumeel, or some NSAIDs perhaps. Nada, just the usual stuff (which was awesome). But I was in a bad way. Everything below the waist was failing, and it was starting to affect things north of the equator. My stomach was getting upset from the pain.
That's the way things usually go. The first to quit the fight is the muscles or joints. It's not their fault; they're the ones taxed the hardest, and if you're not sufficiently trained - which I wasn't - then they're going to have some complaints for you. Next is the stomach; it's a fragile organ, needing the right balance at all times. Water, sugar, salt, and vitamins all are needed in abundance. Getting them in the right portions at the right times takes years to perfect, if you ever do at all. Your last ally is your mind. It can will muscles to fire long after they lodge their first concern. It will tell your stomach to get its shit together; put up or shut up and move on. It can recall your greatest triumphs, your seemingly endless training and give you the confidence to keep going. But when your mind sends up the white flag, you've got nothing left. I know for a fact I've never gone where I went on Stage 6.
I've hiked massive miles in one day and over several days. I've done cycling stage races with 5-hour stages. Mt. Evans, Mt. Washington, and Magnolia Road are all places I've had relative success. I've finished bike rides in epic conditions. I've had bruises from hail on bike rides with nowhere to hide, laid in ditches waiting for the wind to subside, and found myself in the dark in the woods more times than I'd like to admit. I rode on I-70 and Highway 285 and down Boulder Canyon on Saturday afternoons. But this. This pain. This fear. This was new to me.
Coming into check 2 after a pit (read: poop) stop in the woods, I was a mess. My socks were bloody and I needed the wounds re-dressed. I had taped them myself that morning because the line for the medics was an hour long, and between getting all out stuff together and packing up, I didn't have time to wait. I apparently suck at dressing wounds. Taking my shoes off felt good, but then looking at them was awful. What wasn't bleeding was blistered; what wasn't blistered was a hot spot; what wasn't a hot spot wasn't part of me. They re-bandaged me and off I went, as miserable as I've been in some time. We had 12 miles to go, and I was, you guessed it, in a bad way.
This was the most brutal stretch - from check 2 to check 3. There was a lot of (beautiful) downhill through aspen groves, but I was in sheer misery. I had to fight back tears all day, but sometimes I gave in and let a few fly. It was painful, but more so, it was unrelenting. Every step caused pain in numerous locations. It was like someone was torturing me, but it was me inflicting the pain.
I told Trevor not to come around me. I was going as fast as I could, as hard as I could. If he had lead, the number of times I would've told him to slow down or come back would've drained all the energy out of me.
Had it not been the last check on the last day, check 3 would've been my final resting place for TRR. Lots of people dropped out (about 20%), lots of teams fell apart, it would've been reasonably acceptable. But not with only 8 miles to go. Not after I covered 112 in 5+ days. Not with Trevor flying from Ireland. Not with the money I spent. Not with my pride on the line. I sat down (first time) and poured some water over my head. I checked the map they had. I had a bit to eat and drink. Mostly, I delayed the inevitable.
Leaving check 3 was no better, which isn't surprising. It was a lot of concrete, and several street crossings. We were walking and nothing but walking at this point. Jogging across the asphalt streets was horrible. We hit the trail for the final climb, and these next few miles would, without exaggeration, be the hardest miles of my life. The climb wasn't steep, but it didn't matter. We had been out for 4+ hours at this point, and my will, my mind, wasn't cooperating anymore. By some cruel twist of fate, I had Bruce Springsteen's "The River" on my repeat in my head. The slow beat and message of a life gone wrong couldn't've arrived in my head at a worse time. I didn't look up from my shoes and the few feet of trail in front of them for a very long period of time, creating an awful tunnel vision, with no light at the end of it. I wouldn't realize this until I threw up on the side of the trail and rolled over to see the leaves on the trees and the sky above; everything seemed so different so quickly.
The final climb seemed endless. It wasn't particularly pretty; there weren't nice vistas like Hope, Silverhorn, or the back bowls; it kind of looked like central Maine. I threw up once and that, combined with ginger chews from the very charitable Rebecca (of Rebecca and Ben), felt so much better. It didn't last more than 5 minutes. I asked Trevor if he wanted to run, and in a response that really indicates where we each were on that day, Trevor said, "I'm cool to do whatever you can do." He was being kind, charitable, and a good teammate. But what I was really asking was for him to run up to Rebecca, who had passed us, and get more of those ginger chews. When I explained this to him, he ran like he was shot from a cannon. I hope he enjoyed those 30 seconds of fun; they were probably his only of the whole stage.
We made it to the top, largely thanks to Trevor pushing me on my back and some race staff had come up. "Are you the guy that was on the ground?" "Well yeah, but that was by choice. I don't like to throw up standing up." I promptly stole their Coke (they gave me permission, but uhh, only kinda) and cracked it open. There is something about Coke that can really re-power you. It helped, I won't lie. But it came at the wrong place. I didn't need energy to get down the hill on the last 2.5 miles. I needed local anesthesia in about 9 places. I won't get into the details, but a certain team (not our rivals, they flew the coop hours ago) passed us and I really, really didn't like them. I vowed not to let them beat us. Sure, we were up by 10 hours probably, but to lose to them on a stage I could not live with. They beat us. Handily.
Trevor urged me on, encouraged me, challenged me, pushed me, and I swear bro, I gave you all I had. It was horrible. We made the finish, and the relief and the pride was outweighed by the disappointment, the pain, and the need to find a bathroom. We didn't take our picture together, I didn't kiss Cynthia from W.L. Gore. We didn't do anything. I came back from the bathroom, complained to anyone I could find (a great shame on me, especially as Red and Fern had moved into and captured 2nd overall for their division by 13 seconds {after 17 hours}, a huge result), went back and got my "Finisher" shirt and laid in the grass with my feet up. The only place I would move to in the next hour would be the medic tent, and that was partly because it started to rain.
Tory worked on my feet, but not without grabbing an open wound, prompting me to call her Devil Woman. She was not nicer to me after that - you're shocked, I know. Courtesy of Charlie and Eric, 8th overall in our division, we hit the showers in their hotel room and waited for Dana to arrive for dinner that night. I could barely walk. I shuffled along as if I were 80 years old. Actually, I've seen 80 year olds do better.
Dinner wasn't a fun affair. I had to excuse myself shortly after the meal to get horizontal on a picnic table outside as my stomach was still furious. I hardly ate, and passsed on dessert altogether. But once dinner was over and the movies, the photos, the awards, and the speeches flowed, it was awesome. I was so proud of what we had done. Top 10 in the most competitive category was cool, but finishing unto itself had a lot of meaning. Cynthia didn't hold back in her praise of us, and it was just what I needed to remind myself what I had accomplished. At least the pain and suffering wasn't in vain.
I'll do one more post, a re-cap part II if you will, but this was the story of Stage 6, or, forever after known as: the worst athletic day of my life. But I finished it, it didn't finish me. At least I think it didn't. Physical therapy starts on Wednesday on my knee.
Before we get to Stage 6, let me talk more about Stage 5, as it has so much to do with what happened, and didn't happen, the next day. With about 2 miles to go on Stage 5, I tripped on a root and put the inside of my left knee into a tree, while going downhill, on a very good day. We were moving decently and I hit the deck backwards and on my back, knowing right away my knee was in trouble. Blood was running down my leg and it hurt pretty badly immediately. We finished the stage and when I should've spent the post-race time doing the things that had kept me going all week. Instead, my family was in town and so was the US Pro Cycling Challenge. My recovery would not be what I needed on this day.
I showered, got some food, had the medical tent doctor up my feet a bit, and walked on down to the bike race. This all sounds normal, but the truth is every day I specifically got off my feet for as much time as possible in between the race finish and dinner. On this day, I walked quite a bit and was playing with my 2-year old son, swinging him up in the air, carrying him on my shoulders, and towing him in his wagon back to the car. Now, before I come across as an asshole, I loved seeing my wife, my son, and my mother-in-law. I loved playing with Colin. I was in pain this whole time, but I was mostly ignoring my senses and enjoying myself. ...not unlike how I spent some of my racing.
I returned back to camp and set about icing and getting off my feet. Dinner wasn't far away and I only managed a 15-minute nap. Again, this is all coming across as selfish, but when you've run 100 miles in 5 days with 24 to go the next morning, you've got to be serious about recovery and taking care of all parts of your body. None of these activities helped me at all. Dinner was incredible; grilled steaks and vegetables and yams, and I loaded up. Also, for the first time all week, I allowed myself a cookie for dessert. Then another. I figured the furnace was burning so hot and so fast I was fine. Maybe next time I would've stopped at 1. Alas.
My night was tough; I had to pee in the middle of the night and was accused of being drunk as I stumbled, staggered, and limped to and from the bathroom. My right foot, with 5 blisters on it was killing me. My knee on the other side, was no better. I'd been dinged up all week, but typically with some elevated extremities overnight as well as some doctoring in the morning, I'd been able to make it.
I was wrong about my body this time.
I woke up and for the first time all week I couldn't get out of bed. The swelling had not subsided, nor had the pain and throbbing. My toes. My ankles. My knee. And, also for the first time all week, my muscles were sore. The pace we set up the climb on Stage 5 caused my calves to be a bit sore, something that would only contribute to the extreme amount of pain I would find myself in a few hours later. Trevor got up and did some things, I just laid there. I had a bad feeling about that day. 23+ miles, 5,000' of climbing, 3 monster climbs and worse, 3 monster descents.
The climbing I could fake. The pounding was minimal, and our pace relative to our competition was close. The descents, though, were excruciating. My toes, 6 of which were blistered, would slam into the front of my shoes. It was awful. My left knee, swollen, bruised with at least 3 colors (brown, yellow, and purple were all distinguishable), when called to perform like a brake, felt as if someone was hitting it on the cap with a metal hammer. To take the pressure off my knee, I'd land only on my toes on my left leg, causing my already sore calves more stress. This hitching on my left side caused me to compensate on my right side. Basically, I looked, ran, sounded, and felt like someone twice my age. It was horrible. And all the while, I knew our rivals were literally running away from us.
I keep it loose at races. My personality, my demeanor. I'm not pro, nor ever will be, and after logging 350+ races in my life, I've found it better to be loose and free than nervous and tight. To anyone listening to me, I was perfectly fine at the start line. To anyone looking at me, they'd wonder just what in the hell I was doing there. My only hope, the only thing keeping me somewhat optimistic, was that each morning it was chilly my joints would ache. This morning was again chilly, and I was hoping against hope that I would warm up after a few miles and the pain would subside. We started off uphill on some trail and then onto a couple of miles of concrete and asphalt, and I was a dead man running. I ran hard-ish on the rollers to the first climb, trying to get some blood flow going and loosening up. No such luck. My knee was getting worse, not better. The first paved descent let me know: JP, you're in trouble today.
We had 19 minutes on 10th place overall, and we were happy to be in the single digits in the highly competitive Open Men field. My goal for the day was to preserve that placing. I actually believed we could do it until half-way through. I had to call Trevor back (maybe only the 3rd or 4th time all week) before check 1, and at that station I was looking for anything that would help me. Arnica, Traumeel, or some NSAIDs perhaps. Nada, just the usual stuff (which was awesome). But I was in a bad way. Everything below the waist was failing, and it was starting to affect things north of the equator. My stomach was getting upset from the pain.
That's the way things usually go. The first to quit the fight is the muscles or joints. It's not their fault; they're the ones taxed the hardest, and if you're not sufficiently trained - which I wasn't - then they're going to have some complaints for you. Next is the stomach; it's a fragile organ, needing the right balance at all times. Water, sugar, salt, and vitamins all are needed in abundance. Getting them in the right portions at the right times takes years to perfect, if you ever do at all. Your last ally is your mind. It can will muscles to fire long after they lodge their first concern. It will tell your stomach to get its shit together; put up or shut up and move on. It can recall your greatest triumphs, your seemingly endless training and give you the confidence to keep going. But when your mind sends up the white flag, you've got nothing left. I know for a fact I've never gone where I went on Stage 6.
I've hiked massive miles in one day and over several days. I've done cycling stage races with 5-hour stages. Mt. Evans, Mt. Washington, and Magnolia Road are all places I've had relative success. I've finished bike rides in epic conditions. I've had bruises from hail on bike rides with nowhere to hide, laid in ditches waiting for the wind to subside, and found myself in the dark in the woods more times than I'd like to admit. I rode on I-70 and Highway 285 and down Boulder Canyon on Saturday afternoons. But this. This pain. This fear. This was new to me.
Coming into check 2 after a pit (read: poop) stop in the woods, I was a mess. My socks were bloody and I needed the wounds re-dressed. I had taped them myself that morning because the line for the medics was an hour long, and between getting all out stuff together and packing up, I didn't have time to wait. I apparently suck at dressing wounds. Taking my shoes off felt good, but then looking at them was awful. What wasn't bleeding was blistered; what wasn't blistered was a hot spot; what wasn't a hot spot wasn't part of me. They re-bandaged me and off I went, as miserable as I've been in some time. We had 12 miles to go, and I was, you guessed it, in a bad way.
This was the most brutal stretch - from check 2 to check 3. There was a lot of (beautiful) downhill through aspen groves, but I was in sheer misery. I had to fight back tears all day, but sometimes I gave in and let a few fly. It was painful, but more so, it was unrelenting. Every step caused pain in numerous locations. It was like someone was torturing me, but it was me inflicting the pain.
I told Trevor not to come around me. I was going as fast as I could, as hard as I could. If he had lead, the number of times I would've told him to slow down or come back would've drained all the energy out of me.
Had it not been the last check on the last day, check 3 would've been my final resting place for TRR. Lots of people dropped out (about 20%), lots of teams fell apart, it would've been reasonably acceptable. But not with only 8 miles to go. Not after I covered 112 in 5+ days. Not with Trevor flying from Ireland. Not with the money I spent. Not with my pride on the line. I sat down (first time) and poured some water over my head. I checked the map they had. I had a bit to eat and drink. Mostly, I delayed the inevitable.
Leaving check 3 was no better, which isn't surprising. It was a lot of concrete, and several street crossings. We were walking and nothing but walking at this point. Jogging across the asphalt streets was horrible. We hit the trail for the final climb, and these next few miles would, without exaggeration, be the hardest miles of my life. The climb wasn't steep, but it didn't matter. We had been out for 4+ hours at this point, and my will, my mind, wasn't cooperating anymore. By some cruel twist of fate, I had Bruce Springsteen's "The River" on my repeat in my head. The slow beat and message of a life gone wrong couldn't've arrived in my head at a worse time. I didn't look up from my shoes and the few feet of trail in front of them for a very long period of time, creating an awful tunnel vision, with no light at the end of it. I wouldn't realize this until I threw up on the side of the trail and rolled over to see the leaves on the trees and the sky above; everything seemed so different so quickly.
The final climb seemed endless. It wasn't particularly pretty; there weren't nice vistas like Hope, Silverhorn, or the back bowls; it kind of looked like central Maine. I threw up once and that, combined with ginger chews from the very charitable Rebecca (of Rebecca and Ben), felt so much better. It didn't last more than 5 minutes. I asked Trevor if he wanted to run, and in a response that really indicates where we each were on that day, Trevor said, "I'm cool to do whatever you can do." He was being kind, charitable, and a good teammate. But what I was really asking was for him to run up to Rebecca, who had passed us, and get more of those ginger chews. When I explained this to him, he ran like he was shot from a cannon. I hope he enjoyed those 30 seconds of fun; they were probably his only of the whole stage.
We made it to the top, largely thanks to Trevor pushing me on my back and some race staff had come up. "Are you the guy that was on the ground?" "Well yeah, but that was by choice. I don't like to throw up standing up." I promptly stole their Coke (they gave me permission, but uhh, only kinda) and cracked it open. There is something about Coke that can really re-power you. It helped, I won't lie. But it came at the wrong place. I didn't need energy to get down the hill on the last 2.5 miles. I needed local anesthesia in about 9 places. I won't get into the details, but a certain team (not our rivals, they flew the coop hours ago) passed us and I really, really didn't like them. I vowed not to let them beat us. Sure, we were up by 10 hours probably, but to lose to them on a stage I could not live with. They beat us. Handily.
Trevor urged me on, encouraged me, challenged me, pushed me, and I swear bro, I gave you all I had. It was horrible. We made the finish, and the relief and the pride was outweighed by the disappointment, the pain, and the need to find a bathroom. We didn't take our picture together, I didn't kiss Cynthia from W.L. Gore. We didn't do anything. I came back from the bathroom, complained to anyone I could find (a great shame on me, especially as Red and Fern had moved into and captured 2nd overall for their division by 13 seconds {after 17 hours}, a huge result), went back and got my "Finisher" shirt and laid in the grass with my feet up. The only place I would move to in the next hour would be the medic tent, and that was partly because it started to rain.
Tory worked on my feet, but not without grabbing an open wound, prompting me to call her Devil Woman. She was not nicer to me after that - you're shocked, I know. Courtesy of Charlie and Eric, 8th overall in our division, we hit the showers in their hotel room and waited for Dana to arrive for dinner that night. I could barely walk. I shuffled along as if I were 80 years old. Actually, I've seen 80 year olds do better.
Dinner wasn't a fun affair. I had to excuse myself shortly after the meal to get horizontal on a picnic table outside as my stomach was still furious. I hardly ate, and passsed on dessert altogether. But once dinner was over and the movies, the photos, the awards, and the speeches flowed, it was awesome. I was so proud of what we had done. Top 10 in the most competitive category was cool, but finishing unto itself had a lot of meaning. Cynthia didn't hold back in her praise of us, and it was just what I needed to remind myself what I had accomplished. At least the pain and suffering wasn't in vain.
I'll do one more post, a re-cap part II if you will, but this was the story of Stage 6, or, forever after known as: the worst athletic day of my life. But I finished it, it didn't finish me. At least I think it didn't. Physical therapy starts on Wednesday on my knee.
29 August 2011
JP's Re-cap...part 1
So as I sit here 72+ hours post-race, I want to get some thoughts down before I lose them.
First, Trevor is great. I can't name a single other friend I could've done this race with. He struggled badly early, but was a champ by the end of the week. And like I said before, even when he was hurting, he was still a bull - pushing through the pain the best he could to cover as much ground as possible. Thank you for all your hard work this week, man. Of course, thanks also for being a great friend. I dare say we made people laugh everywhere we went and we had a great time doing so. The company was awesome all week long; til next time.
Second, thanks to my wife, my mom, my sister, Scott, Joe, Sean, Brandon, Steve, a couple of Andys and Trevor Mills. You guys have always been great sources of support and encouragement, and there's no way I would've attempted something like this if it wasn't for the commitment you all have made to me over the last 18 years. I'm so blessed to have people who believe in me, push me, inspire me, and love me. So blessed.
Ok, enough with the sappy stuff, let's talk about what I would do differently if I were to do this again.
As far as gear, I would definitely get some shorts that have lots of side or back pockets. Trevor and I both agreed having a Nathan Quickdraw bottle was the best of the four (naked, relying on aid stations; hand-held bottle; fuel belt; Camelbak) hydration options we had each day. But the bottle had little storage area, making carrying the mandatory gear (gloves, hat, jacket, blanket) a little cumbersome. We eventually got it to where I slid the blanket (very small) into the interstitial space between the bottle and the holder on the Nathan, put the poncho in the wasteband of my shorts, put the hat (thin cycling beanie) in my gloves, and clipped the gloves together, tucking one of them in the waistband, opposite the poncho. And when I wore my Adidas (ah-dee-dahs, trust me) shorts with a decent sized back pocket, I could stash 3 gels and a half-dozen salt tablets back there easily. I was good to go, but it took us until Stage 5 to figure this out.
I would definitely bring every small bag I have. The duffel bag TRR gives you is the balls - don't get me wrong. But it's HUGE. And having electronics, food, dirty clothes, clean clothes, racing clothes, hanging out clothes, 4 pairs of shoes, hydration products, mandatory gear, safety pins, toiletries, massage sticks, an air mattress and pump, pillow, sunglasses, race bible, and a headlamp made navigating the duffel very difficult. I had a total of 4 bags in there (race gear, small stuff, food, dirty clothes) but I could've used 3 more.
I would bring more medicine. My biggest complaint of this race, which probably cost us some time, was the medical staff. They would pop blisters and work on my ankle tendonitis, but they had no pain-killers, no anti-nausea meds, basically no over the counter drugs. I put my knee into a tree on Stage 5 and really needed some NSAIDs. "Ask around" said the medic. What? Blood is running down my leg and my knee is the size of a grapefuit, and you want me to ask around? Come on. Also, in the mornings, when we all had to leave at the same time, the line to be treated was 20 people deep. Not everyone got seen by the 2 medics on staff. In the afternoons it was fine as we all trickled in at different times, but not the mornings. I did self-treatment Friday morning on Stage 6, and I know that cost us some time as I had to have my foot wounds properly dressed at Check Point 2. So that kinda sucked.
I would friggin train harder. This summer was rough for hard-core training with an insane project at work, moving, and spending 10 days in New England. Also accumulating only 32 miles in March and April combined really set me back. My body was pretty pissed off after 70 miles in 4 days, and we still had 50 to go in the next 2. I definitely needed to introduce a harder training stimulus prior to this event. Having my feet swell and my ankle tendonitis return mid-race was an unwelcome surprise. I'm not sure how many more miles I would've introduced, but doing some hard, long downhill running would definitely be in the plans if I did it again. The uphills were a relative breeze compared to the smashing and bashing on the steep downhills, of which there were plenty.
I'd get a different partner. Man that chump was dead weight.
I'd bring less food. Breakfasts were awesome, dinners were better, and in the afternoon, I just didn't feel like eating much. I'd have beef jerky or a protein bar, but the finish lines were pretty well stocked with bananas, oranges, CHIPS!, PB&J sammies, pretzels, trail mix, etc etc. Much of our food went uneaten and we just had more to lug around all the time.
Things that went well that I highly recommend:
Get a inflatable mattress. At Camp Hale especially, the ground is cold and lumpy, so being inflated up off the ground was awesome. Yeah, it took up some space and was some work to pump up every night, but it was really worth it.
Bring Gatorade mix, any vitamins you're into, and your protein-dense recovery food. There was plenty of fruit, simple carbs, and salty snacks, but not much in the way of quality vegetable or animal proteins post-race.
Make sure you have business cards, a phone, or a notebook and pen to get information from people. The people, from volunteers to employees to racers to spectators, are absolutely fantastic. They come from every corner of the globe, have had awesome adventures, possess uplifting attitudes, and are worth remembering. Rebecca and Ben, Red and Fern (obviously), Cynthia from GORE, the Hound Dogs, Amy and Sabrina, Nic from Idaho, Martin from France, Ed from Canada, and on and on, there were amazing people around you at all times.
As nice as the people are, bring ear plugs and maybe an eye cover for the evenings. Some people are here to race and some people are here to...have fun. At night it's nice to be able to tune everything out and catch some Zs (on your mattress).
Don't miss dinner at night. The photos and videos were laughter-inducing and really well done. Plus the attention to route-planning and marking was really evident, and you got to appreciate the hard work of the crew. Dinners were some of my favorite memories, and not just because Gourmet Cowboy's food was damn good.
I don't have a lot of caffeine in my life, but even in my training for 3 weeks leading up to the race, I abstained. Great decision. Each time I had a gel, which was 3-4 times each stage, I felt the physical boost and mental clarity that compound delivers. I highly recommend coming off it before the race. Also on the physical side, coming in 2-3 pounds heavy was a good decision that played out exactly how I thought it would. I was at peak race weight by the end of the week; had I started at peak weight I would've been underweight by Stage 5, which would not have been good.
So where am I now? Well, like I said, 72 hours later, I'm still jacked up. I'm currently sporting 6 Band-Aids, 4 on my 4 small toes on my right foot holding toenails on or covering horrible blisters and 2 on my left side, 1 on a toe covering a blood blister and one on my heel. My feet will heal, they're the least of my worries. My right ankle, which was showing signs of tendonitis just like the left one, is already about 90% healed. My left knee, which went into a tree at high speed with 2 miles left in Stage 5 (you have no idea how much I wish this didn't happen...it changed the whole next day for me) is still bruised and scabbed and swollen, but overall it feels ok. It's better than it was on Friday already. What's troubling me is the tendonitis in my left anterior tiabilis tendon. It hurts a good 6" up my shin, which is pretty high compared to how bad it got in the spring when I was sidelined for 2 months. It also makes this weird grinding / creaking feeling when I rotate my foot up. My foot, btw, is swollen, for reasons I don't know but may be related to the bee that stung me at mile 4 on Stage 2 and I never got the stinger out. It's still itchy around where the bastard got me. Also the trauma of everything around it is probably aggravating the daylights out of it. I feel pretty good in the morning but by the evening everything is pretty achy. I'm hoping to be on a bike next week; this week is a punt all around for training. It's totally fine with me; I missed my family and am happy to goof off with them as much as possible. Running sounds nice, but it can wait a little longer.
Would I do it again? In a Boston minute I would. I knew as much after day 1. The people, the scenery, the break from work, the food, but mostly...the challenge. This thing was no joke. I wanted to quit on 3 of the stages - that's when you know you're pushing your limits, and trees in the knee aside, it's good to find your boundaries, your real limits, in this remote-control-everyone-gets-a-trophy life. Their slogan is "Find out what's inside...outside." and they absolutely made you do that. And I loved every minute of it. Thanks, Gore-Tex TransRockies Run, you put on one hell of a race. But for now I think I'll heal up and prepare as best I can for the Bay State Marathon in Lowell, MA on October 16. As always, I'm not one to rest.
Finally, we'll always have Stage 5 : )
First, Trevor is great. I can't name a single other friend I could've done this race with. He struggled badly early, but was a champ by the end of the week. And like I said before, even when he was hurting, he was still a bull - pushing through the pain the best he could to cover as much ground as possible. Thank you for all your hard work this week, man. Of course, thanks also for being a great friend. I dare say we made people laugh everywhere we went and we had a great time doing so. The company was awesome all week long; til next time.
Second, thanks to my wife, my mom, my sister, Scott, Joe, Sean, Brandon, Steve, a couple of Andys and Trevor Mills. You guys have always been great sources of support and encouragement, and there's no way I would've attempted something like this if it wasn't for the commitment you all have made to me over the last 18 years. I'm so blessed to have people who believe in me, push me, inspire me, and love me. So blessed.
Ok, enough with the sappy stuff, let's talk about what I would do differently if I were to do this again.
As far as gear, I would definitely get some shorts that have lots of side or back pockets. Trevor and I both agreed having a Nathan Quickdraw bottle was the best of the four (naked, relying on aid stations; hand-held bottle; fuel belt; Camelbak) hydration options we had each day. But the bottle had little storage area, making carrying the mandatory gear (gloves, hat, jacket, blanket) a little cumbersome. We eventually got it to where I slid the blanket (very small) into the interstitial space between the bottle and the holder on the Nathan, put the poncho in the wasteband of my shorts, put the hat (thin cycling beanie) in my gloves, and clipped the gloves together, tucking one of them in the waistband, opposite the poncho. And when I wore my Adidas (ah-dee-dahs, trust me) shorts with a decent sized back pocket, I could stash 3 gels and a half-dozen salt tablets back there easily. I was good to go, but it took us until Stage 5 to figure this out.
I would definitely bring every small bag I have. The duffel bag TRR gives you is the balls - don't get me wrong. But it's HUGE. And having electronics, food, dirty clothes, clean clothes, racing clothes, hanging out clothes, 4 pairs of shoes, hydration products, mandatory gear, safety pins, toiletries, massage sticks, an air mattress and pump, pillow, sunglasses, race bible, and a headlamp made navigating the duffel very difficult. I had a total of 4 bags in there (race gear, small stuff, food, dirty clothes) but I could've used 3 more.
I would bring more medicine. My biggest complaint of this race, which probably cost us some time, was the medical staff. They would pop blisters and work on my ankle tendonitis, but they had no pain-killers, no anti-nausea meds, basically no over the counter drugs. I put my knee into a tree on Stage 5 and really needed some NSAIDs. "Ask around" said the medic. What? Blood is running down my leg and my knee is the size of a grapefuit, and you want me to ask around? Come on. Also, in the mornings, when we all had to leave at the same time, the line to be treated was 20 people deep. Not everyone got seen by the 2 medics on staff. In the afternoons it was fine as we all trickled in at different times, but not the mornings. I did self-treatment Friday morning on Stage 6, and I know that cost us some time as I had to have my foot wounds properly dressed at Check Point 2. So that kinda sucked.
I would friggin train harder. This summer was rough for hard-core training with an insane project at work, moving, and spending 10 days in New England. Also accumulating only 32 miles in March and April combined really set me back. My body was pretty pissed off after 70 miles in 4 days, and we still had 50 to go in the next 2. I definitely needed to introduce a harder training stimulus prior to this event. Having my feet swell and my ankle tendonitis return mid-race was an unwelcome surprise. I'm not sure how many more miles I would've introduced, but doing some hard, long downhill running would definitely be in the plans if I did it again. The uphills were a relative breeze compared to the smashing and bashing on the steep downhills, of which there were plenty.
I'd get a different partner. Man that chump was dead weight.
I'd bring less food. Breakfasts were awesome, dinners were better, and in the afternoon, I just didn't feel like eating much. I'd have beef jerky or a protein bar, but the finish lines were pretty well stocked with bananas, oranges, CHIPS!, PB&J sammies, pretzels, trail mix, etc etc. Much of our food went uneaten and we just had more to lug around all the time.
Things that went well that I highly recommend:
Get a inflatable mattress. At Camp Hale especially, the ground is cold and lumpy, so being inflated up off the ground was awesome. Yeah, it took up some space and was some work to pump up every night, but it was really worth it.
Bring Gatorade mix, any vitamins you're into, and your protein-dense recovery food. There was plenty of fruit, simple carbs, and salty snacks, but not much in the way of quality vegetable or animal proteins post-race.
Make sure you have business cards, a phone, or a notebook and pen to get information from people. The people, from volunteers to employees to racers to spectators, are absolutely fantastic. They come from every corner of the globe, have had awesome adventures, possess uplifting attitudes, and are worth remembering. Rebecca and Ben, Red and Fern (obviously), Cynthia from GORE, the Hound Dogs, Amy and Sabrina, Nic from Idaho, Martin from France, Ed from Canada, and on and on, there were amazing people around you at all times.
As nice as the people are, bring ear plugs and maybe an eye cover for the evenings. Some people are here to race and some people are here to...have fun. At night it's nice to be able to tune everything out and catch some Zs (on your mattress).
Don't miss dinner at night. The photos and videos were laughter-inducing and really well done. Plus the attention to route-planning and marking was really evident, and you got to appreciate the hard work of the crew. Dinners were some of my favorite memories, and not just because Gourmet Cowboy's food was damn good.
I don't have a lot of caffeine in my life, but even in my training for 3 weeks leading up to the race, I abstained. Great decision. Each time I had a gel, which was 3-4 times each stage, I felt the physical boost and mental clarity that compound delivers. I highly recommend coming off it before the race. Also on the physical side, coming in 2-3 pounds heavy was a good decision that played out exactly how I thought it would. I was at peak race weight by the end of the week; had I started at peak weight I would've been underweight by Stage 5, which would not have been good.
So where am I now? Well, like I said, 72 hours later, I'm still jacked up. I'm currently sporting 6 Band-Aids, 4 on my 4 small toes on my right foot holding toenails on or covering horrible blisters and 2 on my left side, 1 on a toe covering a blood blister and one on my heel. My feet will heal, they're the least of my worries. My right ankle, which was showing signs of tendonitis just like the left one, is already about 90% healed. My left knee, which went into a tree at high speed with 2 miles left in Stage 5 (you have no idea how much I wish this didn't happen...it changed the whole next day for me) is still bruised and scabbed and swollen, but overall it feels ok. It's better than it was on Friday already. What's troubling me is the tendonitis in my left anterior tiabilis tendon. It hurts a good 6" up my shin, which is pretty high compared to how bad it got in the spring when I was sidelined for 2 months. It also makes this weird grinding / creaking feeling when I rotate my foot up. My foot, btw, is swollen, for reasons I don't know but may be related to the bee that stung me at mile 4 on Stage 2 and I never got the stinger out. It's still itchy around where the bastard got me. Also the trauma of everything around it is probably aggravating the daylights out of it. I feel pretty good in the morning but by the evening everything is pretty achy. I'm hoping to be on a bike next week; this week is a punt all around for training. It's totally fine with me; I missed my family and am happy to goof off with them as much as possible. Running sounds nice, but it can wait a little longer.
Would I do it again? In a Boston minute I would. I knew as much after day 1. The people, the scenery, the break from work, the food, but mostly...the challenge. This thing was no joke. I wanted to quit on 3 of the stages - that's when you know you're pushing your limits, and trees in the knee aside, it's good to find your boundaries, your real limits, in this remote-control-everyone-gets-a-trophy life. Their slogan is "Find out what's inside...outside." and they absolutely made you do that. And I loved every minute of it. Thanks, Gore-Tex TransRockies Run, you put on one hell of a race. But for now I think I'll heal up and prepare as best I can for the Bay State Marathon in Lowell, MA on October 16. As always, I'm not one to rest.
Finally, we'll always have Stage 5 : )
26 August 2011
TRR Stage 6: "Concrete Milkshake"
For those not familiar with the term, "Concrete
Milkshake", it basically means to Harden The F Up, i.e., there's no room
for excuses...just get it done. Unfortunately I didn't really have the chance
to order up a concrete milkshake as I knew it. Instead I had a different
variety today; instead one where there was to be no moaning, no bit*ching; I
just had to except things for what they were.
 |
| Mantra de Jour |
We were back up at 5:30 this AM. It was noticeably warmer
here in Vail then it was in Camp Hale. I slept with only my compression tights
on. I did not need the additional t-shirt, hoodie and winter hat. I had a
decent nights sleep other then the one bathroom break. The only thing worth
noting about having to get up in the middle of the night was that I was able to
walk on my busted toe without too much discomfort. Bells at 5:30 for what would
be the last day of a routine I was beginning to enjoy. Let's be honest; running
longs miles, up steep hills at altitude does require significant effort, but if
my everyday only required this task, I could accept it. There are certainly
harder, less enjoyable ways of life.
Race clothes.
Warm clothes.
Call.
Top up Gamin juice. (something I have been doing most AMs)
Medic (for supplies only, as the line was a dozen deep).
Breakfast.
Pack.
Finalize race gear.
Mend toe.
ATS - Ass To Start.
My toe/foot was certainly swollen and the bruising was
migrating from my big toe to the other toes and beyond. I decided under the advice
of KJC via Karina to tape it to the next toe for support. I threw some gauze in
there as well. I had also scored some Tylenol from Ben and Rebecca (thank you),
plus I was on a steady Difene (diclofenac - anti-inflammatory) diet supplied
pre-race by my personal pharmacist. Had I known I would be putting foot to root
with great force I would have procured some stronger meds!
 |
| TJM Tape Job |
As I was taping my foot, one of the camera crew had asked me
to say a little something on record about TRR. The footage didn't show up later
that night in the daily media presentation, so it must not have been as good as
he assured me! Ready to go, I dropped my duffel to the TRR crew for the last
time. We had a 5 min walk to the race start which was the same as yesterdays
finish. I had my Newtons on which were a tad more loose in the toe box than the
Sols so this was helpful for the foot. In addition I put on an ankle sleeve and
my Zoot compression socks. At first I was thinking that maybe the combination
was too tight, but I said I would go with it. The thought process for the ankle
sleeve was to be proactive knowing that with the busted toe I would probably be
altering my gait, increasing the possibly of turning my historically weak right
ankle more easily. I was looking for all the support I could get. I was also
going sans compression shirt with a singlet, a breath right strip and my
handie. The last three days I have put my mandatory hat and gloves in the
pocket of my jacket and tied the jacket around my waist. I had carried the mandatory
safety blanket the first three days and JP has taken it that last three.
3, 2, 1 Bang...and we were off on day 6, the last 23.6 miles
to bring the cumulative mileage to just under 120 for the six days. It is
pretty hard to believe that my legs feel great considering after 5 days I have
run more mileage then any two consecutive weeks leading up to TRR. Aside from
the busted toe, everything else is good. It is either a reflection of not
running at full steam the first few days due to the cramping or a reflection of
running trails instead of road. There is no doubt that I have had sorer legs
after a hard 5K road race than I do now. And one would think that despite pace,
I should have sore quads from the downhills, but nothing. WOW. I'll take it.
We entered today's stage in 9th. There was 9 1/2 min to 7th
and 19 min back to 10th. We would really have to make a dogs dinner out of it
is we fell back to 11th since they were 3+hrs back. After Stage 4, I would have
said, "just enjoy it", but after stage 5 I was saying, "go get
it". This was all provided our minds would be stronger then our injuries
today. At this point there are only 21 teams still in it. There were 25 to
start plus there were some "teams" remaining who had taken huge time
penalties because they had split from their teammates, maybe due to frustration
over pace or strategy. The team aspect is no small feat. Pain is just pain and
there is often no one person, other then yourself, at fault. When it comes to
something like pace or strategy, there can be someone to blame, but if your
start thinking blame then it's possibly to late. You have to take the good with
the bad and know that at some points the roles have been reversed. I'd say this
part is tougher then the physical pain. Thankfully I have JP as a teammate.
There was about 200m up hill on a dirt road from the start
before we turned and headed North West towards Lions Head for another 1000m on
a rolling dirt road. A little less then 1K from the start we hit the pavement.
We snaked through Lions Head and out onto Frontage road heading towards the
footbridge over I-70. Before we hit pavement our competition was out of sight.
My toe was aching, but it was something that I could probably put up with.
Nevertheless we were averaging 8:30s, not exactly leaving it out there, but it
was early in the stage. Once we got onto the single track we were able to pass
two teams while closing the gap and eventually joining some of the other teams
we might normally have been around. We were rolling with the likes of Amy and
Sabrina of Team Inov8 and Dave and Morgan (podium 80+mens). This would be good
if we could continue to pace with them. Granted our competition was ahead of
us, but if we kept it steady then we could hold 9th place. It was probably the
chatting with the people around me, but I had managed to put the busted toe out
of my mind. A few ticks into this groove,
JP called me back as he was struggling with his blisters. With that the
pack moved on and we would not see them the rest of the day.
The terrain was single track all the way to CP1 climbing
until mile 6 and then 1 mile down to the CP. We did our best to keep running to
the CP. Right before the CP we dumped out into a jeep road. When we got to CP1
we got some band-aids for the blister on JPs heal. It was not pretty. It was
right on the money spot where the back of the sneaker rubs against the
Achilles. Been there, done that! I have been fortunate these last 5 days; I
only had one blister on the top of one toe and this was easily handled by a
piece of kinesio tape, never to be felt while running. We reloaded the handies
and JP attempted to put the band-aid on, but it did not stay on very well. He
would have to gut it out another 7 or so miles to CP2 before he could get some
tape.
We were on jeep road now rolling all the way up to CP2. We
did a lot of walking during this stretch; accents, descents, flats. Things were
not good in Camp John Paul. On Stage 4 when the downhills were tough on his
knees, I started talking about random
stuff, as I know with me, conversation can help distract me and pass the time.
But today JP was in so much pain that he told me he couldn't talk. This was
probably the toughest element of this race (and the toughest part of writing
this blog); seeing my teammate in pain and not being able to do anything about
it. We weren't even halfway home. It's one thing if you're struggling together,
but when your in different camps, it is very frustrating for both. I am sure
this is how JP might have felt when my cramps were at their finest.
I think that JP and I know each other pretty well, but I
guess the one key area I don't know him is in racing or training. We have never
really raced/trained together, thus we have never experienced each other in
Camp Shit while competing. So I didn't know how to react when things turned
bad.
- Do I continually ask him what I can do to help?
- Do I call him out and tell him to take a concrete milk-shake?
- Do I say nothing at all and let him figure his own way out of this place?
The only thing I did know is that he basically just told me
to shut the F up so I stayed away from calling him out for fear of getting an
overhand right to the jaw. I just backed off a bit and let him dictate the
pace.
Between CP1 and CP2 JP told me his stomach started to go and
hinted that some yak-in might be imminent. I do recall in Stage 1 JP telling me
when I was in the red, that when he goes, he goes hard. It was all happening as
he said. His body seemed to be going downhill faster then Chevy Chase's sled
greased up with "non-caloric silicon-based kitchen lubricant". But
despite the pain there was no quit in him; he pushed on. When we got to CP2
there was a medic there, so he got his blisters taped and tried to eat some
solids. We sluggishly moved on from CP2, onto single track uphill for a another
mile or so before the 4 miles downhill to Avon.
Despite the downhill we still were not moving very fast and
peeps that we haven't seen on the track all week were passing us. I was feeling
it a little on the down hill. If there was any hint of soreness in the my legs,
it showed face on downhills. My downhill running had certainly been getting
more tentative and slower all week. At CP we filled our handies. JP sat down in
one of the chairs and pretended to cheer on the runners, "way to go runners".
He was in pain, but his humor made a flash appearance. If it was only for a min
it was good to see him joking. We walked out of the CP and walked most of the
way from here on out. Avon was truly a concrete jungle. We were on concrete
sidewalks for about a mile before snaking quickly through some housing
neighborhood and up onto single track.
It was rolling single track for the next few miles before
the final climb. We mostly walked, with occasional jogging. At this point I was
thinking this was going to be the longest 4-5 miles of the 6 days. I had to
keep from looking at my watch; tenths of a mile ticks were hard to come
by. JP was driving and unfairly, as I
was getting frustrated, when ever he mentioned words like "hurt" or
"pain" I insisted that those words did not exist. I was trying to
keep things as positive as possible. I also continues to jog albeit at a very
slow pace and sometime in place. I wanted to keep going. I'm not sure if this
shuffling of feet behind him was motivating or annoying. I had constant fears
that an argument/blow out between us was imminent. These were uncharted waters
for me and for JP and I.
(BTB......I had to get out of Denver and back to IRL w/in
24hrs of the finish. There was an epic amount of emotions to digest from the 6
days, especially this day, that JP and I never had a proper breakdown of the
whole thing......a lot of this he maybe reading / finding out for the first
time and surely I have some of the details/specifics wrong. JP be sure to
correct me).
JP's water/Gu-brew was getting low so I emptied my 3rd of a
bottle into his bottle as I think he was starting to bonk. He was mentioning
being dizzy. It was definitely most important that he stay hydrated. I also insisted that he eat something.
Unfortunately all we had was gels. Despite his insistence that he a gel
wouldn't stay down I was even more insistent that he take it. If he threw it up
then, we had more gels and he could take another. All the while more and more
people were passing us. One thing that was great about ALL the competitors
here, which I find is a similar case in triathlon, is that they ALL wanted to
help.
At 4HR39 my garmin decided it was game over, battery dead.
Battery life is not one of its attributes. We were snaking our way up though
wooded single track and it was a pretty dope trail under any other
circumstances. Next on the agenda was some forced yakin’. JP got a few good
heaves in, but I am not sure that there was any product. Then like guardian
angels Rebecca and Ben swooped in. Rebecca had these ginger chews and we were
willing to try anything to break the funk. Legend has it, the ginger chews were
given to her earlier in the week by the Old Goats (naturally wise in the ways
of ultra running) when Ben was sick. They seemed to have an immediate effect if
not physically than mentally. JP was back up and there was some life in him. He
mentioned that the surroundings looked different despite us having navigated
similar terrain for the last few miles. But as quickly as things improved, they
quickly returned to pre-ginger-chew status. Eager for some more life I ran
ahead to catch Rebecca and get the remaining chews she had.
After a brief stop at a stream to duck JPs head and face in
cold water, some pushing on his back up hills, and a short train with the crew
of girls from California we summit-ed the last climb and fell out onto catwalk
of The Beav; it was about 2 miles home. There were a few first aiders / medics
there and they were asking if they could help. JP spotted someone’s Coke and immediately
demanded whose Coke that was. True to form as all week, they fired back that it
was his, even though it looked as if it was with one of their lunches; just
another example of how accommodating the TRR staff have been.
On our way up the last climb I was adamant to JP that we
were going to run/jog the last two miles down to the finish. Bad News: we
started to run, but it didn’t last long and only came in brief 100m spurts.
Good News: while 5+ hrs of pain had beaten JP down physically and mentally, his sense of
humor endured. Shortly after dropping into the catwalk, some pleasant couple
scurried by and gave us words of encouragement to which JP replied something to
the affect of, “I’m gonna throw rocks at you in a min”. I’m not sure they heard
or comprehended what he said or maybe they did and the lack of response was
shock. It made me laugh anyway. We drudged our way down and as terrain leveled
off just before the final 100m decent we progressed to a jog to bring it home
and crossed the finish line in 5hr40+. The permanent smiled Cynthia from GORE
greeted us and I only wish that I shared her enthusiasm.
Admittedly I was not really stoked when I came across the
line. I actually felt that I didn’t deserve the hard-wear and finishers
t-shirt. It was very tough to go out on a day like this. This was my longest
day racing period and it felt several times longer then my previous longest (a
mid-distance tri) and probably longer then this post feels! But now looking
back, we finished the 6 days. It is the most mileage I have ever done in a week
and the most gain fo sho. I think that goes for John Paul as well. Considering
the minimum training we did, not training together and the altitude, I guess we
did pretty well to finish. Aptly I just finished reading an interview with
Jessica Ennis (British hept-athlete and current World and European Champion)
and she mentioned that she thinks heptathlon is different then other sports in
that if you finish, even if you don’t win, you are still “chuffed”. I think the
same can be said for ultra running. Being my first ultra event, I was not of
this mind-set as I crossed the finish line, but now I can look back and be
proud of E.L.F.S.
 |
| Hard-wear, Soft-wear & Very Small Cowboys |
Not long after the finish, JP got obtuse, i.e., back flat
legs elevated, while I wandered around aimlessly eventually making it into the
river close to the finish. I’m sure the high-class clientele in the surrounding
condos/hotels were shocked to witness a bunch of beaten looking peeps stripped
down and soaking in the cold waters of what they probably though was a water
feature rather then a mountain river. But we didn’t care.
The banquet dinner was only a few hours later right there in
the Beav. Dana was coming from Boulder to go to the dinner with us and then we
were headed back to their place so naturally we did not get a hotel. As a
result we had no place the clean up. Our regular mobile shower truck was gone;
we where on our own. We were under the assumed impression that there would be
our regular showering facilities, so that is something to consider for next
time. We managed several offers, but finally took up Charlie and Eric, The
Memphis boys whom finished 8th overall, on their offer. Thanks fellahs and well
done racing.
The food and presentation were fantastic per typical TRR
standard. RedFer,, GREAT people and our nightly ticket to podium glory,
finished 2nd in GC beating several other sponsored teams. We were thrilled!!
Well I guess they were kinda sponsored, by some awful (colorful) shirt company!
A lot of folks were heading to Stage 7 - Hyatt Banquet room to the Dusty Boot
bar - immediately after awards, but were quietly exited with out wounds and
modest sense of accomplishment. There is no doubt the daily camaraderie, challenge and chow will be missed. I was getting use to this life.
Sincerely,
Humbled, TJM
The Short
Finish: 5:41:37
Place: 16th
Place: 16th
GC: 10th of 21 (7:16:32)
Garmin: Go Get It (missing 2.4 miles)
Distance: 23.4 miles
Gain: 5,100 ft
Max Elevation: 9,529 ft
Terrain: 2+ miles road, 5 miles single track, 7 miles jeep
road, 2 miles single track, 2 miles road, 3 miles single track, 2 miles
catwalk.
Weather:
Sneakers: Newton Ms
Gear: Singlet (no compression), handie, visor, mandatory
kit, zoot compression socks, right ankle sleeve
Food: 3 gels, Salt tabs, chips, peanut butter and jelly
Fluids: Gatorade, Gu brew, Water
25 August 2011
TRR Stage 5: JP's Take
Since Trevor already posted on this, I won't drop another 2,000 words, but rather pick up on some of his comments.
First, though, what a day. Being an amateur athlete, my life is full of wonder. What would've happened if I ran competitively in college? How good could I be if I quit my job? How crappy of a car does a professional runner drive? Would I be happy traveling around all the time, busting myself for measley prize money at races no one has ever heard of, doing what I love every day? Would it ruin that love of sport? Fortunately I've accumulated enough mortgages and student loans that I don't seriously consider any of those questions, but the 2nd one, the one about finding my potential is the one that haunts me. Very few times have I been able to dedicate myself to a single effort, and while this race wasn't quite one of them, it was pretty close. And on Stage 5, I got an insight to the answer to that question. And I liked what I saw.
5 separate teams that had crushed us all week were with us for the first 7 miles of climbing. We (ok, I) was slow out of checkpoint 1 and they were all ahead of us save for 1, but we gobbled 3 of them up on the singletrack. It was not without effort, but I didn't go cross-eyed and my insides didn't turn upside down on me either. It was a managed, controlled effort, but a damaging one as well. We finished 7th on the day, by far our best of the week, beating 3 teams in front of us. And that was with the mishaps Trevor mentioned (he left out me kicking the only rock for 100 yards and almost biffing it, and choking on my water bottle and half-gacking up whatever was in my throat). Like Trevor said in his post, what if we could do this for all 6 days? Again, the 'what ifs' will kill you in life, but when you can see part of the answer, and you like what you see, it's very encouraging.
And it was so much fun. To be fast, to be strong, to be smooth, to be consistent, to be on the same page as one another, and to crush people...Trevor said it best, some people have Paris, we'll always have Stage 5 : )
Some notes from Trevor
"I’m pretty sure that JP was feeling really good about a mile out from CP1. He was leading the pack." Yep. My legs were electric. I could feel them, so I wasn't unconscious as I've described before, they were very much active in their sensory feedback, but all they kept saying was, "Yeah, no problem, we've got this. Feel free to add on some more." Any athlete that has experienced those moments knows that feeling, and it usually ends very badly for the competition. ...as long as you don't go airborne into a tree apparently.
"We were feeling good and just continued to power even up climbs where in previous days we would have walked. " I fully knew the day was going to be epic when I was leading Trevor up a steep climb, and as the custom had become, stopped to walk. He came around me and kept running up the 12% slope at 11,500' and I asked, "Are you mad?!?!" He grinned and kept running. We didn't win the day, but I'm telling you, we were flying.
"It felt great. Where was this for the first 5 days? What would we have been capable of had we gelled like this since day 1?" I guess we'll just have to do it again, buddy : )
"I went sliding head first into down on the ground. " I was behind the big man when this happened. It was a full-on, head-first, belly-flop, limbs-flailing slide into home plate. Quite spectacular, if not really poorly-timed and disruptive.
"I look back to see JP on his back grabbing his knee... JP tripped and put his left knee into a tree. He was rolling around on his back with a wicked grimace on his face and clutching his leg/knee. At this point I though, “Game over, he really messed up his knee”. I was worried that he dislocated it, but I helped him up and he enforced “Rule 5”. Sweet Chickens, we were rolling again. Nothing was going to stop us today. " There are times when you get knocked down and you hardly feel the pain; you're just pissed you're off your game and you want to get going again. This was not one of those times. The adrenaline and endorphins surging through my veins couldn't mask the pain after 2 seconds. That's when you know you did a good job of bashing the shit out of yourself. Having spun around the wrong way, I ordered Trevor to come back up the hill, as my head was now down the trail and my feet back up it, and pull me up. I shuffled / limped for a second or two and said, "I'm driving, let's go." and off we went. To echo Trevor, "Nothing was going to stop us today."
Tomorrow...well, that's a different story altogether....
First, though, what a day. Being an amateur athlete, my life is full of wonder. What would've happened if I ran competitively in college? How good could I be if I quit my job? How crappy of a car does a professional runner drive? Would I be happy traveling around all the time, busting myself for measley prize money at races no one has ever heard of, doing what I love every day? Would it ruin that love of sport? Fortunately I've accumulated enough mortgages and student loans that I don't seriously consider any of those questions, but the 2nd one, the one about finding my potential is the one that haunts me. Very few times have I been able to dedicate myself to a single effort, and while this race wasn't quite one of them, it was pretty close. And on Stage 5, I got an insight to the answer to that question. And I liked what I saw.
5 separate teams that had crushed us all week were with us for the first 7 miles of climbing. We (ok, I) was slow out of checkpoint 1 and they were all ahead of us save for 1, but we gobbled 3 of them up on the singletrack. It was not without effort, but I didn't go cross-eyed and my insides didn't turn upside down on me either. It was a managed, controlled effort, but a damaging one as well. We finished 7th on the day, by far our best of the week, beating 3 teams in front of us. And that was with the mishaps Trevor mentioned (he left out me kicking the only rock for 100 yards and almost biffing it, and choking on my water bottle and half-gacking up whatever was in my throat). Like Trevor said in his post, what if we could do this for all 6 days? Again, the 'what ifs' will kill you in life, but when you can see part of the answer, and you like what you see, it's very encouraging.
And it was so much fun. To be fast, to be strong, to be smooth, to be consistent, to be on the same page as one another, and to crush people...Trevor said it best, some people have Paris, we'll always have Stage 5 : )
Some notes from Trevor
"I’m pretty sure that JP was feeling really good about a mile out from CP1. He was leading the pack." Yep. My legs were electric. I could feel them, so I wasn't unconscious as I've described before, they were very much active in their sensory feedback, but all they kept saying was, "Yeah, no problem, we've got this. Feel free to add on some more." Any athlete that has experienced those moments knows that feeling, and it usually ends very badly for the competition. ...as long as you don't go airborne into a tree apparently.
"We were feeling good and just continued to power even up climbs where in previous days we would have walked. " I fully knew the day was going to be epic when I was leading Trevor up a steep climb, and as the custom had become, stopped to walk. He came around me and kept running up the 12% slope at 11,500' and I asked, "Are you mad?!?!" He grinned and kept running. We didn't win the day, but I'm telling you, we were flying.
"It felt great. Where was this for the first 5 days? What would we have been capable of had we gelled like this since day 1?" I guess we'll just have to do it again, buddy : )
"I went sliding head first into down on the ground. " I was behind the big man when this happened. It was a full-on, head-first, belly-flop, limbs-flailing slide into home plate. Quite spectacular, if not really poorly-timed and disruptive.
"I look back to see JP on his back grabbing his knee... JP tripped and put his left knee into a tree. He was rolling around on his back with a wicked grimace on his face and clutching his leg/knee. At this point I though, “Game over, he really messed up his knee”. I was worried that he dislocated it, but I helped him up and he enforced “Rule 5”. Sweet Chickens, we were rolling again. Nothing was going to stop us today. " There are times when you get knocked down and you hardly feel the pain; you're just pissed you're off your game and you want to get going again. This was not one of those times. The adrenaline and endorphins surging through my veins couldn't mask the pain after 2 seconds. That's when you know you did a good job of bashing the shit out of yourself. Having spun around the wrong way, I ordered Trevor to come back up the hill, as my head was now down the trail and my feet back up it, and pull me up. I shuffled / limped for a second or two and said, "I'm driving, let's go." and off we went. To echo Trevor, "Nothing was going to stop us today."
Tomorrow...well, that's a different story altogether....
TRR Stage 5: “Dig Deep”
I took this one literally and dug deep into the ground to find a root with 3 ticks left of this 23 mile stage. As a result, I jammed/possible broke my right big toe and following my lead, JP subsequently dug up some roots himself and then found his left knee into a tree. Despite both eating dirt, we slugged out the last 5K and finished up our best day yet. More on that to follow.
This AM is was back to the early 5:30 start; time to make more trail donuts. JP and I were optimistic to put in our first solid day. There some good climbing and there wasn’t such steep descents so it should play into our strengths, better yet it lessens our current weaknesses. I also convinced JP to turn to OTC drugs in hopes of lessening his knee pain.
An additional driver this AM is the 2 other teams with which we are in our own little, “mid-bus” competition with. One team of dudes from Memphis who are ahead of us by about 10min and the other team, the “hobbit” brothers who are currently 5 min ahead of us. The hobbits seem to fittingly blitz the short stages while in stage 3, 24 miles, we were able to put 15+ min into them so we were expecting to get back in front of them today.
Alarm.
Race Clothes.
Warm Clothes.
Call.
Breakfast.
Finalize Race Gear.
Pack Bag.
AIS – Ass in Shuttle.
We were in a shuttle about 7:30 headed back to Red Cliff, yesterday’s finish, for today’s 8:30 start. We were able to chill in Mangos to keep warm prior to the race start. They had coffee, water and hot chocolate if we wanted it. I got to chat a bit with Gordy Ainsley – the godfather of ultra running. He was telling me about the shirt he was wearing, which later in the evening I would win in an auction with the proceeds going to Vitamin D research.
The race kicked off heading back up the dirt road that we finished on in stage 4. Instead of pealing off to head back up the riverbed we continued on Shrine Mountain Rd. It was an 8 mile pull up this road before we headed off onto single track. We settled into a pack of runners, the 80+ women’s leaders (incl. Nikki Kimble, the Memphis boys and an Open mixed couple (extremely upbeat couple, and she had some serious hamstrings!). On some of the flats we fell back from the pack, but where they walked some kickers, we continued to jog so we would bring them back in. I’m pretty sure that JP was feeling really good about a mile out from CP1. He was leading the pack. Possibly there was a sudden surge of adrenaline. We held with the pack all the way through CP1 and into the single track. At CP1 I reloaded the handie, took a salt tab and we quickly moved on.
In the single track, we originally started at the back of the train, but eventually moved up a few cars. At first we progressed pass the Memphis boys and eventually the open mixed couple, but by this time the 80+ women’s leaders had already made a gap. We continued to push up and down increasing the gap on the Memphis boys. We were feeling good and just continued to power even up climbs where in previous days we would have walked.
The single track continued to climb up and out of the woods as we made our way to the back bowls of Vail. The final climb up to CP2 was completely open with several switchbacks, thus we were able to gauge our gap (btb…”raw beats su*k” – JPR 11:46 PM 26Aug11). We burned through CP2, refilling handies and taking salt tabs as well as the quintessential very small cowboy! We were running on catwalk for a bit before carefully stepping down a 10ft rock drop off to some more single track and continuing to move West across the back bowls. Quickly we were back onto catwalk and headed towards Two Elk Lodge (where I worked winter break ’98).
Unexpectedly we were up and down on the catwalk for a few miles before turning off down the front side of Vail. As before we tried to minimize our walking up climbs. We were feeling good and we wanted to maintain a “steady grind”. It’s funny because we were in a different place physically today, we were actually both running well and matching each other’s skills. We were both pushing ourselves to the brink without blowing up so that we could hold our gap till the finish. It felt great. Where was this for the first 5 days? What would we have been capable of had we gelled like this since day 1?
We rode the catwalk up and over, dropping down to the front side of Vail onto single track. This is where the course would start to become tricky cutting across various ski trails and dodging ongoing construction at Vail. The advice given the night before during the stage 5 briefing is that you would need to “keep one eye up” looking for flags “and one eye down” on the ground, i.e., your footing. (I had not previously explained this but the courses were marked out each day with yellow tape, “flags”, which was similar to caution tape, but which read “Gortex”. The course was always “marked positive” This would prove to very challenging and at times unsettling, as we were not always sure we were on course.
I did most of the “driving” as we descended down to CP2 at Mid-Vail. We were calling out flags as we saw them to make sure that we stayed on course. The terrain was not too steep as we cut very wide switch backs across the front of Vail. The foot in some of the single track wasn’t ideal though as it tapered down like a V so that there was a camber on both sides. As we hit the trees in between trails there were a lot of exposed roots to be weary of. There was no one around us on the front of Vail. We couldn’t see anyone down below us or above us. We were not exactly sure where the Memphis boys were, so we continued to press as if they were tailing us.
The flagging had been great all week, but once we dropped over the front of Vail things were not as straightforward. There times that we were running for a few minutes without spotting a flag and thus we ran with a little unease that we were off track. They could have done a better job with the flagging here, but we successfully snaked our way down to Mid-Vail and CP2 without losing course. Again we tried to get through CP2 as quick as possible. I think that being used to triathlon, I was constantly in “get-in, get-out” mode; there was no time to waste. (After stage 6, in the final GC, there were a few places that were decided by less than 20sec. This could all come down to one CP.) We only had a little more than 5K to the finish, but the sun had started beating down on us so I topped up the handie with water. Note that all week the volunteers at the CPs were supah helpful. They normally had pitchers of Gu-brew or water taken from their coolers and were ready to fill your handie or camel. Also there was normally tons of nutrition, e.g., Gu, pretzels, chips, watermelon, bocks, gummies, oranges, bananas, etc.
Below Mid-Vail it was more of the same WRT the terrain. Push, Push, Push. Clearly our descending speed has dropped progressively every day, but we were descending as well as could be expected given the conditions of our feet and muscles. Not long after CP2 is when I decided to “Dig Deep”. I got good wood…on wood; I kicked a stump or a root directly with my right big toe. Man down. I can’t recall at this point if I was singing hymns when I did this, but the chances are high. I went sliding head first into down on the ground. I immediately got back up and started running again, albeit with a bit of a limp. WTF. We are going so well and this happens. I was furious with myself, but I was determined that we had to keep going; there was no time to think about the foot.
Not long after I hear a scuffle and then some yelling. I look back to see JP on his back grabbing his knee. Again WTF, we aren’t getting any breaks. JP tripped and put his left knee into a tree. He was rolling around on his back with a wicked grimace on his face and clutching his leg/knee. At this point I though, “Game over, he really messed up his knee”. I was worried that he dislocated it, but I helped him up and he enforced “Rule 5”. Sweet Chickens, we were rolling again. Nothing was going to stop us today. We battled our legs/feet for the last 3 miles and came in 7th on the day. The last mile was very technical and it was the only time that there were tenth mile markers from 1 mile to the finish. Dana and Colin were down at the finish waiting for us with old school poster board congratulating us!! It’s possible this is what helped JP turn around so quickly, despite the clear pain he was in after his battle with the tree.
Wow, what a day. We came in at 3hr54 and rightly put 20+min into the hobbits and grabbed 4 mins back from the Memphis boys. Not only that, but we finished ahead of several of the various division podiums. Some couples will always have Paris, but we’ll always have Stage 5.
I was not long hanging around the finishing shoot before heading over to the medic. This was my first real trip to the medic in 5 days other then for some kenisio tape for a blister on my left toe. (The sols usually result in a blister or two where with the Newtons blisters are not an issue.) I sat down on a cot and took off my shoe to find a pretty sore right big toe. At this point it there was slight swelling. The medics advised to get ice on it right away. I started with an ice bath, but then I wrapped it up. They did give me the option to go get an x-ray, but I didn’t really consider it. One of the guys there was flicking the end of my toe and as there wasn’t any noticeable pain he concluded that it wasn’t broken. Is that your final answer? I wasn’t too convinced of his methods or the diagnosis, but I didn’t think I was going to get any more help so I took the ice and a lift back (<5 min) to camp.
Camp was in a Ford football/soccer field and would end up being the best camp we had. The ground was level and dry. Leadville was equally level but was pretty wet when we were there. In camp, they arranged the tents in the shape of a heart, as it is apparently tradition in Vail to be creative with the set up. Previous years tents were arranged in the form of “Run” or “TRR”. I am not sure the reason for the heart, which seemed a bit weak considering our accomplishments so far. Why am I telling you this? Just to paint a picture or where our tent was.
 |
| Camp - Night 5 |
I went to the medic at camp first thing. They didn’t seem too concerned about my toe, which was a bit troubling. The girl that I was explaining my situation to didn’t even get out of her chair. She just suggested that I would shower first. As I was back before JP I grabbed my duffel bag and hobbled to the closest tent, which happened to be the bottom point of the heart (hence my previous tent setup explanation). It was off to the showers.
 |
| Busted Toe |
Post showers it was back for ice and I would put my foot up while eating and chilling in the Gore relaxation area (an area set up every night with lounging chairs and tons of snacks. After 20min ice time, I followed JP into Vail village where the US Pro Cycling Challenge TT stage start was. I got there just in time to see Big George buzz by. Then I hobbled to a Starbucks to grab some java, WIFI and put the leg up. Surprisingly I have not been having any coffee in the mornings and the only other time that I had coffee this week was post stage 2.
Dinner tonight was unreal. We were back with the Gourmet Cowboy and as this was their last night they normally went above and beyond. All true. They were grilling steaks, chicken, yams, peppers, onions and zucchini. In the salad bar, on top of the normal wide variety of options, they had a large couscous salad, bean salad and mozzarella, tomatoes, basal salad. Fantastic!!
 |
| The Grill - Vegetarians Need Not Que |
 |
| The Rabbit Bar |
 |
| My Grub - Plate 1 |
 |
| Desert - Loads of cookies |
 |
| Gordy, "Great Wave" and I |
Yikes, long post, but it was a wickid good day!
Sincerely,
Bitter Sweet, TJM
The Short:
Finish Time: 3:54:35
Place: 7th
GC: 9th of 21 (4:45:54)
Garmin: Go Get It
Distance: 23 miles
Gain: 4,200 ft
Max Elevation: 11,701 ft
Terrain: 8 miles dirt rd, 5 miles single track, 3 miles cat track, 7 miles single track/catwalk
Weather:
Sneakers: Newton Ms
Gear: Short sleeve tech (no compression), handie, mandatory kit, visor, breath-right strip
Food: 3 gels, Salt tabs
Fluids: Water (with ZYM), Gu brew, Water
24 August 2011
TRR Stage 4: “P.A.C.E.”
I got a decent sleep last night except for the ritual bathroom wake. I didn’t make it to the port-a-johns though, a few feet from the tents would do. It did get pretty cold in the morning again, probably colder than Leadville, despite the copious hot air expelled by the inmates. I slept in my compression tights last night and the hoodie and winter hat made it on sometime in the early AM.
We didn’t have to pack the bags this AM as we were bunking down here at Camp Hale again tonight. It was nice to have a little less to do in the AM, thus we were able to really sleep in, i.e., 5:55!
Race clothes.
Warm clothes.
Call.
Breakfast.
Call.
Contacts.
Finalize race gear.
AIS – Ass in Shoot.
Today was fantastic in that we didn’t need to pack bags and the race shoot was a couple hundo meters from camp. We were heading out the same arch we finished through yesterday. Today I was back to the sols, cycling jersey and handie. We were using matching 2011 TdC jerseys. It was the first time that I have put this one on. It was a little too big compared to the NU jersey so the back pockets where up and down all day, but at the same time the front did not ride up like the NU one does. Survey Says: ditch the cycling jerseys cauz even though the pockets are handy, the back of the shirt jumps and it’s not the easiest to run with. Unless you can get a really tight jersey, but then it’s probably going to ride up so forget about it.
I went back with the sols since it was a short day with steep accents and descents and about 3/4mile in a shallow river/road bed. I was opting for grip and support. Again I’m glad with this decision, except the sols definitely induce the blisters more then the newtons.
My stomach wasn’t 100% once the gun as I’m not a huge fan of the oatmeal they are dishing out, in fact, I miss breakfast TJM style. But once we got going it wasn’t a problem. We headed back out the way we came for a mile and then turned off a different direction. The cramps were still hang about, but definitely less painful then previous days. We were on dirt road for a few miles before turning to jeep road, which would climb until after mile 6. I was really trying to push and keep from walking. The terrain was a constant climb, but there were occasional up and over dips, probably the result of run off.
We were able to hang with a bunch of the leading open women’s teams and our competition (9 and 11) until after CP1. JP was stronger then me on the climb. I gather that he was pushing a little more as he was dreading the descents cauz his ankle was bothering him; his tendonitis showed face yesterday and had swollen up over night.
I had taken on a stinger a mile or so back so at CP1 I only topped up/diluted the ZYM mix in my bottle with water. There was no salt but thankfully JP had some at hand. Since day 2 I have been popping these things at CPs like a rock star.
Après CP1 there was some ascending, rolling terrain. Once we got into the downhill sections, JP knees started bothering him. The good news is that the focus was off the ankle. But unfortunately it was now the knees, which I think was more painful judging by increasing frequency of his energetic hymns. Before the highest point there was some straight open stretch were I could see some of our competition getting away. Despite my TRR expectations having faded away with the persistence of my cramps day 2, every day there were still glimmers of hope, especially today as JP had kept us close during the climb.
At the apex, we turned right and into the decent. This is where we really had to drop cruise control down several notches. The knees weren’t playing along, so we were walking some bits. As peeps that we haven’t seen all week passed us, JP was campaigning for Advil or the like. Seeing some of these peeps for the first time was a bit of a downer, but at the same time it has been a frustrating week, so I quickly put chalked it up as one of those win some lose some situations. And this just hasn’t been our week.
Finally, one dude had some Advil and I tailed him down about a half a mile while he got it from his camelback trying not to lose pace. At this point we were getting towards the end of the major decent and into terrain that JP could manage. We were 3-4 miles from the finish. We reached this road/river bed section and I was unsure what to expect. All types of rumors were floating around camp about its depth and those varied from spit to deep-channeled shipping lanes.
It was about ¾ of a mile mostly a few inches deep with some sections of pooling that was mid calf. This would end of being my favorite ¾ mile all week. It was as if I was given a license to be a kid again and splash in the water. Granted it was cold, but every now and then you could dry parts. It sort of brought some life to my legs. And JP was able to stay not too far behind. Come to find out after the finish he had taken video of me at one point during the water run. Very wise move for someone with 2 dodgy knees and a bum ankle. That Advil was apparently impairing his decision-making.
We got thought the water, CP2 and there was 2+ miles of descending dirt road to the finish. The Advil must have taken effect at this point as JP had taken the lead and we were pushing 7min miles. All of the sudden we turned a corner and we were in Redcliff at the finishing shoot and the infamous Mangos.
Stream.
Stretch.
Nachos and a Fat Tire at Mangos.
Shuttle.
Shower.
Chill.
There is no doubt that JP was weaker on the descents today, but he pulled like a horse on the climb and he gutted out some very steep, loose downhill. We still managed to stay in 10th as another team pulled out. By some luck we are still hanging around, but that is part of the game; part of it is just getting though the adversity and making it to the end of day 6.
Sincerely,
Surviving, TJM
The Short:
Distance: 14.1 miles
Gain: 2,900 ft
Max Elevation: 11,678 ft
Terrain: 2 miles dirt rd, 9.75 jeep rd, 3/4 mile active river bed, 1.5 miles dirt rd
Weather:
Sneakers: Sols
Gear: Compression Shirt, Cycling Jersey, Visor, Handie, Mandatory Kit
Food: 2 Ginsting Gels
Fluids: Water with ZYM, Water, Gu Brew
Up and down - JP on Stage 4
Today was stage 4. I am so sad there are only 2 stages left. I miss my family, but work can wait a little longer please. This is definitely summer camp for runners and I'm having a great time being a camper.
Today was up and down in every sense. We started in the cold (like, see your breath) morning at 8:00 and within 50 steps I knew I was in huge trouble. For my senior year in high school, I trained hard all winter long - outdoors in New England. I often would only wear shorts, never with any regard for the health of my joints. That changed one morning when I hopped out of bed and hit the deck, both knees in awful pain. I became the first 17 year old diagnosed with arthritis I had ever heard of. Fast forward to this cold morning 14 years later, with stiff legs and stiff joints, that extremely familiar pain came back in full force.
So let's recap. A half-dozen blisters, an ankle that was very swollen and also quite stiff / immobile, and now throw in two bad knees. Awesome.
The stage did not look good for us. It started with a huge climb, then some rollers, followed by a steep descent to running in a flowing river bed and finally a short 2 mile drop into Red Cliff. Trevor was still a wild card, and typing this in the tent at night, I still don't know how he was this morning. I was going faster than he on the climb, but not by much. All I know is the climb that started at 2 miles was unreal. Steeper and longer than Hope Pass, it tore us up. All 3 teams fighting for 9th, 10th, and 11th were at one point within 10' of each other after racing for an hour+. It was exciting to be competing even if the race was playing out at 2mph. Unfortunately the top of the climb would be the last time we would see them prior to the finish. My knees just wouldn't let me pound away on the downhill and we lost a lot of time as I did my best, but the steep chutes really caused a lot of pain. Most trail runners fly down the hills; it has been our weakest aspect this week and we have lost a lot of time as a result. After asking numerous passing teams for an Advil, I finally struck gold with Ed from Canada. Between popping that 1 pill and cold creek running, my legs were awesome at check 2, with only 2.5 miles remaining. It felt so nice to be running pain free, and fast. For an admittedly terrible video of running down the creek, see here. We closed in the low 7s, flying into the finish together.
The 11th place team finished 7th on the day, the 9th finished 9th and we finished 10th. One of the top teams had an accident out on course and DNF'd. At first it felt cheesy to slide into the top 10 because of someone's bad luck, but when running 120 miles in 6 days, luck is very much a factor in play. It hasn't been roses for us, but we've persevered and I am proud of that. We've earned our spot in the top 10, that's for damn sure.
A few more notes from today:
Today was up and down in every sense. We started in the cold (like, see your breath) morning at 8:00 and within 50 steps I knew I was in huge trouble. For my senior year in high school, I trained hard all winter long - outdoors in New England. I often would only wear shorts, never with any regard for the health of my joints. That changed one morning when I hopped out of bed and hit the deck, both knees in awful pain. I became the first 17 year old diagnosed with arthritis I had ever heard of. Fast forward to this cold morning 14 years later, with stiff legs and stiff joints, that extremely familiar pain came back in full force.
So let's recap. A half-dozen blisters, an ankle that was very swollen and also quite stiff / immobile, and now throw in two bad knees. Awesome.
The stage did not look good for us. It started with a huge climb, then some rollers, followed by a steep descent to running in a flowing river bed and finally a short 2 mile drop into Red Cliff. Trevor was still a wild card, and typing this in the tent at night, I still don't know how he was this morning. I was going faster than he on the climb, but not by much. All I know is the climb that started at 2 miles was unreal. Steeper and longer than Hope Pass, it tore us up. All 3 teams fighting for 9th, 10th, and 11th were at one point within 10' of each other after racing for an hour+. It was exciting to be competing even if the race was playing out at 2mph. Unfortunately the top of the climb would be the last time we would see them prior to the finish. My knees just wouldn't let me pound away on the downhill and we lost a lot of time as I did my best, but the steep chutes really caused a lot of pain. Most trail runners fly down the hills; it has been our weakest aspect this week and we have lost a lot of time as a result. After asking numerous passing teams for an Advil, I finally struck gold with Ed from Canada. Between popping that 1 pill and cold creek running, my legs were awesome at check 2, with only 2.5 miles remaining. It felt so nice to be running pain free, and fast. For an admittedly terrible video of running down the creek, see here. We closed in the low 7s, flying into the finish together.
The 11th place team finished 7th on the day, the 9th finished 9th and we finished 10th. One of the top teams had an accident out on course and DNF'd. At first it felt cheesy to slide into the top 10 because of someone's bad luck, but when running 120 miles in 6 days, luck is very much a factor in play. It hasn't been roses for us, but we've persevered and I am proud of that. We've earned our spot in the top 10, that's for damn sure.
A few more notes from today:
- Trevor was really good at keeping me distracted on the steep slopes before the creek. My knees and toes were in a bad way and having something to talk about was very good for me. Thanks bro.
- As we went up Hornsilver Mountain, possibly the longest, steepest thing I've ever been up, our competitor Eric from Hypoxic Hound Dogs indicated to his partner that he was out of water. I had a good 6oz. of Gatorade left in my hand-held and offered it to him. He was surprised at first and shook me off, then a few minutes later expressed gratitude. We talked about it post-stage and he was again grateful for the offer. I just don't feel like this is the kind of race where you put your elbow into someone's chest, or close the door on high-speed corners. We're all out here suffering like mad, and yeah we want to beat each other, but we don't want others to get hurt, dehydrated, or anything else detrimental. It's just not like that out here.
- I would like to find an easier way up Hornsilver Mountain and come back here. The view of The Mount of the Holy Cross, one of my favorites in Colorado, was outstanding. Too bad it was so damn hard to get up (and down) there.
- Fun song of the night during the slide show: When I'm Up by Great Big Sea. Check it out, pretty cool.
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