09.2.2010 | 10:07 am
Some strategies must be carefully crafted and executed, over a period of weeks — nay, months — if they are to be successfully executed. No cutting corners. No details ignored. No contingencies left unconsidered (which is to say, I have considered all contingencies).
Such is the case with my planning for this weekend’s Park City Point 2 Point race.
I’m excited to share my plan with you in great detail, because I think that whether you’re doing this race or another endurance mountain bike race in the future, my carefully-crafted plan should provide valuable guidance.
“But enough preamble!” I imagine those of you who use words like “preamble” saying. For the rest of you, I imagine you saying things like, “Get on with it, OK?”
I shall get on with it. Now.
My Plan, Revealed
Here, in short, is my plan:
I have no plan.
At first blush, I can see why you may think this is a not-very-good (i.e., bad) idea — to not have a plan for what is, after all, a 75ish mile race, with 14 thousandish feet of climbing, pretty much all on singletrack.
But I have my reasons. Here they are:
- I have been busy. You may find this hard to believe, but I sometimes find it time-consuming to manage being a new husband, raising a largish pack of children, working a full-time job, training on the bike, doing cancer fundraisers, and writing hilarious things like what you are reading right now. If I had prioritized knowing a lot about this race, I’d know a lot about this race right now. Instead, I have prioritized pretty much everything else.
- By the time I signed up, it was too late for me to get in better shape anyways. Until a few weeks ago — just before Leadville — I hadn’t planned to do the P2P anyway. This is mostly because I forgot to register until after registration was full. Which isn’t, perhaps, the noblest nor most compelling of reasons to not sign up for a race, but there you have it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that someone who had registered but couldn’t make it to the event, could transfer his registration. And suddenly, on a whim, I was registered for what is widely known as a brutally challenging race. Without any time to get any more prepared for it than I already am.
- Nothing ever goes as I plan it, so why have a plan at all? I have always been an obsessive race planner. And then, when the race occurs, nothing ever happens the way I imagine it. This time, I have no idea what the race will be like (except that it will be long, climby, and singletracky). So while I can still count on a race day that is completely different than what I would expect, I at least won’t have spent several weeks fruitlessly imagining a race day that is nothing like what will actually happen. Very pragmatic of me, don’t you agree?
Things I Do Know
Of course, it’s not entirely accurate to say I know nothing at all about this race I’ll be doing in a couple of days. There are in fact a number of things I do know.
First and foremost, I know that I will be wearing my CarboRocket jersey. And not just because my good friend Brad — the owner / proprietor of CarboRocket — is sponsoring the event and is going to be in town racing.
Okay, that may actually be the reason. At least partially. But I think you’ll agree that it’s a good reason. Besides, Brad’s worn my jersey at a lot of races, I think it’s about time that I return the favor.
So, I know what I’m wearing. But that’s not all I know. I also know how many miles (78, I think) and how much climbing (14Kish) there is. I learned both of those things yesterday, when I was IM’ing with Dug, who is also doing the race, and who has prepared 8% more than I have.
I also know that The Runner will be crewing for me. Which is really nice of her.
Finally, I know my actual race strategy, which is the following:
- Ride really hard. As if I were racing.
- Walk when I can’t ride. As opposed to standing still, I guess.
Things I Do Not Know
My list of things I do not know is more extensive, and quite possibly problematic.
- I do not know the elevation profile. In my head though, it just goes up for 14,000 feet, and then goes down for 14,000 feet. That’s a pretty easy profile to keep in my head, so I’m going with it.
- I do not know whether I should ride using a camelbak or water bottles. I prefer riding with bottles, especially when riding my singlespeed (which I will be riding for this race). However, since this is a lot of singletrack and a lot of climbing, it could be really hard to find time to grab and drink from a bottle.
- I do not know the course. I understand it’s in Park City. Hence the name of the race. I haven’t pre-ridden any of it though. At least I don’t think I have.
- I do not know what time the race starts, or where or when any mandatory meetings are, or when I should pick up my racer packet, or where Lisa is supposed to meet me when she crews for me. I should probably find these things out pretty soon.
- I don’t know whether I’ve got a good gear selected. I used a 34 x 20 gear at Leadville, and that worked out great for me. And in fact, I’ve used a 34 x 20 on my Superfly SS since I’ve had it, and I’ve been happy with it. But I’ve got a twinge of doubt about riding a course this hard with a gear ratio this tall. But I’m not going to change it.
- I don’t know whether it’s a good idea for me to not have a suspension fork. I understand there will be an occasional bump on the course. I hope that’s just an unfounded rumor, though!
- I don’t know whether me doing this race at all is such a good idea. I don’t believe additional explanation of this point is necessary.
Oh, what am I worrying for? I’m sure everything will be just fine.
Right? Right?
Comments (45)
08.26.2010 | 7:34 am
A Note from Fatty: Today’s post — a report on the 2010 Philadelphia LiveStrong Challenge — is brought to you by Philly Jenn, Co-Captain for Team Fatty Philly. A huge thanks goes out to Philly Jenn for organizing this team, and to all of Team Fatty for raising so much money and using your time and energy in the fight against cancer. Thank you.
This year, Livestrong Philly became a three-day event, with the Livestrong Village opening up on Friday for packet pickup, the 5K/10K Walk/Run taking place on Saturday, and the cycling taking place on Sunday. From an official organizing standpoint, these changes were intended to enable participants to take part in both running and biking events, and also to help ease the traffic and hotel congestion that had plagued the Philadelphia event during the past several years.
At a micro level, what it actually meant was that the Philly Fatties had the chance to spend 50% more time scooping my butt out of the dunk tank of life.
Fortunately for me, when you need a helping hand, you can count on the Fatties — generously, resourcefully, and happily — to come to the rescue.
Friday: The Prologue Day
Witness the efforts of Maggi, Philly Fatty Extraordinaire. First, she was kind enough to come to my house and pick up me (the carless city dweller), my bike, and a big pile of random stuff early Friday afternoon. Then she laughingly elaborated on some of the more vibrant hues in the rainbow of colorful language as we sat snarled in traffic for over an hour, with good cheer and great gusto. And finally, after we walked into the first Starbucks that appeared immediately after exiting the freeway and I discovered to my horror that I had somehow left my cellphone and wallet back at my house, she calmly picked up the tab for the first bite of food I had eaten all day, loaned me her cellphone, and whisked my going-into-meltdown hiney first to registration packet pickup, and then off to the team hotel.
When we arrived there, we were greeted by Ryan, the Fatty who had brought himself (and his bike!) all the way from Hawaii to be a part of Livestrong Philly.
Maggi and I explained my discombobulated state, and the still-pressing need to prep for the following day’s Team Fatty Feed. Ryan uttered the magic words, “I can get us into Costco,” and we were off — me on a commuter train back to the city to salvage my electro-magnetic identity, Maggi and Ryan to Costco to round up provisions for dozens of hungry Fatties.
By the time I managed to get in and back out of Philadelphia, mass quantities of food had been purchased and stored, night had fallen, and everyone was ravenous: Maggi and Ryan, plus fellow Fatties Tommy (Ryan’s roommate, of http://www.24hoursforlivestrong.com fame, fresh off the drive up from Georgia) and Jennie (she of the mighty Pikachu-mobile).
They picked me up from the train station and we rolled into Ray’s, a nearby 24-hour diner-and-malt shop. Between us, I think we put away three milkshakes, over a dozen eggs, and something like a small farmhouse worth of other edibles. Though I could have sworn a tractor was required to haul me away by then, Maggi whisked all five of us back to the hotel in her magically capacious Honda Fit and dropped us off before making her way home.
Before crashing out for the night, I put in a pair of extended-wear contact lenses and donned my running clothes. Puzzled, Ryan asked why I had just gotten dressed before going to sleep. I explained that I was even more incoherent early in the morning than the sorry spectacle he had already witnessed that day, so it was easier to just wake up, throw on my running shoes (with their non-tying, elastic laces), and go. I insisted that sleeping in race-day clothes was a reasonable, even somewhat commonplace practice. After polling dozens of people on Twitter and finding that they were all just as surprised as he was, Ryan gently broke the news to me later in the weekend — I am a freak.
But at least the next morning I would be a freak with 20/20 visibility and socks on both my feet.
Saturday AM: Beginning A Day On The Run
Longtime readers of this site will know that the Fatty-In-Chief can knock out a marathon with about six weeks of training. The rest of us mere mortals have to work our way up to running greater distances over longer periods of time, and I needed to log a little over 14 miles of running on Saturday as part of the training plan for my first-ever marathon (Marines Corps! Ooo-rah!) at the end of October. I was hoping to run from the hotel to the starting area of the Livestrong 5K/10K, find the Fatties in the staging area, run the 10K, then run back to the hotel. Given the slow pace at which I was covering ground, this would mean I was MIA for much of the morning.
Which is where super Fatty Penina (who is actually quite petite), stepped in and took charge. Penina’s family, despite having absolutely zero fundraising requirements as walk/run participants, had collectively brought in a huge chunk of change for Team Fatty. On Saturday, Penina was armed with Fatty logo stickers for all everyone to wear, her daughters held up signs to help Fatties gather, and they were able to round up a big brace of Fatties for a group photo before the start — all while Penina was preparing to run her first-ever 10K. Hats off to the Scullion clan for Fattifying the Livestrong Walk/Run!
I made it to the staging area just in time to hear Jessy Kyle, a three-time Hodgkin’s lymphoma survivor, sing a stunning a cappella rendition of the national anthem.
Once they released us through the chute and we were on the gently winding course, I spotted Jennie and ran with her until we reached the point where the 5K and 10K courses split. The 10K course took us past some pleasantly landscaped and well-manicured neighborhoods, and even past some horse farms. When I saw the horses ambling around in their paddock, I imagined that we were having a dialogue about forward locomotion.
Me: I aspire to run like you, so gracefully and effortlessly. What is your secret?
Horses: O, little Clydesdale, it helps if your thighs do not touch.
For much of later part of the course, I ran with Julius, a friend of Maggi’s who was also participating in his first official 10K event. Julius told me about how he had recently taken up running, and how his training schedule was leading next to a half-marathon, then culminating in the Philly Marathon later this fall. We chatted about how our watch readouts compared to the mileage markers on the course, how eagerly we were looking forward to cooler weather, and just how much fun it was to be a newbie runner. Regular, mundane, everyday running stuff.
We didn’t know it then, but Julius’s life was about to take the kind of sudden turn that so many Livestrong participants know all too well. Maggi learned later in the weekend that Julius’s father had been hospitalized and would require emergency heart surgery; before the surgery could be performed, Julius’s father passed away early Monday afternoon. Maggi writes that Julius and his family are stunned and devastated. We ask that you keep them in your thoughts and prayers.
Saturday PM: Fatties, Fatties, Everywhere
After finishing the 10K, toodle-ing back to the hotel (toodle = the gear between jogging and running), and starting to feel the effects of being mildly underfueled, I was looking forward to lunch. Shortly before noon, Fatties started gathering around the grill area at the back of the team hotel. Through the magic of Fatmosis (a bunch of Fatties transporting a bunch of stuff), we soon had the makings of a full-on feed: Chips, dips, cookies, cheese, burgers, hot dogs, salad, sodapop. Christine made an emergency run down the street to help us fill in gaps in our shopping list (salad minus dressing equals “Not so much,”) and the hotel’s gas grill was manned by Doug, who kept everyone (vegetarians included!) in protein for the duration of the afternoon.
One of the highlights of the afternoon was the arrival of RayRay the Baker with this year’s cake from Cramer’s Bakery. It’s hard to imagine that last year’s cake could be equaled, but feast your eyes on this:
And here’s Ray, showing what he hath done:
And packed in every slice was the wonderful, double-decker chocolately goodness that we have come to know and love.
Jenni brought handmade hula hoops (JenniHoops!) in Team Fatty colors for us to take out on a whirl.
When it was all over, we had made serious inroads into the cake, but the salad was virtually untouched. Draw your own conclusions.
Later in the day, several Fatties drove in a caravan from the team hotel to the Fundraising Appreciation Dinner. Amid the hubbub of a cocktail hour and buffet dinner, one of the big highlights of my evening was having the chance to finally meet Marc Mandeville, who helmed M-Power to this year’s Team Champion Award, as well as meeting several warm, charming members of his family. Marc, a husband and father of three adorable young children who teaches here in the area at Episcopal Academy, was diagnosed with Stage IV colorectal cancer two-and-a-half years ago. He’s been fighting back on all cylinders, and managed to lead his team to victory this year even while he was undergoing a fresh round of treatment this spring and summer. M-Power was Team Fatty’s chief rival this season in Philadelphia, but only in the most positive sense: we brought out the best in each other. Marc exemplifies everything great about the Livestrong Challenge, and I look forward to him and his team spurring us on for seasons to come.
After dinner, the evening was emceed by John “College” Korioth, one of Lance Armstrong’s oldest friends. NFL linebacker and Travel Channel host Dhani Jones spoke with the crowd about how his life changed when his lifelong friend, Kunta Littlejohn, was diagnosed with cancer. Dhani started wearing bow ties to show his support during his friend Kunta’s cancer battle — and not only continued to wear them after Kunta was given a clear bill of health, but even founded his own neckwear line, Five Star Ties. The line includes a special golden bow tie, whose proceeds go to benefit Livestrong. You can see how dapper it looks on Kunta, Carlos (yes, THAT Carlos!), and Dhani:
There was also a Q&A session with Heidi Adams, Livestrong’s Director of Grassroots Engagement, and Lance Armstrong. Amid all the more serious topics they discussed, Lance did manage to share a brief anecdote about what it was like to be friends with College.
While the two of them were out golfing, Lance send a shot into the rough, and couldn’t seem to locate where it had landed. Exasperated, Lance turned to College and said, “Did you take my ball?”
“No,” College deadpanned. “Cancer took your ball.”
The evening closed with the screening of Team Fatty’s video for winning the Team Time Trial Award, the last of the four videos to be shown. See how many Fatties you can spot:
Then it was back to the hotel and waiting to show the video on DVD to the rest of the team. Curiously, only a couple of people showed up at Carlos’s hotel room, which we attributed to everyone’s desire for a full night’s sleep before a long day’s ride. Only when I quickly scanned my email the next morning did I discover that I had sent out an open invitation to the entire team to come see the video…with no viewing time listed. Doh!
Fatties are many wonderful things, but they are not psychic.
Otherwise, they would have known for certain what Sunday’s weather would bring…
– To Be Continued –
PS: If you haven’t entered the contest for the Intense Spider 2, outfitted with the brand-new Shimano XTR group of your choice (grand prize) — not to mention one of two $250 Twin Six shopping sprees (first prize) or a LiveStrong jersey autographed by Lance, Levi, and Bob Roll (second prize), you should go enter now. Find details on the grand prize here, and details on the other prizes here. Or you can just hop on over to my LiveStrong Challenge page and donate now.
Comments (43)
08.17.2010 | 10:23 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part 2 of my 2010 Leadville 100 Race Report. Click here for part 1.
The first time I enter the Twin Lakes Dam aid station as I race the Leadville 100, I always get a little sense of foreboding. Up until now, the race is relatively easy. Sure, there are a couple of climbs, but you’re fresh for them; all they’ve really done is soften you up for the first of the two defining features of the Leadville 100: The climb to Columbine Mine.
The Runner’s and my crew — Scott and the IT Guy — had set up before the actual aid station (and had, I should emphasize, done an incredible job of taking care of me), so by the time I got to the aid station, I was all set and could just roll through.
The crowd at the aid station was huge. Hundreds of people. Hundreds of cowbells. I daresay, for the first time ever, that no more cowbell was needed.
And then, right in front of me, a spectator lunged from the left side of the crowd to the right.
And fell down.
“Yaaaaah!” I yelled, intelligently, and with italics. There was nowhere to swerve, so I just grabbed brake and hoped.
The spectator rolled out of the way so I missed him by inches, barely saving himself and me from a painful pileup.
Disaster averted. Time to climb. I looked at my timer. 3:07. That seemed . . . too good.
I had not been killing myself. I had not been wanting to set a personal best time. I had even thought that I had been slowed down by the crowded field during the climbs and had expected my time to be slow.
Was I going to somehow get my first sub-9 finish at Leadville, after all these years, by not even trying?
Nah.
I resolved to stick to my plan: have fun and be careful on the flats and descents; hit the climbs hard.
Tick Tick Tick Tick
The difference between singlespeeds and geared mountain bikes is most obvious at one particular moment: when the trail turns upward. This obviousness is manifested in two specific ways:
- All the geared bikes make shifting noises. If there are a lot of geared bikes turning uphill together, there’s an audible concert of derailleur sounds. This is in fact one of my favorite sounds in the world. It’s beautiful, and I feel a little bit bad that when I’m on a singlespeed, I don’t contribute to that sound.
- The singlespeed changes position relative to the group. The singlespeed is either going to shoot way out in front, or if the grade is steep enough, going to fall way off the back. One thing is certain: the singlespeed is not going to stay with the geared bikes.
Now, the first part — five miles of climbing, about 3000 feet of altitude gained — of the Columbine Mine climb is always one of my favorite parts of the Leadville 100, because this kind of climbing suits me. I’m good at getting into a climbing groove and then holding it almost indefinitely. On this part of the course, I almost always pass more than I am passed.
But something special happened last Saturday: I felt limitless.
I stood up — with 34 x 20 gearing, almost all climbing is in the standing position — and just went. I passed people constantly, and that is no exaggeration, thanks to a huge crowd of racers. For five miles, I passed someone every 10 to 30 seconds. And during this part of the course, not a single person passed me.
I was like a machine, turning the cranks steadily and easily. Tick tick tick tick.
I know this comes off as boastful; you’ll have to forgive me for that. The fact is it was an incredible, rare moment for me. To be the fast guy, the guy who drops everyone. To be, in my head, briefly, Andy Schleck.
I have never felt quite so strong.
Later, I would look my stats for the day. For the Columbine Mine section (and only for this section), the way I felt while climbing would be confirmed by the numbers (Columbine section highlighted in yellow; click image for larger version):
Out of everyone who raced — all 1022 finishers — I had the 42nd best time for the climb from Twin Lakes Dam to the summit of Columbine Mine.
1:31:54. I’m kinda proud of that.
Zoom
Now I’m done thumping my chest. I promise. And the truth is, my very best day on the bike is still nothing to what the fast guys were doing.
Due to the out-and-back nature of the Leadville 100, everyone who is a racer is also a spectator, getting to see and cheer on the racers go in the opposite direction. One of my very favorite parts of the race is, as I climb the Columbine Mine section, anticipating the moment when the race leaders will come bombing down the road. Much, much, much faster than I could have ever imagined possible.
This year, though, I didn’t get to have that anticipation, because the race leaders bombed by me so early in the cliimb.
Zoooom. There goes JHK, leading the race. Yelling “Rider up! Rider up! Rider up!” as he comes down, looking for a clear line because he has caught everyone by surprise. We hadn’t expected people bombing down the road so soon and so had not crowded over to the right side of the road yet.
Zoooom. There goes Levi Leipheimer, just a few seconds behind.
Zoom. Zoom. Todd Wells and Dave Wiens.
“Those fast guys are fast,” I think to myself. Then the obviousness of my reflexive statement strikes me as hilarious and I want to share it.
“Those fast guys are fast,” I say to whoever is close to me whenever someone comes screaming down the mountain for the rest of the Columbine Mine climb.
Nobody else thinks this is as funny as I do.
No Thanks, I’m Not Hungry Right Now
The Columbine Mine climb is divided up — in my head, at least — into two sections. The first five miles are the “easy” section, where you’re climbing up a groomed dirt road. Its difficulty comes from the altitude; you’re at around 12,000 feet by the time you get to the end of this section.
The “hard” section is the final three miles, where the trail gets narrower, looser, steeper, and very, very (very) rocky.
I walk a lot of this section. Lots of people do. It’s a sufferfest, and there’s nothing to do but put your head down and try to concentrate on at least walking it quickly.
Or if not quickly, at least not lethargically.
I try, in short, to not stand still.
As people zoomed down, calling out encouragement, I looked for faces I recognized. There goes Nate! And Chuck! And Mike! And Kenny! I shout out their names. None of them recognize me in time to shout mine back. I understand why. When you’re descending, you’ve gotta focus on the trail. Though Kenny would later say he simply did not believe it could be me up that high that soon. Nice of him.
And then, as I continue pushing, I see the oddest thing: A sign — “Hot Dogs and Beer.”
And it gets weirder. A guy, in a high-class maitre d’ outfit, with a platter containing little slices of hot dogs. Energetically offering hot dogs to everyone as they go by.
Nobody takes one. Right now, nothing in the world sounds quite so awful as a hot dog.
The maitre d’ sees me. Singles me out.
“Hi, Fatty, you of all people must want a hot dog!”
“The very thought,” I pant, “makes me want…to…hurl.”
“At least have one on the way down, OK?”
“Sure. On the way down,” I lie. Knowing, already, that when I come down I will not slow down. I will look the other way and not make eye contact.
Hot dogs for racers at their very limit, at 12,000 feet. It’s the wackiest, most awful idea I’ve ever heard of.
I hope they’re there again next year.
I. Want. Cantaloupe.
Eventually, I made it to the top of Columbine. My time shows I’ve got there in 4:39. I’m a little disappointed, knowing that I am not prone to negative splits in this race. A curious thing about the Leadville course is that it takes me almost exactly the same amount of time to get back to the start/finish as it does to get to the turnaround spot. So 4:39 means I’m probably going to finish in about 9:18.
Oh well. The sub-9 dream was fun to consider for a while.
But there are more important things on my mind than a fast finish time. Specifically, there is something I have been thinking of for the past half hour.
Cantaloupe. There is cantaloupe at the Columbine Mine aid station.
While most of the other racers simply hit this aid station and turn around, I pull to a stop, shouting, as I do, “bring me cantaloupe, and lots of it!”
This, to my delight, draws a cheer from the aid station volunteers, most of which don’t have anything to do (they’ll all be much busier in a little while; most racers further down the field will relish the chance to stop and eat).
No fewer than three volunteers sprint to the food table, each bringing me a handful of cantaloupe slices.
I eat three, maybe four slices. Okay, maybe five. It is so delicious.
As I finish the last one, I see a young volunteer — maybe nine years old — who has gone back to the table to bring me a double handful of more cantaloupe. He’s holding maybe six or eight slices. All for me.
I eat two. It’s the least (and also the most) I could do.
I then down a cup full of Coke (I love that they have Coke available at the aid stations; that’s new, I think), thank the volunteers for their outrageous awesomeness, and get started on the descent.
Where’s The Runner?
I have a love / hate relationship with the first three miles of the Columbine Mine descent. On the “hate” side of the equation, it’s rocky and technical, and there are a lot of people marching up the good line. And I’m tired.
On the “love” side of the equation, however, this is where I get to see and shout encouragement to friends and family who are making their way to the top.
I yell out to Jilene. Bry. Dave. Another Dave. Ryan. Cory. Heather. And more. And even more people yell out “Go Fatty!” to me.
It’s incredibly encouraging.
But there’s a problem. I do not see The Runner. And I do not hear her shout out to me.
So I start worrying. Has she had a mechanical? An accident? A bad day on the bike? Has she gotten sick?
All the way down, I worry. I worry so much, in fact, that I forget to be frustrated with myself for the fact that now on the descent, I am being passed just as often as I was passing others on the climb. That just as I never got passed while climbing, I never passed a single person while descending.
Forty minutes (about five or six minutes slower than most people around me), I pull into the Twin Lakes Dam aid station. Before I eat or drink anything, I ask, “Is Lisa OK?”
“She’s great,” the IT Guy reassures me. “She came into the aid station just a few minutes behind you. She was riding strong and was happy.”
A huge relief. I had just missed seeing her. And, as I learned later, she had just missed seeing me until it was too late to call out.
I swapped a bottle — once again, I had only drank one bottle between aid stations — and ate what is becoming my new favorite riding food: a Pro Bar Fruition. I doubt my reasons for liking them will ever make it into the marketing material but still, they’re ideal for racing cyclists for a few good reasons:
- They’re really moist. Unlike most bars that you have to chew and chew and chew and then take a drink and then chew some more, these bars are very soft and moist; you can get them down very quickly when you need to.
- They’re small enough to cram the whole thing into your mouth at once. It’s nice to get your hands back on your handle bars quickly.
- They’re tasty. The thing I like about all Pro Bars is that they taste like real food instead of something from a lab. The Fruition bars are heavy on the fruit, and are a great change from the energy bar taste.
No, You Go On
The next fifteen miles went slowly. Mostly because I didn’t pedal very fast. At least, not compared to the people who were passing me on a regular basis. If you look at my standings, you’ll see that I was the 375th fastest person on this section — a far cry from my placing going up to the top of Columbine Mine.
Then, on the paved section leading up to the hardest climb of the day — the Powerline — I met Charlie, another singlespeeder I had met and ridden with earlier in the day. It was nice to have someone to ride alongside with as geared cyclists zoomed by, hollering at us to hop on and draft. “Can’t do it!” we’d yell, wishing we could.
And then it was time for the Powerline. I — along with everyone else — hopped off my bike (OK, I didn’t really “hop;” I actually “very slowly dismounted”) and started the slow march.
And then I heard a bell ding.
Looking behind me, I saw a guy in a Specialized jersey, riding the steepest part of the Powerline.
The sheer amazingness of this will only register with those of you who have marched this trail.
I stood aside and yelled forward, “Everyone off the trail! Someone’s riding this sucker!”
Others looked back and moved aside. Some of us clapped.
Once I got to (what was for most of us) the hike-a-bike section, I got back on my bike and eventually got this guy. I asked, “Did you really just ride all of Powerline without putting a foot down?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a hell of a thing you just did,” I said. I would have said more, but that was all the breath I had. Still, an awesome climb like that has to be acknowledged.
Your Results May Vary
I finished the Powerline climb, staying on my bike for everything but the initial hike-a-bike section, then gingerly descended Sugar Loaf. Once again, all the people I had just spent half an hour passing zoomed by me.
Really, I should learn to descend faster.
Next up was the St. Kevins paved climb. As I rode up, I once again looked for where I had shot off the road last year. Couldn’t find it, at least not for sure. But I’ve at least now lost my terror of that road. It’s no more curvy or steep than anything I ride regularly.
Nice to have that bugaboo behind me.
I got to the dirt and the final mile of serious climbing in the race. Once again I started passing people, still feeling strong even this late in the race. I was having a good day.
Then someone asked me a question as I went by. “Do we have a chance at sub-9?”
“No,” I said. “We’re 8:20 into the race. We’re about an hour from the finish line. We’re a good sub-9:30 bet, but 9:00 isn’t going to happen.”
“Don’t tell me that,” he said.
“OK, all of that just applies to me,” I amended. “If you’re a great downhiller, you might still make it under 9.”
I hope he did.
Most Awesome Friend of Fatty Ever
Finally: the last hard pitch in the last hard mile of the Leadville 100. I started churning up it. Weary. Glad it was nearly over. Pleased to note that I was riding up a pitch on my singlespeed that people on their geared bikes were choosing to walk.
And then a guy jumped out beside me.
“Fatty! You’re doing it man! You’re almost there! You’re spanking the guys on geared bikes!”
He ran / walked / sauntered up the whole pitch with me. Cheering me on like I was some kind of superhero. I swear, I have never seen so much energy in one person at one time, and it was infectious. Encouraged by this guy’s energy, I went faster and crested that last pitch.
To whoever it was who did that: thanks. Your energy got me up a really tough hill.
[Update: The Friend of Fatty I'm talking about is named Tom E (he commented first today), and he sent me a terrific photo of me working on that climb. Check it out:
Thanks, Tom! - FC]
Small Finish
The nine hour mark slipped by unnoticed by me, some time as I was riding along the railroad track that leads to The Boulevard — the final climb in the Leadville 100, and a real demoralizer for people who don’t know it’s part of the race. You see The Boulevard is a two-mile dirt road climb that starts at mile 100. Which means the Leadville 100 is really more like the Leadville 103. Since you don’t go down The Boulevard on the way out, you don’t expect it on the way in the first time you do this course.
Nowadays, all The Boulevard means to me is that I’m home free. I’m going to finish the race.
I crossed the line at 9:17 — not a personal best (9:13 is my fastest time on this course), but certainly a best effort.
Afterward
I went and took a quick shower and then came back down to the finish line to catch The Runner when she finished, which she did in 10:29. A strong finish, and she said she had fun talking with all the people who recognized her from this blog, not to mention the admiring comments from everyone who noticed she was riding with a daisy on her handlebars.
Then, at the award ceremony the next day, I got a chance to see how awesome the really fast guys are, even off the bike. I chatted with Dave Wiens, kazillion-time winner of the Leadville 100 and quite possibly the nicest person alive. I talked with JHK and Heather Irmiger, and started my campaign to get the two of them racing the Leadville 100 on a tandem. They say they’re not interested. Pfff.
And then, JHK and I chatted with Levi Leipheimer.
Seriously.
It was great to tell Levi firsthand that I thought his reply to my open letter to him was hilarious.
Then I showed him how awesome I am at playing Yahtzee on the iPhone:
As you can see, Levi was impressed.
Kenny got his award for taking 2nd in the men’s singlespeed category; Heather got her award for taking 2nd in the women’s singlespeed category.
The symmetry was exquisite.
And, finally, The Runner and I got what we had been waiting for: our finisher’s sweatshirts, complete with our finishing time.
It was a good race.
Really, really good.
PS: Tomorrow I kick off a contest for a brand new mountain bike. I won’t tell you what it is yet, but I will tell you it is a very high end bike, tricked out with the new Shimano XTR group, and is worth more than $6,000.00!
Comments (60)
08.16.2010 | 8:28 am
I have previously made it clear that I did not have any particular expectations for this year’s Leadville Trail 100 mountain bike race. After all, The Runner and I have been riding a lot, but not really training. As in, neither of us has ridden a single set of intervals. Neither of us have done carefully-considered recovery rides.
We’ve just ridden our bikes. You know, actually treating our recreation as if it were for fun.
Weird, huh?
So as you would expect, when the alarm went off at 4:30 on the morning of the race, I was not nervous at all.
No indeed.
My ten trips to the bathroom before the race? Not nervousness.
My constant sorting and fidgeting with the food I was going to put in my jersey? Not nervousness.
My asking The Runner questions she had no way of knowing (Do you think Levi will race? Do you think it’s going to be a hot day? What flavor of Shot Bloks should I start the race with? Is it better for me to have a PBJ for breakfast, or a bagel with cream cheese?)? Not nervousness.
My turning around and heading back to the toilet one last time as I approached the starting line, with only about thirty minutes ’til the start? Not nervousness.
Although I will point out that at this point The Runner grabbed me by the back of my jersey and said, “You do not need to go to the bathroom. There cannot possibly be anything for you to poop or pee out at this point.” And she was right. In fact, once the race got started, I didn’t need to pee until mile 70.
By the way, for those of you who are interested, Levi did race, I started the race with Mountain Berry Shot Bloks, it was indeed a hot day, and I had two (yes, two!) PBJ sandwiches for breakfast.
Surprise at the Starting Line
The Runner went and self-seeded herself in line with a group of people who were hoping to finish between 10 and 11 hours. I moved further up in the line, because I hoped to finish between 9 and 10 hours.
Now I just had twenty minutes to stand around, in the middle of a crowd of 1300+ (I’m speculating) riders.
Then someone asked, “Have you heard about Levi’s response to your letter?”
I overcame the shock of being recognized — after all, I was just wearing my Fat Cyclist jersey, Fat Cyclist shorts, Fat Cyclist socks, and was standing by my Fat Cyclist bike — and said, “Oh yeah, I saw the tweet he sent a day or two ago. Awesome of him to call it out!”
“No,” the guy said. “I mean he actually wrote a long reply. You’ll have to check it out when you finish the race.”
And so I was left, for the next 100+ miles, to wonder what Levi had to say to me. As it turns out, Levi has an awesome sense of humor, and is incredibly generous to boot. Be sure to check out his reply to my open letter to him.
I Am Evidently Very Focused
The gun went off and the huge mass of cyclists started down the pavement. My fingers were freezing cold, my teeth were chattering, and my brain was on high alert. I did not want to get in an accident.
Hundreds — literally — of people passed me in the first few miles of the race. On a singlespeed and with my poor descending skills, that was just the way it was going to be. I’d have to earn a place further up the field once we got on dirt and started climbing.
And then, just before I got to the dirt, I heard, over my right shoulder, a familiar voice.
“You sure are focused on the road.”
It was The Runner. She had caught up to me and had been riding alongside me for a minute or so, and I had not noticed.
It was so good to see her.
We rode together for a couple of minutes, then hit the dirt, and it was time for me to go at my race pace, and for her to go at hers.
Chatterbox
I had told myself that I would not kill myself on the first big climb of the day — St. Kevins. But on a singlespeed, it is not easy to ride at the pace of geared bikes in their granny gear.
So I started passing. Or at least, I tried.
With 1300 excited racers funneling into a jeep road climb, things can get a little bit crowded. And for those of you who remember how crowded this climb was back in the days when 400 people would ride the Leadville 100, well, triple it and you’ll get the picture of how it is now.
Wait, did I just do a “I remember back when…” anecdote? Oh, I am getting old.
I heard some racers shouting at other riders — most people encouraging, but some as if they had chosen themselves as trail boss for the day. “Keep it moving, people!” they would shout.
I can just imagine the gratitude other riders must have felt upon hearing things like that. “Oh, that’s my problem. I forgot to keep moving! Thanks, trail boss!”
So I adopted a different approach for passing. I chatted.
“Hey there, racer 429. That’s a sweet setup you’ve got; I’m coming by on your left. Thanks man, have a good one.”
“Hi racer 777, how’d you get such an awesome number plate? Could you scootch over just a hair? OK, that’s perfect, keep it up.”
“Morning racer 1212, I’d like to borrow your line for about three seconds. No? That’s OK, just whenever you can.”
I was chattering like I was selling peanuts.
When I asked people to work with me to let me by (or just to let them know I was coming by), they almost always did. And as a bonus, I figured that if I had enough wind to keep up the talk while I passed people, I was not in my red zone.
Dominoes
We all knew there would be a lot of people on the course, and so we all (or at least most of us) were dealing with the crowded situation at the beginning of the race without too much difficulty.
But I did see one moment that was awesome in its crowd-related messiness.
There were four of us riding abreast at one particular moment. I was the one on the far left. And then the person on the far right lost his (or her?) line, swerved, and collided with the person on his left.
They both went down, and brought the person to their left down as well. Somehow — I do not know how — I sensed the moment coming and shot forward enough that I didn’t get trapped in the snarl of bikes and people.
But I expect about 500 people had to put their feet down and wait for a minute while those three people disentangled themselves from each other.
Scraped Up
I got to the top of St. Kevins, then dropped down the paved side. I sat up and took it easy, not wanting to repeat the huge crash from last year. Dozens — maybe more than a hundred — of people zoomed by. As I cruised down, I began to wonder: where had I even crashed? This road was easy.
The truth is, there’s nothing especially difficult or hair-raising about that descent. Last year, it was wet, but that wasn’t the real problem; everyone but me navigated it successfully even though it was wet. The real problem last year was that my head wasn’t in the race.
This year though, it was. And I made it down just fine and began my climb.
Going up Sugar Loaf, I was feeling great. The day was warming up and people were being incredibly friendly. Several riders commented they were glad to see that I had made it down the St. Kevins descent this time, and I agreed.
The climb up Sugar Loaf went by fast — I got into a climbing groove easily and started passing all those people who passed me as we were going downhill moments ago.
And then, of course, we got to the Powerline descent and all those people I had just passed passed me again.
Powerline’s a tricky descent — the most technical of the race — and I’m always glad to get to the bottom of it with my tires still inflated and my body uninjured. Still, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “If I weren’t such a lousy descender, I’d do pretty good at races.”
David Kutcipal caught and emailed me a good photo of me coming down Powerline. Check it out:
(And chances are if you rode in Leadville, David got a photo of you, too — he took more than 1100 photos, and organized them by bib number. Find yourself here.)
As I got to the bottom of Powerline, the dirt road turns up to intersect the right turn. There were several people on the left, going straight up the little pitch, so — wanting to conserve the momentum I had built up on my ss — I veered right.
I should not have veered right.
As it turns out, the right line was full of loose gravel. My bike slid out from under me and I went down, scraping up my right leg. Right in front of about 50 spectators.
The collective gasp would have been hilarious to me, had I not been so incredibly embarrassed.
I got up quickly, without even checking to see how my leg looked or whether my bike was OK. I did not look anybody in the eye, but rather hurriedly jumped onto my bike and rode away.
Once I was away from spectators, I slowed and looked my bike and myself over. My scrapes were not a big deal, and in fact I’d soon forget about them until I showered after the race. And my bike was fine.
Only my pride remained injured.
Hi and Goodbye
The next 20 miles of the race average out to be flat. Which is awesome if you’re on a geared bike; you have a chance to get into your big ring and increase your average speed by quite a bit.
On a singlespeed, this 20 miles is where you just kind of recover. I felt like I was getting passed constantly. Like, by hundreds. Groups would come by, drafting each other, and would even shout at me to hop on to their train. I’d just laugh; draft or no draft, I could not pedal that kind of cadence on my singlespeed.
And so it’s strange for me to look at the details of my race splits and see that during this flat section (Pipeline Outbound to Twin Lakes Outbound) I actually moved up 60 places (from 378th to 318th) in the overall standings, and even moved up 4 places (from 17th to 13th) in the ss category.
But I still felt like I was getting passed a lot.
I arrived at the Twin Lakes Dam aid station and The Runner’s brother Scott and her son (IT Guy) took care of my food exchange in no time at all, swapping out bottles and food exactly as I had asked them to the night before. But the truth is, I hadn’t eaten or drunk much. I’d emptied only one of my two bottles in that first 40 miles, and had eaten two packs of Shot Bloks. I just can’t seem to get the knack of eating and drinking enough during these races.
Then — for the first time during the race — I took a look at my time. 3:07? That’s not bad at all, considering I’d just been enjoying myself.
Now it was time for one of the two defining moments of the Leadville 100: The Columbine Mine climb.
“Maybe,” I thought to myself, “I should start taking this race seriously.”
(Click here for part 2.)
Comments (39)
08.3.2010 | 8:23 am
A Kidney Transplant-Related Note from Fatty: Many of you helped me raise money to help out my sister and her son as they went through an incredibly difficult kidney failure. I think you’ll all be excited to know, then, that last Thursday, my sister Kellene successfully donated a kidney to her son, Dallas. Since then, Dallas has been recovering at a remarkable rate, with signs that he and his new kidney are going to be get along just fine. Kellene’s out of the hospital now and in a lot of pain, but she’s tough. She’ll be home and riding again soon.
Once again, thanks to everyone who helped!
On August 14 — just eleven days from now — I’ll start the Leadville 100 for the fourteenth time. And, provided I have a good day, I’ll finish — for the thirteenth time (remember, I didn’t finish last year) — a while after that.
This is my plan for what happens between when I start, and when I finish.
My Overarching Race Day Philosophy
Every year, I seem to have a certain goal for the Leadville 100: Sometimes it’s been to finish it in under ten hours. A few times it’s been to finish it in under eleven. When I’m really fit, it’s to finish it in under nine hours.
Of course, that’s never happened.
This year, however, I’m not bringing a time objective to the race. I think that’s because something’s changed. Maybe it’s because I’m mellowing with age. Maybe it’s because for the first time in a long time I’m riding for fun instead of to vent pent-up anger and frustration. Maybe it’s just because I’m looking at the data and facing the facts.
Or maybe it’s just that I’m getting a weird thing called “perspective.”
At the beginning of spring and throughout summer, I asked myself a question: what kind of memories do I want to have when the snow starts falling (hard to even consider when it’s 100 degrees outside, but it’s never more than a few months away)?
Memories of training hard? Or memories of having fun on my bike?
Some years, those would have been the exact same thing — there have been years when pushing myself to the absolute limit gave me intense joy and pride.
But not this year.
This year, how I’ve defined “fun” on my bike has been to go out riding with my wife. We’ve ridden a ton together, and I’ve had a blast. I haven’t done a single interval, and I don’t care. It’s been my favorite riding season ever.
As a result, I’m in good riding shape, but don’t have the eye of the tiger (nor the thrill of the fight). I’ll finish the Leadville 100, probably in about ten hours (though to be honest with myself, I’d like to keep it under ten hours). I’m going to race it hard, but if I find myself riding alongside someone who doesn’t mind talking for a few minutes, that will be just fine.
And I will do my best to have fun.
What I Will Ride
I briefly considered riding a geared bike at Leadville this year, but once my FattyFly frame arrived, that pretty much ended the debate.
And now that I’ve got it all tricked out with Shimano and PRO components, the debate is really ended. Check it out, all nice and dirty from yesterday’s ride (click image for a larger version):
PRO XCR stem and PRO XCR seatpost, along with XTR cranks and brakes make this about as nice a bike as can be imagined. Factor in the Bontrager XXX Carbon wheels, the Niner carbon fork, and the Salsa Pro Moto bar, and I’ve got a bike that weighs well under eighteen pounds.
Sure, I’ll get beat to death on the downhills, but the climbs should be nice.
Oh, and for those of you who were going to ask: 34 x 20.
What I Will Eat and Drink
I usually obsess over what I will eat at Leadville. This year, for some reason, I’m not obsessing over it at all. Maybe that’s because I have stopped looking for a magic bullet. Here’s what I’ve been carrying with me on long rides lately, which will be the same thing I have at the aid stations in Leadville:
- CarboRocket
- PRO BARs: I’m a huge fan of Art’s Original Blend. A bar that doesn’t look and taste like it was extruded from a gross vat of goo, then left to harden for ten years before packaging it? Genius!
- Clif Shot Bloks: Tropical Punch and Mountain Berry are the best.
- Campbell’s Chicken and Stars soup: Sodium-tastic.
- Water: Sometimes, nothing tastes better.
- Several mayo packets. Just in case.
Pretty easy, and I haven’t had an upset stomach with this mix of food the whole year.
How I Will Ride
Up at 10K+ feet, it’s not easy to remember stuff. Hence, I have condensed my riding strategy into easy-to-recollect bullet points, as follows:
- I will fight the urge to pass a bunch of people during the St. Kevins climb. Every pass on that climb costs three times as much energy as a similar pass anywhere else on the course.
- I will not look at my bike computer more than once every fifteen minutes. At least during the first half of the race. During the final ten miles of the race, I reserve the right to look at it every five seconds.
- I will be friendly and yell encouragement. But I will try to keep that urge under control, so as not to frighten other racers. And bystanders, for that matter.
- I will not mention that I am riding a singlespeed to anyone who does not mention it first. However, I reserve the right to grimace and strain as I pedal, in the hopes that people will take notice and look at my drivetrain.
As always, I appreciate any guidance you would care to lend me. After all, I’ve only done this race thirteen times; I’m still kind of new at it.
Comments (63)
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