09.2.2015 | 12:07 pm
Looking for Other Installments in this Story? Here are links to all the parts published in this multi-part story:
The climb up St Kevins went well: forward progress at a nice effort. The fog on my glasses cleared, my climbing legs kicked in, and my body started to warm.
We hit the hard left-hand corner and Lindsey zipped by me. I had wondered when that would happen. This was a good sign for me. I really thought she might put five minutes on me on the first descent. She isn’t one for conversation while riding, so I didn’t attempt to holler at her.
My main objective now was to stay on her tail.
At this point the trail turns to rollers. This is not my favorite part. When I was working with Reba last year, I let her lead out, and I stuck to her wheel. This year, I was tentative on the descents. I always feel like I am holding up traffic.
I rolled through the Carter aid station 3 minutes behind last year’s schedule. Not a good way to start, but I was feeling good.
I ate a GU and started the paved descent, while Lindsey rode away from me. I got into a tuck and pedaled hard, reeling her back in on the pavement as it turned back to a climb. She was eating, and I reminded her that this is where you can make up time by riding consistently. I rode away.
Hagerman and Sugar Loaf
As I turned on to Hagerman Pass road, I spied a fast rider and hopped on his wheel. We were cruising, passing tons of riders. He would occasionally hook on to another rider, but then be anxious and pull away from them. He never looked back at me; in fact, I don’t know if he knew I was there. A few people would hook onto our train, but no one for very long.
We eventually turned onto the Sugar Loaf climb, and my “engine” powered on up the trail and away from me. I settled in for the second big climb of the day. I was still feeling good.
I was amazed at how bright the sun was. We were riding directly into the sun and at times I was completely blinded. I cannot recall another year at Leadville when it has been this sunny in the morning.
I hadn’t been climbing long and Lindsey passed me again. I really liked having a friend so close by. She was certainly motivating me to ride harder! Plus it’s nice to see a fellow “Fatty” kit out on the trail.
As we summited the top of the climb, Reba’s voice in my head was telling me to “pick up the pace,” and I complied. I rolled past Lindsey and was trying to close the gap that existed between the rider in front of me.
Starting the Powerline descent, Lindsey (in neon yellow-green vest) right behind
As I closed in, I asked myself, “What the heck am I doing?” We were cresting the top of the Powerline descent, and I had positioned myself in front of Lindsey…who is a far better descender than me.
What a jerk!
I just hoped I could hang with the rider directly in front of me. SHE was a great climber, I prayed I could hang with her on the descent.
Sugar Loaf and Powerline remind me of a huge roller coaster. SugarLoaf is the huge, slow, menacing climb that dumps you down the terrifying hill on the other side. I held tight to my bike with a relaxed body, took a few breaths and dived down the other side, tight on the girl’s wheel.
I was shocked.
She was picking a great line and I was hanging with her! I was keeping a good distance behind her, and she wasn’t dropping me. I tried to glance behind me, Lindsey was there, but also a safe distance behind.
Flying down the Powerline. Lindsey (at far right of frame) is close behind
This is where we stayed as our little train zipped down the Powerline. I think maybe two riders passed us when the trail opened up, but it was a fantastic descent.
As I approached one of the short punchy uphills on Powerline, I passed a gal in WBR kit pushing her bike up the climb. I was confused and couldn’t figure out who it was, but then it got steep and rutted and my mind refocused on the trail ahead of me.
Finally the trail dumped me back out on the pavement, I sat up and took a deep breath. I thanked the gal in front of me for taking me safely down. She gasped and responded “Was that the Powerline?” I confirmed it was. She let out a yell of relief.
Then a nice guy passed me and thanked me for picking a great line down Powerline.
Wow, we all helped each other out and got safely down! But as I was congratulating myself, Lindsey sped by me. “We need to hurry and catch that group!” she said.
Damn her. I was just beginning to enjoy myself.
No Food for You
As I reached down to grab a Gu out of my bento box, I had the sickening realization that my box was empty. All my GUs had bounced out on during Powerline descent.
Ugh.
I had two emergency GUs in my jersey pocket — Would that be enough?
I turned myself inside out and finally caught Lindsey and her massive train. I told her of my food dilemma, and that I would need to stop at neutral aid at the Pipeline.
She quickly reached into her own bento box and handed me two GUs. What a sweet heart and life saver. I’m forever in your debt Lindsey! This isn’t the first time my bento box has failed me at Leadville; the exact same thing happened a few years ago. I’m not sure why I keep thinking it’s a good idea to use these.
Riding (Briefly) With Sarah
As I was settling into the pace line, a gal pulled up along-side me wearing a WBR kit. She re-introduced herself to me. It was Sarah Barber. She had won her entry into the race in one of Elden’s WBR contests. She is a darling girl and fast rider. She is a Pro roadie, but doesn’t have as much experience mountain biking.
But to be honest, I was shocked to see her — I didn’t think I would see her out here on the course. She is a machine.
And then she was gone. What should I expect – we were now pedaling down a paved road. As the road made a sharp left turn, I was the caboose on the long whip of riders and the whip cracked me off the back. I corner horribly and didn’t have the strength to pedal back to the group.
Now I was in no-man’s land: no groups I could catch ahead of me, no groups close behind. For a while I had some momentum going and I continued to rocket along, but Lindsey and Sarah and their train were quickly pulling away.
Lindsey (second from front) between the bottom of Powerline and the
Just as I was starting to slow and start feeling sorry for myself, two riders came up the side of me. This was my chance. I dug deep and caught on. My reward was instant relief and recovery. Riding in someone’s slipstream is the best.
The lead guy was a powerhouse; he never even glanced back. I was sitting third in the train directly behind a really tall dude. I couldn’t have asked for a more comfy seat. This guy pulled us all the way to the transition to the singletrack, leading to the aid station.
Then a really sad thing happened: the powerhouse was pushing it so hard, he and the guy in front of me overshot the turn. I on the other hand knew the turn was coming, so had slowed and continued on.
They, meanwhile, had to make a U-turn and come back; I never saw them again during the race. They were both awesome and I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say thanks.
I rolled into the Pipeline aid station and threw off my oversized Chinatown-Boston-Leadville gloves. It was a bittersweet parting. I was grateful again to Lindsey that I wouldn’t have to find neutral aid for food. I had arrived at the aid station another few minutes behind schedule.
My sub-nine goal was slipping away with every passing mile.
Comments (17)
09.1.2015 | 8:28 am
A Note from Fatty: I’m excited to be running The Hammer’s race report, starting today. Start to end, single-spaced in a Word document (without any images), it’s eighteen pages long.
It’s also definitely worth reading; The Hammer’s reports are really from the heart, and she’s clearly a lot more interested in the people and places around her when racing than I am.
All while, I should note, she’s tearing everyone’s legs off.
Enjoy!
Looking for Other Installments in this Story? Here are links to all the parts published in this multi-part story:
Finally the alarm went off. It felt like I had been laying in bed for hours. I’m pretty sure I had, in fact.
We had gone to bed early—around nine. The Ambien probably gave me four hours of sleep, so that meant I had been laying there for about three hours. My mind was alert. I had been playing out the “what ifs” in my brain all night.
I don’t know why I was so anxious. I have done this race so many times, I know it like an old friend. I honestly think Elden’s anxiety hadn’t just worn him down; it had taken a toll on me.
This past week was not a week of rest and relaxation like I had wanted it to be. I had ridden hard the first part of the week, then continued to ride later into my rest week, decreasing the intensity, but not the amount of riding.
The week had been fun for me: lots of group rides with old friends and new.
I’m kind of a shy person, but when I start talking about biking, someone else entirely takes over.
Elden, meanwhile, had been busy…and stressed. Preparing and participating in the webinar, daily rides and clinics, WBR fundraising dinner, book readings and book signings was overwhelming—for not only Elden, but for me too.
By Thursday I was not only physically exhausted, but mentally drained as well. I tried to relax and lay down, but it never seemed like it was for long enough.
But now it was race morning. And I was so anxious I could hardly stand it. I ate and dressed and headed for the start line around 0545. I said goodbye to Elden, then parked myself in the red corral.
It wasn’t full, not yet. I would guess there were fewer than fifty of us in the corral so far, and I was only about three rows from the front. I had left the house before I had even Lindsey or Ben (Elden’s niece and new nephew-in-law). They like to sleep in to the very last minute.
Lindsey and I had participated in the Cedar City 100K back in June. Thanks to our fast times we had bumped ourselves into the red corral. I hoped Lindsey would show up soon and start alongside me. “It will probably be the only time I would see Lindsey the whole day,” I thought. She has proven to be quite the mountain bike racer this year.
She has consistently been faster than I have been in every race that we have done this year (Oh, to be twenty years younger!). I am proud of her amazing fitness and hoped I could maybe stick to her back wheel on the paved descent at the start of the race.
Lindsey didn’t materialize, so I found a nice man to watch my bike while I used the restroom. When I return to the corral, I was amazed to find that the temperature was nice—not cold at all. I removed my two thrift store sweatshirts and disposed of them on the outside of the corral.
I left my super big gloves on, though, worn over my bike gloves. I had bought these big gloves in Boston in a Chinatown thrift store and wore them during the marathon while it dumped rain. It was the best $2.50 I have ever spent. I planned on disgarding the gloves along the way when my hands were warm. I thought for a second about who might have these gloves next, and how that person probably wouldn’t know these gloves had been worn at both the most famous marathon and mountain bike race, the same year!
Then I waited.
The sun was rising; the sky was beautiful. There wasn’t a cloud in it. Dave Wein’s son sang the national anthem. And he sang it perfectly. Chills went up my spine and I fought back the tears. It was a truly beautiful morning in a beautiful place! I was lucky to be here and lucky to be alive.
The Start
The gun went off and we were rolling. The wave of bikers rolled smoothly forward. I looked for my brother at the roadside as we rolled out of town. I didn’t see him, but I was still grateful that I have such a great brother who’s willing to stop his life and come out to Leadville and support me. Thanks Scott!
My thoughts were disrupted, when a biker rolled along side of me and yelled, “Catch my wheel and lets get moving!” It was my longtime friend, Dave Green. I tried to grab his wheel, but he was gone in a flash. I had thought I was moving fast, but Dave was in a different world. He would keep up his fast pace and finish in 8:40.
As we raced down the paved road, I was surprised at how little bike congestion was around me. There really was no jockeying for position; we were all moving nicely along, with ample space between riders. It wasn’t scary at all. I took a few deep breaths and tried to relax.
My race had finally begun.
As we came off the mountain and into the valley, the site was amazing. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but there was a cloud in the valley over the stream. We were descending into a moist, cool cloud. The temperature dropped, and it instantly got foggy.
Moisture was collecting on my sunglasses. I was having a hard time seeing as I left the pavement and started down the dirt road. It was hard to see ruts and rocks, but I kept up the pace and powered over them. Occasionally I would tip my head down and see over my glasses—I was surprised how much better I could see. There was no way I would be able to take my glasses off tho, I was too busy holding on and pedaling my heart out. [Note from Fatty: I had this problem, too. Once I figured out the mist was collecting on the outside lens, this stopped being a problem]
As we pedaled through the cloud and headed for the start of the St Kevin’s climb, one rider—who evidently thought the race would be decided at this place and time—came shooting up the right side of the road. His front wheel hit a rock and ricocheted him up and back into the middle of the road…taking everyone in his path out in domino-like action.
I was on the far left at the moment and barely missed the carnage. For a while, there was no one behind me.
I had barely escaped the first wreck of the day.
Comments (13)
08.31.2015 | 9:11 am
A Note from Fatty About this Guest Post: Waaaaay back in December, I did a little fundraiser and drawing for WBR. One woman won a bike, and one woman won an entry into the Leadville 100.
Sarah Barber was the person who won the entry into the Leadville 100, which proved that I am incredibly good at randomly picking contest winners. Why? Because not only was she excited about winning the entry, but she’s a bona-fide kick-butt elite racer (and the defending champion of Rebecca’s Private Idaho).
We’ve become friends, chatting by email ever since she won. She’s got great enthusiasm, sense of humor, knowledge of racing, and just a general niceness that makes her a lot of fun to be around — virtually or in the real world.
This is her race report. I should note, however, that — as is my way — I have sprinkled photos from her race throughout the report. Sarah did not ask me to place these pictures; I just rummaged through Facebook, WBR’s photos from the Leadville race week, and photos posted along with Sarah’s race time.
My Leadville 100
While a big part of my job involves flying around in helicopters tending to the sick and injured, the other part is managing Life Flight’s quality assurance program. The key element of quality management is root cause analysis—essentially, the thorough investigation into why something happened in order to prevent it from happening again.
At worst, root cause analysis reviews a major catastrophe, and in the air medical transport business, the possibilities are limitless.
Root cause analysis has become a mental habit for me, and at times I find myself studying my life like an outside observer, especially when I’m having trouble focusing on the task at hand.
Not surprisingly, climbing up the backside of Powerline during the 2015 Leadville Trail 100 Mountain Bike race, my mind began to wander (for the umpteenth time). One could hardly call my participation in this event a catastrophe, but at that moment it felt like enough of an adverse event to warrant some serious inquiry.
Why on earth had I gotten involved in this insane endeavor? And are all sixteen-hundred-something of us equally crazy??
I guess it all started at 0630 on Saturday, August 15, on the corner of 6th and Harrison in downtown Leadville, Colorado, when the gun went off. No—wait. It started before that. It started just a few weeks ago when Claire Geiger of World Bicycle Relief sent me an email with a registration code that made my entry into Leadville FREE! I’m a sucker for free stuff, so I signed up.
But wait. It actually started months before that when I first learned that I had an opportunity to participate in the LT100. By pre-ordering several copies of Fatty’s latest literary masterpiece (both with thoughtful personalized inscriptions!), I got my name entered into a drawing for one of two prizes. Fatty drew MY name for the prize that was a free entry in to LT100. Um…Thanks? Niiiice prize. Sheesh, Fatty, it’s YOUR fault! I thought as I trudged up the 26% incline behind a train of loonies all doing the same thing.
But wait. That wasn’t really fair. After all, I was the one who had ordered the book. But what I wanted was just the book. And In time for Christmas. I had no designs on winning prizes in random drawings. That sort of thing doesn’t happen to me…
But hold on a sec. If I hadn’t started reading Fatty’s blog, I never would have known about his book. So I never would have bought it, I never would have won the prize, I never would have signed up for Leadville—it wasn’t even on my radar. I’m a roadie, for Pete’s sake! (Who is Pete, anyway? And why did I read Fatty’s blog? I thought as I ticked off the tenths-of-miles on my Garmin, inching closer to yet another false summit on the Powerline climb.
But wait. I’m still wrong. All of this really started last fall when, just before participating in my first-ever gravel grinder, Rebecca’s Private Idaho, I happened upon Fatty’s blog while looking for beta on the event, as he and The Hammer had participated the previous year. So all this is somehow MY fault, I concluded, finally remounting my hardtail 29-er, now more motivated to get to the finish line. I got myself into this. I’m the only one who can get me through it now.
Now, more than a week has passed since the ride. My legs feel like themselves again. My lungs are enjoying the usual abundance of oxygen at a modest two-thousand-something feet above sea level. Everything is back to how it was.
Except it’s not.
Something is different. Prior to riding this year’s LT100, I had never spent more than six consecutive hours on a bike. I had never pedaled above twelve-thousand feet. And I had never relied on so heavily on loved ones and strangers, both on the day of the event and for months leading up to it, for support and information and encouragement.
You can read all about the course in people’s race reports (heck, you can SEE a lot of it on Race Across the Sky and its sequel), and the descriptions are pretty consistent. To some, the lung-searing, quad-busting final miles of the Columbine climb stand out.
For others, it’s the spectacular beauty of the view from the more humane Sugarloaf ascent. Or maybe it’s the Boulevard, so close to the finish and yet somehow still way too far away.
It’s all memorable stuff, for sure, but what I’ll remember most are the people. I’ll remember the pros at the front of the field who took off behind the “neutral” roll out at a shocking pace.
I’ll remember the Phoenix Patriot Foundation racers, some with prosthetic arms, some with prosthetic legs, all using their bikes to make their lives better.
I’ll remember the Tomorrow Chaser, who started the race in the last row, passed me at the base of Columbine, and stomped his way to 138th place overall, earning five bucks for every rider he passed (the money from Transamerica would then be donated to the local high school).
I’ll remember my new friends from World Bicycle Relief who coached my 70-year-old mother and my beloved husband in the Twin Lakes aid station—those two had me rolling through faster than any NASCAR pit crew I’ve ever seen.
And I’ll remember Fatty, as the guy who got me into this mess. Thanks a lot, Fatty. But I mean that with gratitude, rather than straight up blame. Thank you for a once-in-a-lifetime experience!
PS From Fatty: Sarah is fast.
Comments (16)
08.27.2015 | 10:01 am
A “Quick Links to Previous Installments” Note from Fatty: Here’s where you’ll find the parts to this story:
I’m down to the final installment of my race report. But before I begin, I want to show you a picture from earlier in the week:
This is Dave and Me. Dave’s been on Team Fatty since waaaay back. That 2009 jersey is legit.
And I’d like to call your attention to Dave’s hair, and the length thereof. You see, a couple years ago, Dave told his wife he wanted to race the Leadville 100, and would need to invest the time and money into getting ready for it.
Negotiations began, with his wife starting from a position of “for every dollar you spend on cycling, I get to spend a dollar on a giant party.”
Eventually they both realized that this would be a very pricey party, and so she changed the deal: Dave would not have to honor the dollar-for-dollar arrangement if he did not cut his hair until after he completed the Leadville 100.
As you can see, a couple years have passed, Dave’s hair has reached Samson-like proportions, and as shown in this picture a couple days before the race, he is ready to go.
I will have more on his story in a bit.
Can You See Me Now?
Scott and his friend Kara are pretty amazing. I don’t even know how many years they’ve come out to Leadville to crew for us, for one thing.
For another, it’s bound to seem a little odd to them that they make this very long drive out to help us during the race, and then — due to The Hammer’s and my new focus on fast transitions — seeing us for no more than one minute during that race.
And last year, things had gone kinda badly for The Hammer in the Pipeline Aid Station: she had ridden right by it, then had to double back.
This year, Scott had gone to some length to ensure this did not happen again:
Big thanks to Alan Schenkel for taking this picture.
Scott had printed a giant — seriously, it’s way bigger than it appears in the above picture — banner, reading “The Hammer’s + Fatty’s Aid Station.”
And sure enough, I did in fact see (and not ride by) this banner. Scott and Kara swapped me out with the most food and liquid I’d take on the whole day: two full bottles (one CR333, one water), six GU Roctane Gels, and another four GU Roctane Electrolyte Capsules.
In seconds — i.e., less than a minute — I was off.
Powerline
It’s strange to consider which parts of the LT100 I really look forward to, and which I really dread.
I truly, in all honesty, look forward to what I consider the real crucible of the race: the Powerline climb. I love how it’s so intense. How it demands you give it absolutely positively everything you’ve got. How, once you’ve summited it, you know that the rest is going to be (relatively) easy.
On the other hand, I dread the flat dirt road and pavement section between the Pipeline and the beginning of the Powerline climb. Because you’re guaranteed a headwind. And you’re guaranteed to feel slow. Beaten, even.
But this year, I was lucky on this flat section. I caught up with one rider, then another, and the three of us formed a train, taking turns and giving each other a moment’s rest from the wind.
Then I turned off the pavement (forgetting to check my GPS to see what my mileage is, thereby ensuring I would not know how much of the four-mile Powerline climb I had done) and began the climb.
A quick flat section leads to a moderate climb, leading to a quick hairpin…and then I was at the Powerline march:
Earlier in the week, in one of Reba’s and my group rides, I had ridden this section without ever putting a foot down. In fact, it wasn’t even difficult.
Today, that was definitely not the case. Riding wasn’t even a consideration.
Halfway up, some of the good folks from Oakley (one of the event sponsors), were handing out little cans of Coke. The day had become hot and the prospect of a Coke was glorious.
I saw one of the Oakley guys dig into an ice chest and run up toward me with a cold Coke. “Thank you…” I began.
And then he ran by me, handing the Coke to someone else.
“…Or not,” I concluded, petulantly.
But then, he dashed back to his ice chest and dug out another Coke. “Keep going!” he yelled. “I’ll bring it to you!”
And he did.
I was so happy. And I wanted that Coke so bad. When the Oakley guy handed it to me, I — for the only time during this race — stopped dead, planted my feet, and slugged the Coke down.
I knew time was elapsing; I knew my average was dropping. I knew that I was, perhaps, eliminating my chance at beating my sub-8 goal and my “Beat 2009 Reba” goal.
In that moment, I did not care. This Coke was my whole world.
I finished, tossed the can, and resumed my march.
Then, about fifty feet later, I saw CarboRocket’s Brad, who — as he had promised — was handing out Coke and Skittles.
I took a Coke from him, too.
And if there had been someone another fifty feet up the trail also giving out Coke, I would have taken a Coke from them, too.
Summit of Slowness
Once I was past this hard 0.6 miles, I got back on my bike and promised myself I would not march again for the rest of the race.
It was a good promise to make to myself, and one I kept.
I began passing people, feeling like I was really moving fast.
I was, as it turns out, wrong. Without realizing it, I was putting in the slowest climb of the Powerline I had done in years. Check out how I did, compared to previous years:
It’s very interesting to me to note that two of the three of my fastest times were on singlespeeds, including my fastest time, back in 2013.
Why was I so much slower? One word: weight. While my power was great, the Powerline cares a lot more about your power-to-weight ratio. I was packing too much pudge up the mountain.
By the time I got to the summit of the Powerline climb, I was 6:49 into my race. To get a sub-8, I’d have to do the rest of the race — including a rocky descent, a three-mile paved climb, another descent, and a 2.2-mile climb to the finish line — in 1:10.
At that moment, I knew: my dream of finishing a sub-8-hour Leadville was going to have to be postponed to next year. If I want a sub-8, I’ve got to be this strong and at my lightest. It isn’t good enough to be one or the other.
“But,” I told myself, “If I give it everything I’ve got, I still have a shot at finishing under 8:14.”
I determined there and then that I would not let that goal get away from me.
To the Finish Line…
I’m proud of the entirety of my race, but I’m especially proud of how I raced the final portion of it: up three miles of pavement to the Carter Aid Station, down St. Kevins, to and up the Boulevard, I gave it everything I’ve got.
I did not leave anything on the course. Nothing at all.
While I wasn’t the fastest I’ve ever been up the pavement to the Carter Aid station (the power-to-weight thing again), from then on out, Strava shows nothing but personal bests.
I was going as hard as I could, and — if Strava is to believed — I had never gone this hard before.
Soon after I had begun the Boulevard climb — meaning I had about three miles left to go, 2.5 of which would be climbing, I heard my GPS chime.
Eight hours.
I had thirteen minutes to do 2.5 miles of climbing.
Could I do it? I didn’t know, wasn’t in any state to do the math, didn’t remember how long it usually took me to get from this point to the finish line.
I didn’t know if I could do it, but I knew I could give it my absolute best.
So I turned myself inside out. Just gutted myself. And I turned in the fastest Boulevard time I have ever turned in. Including the times when I just tore up the thing for fun, not on race day.
In fact, I was a half minute faster up the Boulevard than my second best time.
Those of you who have done the race multiple times before know that turning in a PR like this, this far into the race, is not a small thing.
Here’s me crossing the finish line:
I kind of love this picture. I look exactly how I remember feeling.
8:12. At age forty-nine, I had just gone the fastest I have ever done this race (beating my personal best by six minutes), in nineteen starts and — now I can say it — eighteen finishes.
I owed Reba Rusch a huge thank you. Without realizing it, she — or her 2009 time — had pushed me to go harder and faster than I ever have before, right up to the finish line.
…And Beyond
There’s rarely anyone at the finish line waiting for me. I expect that. They’re still out on the course, cheering on others. That’s fine.
But I am generally kind of messed up after a race, and it takes a force of will to take care of myself.
Which brings us back to Dave, with the Samson hair.
He hadn’t had a great day racing; he’d missed one of the cutoffs. So he and his wife met me at the finish line, and they took it upon themselves to take care of me. One of them went and got bottles of water (I kept sending them back for more, eventually slowing down after I drank four), while the other watched over me, while I watched down the road, hoping The Hammer would come in soon.
I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated help so much. I really really hope Dave hasn’t cut his hair yet, and that he grows it for another year and then comes and tears this course up.
Friends and Family
Once I felt well enough to walk, Dave, his wife and I went down to join the spectators, watching for racers to come in, probably fifty yards from the finish line.
When I saw The Hammer (I’m not going to reveal her time, because I’ll be publishing her writeup soon), I broke into a run, hoping she’d catch me at the finish line.
As you can see, she caught and passed me before the finish line.
That’s The Hammer for you.
My friends — the folks staying at the house I had rented for the week — all had good races, too. Here’s DJ on The Powerline, from earlier in the week:
DJ overcame a painful rib injury to finish in 11:26.
Cory, shown here (Cory’s the one on the right) conversing with a Leadville local who wandered into the house we were renting, looking for whiskey, had a strong day on the course, proving you can do the race on nothing but cream cheese, pork rinds, and water.
11:32 for Cory. Nice!
My brother-in-law Rocky learned, once and for all, that this race is not for him, getting pulled at Pipeline on the way back.
I admire the hell out of Rocky for trying so many times. The fact is, I don’t even dare try doing the kind of riding (very very very technical stuff) he’s good at.
The Hammer and I have been riding with my niece Lindsey and her husband Ben a lot this Summer. They’re a good match for us, and make us feel young.
Ben got a 9:03 (SO CLOSE to sub-9 on his first try!), Lindsey got a 9:51 (a big improvement over last year), and Ben’s dad Cory got an 11:10. Strong work by the whole family!
And then there were the Friends of Fatty, as I like to call them:
David Houston was the story of the day as far as I was concerned: he finished with a 12:51, meaning he earns the “never say die” award. I truly hope he writes his story up.
Jeff Dieffenbach, my Boggs teammate, got an extremely solid 11:30, riding a bike he had never been on before race week (my Scalpel 2).
Dave Thompson finished with a 9:28 — not as fast as he had hoped for, which is a good thing as far as I’m concerned, because it means there’s no way he’s not coming back next year.
And I’ll be back, too. For number nineteen, at age 50.
And this time, I’m gonna get that sub-8.
Watch and see.
PS: Click here for my Strava of the race. A screencap of my official time and splits follows:
Comments (36)
08.26.2015 | 12:07 pm
A “Quick Links to Previous Installments” Note from Fatty: Here’s where you’ll find the parts to this story:
There was a moment, during the three mile section between the bottom of the Columbine Mine descent and the Twin Lakes Aid Station, when I thought I had gotten off course and had become lost.
Not because I had made a turn that was questionable and was now second-guessing myself. Not because the trail looked unfamiliar.
It’s just that, somehow, in this race with more than 1600 racers in it, I was completely and entirely alone. I looked ahead. As far as I could see: nobody. I looked behind. Still nobody.
“Could it be that I am lost?” I asked myself.
“No. Ridiculous,” I replied.
“OK, then where is everyone?” I mused.
I came up with a theory: that I was currently in a very weird place for a Leadville cyclist to be. I had gone fast enough on the climbs that I had separated myself from anyone who is not an exceptional climber.
And then I had gone slow enough that I had been left behind by all the good climbers who are also good descenders.
Leaving me.
Alone.
“I need to take a skills camp or something,” I concluded.
“Yeah, you do,” I agreed.
Publicly-Stated Objective
I rode through the Twin Lakes aid station 4:40 into the race — about fifteen minutes slower than what I had noted on the poster Jeff D had created for our crews to track our projected times vs our actual times:
Note that the time written down by the crew, “11:15am,” is at odds with the Twin Lakes timing mat, which has me coming across at 11:10am (4:40 into the race). This is because our crew was stationed a few minutes further down the trail from the timing mat. And also, I’m pretty sure they rounded up. And in short, I’m going with the timing mat’s time.
This was, sadly, still about fifteen minutes slower than my projected time if I wanted to finish in under eight hours.
I had several things, however, that kept me from falling into despair:
First, my projected splits gave me a ten-minute cushion. They were, essentially, splits for a 7:50 finish. So while I was fifteen minutes in arrears for a 7:50 finish, I was only six minutes in arrears for a 7:59 finish. Six minutes can be recovered over forty miles.
Second, it’s not like getting to the sixty mile mark in 4:40 is bad. Most years I’ve done this race, I’d still be working on getting to the Columbine Mine summit at this point, not back down and getting ready for the flattish runup to the Powerline.
Third, I had a backup time objective for this race. One that had come to me very recently. One I had instantly recognized as one I liked.
And one I had — impulsively — gone rather public with.
Here’s the story.
The Thursday before the race, Rebecca Rusch and I had gotten on stage at the historic Tabor Opera House to give our ten best tips, read from our respective books, and talk about our first Leadville 100 race.
As homework, I went back to Reba’s book, Rusch to Glory (which I highly recommend, by the way), and read about her first win in the Leadville 100. And there, on page 196, was this:
Hm. Her first winning finish time in the Leadville 100 was 8:14. “Interesting,” was all I thought at the time.
And then, onstage, I introduced Reba as four-time Women’s Champion in the Leadville 100. She introduced me as a “not-so-fast guy.”
Which raised my hackles. Just a little bit.
Then, when I mentioned I am a one-time singlespeed champion (which I am pretty proud of), Reba countered with, “Yeah, but how many people were in your race category?”
“There was a full podium, and I was on top of it,” is how I replied, because honestly, I didn’t know the answer. I just looked it up, though, and the answer is 34. Coincidentally, the number of finishing women in the 40-49 age group in 2009 — which is the category Reba raced and won — was also 34.
Hackles: now at 100%.
I decided, at that moment, that I had a new race objective, which I announced when Reba asked what I hoped to accomplish during the race this year.
“This year, I’m going to finish with a time that’s faster than what you won with the first time you raced the LT100,” I said.
“How fast was that?” Reba asked.
“Come hell or high water, I’m going to finish faster than 8:14,” I said.
“Hm,” Reba said. “Good luck with that.”
And — returning back to the present — I was on track for that (impulsive and hotheadedly-stated) goal. I was still on track to beat the 2009 version of Reba.
That said, I had only done the “easy” sixtyish miles of the race. I still had the hard part ahead of me.
Quick Stop
I don’t think I can overemphasize how incredible my crew was. As I pulled into the Twin Lakes aid station, Scott and Kara quickly swapped out my empty GU packets for new ones. They swapped out my empty bottles for a full one. They handed me four GU Roctane Electrolyte Capsules to swallow, to continue keeping cramps at bay.
This left me free to notice some strange and awesome things.
First, my friend Brad Keyes was there. In fact, he was giving me a quick neck rub. And while I’m not a fan of neck rubs in general, if I’m going to get a neck rub from a guy, I want it to be Brad.
“I’ll see you again on the Powerline,” Brad said. “I’ll have Coke and Skittles for you.”
“Uh, OK?” I replied. Coke sounded great, but there was no human way I’d be able to chew skittles while mouth-breathing my way up the Powerline.
Next, I noticed my nephew Dallas and my niece Jessica (and her whole family) were all there. Since I thought Dallas lived in Hawaii, I was especially surprised to see him, and even said, “What’s up, Dallas?”
“Just chilling,” Dallas replied.
Strangely, I did not notice Friend of Fatty Frank W, even though he is roughly twice my height and assures me he was standing right by me. I only became aware Frank was there when he let me know, afterward, on Facebook. Indeed I still cannot recall him being nearby.
Race brain is a strange thing.
I noticed (and failed to notice) all of this in the ten or fifteen seconds I was there, and then I was gone again.
So Very Alone
As soon as I was back on the course, I noticed that hardly anything had changed. Somehow, I was still — in this sea of racers — all by myself.
Which meant that I was going to have to deal with a pretty serious headwind — I think I’ve had a headwind on the Twin Lakes to Pipeline section sixteen of the eighteen times I’ve done this race — alone.
But first, there was the quick uphill pavement I needed to contend with. Which I did by pedaling.
And second, I needed to contend with one suddenly obvious problem. Namely, that it was 11:15 in the morning, the day had warmed up, and I was still wearing my arm warmers.
Luckily, that problem was easily solved, when a spectator on the side of the road hollered my name. I smiled, veered over as I stripped off my arm warmers, and tossed them to her.
“Here, free armwarmers for you,” I said, giving this poor woman what was most likely the most stinkified gift she had ever received.
And then, unburdened, I continued up the road. Alone.
Oh, so very alone.
I was really trying to find someone to work with, but I never was able to find a group. I just couldn’t. There was one short train of two or three people, up in the distance, for most of this section, but I just…couldn’t…quite…bridge.
Even so, I got to the Pipeline aid station 5:39 into the race — my second fastest time for this segment of the race:
At this point, I was about ten minutes ahead of my previous best, back in 2011, when I finished with a time of 8:18.
But that year I had been a lot lighter. And there were three biggish climbs ahead of me in this final 28 miles.
My “Beat Reba’s 2009 Win” goal was looking good. My “Sub 8” goal…maybe wasn’t looking quite as good, but still not impossible.
But neither goal was a sure thing.
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