The Uphill Battle: Racing

Race Photo

Sat, 17 May 2008 03:51:58 GMT

So it's been almost a month since the race, and I'm just now posting a photo. Cut me some slack here; my wife's supposed to have our second child this week. I've been busy.

Anyway, some family member snapped this photo right as I came back into the transition area. I'd followed this guy with the foam helmet all through the descent—down stairs, around a bunch of crazy campus corners, etc.—and then I passed him as I realized we were coming back to the transition area. I know you're not supposed to sprint in a triathlon, but I didn't have a run split to worry about. So I couldn't think of a good reason not to stand and crank it. As you can see, I actually managed to open a pretty decent gap. Peace out, Caloi

Competing with competition: overcoming your worst enemy

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 21:38:11 GMT

My wife's due date for the birth of our second kid is in just four months. No pressure on me, but I'm hoping to get up Teton Pass a few more times before that happens. I'm still trying to reconcile my "no goals, no competition" mindset with my "must get up Teton Pass in less than 40 minutes" obsession. They're a bit incongruous, it seems, and the truth is that I don't really have time to be "competitive" about anything right now.

But that gets me on a subject that's been on my mind lately: The uselessness of intensity. I'm not talking about workout intensity; I'm talking about "attitude" or football player intensity. I used to be pretty intense about sports. I took them pretty seriously. I wasn't afraid of a little contact, some growling, snarling and other generally inhuman behavior. So when I got into cycling, I started off looking pretty intense—gritting my teeth, being "mentally tough," gut-checking, and "releasing my anger" as I hammered out a sprint.

Then, a few time trials and disappointing races later, I realized something: that whole "mental toughness" schtick wasn't helping. In fact, if anything, it was making me a much less pleasant person to be around during competition. After all, this is RACING we're talking about. That element of going toe to toe with your competition is nonexistent.

So what's the right approach? I'm sure it's different for everyone, but here's my take on the subject: In racing, it's all about your preparation. Being more or less "fierce" on race day is meaningless. It's what you put in during the weeks and months before the race that will make you faster or slower. So show up on race day and be happy with what you can put into it.

Now, granted, if you sabotage yourself with mechanical problems or a poor nutrition strategy on race day, that can ruin your day, but that's the next important point: sometimes you have a rotten day. That's the nature of racing. Sometimes your body is up; sometimes it's down. Sometimes it's down even when you really really need it to be up. If you race, you just have to accept that fact.

About competition: If there's a race you feel some sort of inordinate pressure about—you feel like you have to beat someone or your self-esteem is riding on a certain result—you probably shouldn't be doing that race. It's a sign that you've already taken an unhealthy approach to it. Find something else you don't have any expectations for and enter it. Racing is a privilege. Racing is fun. When it becomes stress instead of fun, you're abusing the privilege.

Competition, in theory, should result in you reaching your best. When you race, you either go off the front, give your best and win, or you key off the guys in front of you and give your very best. It's giving your all and seeing what you're made of that makes it fun. Those moments where I'm saying to myself "I can get that guy ahead of me" are some of my favorite race memories. In races where I've gone in with this mindset I don't find myself getting upset or frustrated when someone gets ahead of me. That's racing. You smile and keep giving it your all.

After all, if you can't "not win" once in a while, you'd better stick to racing losers.

A Confession:

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 05:00:35 GMT

Okay, I know I'm a little too "triathlon-ish" for some of you. You're cyclists, not triathletes. Well, before we go any further, I want to make one thing straight, if I haven't already: I'm not a swimmer, a runner, an 'age-grouper,' an Ironman™, or an 'olympic distance' triathlete, but I'm also not a roadie, or really much of a mountain biker (although I thoroughly enjoy mountain biking and do it as often as I can); I'm a time trialist. Yes, it's official, that's the category I fall into.

If you'll bear that in mind, I'm about to admit something: this year, I'm more excited to see the results of the Ironman World Championship than I was to see the results of the Tour de France. It's not that the Tour wasn't nifty, but I was restricted on internet at work this year—meaning I couldn't even follow the race as minimally as I used to—and half of the competitors were pulled from the race with positive doping tests. How Interesting can that really be?

Actually, I do have to thank Boz for mailing me some DVR recordings of the Tour—it really was pretty exciting stuff.

But last year the most entertaining race I watched on TV was the 2006 Ironman World Championship, and I actually got a little hooked on it. Since then, I've only found it more and more interesting.

See, in long-distance triathlon there are two basic schools of strategy at the moment: one school, traditional Ironman racing, says you put it all out there all day shooting to hit the finish line first; the other school of thought says you conserve as much energy and absorb as much advantage as you can (even on the bike where drafting is supposedlly illegal) and then you try to get a high enough placing to satisfy your sponsor or your ego.

The odd thing about is, both schools are valid.

See, on one hand you have the purists who say the spirit of racing is throwing it all out there, then on the other hand you have those who point out that this is Kona, Hawaii, we're talking about. When you get too brash at the Hawaii Ironman, as many have figured out before, the island itself can turn on you—capricious ocean currents, unbelievable crosswinds, searing lava field heat, take your pick. You never know what will happen.

Nonetheless, I still cheer for the purists who put it all out there. My favorites win off the bike (go figure) and aren't afraid to take the front. It also doesn't hurt that NBC puts together a wicked-good TV package for the race.

Still, for me, that's too much distance—the same way the Tour is too much distance. I'm content to do the occasional sprint triathlon. And even then, I know I'm just a time trialist in a triathlete's game.

Triathlon numero dos

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 21:41:07 GMT

What happens when you go into a race with only a week's training? I'll let you imagine. This race was a sprint with a slightly reduced bike leg. It wasn't until just before the race that I realized that meant I would be at a distinct disadvantage over the triathletes. Last time, I built a pretty decent gap over the guys who started at the same time I did by escaping on the bike and then hanging on for dear life during the run. I'm very much aware that I'm a time trialist doing a triathlon, not a triathlete.

Saturday morning, my wife and I rose from our cozy cabin bed (where our family reunion was being held) at 5 a.m. so we could make the triathlon on time. She laments now that I got her there way too early, but really, it was about the perfect amount of time. My only regret is that I didn't have a wetsuit—because it was freezing cold outside that outdoor pool!

I warmed up pretty quickly when I got into the swim. I focused really hard on making my stroke smooth and staying out of the way of those who were faster. They told us to only pass on the walls, so when I came to a wall, I'd usually pull over and let a person or two get passed me. So that's what I was doing when two people came up behind me at one wall—a man and a woman. I let them go passed and then got all set to follow them by shooting off the wall. But when I did, I ran right into the guy in front of me. Evidently, he wasn't that fast after all. I tried to ease off to let him get his rhythm back, but I smacked his legs the next time I tried to stroke. At the next wall, he let me pass.

Did you read that? I passed someone on the swim. No, seriously.

I ran out to my bike and got out onto the course, immediately passing a guy who left the transition area with me. I got into the aero bars and just cranked. The course took us twice around a loop through flat residential streets (picture a large rectangle). My legs were surprised, however, to find how much more resistance my non-race wheels give me. Where I'd usually feel like I was flying, this time I felt like I was turning a generator with my tank-tough Mavic CXP 22 wheels. I passed lots of people on mountain bikes and a few people on road bikes, but not a single person with aero bars.

At one point, a guy on a road bike tried to latch on to my wheel. I thought, "Are you kidding? Someone's actually trying to draft in a triathlon? What's up with that?" He hung on for a bit, but then I got a gap. He must've been on his second lap, however, because he suddenly and completely disappeared. Like normal, nobody passed me.

Then I got out on the run, and all of that changed. I was a bit surprised when a group of girls passed me, chatting like they were at a slumber party. It wasn't until they'd gotten about 20 feet ahead that I realized they weren't wearing race numbers. Based on the fact that one still had a pair of spandex running shorts on, I'd say they were probably local high school cross-country runners.

Then a muscle-bound guy I recognized from the start caught up to me. As he passed, I realized I ought to be able to keep up with him, so I started to hang on his feet. A while later, something in my head told me I couldn't keep the pace up, so I let him go, but he didn't go far. For the rest of the run, he was probably 50 yards ahead—within sight.

My one triumph with the run was the fact that I didn't experience any knee pain. Now that I've crossed that milestone, I'm starting to think I ought to see if I can improve a little before this year's thanksgiving day 5k race. Somehow, I keep thinking I should be half decent at running, even though it's not something I do regularly.

So that's the result. It wasn't my best race, but it wasn't terrible either. My wife did the novice (half-distance) race, and surprised herself by actually racing the bike pretty well. I wasn't surprised by that at all. She's a much better cyclist than she wants most people to believe.

Interga-LACTIC

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 04:57:32 GMT

It's official: the local (if you can call 30 minutes from home 'local') time trial series is a go. They'll be holding three flat and three climbing time trials this year. It's a really casual series--it doesn't earn you points for any sort of official race series or anything--so I can ease off the race pressure instead of worrying myself into a choke. So really, it's just a group ride where we don't talk to each other, ride at lactate threshold, and get times at the end. It should be fun.

Provided I don't move (hey, there will always be another TT series), I intend to do all six.

So if you're going to be in Idaho Falls on May 8th, June 12th or June 26th, come find us on North River Road (Lindsay Blvd North of US 20), and if you're going to be in town on June 26, July 10 or July 24th, come to Sunnyside Rd (at the base of the only climb in town--you'll know where it is) for the hill climb.

Okay, changing directions here. I did my best not to be competitve during the triathlon--to just enjoy the experience while I was experiencing it--but I got a little competitive after the fact when I started to notice some funny things about my bike split. You may recall me saying I had the "12th fastest" or a "top 15" bike split, but you may also notice some discrepency between that claim and the results. My wife thinks I'm crazy OCD for having analyzed this, but allow me to explain why I can still claim a "top 15" bike split at the race:

The race promoters, just the week before the race, changed the bike course completely after becoming aware of the construction on the course they'd chosen. On the new bike course written description, the racers were told the new route would be a "straight out-and-back" course. On the map, there was a reference to "two loops" at the far end of the course. I, being the crazed nutball that I truly am, e-mailed the race organizers to figure that little detail out before the race. Then, my bro-in-law and I went and drove the course beforehand so we knew what we were up against.

Well, what we discovered on race day was that we were probably the only guys who took those precautions. There was all kinds of talk among people who'd missed the volunteer holding up the 8.5x11-inch sign that said "second loop" with an arrow pointing in the right direction. After the race, I noticed that I'd had a decent split, but some people were showing splits 4-8 minutes faster than mine--even people with a <i>much</i> lower overall placing. Needless to say I was a little baffled. Then I noticed something interesting, out of the 26 or so triathletes who had faster bike splits than I did, at least 15 had penalties for as much as 8 minutes tacked on to their total times--some of whom had really close bike splits to my own. Allow me to translate: they were folks who'd missed the second loop at the far end of the course.

But hey, you can't really blame 'em. I think that's the one area where the race organizers messed up a little was poorly publicizing the change to the bike route.

So I'm still claiming a "top 15" bike split. Hey, a man's got to feed his ego somehow.

It's all downhill from here

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 02:22:47 GMT

My favorite thing about doing a new race in a different town is that I don't have to worry about anybody recognizing me or thinking that I'm a dork for attempting to 'compete' at a sport that I'm not a natural at. As long as I keep that in mind this weekend, my first triathlon should go over pretty well. Heck, I've already paid for my race t-shirt, so I can't have too much to say about it now.

It's kinda fun, though, to have race nerves again. It's been a while since the last time I had to deal with that. I'm actually pretty happy to be dealing with that so early in the season. With any luck, it'll get me into the right state of mind to enjoy the rest of the summer races, which is the whole idea behind this triathlon thing.

I'll let you guys know how it goes.

Seasonal Revelations

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 02:19:38 GMT

I arrived back at a slow-paced work schedule today, so naturally I passed the time looking for stuff online. For some reason, I have the race bug at the moment. So I started looking around for races I can do in the summer. Here's what I've discovered:

1. No Kelly Canyon?

That's right, when I checked the Knobby Tire Series web site today, I found no indication that they intend to hold the Kelly Canyon Challenge this year. Granted, I wasn't totally certain I was going to race it this year, but it's still a bummer that it's not happening. The beginner race was my sole win last year, and it seemed like it was well-attended.

2. Sprint-distance Triathlons Are Cheap

I've never done a triathlon, unless you count the triathlon team I put together during my last semester at college. Granted, we won that one, but that's because someone else was doing the swimming and another someone else was doing the running. If it had been me, I may have come away with only a participant's t-shirt.

And that might be what I come away with this year, but I'm still planning to attempt a triathlon this year (watch me DNF now). My wife keeps reminding me that I need to probably spend a little more time in the pool if I'm going to swim a half mile. Trust my wife to put my aspirations into a realistic light.

Incidentally, did you know there's such a thing as a super-sprint triathlon? Yeah, 400m swim--my kind of distance. Trouble is, no place around here runs a Super Sprint.

3. Again, No Jackson Hole Events are Scheduled Yet

Last year, I waited until June for the United Cyclists of Jackson Hole to finally put up their race calendar, and when it went up, everything was on Sunday. In case you're not aware, I avoid Sunday racing for religious reasons (you can add that to my list of reasons why I'd make a lousy pro), so that really put a damper on my season. This year, if I can't find a decent Jackson Hole race to attend, I guess I'm okay with that. I can always take a trip to Utah instead (where they have more races than you can shake a stick at--of all shapes and sizes).

4. I Dislike Early Registration

This is more of a personal observation, but I'm finding that I'm really not a big fan of events where you have to register six months in advance. Call me quirky (I may not answer to it on the street), but I like to know whether I feel like racing and then show up on race day with $20-30 (or whatever it costs) to race. Granted, most yuppie endurance events fill up hours after registration opens. All the more reason for sticking with shorter grassroots underground events.

Anyway, that's what I've got. How about y'all?

Missed Opportunity?

Sat, 09 Sep 2006 00:59:13 GMT

Yessiree, Lotoja's tomorrow. Big deal. Okay, it's a little weird that I've though very seriously about doing that race for three years in a row now, and I've never submitted an entry for it. Truth is, if my relay buddies hadn't backed out, I might still have it on the schedule.

This morning, I sent e-mails back and forth with one of my bosses--also an occasional ride partner. On the blog I've always referred to him as 'D'. Today, D's feeling a little nervous about things. I told him I didn't think he had anything to worry about, despite the fact that we woke up to a rainstorm this morning and we all know that means he definitely has something to worry about. See, last year's race hit a snowstorm atop Strawberry Summit. They descended (and you know what descending feels like in the Idaho snow, right?) in freezing temperatures before being met by a group of prepared ambulances in the feed zone. Last year, D showed up in the feed zone with blue lips, quivering. After a little bit of time in the ambulance with a bunch of heat blankets, he came out and got back aboard his bike.

Things are a little different this year. He took my advice and bought a bucket of Hammer Heed (yes, I highly recommend the stuff despite the fact that Hammer Nutrition isn't paying me any money to do so), and he has a whole bunch of warm clothes loaded into his follow car. But the big difference is that he's a much stronger rider this year. Last year, he went into the race without a single century under his belt. This year, he's done two besides a lengthy list of half centuries. Last year, I killed him to the top of the local climb. This year, at least the last time we rode it, I had to stop and struggle with my stupid velcro strap while he passed me and went on to the top. Yes, in my own whiny way, I blame the strap. But he's still faster.

But no, I'm not sad that I'm not doing Lotoja. I have a newborn baby, not very many road miles in my legs, and a lot more interest in time trialing and hillclimbing. Still, I had this wicked good idea, I thought, for riding it this year. I figured if we had a relay team, we could act as D's domestiques and help him win the office Lotoja competition. I know that doesn't necessarily sound like fun to you guys, but somehow, I think that would've been a blast. Maybe next year we'll get a relay team together because, somehow, I still don't think I'll feel disposed to ride 206 miles on a piece of stiff aluminum.

So here's my final piece of advice for D: when in doubt ... draft!

The Hours ... Part Two

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 18:55:58 GMT

... Lap three was a complete contrast to lap two for me. My back had begun to feel a little tight (as I'd expected), things were starting to warm up outside, and I rode almost the entire lap by myself. As I hit the rough section again and began to listen to my derailleur bouncing on my chain, my whiny, complainy inner voice started jabbering, "When are these rocks going to end? These things are a pain in the rear!" Probably not the best thing to tell yourself halfway through a race.

But something even more odd happened. I started passing riders who were riding the opposite direction--regular rec riders out on their Saturday rides. At one point, I was even barreling down a descent when I spotted two riders coming the opposite direction. To say the least, I was a little confused by it. I made a mental note to watch the trail and not follow anybody off the course.

As I rounded the final climb and descended back into the start area, though, that's precisely what happened--I found myself off the course on some other trail with a couple of riders ahead of me. Obviously I'd followed their lead on one of the switchbacks instead of following the flags. I regained my orientation and raced to the finish to find Botched, where I told him about my misguided mayhem.

He zipped off on another lap and I went to relax under the tent. It was then that I started noticing just how tense my back was getting. I grabbed a bag of ice and shoved it behind my back, not necessarily hoping it would heal anything, but hoping it would numb my back and allow me to keep riding.

Between every lap, I found myself downing about a water bottle's worth of Hammer Heed. I reluctantly forced down the PB&J's before treating myself to my last ham & cheese. I'd already dipped into my emergency food supply before lap three, downing a Red Bull and a packet of lime Sport Beans to get some variety in my liquid diet. Before lap four, I sucked down my now-cold tomato soup, which was probably my favorite meal during the race. For whatever reason, solid food just was not appealing to me, and in retrospect, I should've brought more soup.

I don't think Botched ate too many of his sandwiches either, since there were still a couple in the cooler when we got done. He had his own maltodextrin mix drink, and it seemed to be working pretty well for him. I thought he was crazy for suggesting a liquid diet during our prerace discussions, but by my third rest hour that was sounding pretty good.

I could barely move off my ice pack to meet Botched at the start zone for lap four, but it didn't take long for my back to get warmed up again. Again, I spent the lap almost completely alone, though I did get into chase mode a little when I passed the guy in yellow (ahead of me in yesterday's photo) and when he later passed me during the rocky part. I tried to stay in contact with him, but I ended up losing him on the final descent. Go figure. But by the time I reached the start zone again, I was pumped and happy. Heck, I might've volunteered to do another lap if I didn't have an unbearable urge to visit the outhouse.

By the time Botched came back from his fourth lap, though, I was toast. My back hurt much worse than it had before, so Botched, very mercifully, volunteered to take another lap while I continued to ice up. I sucked down a gel and another Red Bull while he was gone, hoping my hyperness could carry me through. And, sure enough, when he got back, I was up and ready to ride.

I took lap five pretty easy, thinking, "Just finish, no big deal." This time there were more people out on the course, so I got to chat it up a little more. I met a former Olympic cross-country skier named Wendy Wagner who was on her tenth solo lap and suffering from some serious side stitches. I gave her some side-stitch advice (you know me, full of advice), and she said she felt better. Despite knowing I could pass her, I rode the final climb up behind her, chatting the whole way. When I told her I'd done more road biking, she asked if I'd been a pro ride biker ... did you just spit out your food laughing too? I told her 'no,' but that I appreciated that she'd even wonder that.

When I got back to the finish, Botched informed me that he had to pull off a 55-minute lap to make the cut for the final lap, and if he made it in time, he'd just keep riding. I was fine with that as our wives had arrived. When I got to the tent, my wife approved of my request to get a professional massage from the tent next door. So while Botched was out toiling his best up and down those razor-sharp rocks, I was under the shade getting my back loosened by the same woman who usually works with Sue Haywood (of Trek/VW fame). Heckya.

In the end, Botched missed the time cut by only a few minutes (it would've had to have been his fastest lap if he'd made it), and we started kicking ourselves for anything we'd done that had even lost 30 seconds along the way. If we'd made the cut, we've have been in 11th place at least, but since we missed, we ended up 12th out of 20--mostly thanks to Botched's super speedy efforts.

Then we crawled into the passenger seats of our respective vehicles and headed back for a relaxing evening of pizza and light-hearted conversation. Oh, and Lil' Botched let me braid her hair.

The Hours ...

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 19:07:22 GMT

The night before the 12-hour, both Botched and I dreamt we missed the start. I recall feeling some serious relief in my dream when I realized I wouldn't be able to start. Weird.

But we didn't miss it at all. On the contrary, we had a little time to spare when we got there. We'd decided I would do the uphill Le Mans start and the first lap, and we also decided to just trade off laps as we went. As it turns out, most of the racers took the same approach to the Le Mans start that I did--it was a joke. The tape fell and we jogged up to the bikes while some zealots elbowed their way through the crowd. The race bottlenecked at the entrance to the trail and then we got started.

At first, I couldn't even see the trail through the dust of the other riders. I resolved just to follow the wheel of whoever was in front of me while I inhaled some serious dirt. Botched tells me that as he saw the first group coming through in that cloud of dirt, he momentarily felt bad for having me go first--momentarily. As we rose up the first climb of the day, I found passing people was easier than I thought and the clouds of dust were dispersing. And then we turned down the first semi-rocky descent ...

... and I crashed hard! It was a pretty good spill, I think, though nobody clapped. I immediately jumped up, pulled my bike off the trail and got passed by five or six people. I got back on the trail and passed some of those who'd just passed me as we climbed just a little more. Then the trail started getting rocky, and I started regretting not preriding the course with Botched. It's not just a question of rockiness, but also of unexpected turns. The course twisted and turned through a whole bunch of 180-degree switchbacks--not only on the climbs, but also on the descents. I hit my brakes far more times than I should've on that first lap, but I didn't know what I was facing.

I came into the exchange zone and found Botched, and I pointed out my bloody knee.

"You crashed already?" he asked. "That's not good. Let's just take those sections slow and try not to get messed up."

So my goal of getting a lap under an hour changed to "how about I just try to avoid breaking my neck?" I'd done the first lap in 1:02, so I wasn't far off from my speed goal anyway.

While Botched was out, it was just a question of relaxing and eating. Oddly, I didn't really feel like eating solid food. I really just wanted to drink. But I stuffed a sandwich or two down my throat. The ham & cheese tasted great, but I could hardly stand the thought of the PB&J. Peanut butter was just too dry after breathing in all that dirt.

There was a DJ there playing music over some loudspeakers, and he announced he was taking requests. So of course I went back and asked if he had "No Rain" by Blind Melon, which he said he did. About five minutes later, he started playing "No Woman No Cry" by Bob Marley, and then he came over the speakers, "This one goes out to a special person out there, you know who you are. I told you I had a song, but I didn't. I know Blind Melon isn't the same as Bob Marley, but they both start with 'B' so I hope it works ..." I was quite entertained.

On one side of our tent resting area, we had the only four-man singlespeed team, who'd decided by then that they were just going for the overall quad team win. When I told one of them I'd crashed, he informed me that someone had crashed just a few feet out of the starting area, so there was nothing to be ashamed of.

After I'd been there for ten minutes, some women came up to me and asked if they could set up the massage tent on the other side of our tent. Why not?

Once I was completely comfortable, I spotted Botched coming over the hill to the finish area, so I grabbed my bike and headed to meet him. As it turns out, he'd crashed too, taking a flying header after passing by some girl. Whoever she was, she got to watch the whole thing. So I started my next lap with this comforting feeling that I'm not a total dunce on the bike. And that must've stayed with me since my second lap ended up being my fastest lap all day at just under 59 minutes. Botched had pulled his off in more like 55-56. As I came into the finish again after my second lap, I was thinking, "Four more of these? No problem ..." I was getting consistently better at the technical stuff on every lap, so that second one felt effortless ...

I just realized how long this blog entry is becoming, so I'll write more later. If you've read through the whole thing so far, you're probably meant to be an endurance racer.

How about this one?

Thu, 15 Jun 2006 00:43:08 GMT

C'mon, it's not every day you win, unless your name is Al Maviva, so you gotta enjoy these good times while you can. So yes, I'm milking this for all it's worth.

Enjoy a Photo

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 17:57:18 GMT

Can you tell which one I am? Just curious.

The Omissions

Thu, 08 Jun 2006 03:54:12 GMT

Okay, don't ask why one race is warranting three blog entries, but I didn't manage to squeeze in all the dirty details of the mountain bike race on Saturday, so today I just want to give you a few more of the particulars. My memory may now be a little sketchy, but some aspects of this race will stand out to me in their full splendor. Here are a couple of memories in no particular order:

I'll admit to being a goof-off on the podium--I was the same way when I scored a third place in my high school spaghetti-eating competition. But they still gave me my medal, even after I raised my fist and lowered my head in a firm statement against discrimination ... against Canadians ... what?

I did have some shoe trouble with my stupid Specialized shoes, despite my wife's offer to safety-pin the velcro together. I'm debating working out some kind of deal involving duct tape at the PC 12-hour.

Despite my antics, the race organizers still gave me a large tub of Hammer Heed--an electrolyte drink with virtually no flavor to it. I'll let you know how it goes down after I devour it all at the 12-hour.

I spent quite a bit of time stuck on the singletrack behind the expert girl. After a while, I spoke up, "Hey, I'm married, so I'm not staring at your butt or anything." to which she responded, "You go blind when you get married?" after zero thought, I quickly exclaimed, "no, you just look at bikes more." I'm not sure if that made sense, but I think she got the point.

I still have two very large bruises on my upper thigh from that spill in the mud, and that's my pathetic excuse for not having ridden the past four days. That and the fact that I'm having a hard time fitting blogging into my schedule now that I've been sentenced to avoiding the internet at work.

Besides the Hammer Heed, I also received two water bottles, three Red Bulls (one of which I drank before the race), two Hammer Gels--apple flavored, I believe--and a sample size of electrolyte pills. Yes, I'm saving everything for June 24th.

Jason won himself a free Camelbak for winning the expert cat--jerk.

As I passed the Jackson Hole girls from the sport category, I asked if any of them knew Kit Deslauriers--and sure enough one of them did. I actually thought I recognized the rider from one of the Teton Pass climbs too. Maybe that was her, I dunno.

The clydesdale rider I met on the last big climb--he had a mullet and a beard. Too cool.

Anyway, that's all I've got for now. Hope I didn't offend anyone. I'll supply pictures when I get 'em, but other than that, I just have training entries to write for the next two weeks or so.

Now, just a word of advice:

If you haven't ridden a race yet this year, get your rear in gear and go enter one!!!

The Next Morning ...

Wed, 07 Jun 2006 01:43:02 GMT

Sorry, since my job banned internet access I've been having some trouble finding time to write the blog, but I've got to tell you about my race on Saturday.

As already mentioned, I'd previewed the course the night before, and despite the promptings from Botched, I decided to register as a beginner for this race since it was my first mtb race. Yes, all of my bike-racing experience has been on the road--mostly hillclimbs, though my wife and I did win the triathlon we entered as a team in college.

As we lined up in our groups--beginner at the end of a long string of start groups--I spent some time getting to know the competition. None of those in my group looked too serious about it, and I wasn't feeling great either, so I wasn't even too serious about it. We chatted and joked around, and none of us seemed determined to do any really convincing Lance Armstrong impersonations--at least not until the official yelled "GO!"

This college student named Mike took off for the front of the group like he was on some kind of breakaway. It was pretty rookie-ish, but what do you expect from a beginner. I followed after him and caught him pretty quickly. I'll admit, I chastized him a little for spending all of his energy on the first climb, at least until I realized that the pace he was riding really wasn't all that tough, so I ditched him and rode up past the sport-class women. I chatted with them for a minute and then rode up further to the junior sport men, and that's about where I was when the course turned to singletrack.

On the trail, one of the sport women caught me, temporarily, whizzing by as we took on a twisty descent. I turned to a junior sport rider next to me and said, "Let's bridge up to her." But his response was, "I dunno, she's going pretty hard." So I bridged and he stayed. I caught her and easily passed her on the next climb. I passed a few more senior sport men (the 40+ group, I guess) until I caught a rider or two who seemed pretty evenly matched with me. Then I just started chatting.

My wife thinks this is odd of me, but when I'm in a bike race, yes, even a tough bike race with a bunch of climbing, I like to take the time to chat with the folks around me--anyone who's willing anyone. I think it's perhaps my favorite part of the race. Is that really so weird? Of course, it means that I wasn't going anaerobic or anything, and I wasn't. I just kept telling myself, "Caloi, it's just a Saturday morning mtb ride--no different than any other Saturday morning." So when I got stuck riding singletrack behind the one-and-only under 19 expert-class girl, I didn't put up too much of a fuss about getting her to pull over and let me by--though I'll admit I dropped her pretty quick after the singletrack ended.

But it was in that singletrack that I had my proudest moment. As we rounded the corner onto the muddiest part of the course--the precursor to the three stream crossings--my pedal hit a rock on a descent and sent me flying over my handlebars into a pretty descent mudpuddle. I hit the ground with a loud, "Aaawwww!!!!" as the air was ejected from my lungs. Oh yeah, I got soaked from my shoulder to my ankle on my left side. Just at that moment, two riders passed me, one of whom asked if I was okay. I replied in the affirmative, grabbed my bike and threw my leg over it. And you know what? That mud felt really nice. Kinda like air conditioning, really.

I'd already spent plenty of time riding at the expert girl's pace, so I probably should've been more concerned than I was, but the truth is, I hadn't seen any beginners since the fire road, so I figured I was untouchable by that point.

We got off the singletrack and back onto the gravel road, and I started passing people again. Oddly enough, I caught the guy I'd met the night before on Moose Run--the one who didn't seem too interested in hearing my opinion when I said I wasn't racing expert. He'd started out in the sport men 19-29 category, probably a good 5 minutes before me, and he was a lot more social as I rode up next to him, said "hello" and kept going.

Rounding the corner to the switchbacks, I warned my evenly-matched riding company about the upcoming climb, and he started to fade. I caught up to a clydesdale sport rider, who told me he was certain I was the first beginner he'd run into, so I treated the climb pretty casually too. I got to the top and a skinny kid rider whizzed past me on the technical singletrack section. Then, on the descent to the finish, this other kid came past me doing a speed I'd never dare. Hey, but he probably didn't have a future child to worry about either. I got to the steep little trick section at the end and walked down it--too nasty for me. Then it was just a matter of rolling across the finish line. And yes, sure enough, I won my category--beginner men 19-29, but those two kids who'd caught me on the technical descent sections, they were beginners too.

So for your convenience, here are the things I did right:

I previewed the course.

I rode at race pace for the first half of the course.

I drank a Red Bull just before the start ...

And here are the things I did wrong:

I took the descents pretty slowly.

I got arrogant about having the beginner category wrapped up.

I didn't spend everything on that last climb.

I walked that little stunt section at the end--thinking of my safety or something. (For the record, my riding partner for most of the race caught back up with me here as I was walking and crashed over the stunt section right in front of me, belly-flopping across the gravel as I calmly remounted my bike and rode past him.)

Friday night ...

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 04:59:01 GMT

... Jason called me up to go check out the Kelly Canyon Knobby Tire course. Fifteen miles of nice, slow-paced riding along the course. When we got done later that night, my thoughts were, "This is the kind of course that will either scare a roadie off, or it'll get him hooked--but either way, it'll get the blood flowing."

The first section was a climb along the gravel road I ride for training--the one that goes by the ski hill. So far so good. After two miles of climbing, it turns left to a serpentine singletrack (that's mtb speak for skinny trail that winds through the grass and small climbs so closely together that you can't see more than 20 feet in front of you at one time) that weaves along the peak of the mountain. And that was my first tourist moment--the view was stunning. Everything was lush and green and springy up there--though the mosquitos kept us moving.

I love mountains--I hope you know that by now. In fact, that's my one requirement for a future home--it better be near some mountains. But I've lived in this area for six years now, and I've never seen those mountains from that viewpoint. I was loving the ride before we even got to mile 5.

The trail connects with another trail which connects with another trail, which ... to be honest, it all kind of blends together in my mind, but somehow we ended up screaming down some extremely twisty trails, some of which lined up against old barbed-wire fences (who builds a fence in the middle of the forest like that?), and some of which led through mud and slop to the edge of a small stream trickling through the valley. The course included three separate stream crossings--one of which submerges your bottom bracket--before it kicks you over a footbridge, on to a hiking path and then you're spit back onto another gravel road climb.

Up the road, you hit the info booth fork, turn left, and then you're on the part of the course I knew--the switchback climb that leads to some kind of radio tower. In two or three sections, the gradient gets steep enough that you don't dare leave your seat for fear the bike will roll over backwards. And the craziest part of the climb is that even when you think you're at the top, there's more climbing to go before you get to the tower. But when you get there--provided you have time to look--it's a breath-taking view of Teton Valley and the mountains above it. I think it's all part of Targhee National Forest.

You round some more singletrack and eventually throws you headlong into this hairy descent--starting with a batch of shale just to shake your nerves up a little. The Moose Run descent was probably the most intimidating part of the trail, and when we did it on Friday I collected a batch of cow dung up my leg on the way down.

At the bottom of the descent, we found a rider out surveying the course backwards. Interestingly enough, when he found out Jason was racing Expert and I wasn't, the guy didn't even acknowledge my presence. No shame, I suppose.

As we parted company, Jason turned to me and said, "I think this is probably the most dangerous mountain bike course I've ever ridden." And that made me feel a little hesitant about signing up. After all, I do have a wife and unborn kid to think about

You'd think Moose Run would be the end of it, but then the course takes you across this section of grass that--believe me, I rode there a few weeks ago--really isn't a trail, but is rather a mess of rocks and fallen trees before you hit the bottom of the ski slope. The last little bit includes the freakiest descent of them all--a steep drop right into the stream for one last splash and then over a jump onto some slippery gravel. Yeah, I walked it.

Unfortunately, my bad luck streak continued when I went over a railroad crossing too fast on the way home from the trail Friday night and wrecked the passenger side brake. For a while, I thought I might have to pull out the bike, leave the car behind and ride home.

But that's not what happened ...

TT

Wed, 03 May 2006 14:31:39 GMT

Yesterday, all of a sudden, I came across some information about a TT series that started up a lot closer to my neighborhood, and shock and amazement, they had a race going just last night. At first I thought I'd probably skip out and train for the next race, but then I got to thinking, "Why the heck not? I don't have anything else to do tonight, I haven't ridden since Friday (so I'm about as tapered as can be), and it'll give me an idea of how to focus my training in the coming weeks."

So I ran home, threw on my aero wheelset (along with the ultegra 11-21 cassette) and started psyching myself out. Truth is, I've never done a flat TT before--only an 8-mile hillclimb TT two years ago--and that's precisely what yesterday's course was: five pancake-flat miles out with a tailwind followed by five miles in with a headwind. So this was going to be a little out of my realm of expertise.

I stopped into the LBS for another tire or two when I found the LBS owner, Bry (a former expert mtb'er and cat 1 or 2 rider who builds his own titanium bikes), prepping his custom-made TT bike. Yep, he was headed to the same race along with a TT nut from our town, Thatchmo (and, yes, I still make up pseudonyms for almost everyone I mention in my blog, but don't worry, they are real people). When I got to the race, I found Thatchmo aboard a smooth carbon Kuota TT frame. However, I was able to contain my extreme jealousy ...

I warmed up on the road--nothing heavy--as my wife discovered that I'd be racing 18th. An older fella started right in front of me and seemed to disappear as the minute counted down (for whatever reason they were starting us at minute intervals instead of 30-second ones). But then I heard the "go," and that gap seemed to close pretty quick. I caught my minute man before the quarter distance mark, but I didn't pass him too quickly to miss hearing him say some variation of "What the heck?".

I started off out off my seat on the really easy gears (gear ratio of about 53x19 or 20). Through the 'out' section, I rattled down through the gears until I hit the tougher ones, but I ran into a little gearing trouble on the way--which is what happens when you throw on a new cassette on race day without calibrating your derailleur to fit.

And then I ran into a little confusion at the turnaround point. I asked the guy there whether this was the turn, and he responded, "There's no one behind you, so you're fine." Perhaps it was because I was concentrated on what I was doing, but I had no idea what he meant. After a second or two, and after coming to an almost complete stop, I turned around and tried to power back up. I'd averaged 25+ mph on the way out with that tailwind, but now my speed dropped like a rock. I didn't have aero bars or anything, so I was probably absorbing more of the wind than I needed to. I had a feeling it would happen, and at the last quarter mark, my minute man caught me. Although he opened up a gap, he didn't completely drop me. I hit the 200m mark, sprinted home and then took a minute to gasp.

I don't think I quite made the top ten, which puts me about dead center in the middle of the pack. Thatchmo and Bry blew the competition up, both scoring times more than a minute ahead of the next guy. Thatchmo won it in 23:20, where Bry was at about 24:30. After that, someone was at 25-something, and one guy was in 26 or so (which was the winning time last month when they had rain but less wind). And then there were four or five of us in the 27-minute category. Rats. If I'd have done that turnaround a little smoother, I might've been two or three places higher in the rankings--but that's what the next race is for, right?

I'm really digging the TT format, so I think I'm going to keep doing it. I heard they even have a hillclimb TT planned, so that should be fun.

P.S. You can thank my brother, who had nothing better to do with his Tuesday night either, for the photography. Botched, here's a clearer shot of my wife:

HEY!

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 05:58:08 GMT

Even if you're just passing through, I want you to think back to the days before your first big race. Remember how tense it felt? How nervous you were about your practice becoming performance? How gut-wrenchingly uptight you felt over whether your training was going to amount to much in the actual race or whether you were going to flop--as though the entire outcome of the race depended solely on you. If you're not a racer, think back to game day, how nervous you were sitting on the bus in your football shoulderpads, after practicing your tackling technique umpteen times and hoping and praying the game works your way. Or when you were in your swimsuit at the big meet ... or lacing up your cleats before the big tournament or whatever ...

My buddy Erica is just a day or two away from leaving for the big race, that she's been training for for months now. Before you leave my site, please take a minute to drop over to her blog and give her a word of encouragement or advice. She's leaving for the race in just a couple of days, so I'm going to leave this blog up to encourage y'all to go visit her until I know she's safely on the plane to Hawaii. So click on one of those links and drop her a note already!

Why am I doing this? Because in a couple of months, that'll be me going into prerace mode, running through every inch of preparation in my mind just to think of how I can gain a few seconds when the time for preparation has passed. And perhaps in the months before that, you'll be getting ready for a race, doing the same thing. And a few months after that, someone else will be in the same situation. And sticking together is what we do. Besides, it's a good blog.

When your nickname is Botched ...

Tue, 07 Mar 2006 18:31:26 GMT

Y'all will have to forgive me. I'll be having computer issues all week due to a particular work event, so today I'm going to let Botched's race report carry the blog. It's a good white-knuckle account that should get your blood pumping--as fast as it can pump while you're sitting in a chair reading text off a computer (Botched- forgive me, I didn't get as much time to edit this as I would've liked, but it looked pretty solid anyway).

On Saturday I entered my first criterium (a short road race around a closed course of typically about a mile). Advice I received said to be totally warmed up when the race began, because the pace was often frenetic right from the gun. Consistent with that advice, I showed up 45 minutes early to sign in and then warmed up for 30 minutes including a few maximal efforts. The problem with this type of warm-up is that when you’re in the type of amazing physical condition I’m in, it tires you out.

My race consisted of USCF categories 3-5 and citizen classes. It was a diverse bunch, with old, young, inexperienced riders (me!), higher category riders who weren’t feeling well as well as Cat2 riders who missed their race. All told we had about 30 riders in our flight.

It turned out that I knew a guy in the race, Brad and his brother, Dan whom I didn’t know. I knew Brad rode a bit, but I had never ridden with him. We lined up, they yelled “GO!”, and . . . almost nothing happened. I was prepared (mentally) to go all out for the first 5 minutes, but we rolled off the start line as if it were a neutralized start. It was great for me, but I definitely didn’t need to do the extensive warm-up. The first couple laps were raced at about 19 MPH. On about the 3^rd lap, the pace picked up and things started to get interesting.

The criterium was on part of an automobile race track, and over-all it was 1.3 miles long and dead flat. There were only two important parts of the course, the front straight, which was very long and wide, with the start/finish line about 300 yards from the last turn, and a series of turns that put you back on to the front straight. These turns consisted of a 60-degree right hander immediately followed by a 60-degree left hander, then a very short straight, and then a big, sweeping left hand turn that covered about 140 degrees and put you back onto the big straight away.

The race was 30 minutes plus 3 laps. I over-heard a guy who had raced crits on this course before say that attacks generally came during the big left hand turn onto the straightaway. After we had been racing about 15 minutes our speed was up to about 22 mph, and I was feeling very confident that I wasn’t going to get dropped, so I thought I’d move up to the front and take a turn pulling and also be near the front in case a breakaway happened. I moved to about 6^th from the front, and sure enough, as we were coming around the big turn, a guy attacked and another guy followed. I sprinted and caught onto the two guys. We were going like crazy. I glanced backwards, and we had a gap on the rest of the field, but it was short lived, because the first rider never let the other guy pull through and so by the end of the straight, we got caught. I was pretty tired when we got caught, so even if we had been able to work together, I would have gotten dropped pretty quickly.

After that, it was just a moderate pace with the usual decelerations into the corners and accelerations out of them, but nobody attacked again. By now I was confident that I wasn’t going to get dropped, so I decided to practice moving around in the pack and up to the front as efficiently as possible, so that in future races I’d be a bit more skilled. Although there wasn’t a turn on the course that required hitting the brakes, at every corner the pack would slow down, so I figured the corners were a good place to gain some positions in the pack. At first I tried staying to the outside and continuing to pedal through the corner. I gained a few places, but then it was sometimes hard to re-integrate into the pack, and I was catching quite a bit of wind. So then I tried moving up on the corners by going on the inside. The result was that I nearly got wrecked. Twice! Both times the same thing happened: as the pack was going along a straight, there would be a foot or so of space between the edge of the road and the pack. Going into a corner, I would get out on this area and keep pedaling when everyone else started coasting in anticipation of slowing down for the turn. I would gain several places in the pack, but then going into the corner, instead of holding their relative position to the inside of the road, everyone would “cut the corner” and I would be run off the course to the inside of the corner. The first time I went onto a little grass, and it was no big deal, but the second time I got run off into gravel and both my wheels slid and I did a two-wheeled sliding “integration” back into the pack! I thought I was going down for sure.

After 30 minutes was up, and the race director said “3 laps to go” the pace really picked up. I started thinking about what I was going to do on the last lap and decided I wanted to be in the front few places in the pack and be on the inside on that last big left-hand turn. I wasn’t really worried about finishing well but I at least wanted to be in a position to see the winner finish. On the second to last lap I practiced my strategy; on the right hand turn that preceded the big left hander, I went to the outside (so that I would be on the inside during the up-coming left-hand turn) and moved up a few positions, then on the straight between the turns I accelerated a little and popped right up to about 5^th position. Unlike the previous attempts to move up on the inside, I got there early enough that I didn’t get squeezed off the course on the inside. I didn’t want to ride at the front, so I eased back to my usual position at the back of the pack.

On the last lap on the straight preceding the right hand turn where I planned on making my move, Dan yelled to Brad “Brad, lets go” and they shot to the front. I was actually just a couple riders behind Dan, so I stomped on the pedals and caught his wheel. Going into the right hand turn, it was Brad, Dan and Botched, leading the field. OOPS! I was too far up in the field too early and I knew there was no way I was going to lead the whole pack around and then be able to finish strongly, but it was too late to drift back and try to initiate my plan. So I decided to try to lead out Dan and Brad. I yelled “I’ll lead” and started cranking. I lead the pack through the big left turn, with Dan behind me and Brad in third. Just before, and through the turn I gave it everything I had and I learned afterwards that we got a little gap going through the corner. On the straight, I just put my head down and pedaled as hard as I could. I only made it a little way down the straight when I blew up and Dan came around me like I was standing still. He had about 150 yards to the finish and a big gap. Dan took 1^st and Brad got 9^th. Me? I blew up so bad that I was seeing stars and was pedaling squares. I don’t know exactly where I finished, but I bet I lost 20 places in the last 100 yards, and I had a head-start on everyone who passed me.

Crit Stats:

Average Speed: 22.5 mph

Max Speed: 34.04 mph

Total Time: 44 minutes

Distance Covered: 16.5 miles

Scheduling ...

Fri, 20 Jan 2006 23:15:34 GMT

I've got a confession to make, even though this isn't a confessional blog: I've been searching the internet, reading stuff, and recommending it to you guys so much lately because it's freezing cold outside, and I've had a lot more time on my hands than I do in an average month.

But today, I've done something productive. No, not training, many of the racing calendars that matter are now coming out of the woodwork, so I've done some scheduling and reworking with my proposed racing. Here's what I've got:

Rigby Lake Triathlon Who knew the next town over had a sprint-size tri going in May and didn't tell me? Truth is, I've been trying to figure out how to fill this gap for a while. I didn't want to go all the way until July without racing (like last year), so the plan is to get my inner-triathlete satisfied by May instead of August. An early, yet not as trying taste of competition (I hope). Another reason it's convenient is because my baby ought to be born about the time the local triathlon takes place (August), and that would be a bad time for me to quit being dependable and get all selfish on my wife.

The Kelly Canyon MTB Race Right now, the plan is to NOT do this race. It's the week after the triathlon, and it involves some scary downhill shale chute thing. Not my cup of tea. Wait, I don't drink tea ... so I'm taking note of it here simply because I might just change my mind ... besides, then I'd evolve from being Caloi-Rider to Caloi-Racer, giving the green Caloi hardtail a chance to stretch its seatstays or something ... just don't tell my wife.

I'm still waiting on the UCJH schedule for my all-time favorite hillclimb, and on the Lotoja Classic to open it's application doors. Patience, right master Yoda? That's what I thought.

Ooo, but race schedules are just like CHRISTMAS all over again.