The Five Phases of Cycling (at least for me)

A recent email exchange with a new connection got me to thinking about the place of cycling in my life. 

Of course, I am a runner, I see myself as a runner, it’s even tied up in my sense of identity. Running has been and most-likely will always be my favorite way to engage with myself and with the world around me. I prefer to run outdoors, if possible on narrow trails in the deep woods, floating along, fully alive. There was once a time when I would run every day, year-round. Now, as I get older and parts of the old machine are wearing out, I just can’t run all of the time. Heck, lately I’m not even running at all! Sigh. But I have been doing a bit of cycling, in fact lately it's nearly every day. Admittedly, cycling will never live up to running in my heart-of-hearts, but it’s still pretty good in my humble opinion. It gets me outside, gets my heart and lungs and muscles working, and lets me cover some ground in the process.

When I reflect back on the place that cycling has had in my life, I think there have been five distinct phases.

1
As a kid, I initially struggled with getting going on a two-wheeler. My father tried and tried, but I think the combination of too many instructions and the clear disappointment he seemed to have in my repeated failures just made matters worse. Then, one day in the middle of winter - I think I was six years old - right at sundown and with no one looking, I dragged my bike out of the garage on its half-inflated tires, jumped on, and road away! It felt like some kind of miracle, but I'm sure it was just a bit of physical development and probably those soft tires that helped make it happen. By spring, I was riding all over my small town of Baraboo, Wisconsin. So for me cycling started with failure, but built up to mastery - which led to freedom, the sensation of speed, and even daredevil jumps! We built a crude ramp out of plywood and "soared" over our lined-up Matchbox cars, like miniature Evel Knievels. In fact, I pushed it so hard that I ended up breaking the welds on the frame of my metallic orange Huffy single speed with the silver banana seat!

I wish I had a photo of my old Huffy - it was something like this, though mine only had coaster brakes.

2
During college, cycling was transportation, and I biked everywhere on my trusty yellow Schwinn Continental. But I was a runner, so I never considered it training and never logged any of it. But I'd wager I was at times doing close to 100 miles a week, it probably helped augment my running success. I never even considered bike racing, I didn't know much about it and I was already entirely focused on running.

Image Source: http://oldtenspeedgallery.com/blog/wp-content/bikes/2012/06/mike-1972-schwinn-continental-00.jpg

3
On and off, from the late-1980s through the early 2000s, I rode and even sometimes raced on mountain bikes off-road. I wasn't all that successful, partly because (again) I didn't make it any kind of focus - it was just fun. Visiting my best friend in Sonoma County, California was always great fun, we'd ride on Mount Tam or in Annadel Park, the very places where off-road cycling was born. For me, mountain biking was a total blast but admittedly almost always involved crashing and bleeding - not such a good idea now for someone my age and with the blood thinners I take!

Image Source: http://www.xo-1.org/2011/01/1982-ritchey-mountainbikes-catalogue.html

4
In the mid-1990s, I developed a pretty severe hamstring injury from running, a partial tear that was just not healing. I took up cycling again because pedaling just didn't seem to hit that muscle the same way, so I could ride and ride with very little pain. By putting in the miles and (for the first time) basically concentrating on cycling, I quickly got better at it despite being in my mid-30s already. Eventually, I caught the racing bug. My first Cat 5 race (What's a "Cat" in bike racing?) was an easy victory, I rode off the front of the pack in a CRCA race in Central Park and won by a couple of minutes. I then raced one year at Cat 4 and earned the points to move up to Cat 3. Unfortunately, I was taken out in a crash caused by a poor bike handler during a road race in the Tour of Texas in 1996. No broken bones but a very severe concussion that led to short term memory impairment and light sensitivity - not to mention road rash all over my body. Ow. Big ow. When I finally felt better - thank goodness - I went back to running - it just seemed safer!

Ow! Ow! Ow! Of course, this photo is not of my crash - those guys are pros.
I am definitely NOT a pro by any stretch of the imagination.
Source: https://bit.ly/2FhFsyt

5
Now, in my 50s and post-heart attack, I'm using cycling mainly for fresh air and fitness, and because I just can't run much without getting injured or incredibly sore. I haven't raced a bike in many years, but I'm somewhat intrigued by the gravel race concept - I suppose it's much less technical than mountain biking, so for a klutz like me there should be fewer crashing and entirely less bleeding! I don't currently own the kind of bike to race in gravel, but I've been told that gravel racing is truly grass roots, welcoming, and low-key. Something to consider, if that old racing bug bites me again.

How I feel, most days.
Image Source: https://maddogmedia.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/fatguysuffers.jpg

When it comes to cycling, your experience may be similar to mine, or very different, but I think we can all agree that anything that gets us off the couch and out into the world is ultimately a good thing. Whether you are a hard-core cyclist, a recreational rider, or a total beginner, I hope that your rides are safe and fun and leave you happily fit.

If you're of that ilk, you can follow me on Strava (a cycling app that tracks rides and allows cyclists to compare themselves to others).

A Very Bad Day - or - Lucky to be Alive?

Last weekend started off like a lot of weekends for me: an early alarm, a quick bite and cup of coffee, then a drive to a nearby trail race. In this case, I'd be running the Sour Grapes Trail Half-marathon for the third year in a row. The race was part of the 2014 UMTR Trail Race Grand Prix Series, a competition that I did well in last year but for which I had a lot of catching up to do this year.

I arrived in plenty of time, found a decent parking spot, picked up my number, and went about a typical warm up: a bit of walking, a mile or so of easy running, a few basic stretches, and heading for the start. Nothing out of the ordinary, in fact I was feeling pretty good.

The organizers got us lined up and sent us off. As usual, the faster-younger-more talented types rocketed off the line, leaving me and the rest of the pack to follow. I was probably sitting in about 15th place, more or less, about where I'd expect to be. With 13.1 miles to go, no need to push the pace early.

We rounded a couple of corners, and hit the first tiny little hill. We weren't even half a mile into the race at this point, but "something" happened to me right there. I felt a kind of flutter in my heart, and started breathing a bit heavier than I'd expect to be. Hmm. No pain. So I slowed down, thinking maybe I'd overdone the caffeine that morning, just needed to get my breathing under control and I'd be fine.

About a mile later I felt some tightness across my chest muscles. What the hell? Could I be having a heart attack? No way, I'm still running, only a few people have passed me, this is just a bad day. Maybe I was tense on the steering wheel during the drive, so I shook out my arms, slowed a bit more, tried to control my breathing.

Boy, did it feel like a bad day. For the next 3 or 4 miles I was forced to slow down to about 8:25 pace, well off what I thought I'd be able to do. But I was able to keep running, so I ignored my sensations and plugged on.

In fact, I plugged on all the way to the finish, which was a disappointing 20th place in about 1:47:00. Results. Compare that to last year's second place in 1:32, and you can see it was a bad day.

It was about to get so much worse.

I really felt crappy after the race. Super-tired, nauseated. and a bit woozy. Maybe I was bonking? I grabbed a banana, had some electrolyte replacement drink, toweled off, changed into dry clothes, and hit the road home. Still felt awful.

About 20 minutes into the drive, I finally admitted to myself that something was really not right. Stubborn fool. I pulled off the road, called my wife. She said, "Get to a hospital". She was right. I asked Siri to find me the nearest one, she obliged and I pulled into the parking lot of St. Gabriel's Hospital in Little Falls, MN.

I strolled in, sweating profusely and feeling light-headed. I told the receptionist that I might be having a hard attack. Within a couple of minutes I was on a bed and chewing children's aspirin, as the staff ran preliminary tests. It wasn't long before the doctor told me that I was indeed having a heart attack.

Okay, let me just pause here for one second. I was having a heart attack, one which had started almost 2 hours before, in fact I just ran something like 12.5 miles on trails WHILE HAVING A HEART ATTACK. Clearly, my capacity for denial is pathological, and my pig-headedness about finishing races had now put my life in danger.

I was so scared, it's hard to describe. Alone, and informed that I'd now have a wild ride in an ambulance for about 30 miles to get to St. Cloud Hospital, where they had specialists in cardiac catheterization waiting to help me ... I put my life in the hands of the professionals. I guess the fact that I'm writing this proves that it was the right thing to do.

The next few hours were a surreal and painful and frightening blur. I recall moments, like banging through the hospital corridors on a gurney, having my pants pulled off fast, receiving anesthesia, feeling almost out of my body, being told that I'd had a significant heart attack, and that I'd had an angioplasty and a stent implanted in my right coronary artery.

Then, I was in a recovery room. My typical, beloved type of trail race weekend had begun so normally, and now here I was.

My heart, shocked by this whole thing, couldn't seem to find a rhythm. After a couple of hours of my EKG bouncing all around, they sent me back to the Cath Lab so that they could insert a temporary pace maker for the night. I spent the wee hours in and out of a restless sleep, my heart pounding out a faster-than-normal and heavy-feeling beat, while intense thunderstorms pounded outside of my window. Like something out of a bad movie.

Eventually, I began to bounce back a little. On Sunday morning they turned off the pace maker, and my heart hung in there (mostly, still some funny beats now and then, they told me that was to be expected). I finally got a bite to eat. They came to my room Sunday evening to remove the catheters from my femoral artery (painful, very painful). By Monday morning I was able to take a few tentative steps out of bed, and by Monday evening I was able to be moved to a step down unit called Telemetry, which I always thought had something to do with launching satellites into orbit but apparently is basically a way to monitor things from a distance.

By Tuesday afternoon I could head home. Still scared, and now with a body filled with new and probably-long term chemicals (medicines) to help keep me alive: blood thinners, beta blockers, ACE inhibitors, and statins.

I had almost zero of the risk factors, and had just had my annual physical about 5 weeks ago - passing with flying colors. I do have a father who's had bypass surgery, but he smoked for years, didn't really exercise, and loved his eggs and bacon. Still, those darn genetics are just enough to get you. A heart attack? Me? Never!

Well, wrong!

I've now got a long road ahead, to work on recovery. The cardiologists said that my overall heath and fitness will not only help me make a "complete recovery" (well I hope so), but that in fact without it I would have suffered this episode earlier in my life and might not have survived it. So there's that.

I start cardiac rehab next, and if all goes well I'll be back running in several weeks. Not sure about any of this right now, of course, because I'm still wobbling around in a mixed up emotional and physical fog caused by fear, dread, anger, indignation, embarrassment, and drug-induced side effects. I know I've got to give it some time and work through everything. Of course I wish it had never happened in the first place.

I want to thank my loving wife for being strong and taking care of so many things through this crisis. And for someone who hates driving on the highways, she managed to come see me every day even through blinding rain storms and terrible traffic. Of course I'm also very grateful to the nurses, doctors, and everyone else at St. Gabriel's and the St. Cloud Hospital. The latter really was a top-notch experience.

As the weeks unfold now, I'll try to be more diligent about sharing here what I experience and what happens to me on this next leg of my life journey. I've got to get back up off the ground, dust myself off, and move forward again. I'm a pretty determined fellow, so I am confident that this hurdle can be overcome. But I'm damn glad to have help along the way, and I'm lucky to be alive.

Take care of yourselves, our time is so short and so precious.

Hope to see you out on the trails in a few weeks time, fate willing.

Race Report: William O'Brien 10 mile Trail Race (June 22, 2013)

It was a muggy morning at William O'Brien State Park for the annual 10-ish mile trail race, the 7th stop on the 2013 UMTR Trail Race Series. I was already dripping with sweat during my pre-race warm-up jog, so I believed we'd be in for a survival-of-the-fittest type of race (that is, those who planned to go out hard and then hang on for dear life would likely be fading fast). 

For this year, the race organizers moved the start/finish area from the river's edge to a spot with more parking a bit higher on the hillside. It made the course just a tad shorter than last year, but still more than 10 miles (about 10.3, they reported and my Garmin confirmed that). The change to the course also put the hilliest section of the loop later in the race. The new start/finish didn't make much difference from my perspective, with the exception of one short (and only) section of single track that paralleled the park drive heading down to - and back up from - the river. The front pack made it through that area with little stress, but I can imagine that the larger group behind got rather squeezed. 

Competition was stronger than my most-recent races. Out front, Jason Finch from River Falls, Wisconsin set a blistering pace in leading the race from start to finish. He must be able to float in mid-air, because he ran sub-6:00 miles on a course that - while not technical - is simply not "fast": the footing is uneven, there was a bit of mud, and there are plenty of rolling hills, particularly during the second half of the race. I found an older post about Jason here. Clearly a talented runner.

Having that one race leader flying out front tends to pull along the entire field, and this race was no exception to that rule. As my dear readers know, I'm not much of a speedster, so I was not surprised to find that I was sitting barely inside the top 25 as we pounded down the hill and through the first couple of miles. I assumed that I'd make a move when we got to the hills, but even on the first couple of them I was losing ground to those ahead. I was running as hard as I could reasonably sustain, so I began to feel settled in my fate when I failed to pass ANYONE in the next three miles. Halfway home, sitting in about 22nd place, and not making much headway. Sigh.

Finally, we hit some rolling hills on grassy terrain, and the over-eager runners ahead began to come back, albeit slowly. The fact is that no one whom I managed to pass was willing to give up without a fight, and I had to work very hard over the final three miles to reel in and move past just a few competitors. I wasn't exactly zooming home, but I did manage to crawl and battle my way slowly up to 12th place by the finish line. Results.

The top 10 runners included three teenagers (wow, nice work guys) and an array of strong runners in their 30s and 40s. I managed to capture the old guys' division, a point of pride at this point in my racing career. And unlike last year, there were no bizarre freight train incidents! A good race at a good venue, with very friendly volunteers and race organizers. I recommend it. Hope it stays on the Grand Prix circuit next year too.

I'll Take Rain Over Train Any Day

I'm racing on tomorrow (Saturday June 22) on the trails of William O'Brien State Park, a 10-ish mile trail race on rolling terrain right next to the Mississippi River. Last year, my come-from-behind racing strategy was pummeled by a freight train crossing the course, holding me up for over 2 minutes. I'm hoping that this year will be different, and putting faith in the words of several fellow runners, paraphrased as "I run there all the time, and I've NEVER seen a train!"

The forecast is for a stormy night and 50% chance of rain tomorrow, so it could be a mud-wallow. Still, I would definitely take pouring rain over a charging train any day of the week.

It's stop number 7 on the UMTR Trail Run Series Grand Prix circuit for 2013. I've managed to run all but one of the races so far this year. They have not updated the standings for awhile, so I'm not 100% sure of this but I think I'm leading the Grand Prix overall at this point. If my old legs will hold up for a few more months, maybe I'll have a shot at finishing at or near the top.

Good luck to everyone racing wherever you may be this weekend, or just living your running life.

The (Sour) Grapes of Wrath

Race Report: Sour Grapes Half Marathon trail race

I took the long-ish drive up to Brainerd, MN this past Saturday morning (2+ hours) to run the 5th race in the UMTR Trail Series in the Northland Arboretum. Theme of the day was the heat: relentless sun, and temperatures headed toward the 90s, with a dash of humidity just for kicks. Probably not great weather to race 13.1 miles, but at least we'd be in the woods for most of the race, where we'd have slightly cooler temps and shade (thank goodness).

A few notes about the race itself: the course was a non-technical XC ski trail loop that we ran twice, after sharing the start with the "half-half" runners; that is, competitors doing only one loop (about 10.5 kilometers). Editorial aside: I don't like races that mix multiple distances together for any major portion and especially not at the start, it makes things confusing for everyone and you just don't know who you are actually racing - but maybe I'm in the minority on that front. The course had no single track at all (darn), rolling hills, a bit of sand at times, was fairly wide, had no roots/rocks/mud to speak of - although there were two very short sections that were soft underfoot, so I suppose if this race took place on a rainy day there could be some swampy bits. The course was very well-marked, and they cleverly placed an aid station right at a complex intersection that was used at least a couple of times each lap - very smart move. Thankfully in the hot conditions I was able to grab plenty of water during the race without carrying any myself. Race organizers and volunteers were all friendly folks, and there were quite a few spectators for a trail race. It was chip-timed, a bit slow to get to the awards ceremonies (but I know that can be a bit tricky when racers are covering 13+ miles at paces ranging from 6 minutes to over 11 minutes per mile). All in all, a nice venue and a race worth running, but don't get your hopes up for a difficult course requiring real trail-running technique, this is just another speedster's course (although the sandy sections would slow down even the fleetest of foot).

At the start, I let those speedsters fly off while I tried to settle into something in the "comfortably hard" effort range. I knew it was going to be a long day when the first couple of miles went by well over 7:00 minute per mile pace, but I was already huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. It was probably the heat + humidity, and those two demons were simply variables to be dealt with on the day. I suspected those faster starters up ahead of me would be falling off their aggressive pace before too long, just because of conditions. I counted about 10 runners in front of me at about the half-mile mark, but then got passed by 2 more in the next half mile. No way to know if they were in my race or not, and way too early to fight it, so I let them go and focused on my own pacing and effort level.

There are many disadvantages to growing older. For example: you get slower, recovery takes longer, you lose that spring in your step, your elbow skin sags, etc. But there are a few advantages: experience, self-awareness, guile. I tried to use those to their full advantage on this day.

I started passing other runners by mile 4 (already?). The first two *seemed* to be running the 10k, judged by the intensity of their breathing and their unwillingness to let me pass. Both of them spit and sputtered and wheezed and battled me for at least 2 minutes before finally relenting. I made no attempt to surge or "race" them head-to-head, I just kept plugging along at the effort level I believed I could sustain. By mile 5 I'd gotten 3 more, one of whom was WALKING, and asked me to reassure him that he'd not missed the 10.5k turnoff. I told him he still had more than a mile to go, and trundled on.

Passing the finish area at the end of loop one, I had no idea what place I was in for the half-marathon. I could see only one runner who seemed to have just finished, maybe, and looking up ahead across the field there was no one in sight. I tried to pick up the pace on the second loop, but it was just too hot to maintain anything much faster than I was already doing. By the end of the race, my watch would say that I ran the second loop about one minute faster than the first, so I did manage negative splits, although not by much.

The second loop was a rather lonely slog for awhile, until I started passing the slowest of the 10.5k runners/walkers who had still not finished their first loop. However, with about 2 miles to go, suddenly there was a runner in front of me who looked to be struggling on a hot, sunny uphill. As I tried to muster at least a little bit of a surge, he suddenly started walking - heat will do that to you. As I passed, he offered a word of encouragement and I told him to hang in there. I started to feel the effects of the heat, sand, and pace at around 11.5 miles, and from there on out I was just doing my best to maintain form. I crossed the finish line and someone told me I was third place, which surprised me a bit - I didn't think I had passed that many runners, but then again some of them may have been in the 10.5k and others may have been dropped out or been walking along with the 10.5k walkers and thus I didn't notice them? Guess I'll never know for sure.

I kept dousing myself with water, but it was pretty hard to cool off. I decided to walk my cool down instead of jogging it, my legs were tired and I was already so over-heated. Back at the race site, I grabbed a few snacks offered by a friendly horde of volunteers, and waited for the awards. I did finish 3rd (results), although I was way behind the guys in first and second place. I'm pretty happy with it. I think I made some good choices on the day, hanging back and doling out my effort wisely while others used themselves up early and bombed out. Every now and then we old guys manage to play our cards pretty well, I suppose.

Now I'll await the updated Grand Prix results to see how things come together. I'd been tied for first overall, but only third in my age group, through some vagaries of scoring (that escape me) and the fact that the series is still not quite half complete. We'll see how the rest of the year goes. Thanks to the organizers, volunteers, and everyone else at Sour Grapes. You put on a great race. I'll come back next year for sure if you promise cold rain!

Confused at Confusion Corner

I've been racing frequently lately, probably too frequently to be honest. I admit that I'm a bit compulsive about racing - perhaps impulsive too. I enjoy exploring new places, running new courses, and trying to meet people. It's especially true this year, having relocated to the great north and (at least so far) not having really connected with the running community. I know it takes time, but I'm trying to add frequency to the mix in the hopes of making friends and potentially finding a team with which to train and race.

I've been aiming toward two Grand Prix series, one on the roads via MDRA, and the other on the trails via UMTR. What better way to meet folks than to make at least a little splash in my age division in both?  Each series will base its final standings on the "best x races out of y", so the early scoring is a bit hard to fathom. I've missed one race in each series already, so I'm behind in the standings on current total points, but a bit better on average points per race. It will all come out by the end of the year, of course.

My most-recent adventure took me about 70 miles north of the Twin Cities to Milaca, MN - home of the Runnin' in the Ruff 10k trail race. Touted as technical and muddy (hooray), it is the third race in the UMTR Trail Race Series for 2012.

I truly enjoyed the race. It had a classic small-town, small-budget vibe. People were generally friendly and enthused. The race director spent nearly 10 minutes going over both the two mile and 10k courses in painstaking detail, making many of us chuckle (how on earth would we remember all of that information?). My ears did perk up when he was discussing "Confusion Corner" - a spot on the course where a number of trails came to an intersection. However, he promised that there would be a person at that spot who could be trusted to make sure everyone headed in the right direction. I believed in that trust - and that was my first mistake.

After walking across a footbridge over the Rum River, we took up starting positions and hammered off at the sound of the gun, with 10kers heading one way and two milers another. Some young fella (or do they all look young to me now?) took off like a bat out of hell, and sprinted into the single-track with a substantial lead after only perhaps 400 meters. I was sitting 2nd, and probably running way too fast, but didn't want to get stuck in the narrow trails early in the race if I could avoid it. Another runner was right on my heels, and it was less than one mile in when I moved right to let him go by. Shortly thereafter, another runner pulled up behind me, and I let him go too. I was definitely gasping for air way too hard for this early in the race, so I decided to settle in and enjoy some mud, let the top three run away from me. Not to mention, I had a slight side-stitch, an indication of being tired (too much racing, this was my third weekend in a row).

I was able to keep third place in sight as we dove and wove the trails. Gaps would open up to about 50 meters at times, but when it got technical or flat, I would get back to only 10 meters behind. There was some mud, nothing too deep, and some water, just enough to make it fun. No stream crossings, too bad. by about 2.5 miles, I was starting to pull right up on the heels of third place on the downhills, but he'd pull away on the uphills, so he was clearly stronger than me. He did seem to be breathing pretty hard though, and I've long-employed this bit of race strategy: let 'em go a bit on the uphills, then glide down the other side to close the gap. This approach works in a number of ways, but the most important are: (1) the runner in front of you senses that you are dropping back on the uphills, which encourages him to push harder - thus using more of his energy - you are wearing him out by baiting him, (2) it's much easier to run downhill, so if you crest the top of the hill a bit fresher and think "quick feet, quick feet", you can make up 20-30 meters on a runner rather quickly, because he is likely to be easing off the gas a bit to recover from the climb, (3) it's a bit demoralizing for the runner in front, he's worked hard to drop you on a hill only to have you right back on his heels when the trail turns downhill. If you keep the pattern going for a couple of miles, it can really get in the head of that runner in front of you. Try it, see if it works for you. Oh, also recognize it when someone is trying it on you, so that it doesn't work on you.

At about 4 miles, I was feeling better (breathing deep finally relaxed the stitch), and I could tell that number 3 was laboring a bit, so I made a quick move - this time on an uphill/downhill combination. It only took about a minute to get a decent gap, and with the trails twisting and turning part of my goal was to get out of sight in order to discourage any chasing. I was actually feeling better than I had the entire race, and suddenly I could see 2nd place up ahead, and he looked a bit knackered. I had a shot at 2nd, if things went well. They didn't.

Next up: Confusion Corner

So, this is how it played out:
I came running up to Confusion Corner at full-on race pace. The main trails form a T intersection, so I could turn 90 degrees left or 90 degrees right. There was a tiny little gray sign in the ground, very hard to read, but I did see an arrow pointing right. The course marshall was standing to the left, so if I were to try a left turn, I would have had to dodge him a bit to do so. This gave me two visual cues to turn right, so I did. Then I hear:

Course Marshall: "Which race are you in?"

Me, still running away: "10k!"

Course Marshall: "mumble mumble"

Me (now 20 meters up the trail, slowing way down and glancing back over my shoulder): "What? Which way is 10k?!"

Course Marshall: "mumble mumble" and no hand gestures at all.

Me (now at full stop, turned around, palms turned skyward): "Which way is the 10k??"

Course Marshall: "mumble-mumble" something that sounded like "this" or "yes" and again no pointing motion, in fact he's sort of staring at his own shoes.

Me: (giving up, I turn back around and continue running hard on the trail I've taken. I assume if I'm heading the wrong way he'll start shouting at me - and he doesn't - so I assume I'm right on track and accelerate to try to catch 2nd place).

So, let's count: that's mistakes two, three, and possibly four all in the space of about 15 seconds.

At the next corner, the trail is marked with orange flags so I assume I'm on the right path. I keep hammering as hard as I can, still hoping to catch 2nd place. I head up a couple of steep hills, and eventually emerge from the woods onto a gravel road. I recognize the footbridge leading to the finish. I'm at the top of a hill, and I've got maybe 600 meters to go and there is nobody anywhere in sight. I think to myself, "That guy in 2nd must have really been flying the last mile, and buried me." Oh, well.

I kick it in home and cross the line, assuming I've gotten third place, and assuming I'm the first old geezer to finish. Because I had to leave almost immediately to head to a business lunch back in the Twin Cities, I started a slow cool down jog right away, heading back along the course. First thing I notice is that the runner who had been third is finishing very close behind me. Right behind him is Joe, the runner my wife and I had met back in February. I saw him at the start, and he assured me that I'd be way ahead of him. I figured he just had a great race, and cheered him in.

Then I looked up and saw runner after runner coming to that footbridge, but NOT from the same direction I'd come. Uh oh. I tracked down Joe, who said that I'd definitely blown it, I was supposed to turn left at Confusion Corner, and come in along the river. Clearly, I'd gone the wrong way at the aptly-named intersection. Argh!! I guess I followed the second half of the two mile course, by mistake.

Let me make one thing clear: I blame myself, at least mostly. I have very little sympathy for trail runners, myself included, who go off course and then whine about it. Take responsibility for your own actions, I say. In retrospect, as soon as I knew there was a "Confusion Corner", I should have taken it upon myself to memorize which way I would be turning. My fault, period. Of course, I also trusted the course marshall, and I do think that he should have been shouting and pointing for me, which would have saved me from my own foibles. He was probably the most low-key course marshall I've ever witnessed. Darn. But, like I said, I have only myself to truly blame for this one - that guy was a well-meaning volunteer and he may have actually told me TWICE that I was going the wrong way, I just didn't hear him or understand him. He probably thought I was an idiot! (and he's probably right).

Next year: Maybe I should make them a really big, bright, day-glo sign indicating that the 10k and 2 mile turn different directions at Confusion Corner.

As I said, I had to depart the race site to head back to Minneapolis right away, so I had no time to find out the final standings and whether I'd held third despite running a longer race than everyone else and having to go uphill and back down when everyone else just ran along the flats by the river. I feel pretty dumb, but I take some solace in that I ran a pretty good race even though I wasn't feeling great early on. I made a good strong move, and I was making up ground before I decided to add a bit more distance. Yeesh.

As far as going off course: I should have known better. I'm not a stumbling rookie here. Duh. Live and learn?  Hope so!

I'll post a link to results here when they are up (assuming they even will be, I can find absolutely nothing online yet).

In sum, I really enjoyed the race and hope to make it an annual event now that I'm a Minnesotan. I also hope I can stick around next year to get to know more runners, which is one of my main goals anyway.

Note: Nice blog post including some photos here:
http://shannonssummations.blogspot.com/2012/05/runnin-in-ruff.html
I actually took the shot of the three runners at the starting line - she handed me the camera and I obliged. Cheese!

Race Report: Leatherman's Loop 2011

In my previous post, I mentioned that there is always a bit of adventure in the Leatherman's Loop race. This year was no exception.

Little did I know that my adventure would start pre-race. I'll spare you all of the disgusting details, just suffice it to say that my youngest son got rather intensely car sick on the way to the race. Ugh. Had to pull over a couple of times to try to clean him up and help him settle down. It was stressful, and made us arrive late to the race site.

That's a bad choice with the Loop, because it's a crowded race and there is a narrow entrance road, with a slow process of parking your car. Needless to say, it made the pre-race hour a blur of action - cleaning the car, getting bib numbers, establishing meeting points for the babysitter, trying to find a port-a-john, running around in circles ... you get the picture. And all of this on a day that turned out sunnier and warmer than expected. In retrospect, I was perfectly set up to have a disastrous race.

With each passing year, and as I continue to get slower and slower (see bottom of this post), I come to the crowded start of this race, look around, and have this immediate thought, "I will never be able to compete with all of these young, fit, talented athletes!" Mind you, that's not me being humble, it's me looking around and seeing a lot of guys who look like they will simply run away from me at the start, never to be seen again.

Two friends and teammates were on hand to try their first Loop. Matt Rosetti, hoping to be with the leaders, and Morgan Thompson, who downplayed his plans (but had that competitive twinkle in his eye). I found my wife in the crowd for a good-luck kiss (she was not planning on racing, she just wanted to have a nice run in the trails), and I could tell she was still stressed about our little one's problems in the car.

The Start.

After the customary race greetings and blessings, there was a rather confusing start, with Tony Godina saying something like, "Okay, let's get going" and then having to repeat himself and wave his arms before the hesitant and confused field finally charged across the damp prairie. I didn't get a bad start, considering. In fact, at about 150 meters I think I was holding around 20th place, but as we began the sweeping left hand turn to head into the trails, another dozen or more guys went right past me. I could tell that I was on the anaerobic edge at that moment, and just had to let them go. Hmm, not so good.

As we tip-toed through the first little stream and ensuing mud, a familiar voice said, "Hey, Douglas, you're supposed to be at the front!" It was Eric Scheffler, long-time friend and powerful ultra-runner, right on my shoulder. I couldn't think of anything witty to say, and blurted out, "This IS the front!" or something like that. Maybe I was actually trying to convince myself.

As is my custom, I set about the task of trying to weave through the pack over the next few miles. Post-race, Eric thought we'd been around 50th place, but I think it was more like 30-35th. Anyway, it was clear that it was going to be hard work.

It's also common in my experience at this race to have that one guy who is absolutely killing himself to stay ahead of me in the first couple of miles. This year it was some guy in a yellow shirt, who I kept passing every time the trail got technical or downhill, but who charged up every hill or flat spot to pass me back. His breathing was really labored, and I tried to ignore his tendency to bump into me every time he went by - maybe it was unintentional. This went on for nearly a mile, including the first water crossing (a fast-running stream, not quite waist-deep), which was rather slimy underfoot and not easy to clamber out of on the opposite bank.

Eventually, I managed to get by him and stay there, so that I could focus on my own race and what lay ahead. Looking forward, there was literally a line of 8 runners who I was pulling back slowly. I had no idea what place I was in at that point, I was thinking just inside the top 20, which matched my pre-race expectation. Hey, not so bad after all.

The next couple of miles included the "new" water crossing, which was the deepest of the day. I had pulled up onto the heels of the pack of eight, and we all hit the water rather clumsily within seconds of each other. George Buchanan, just in front of me, tried taking a dive and swimming across. Looked good to me, plus I was feeling rather hot and could use the cool dunk in the water. I executed a perfectly terrible dive, and thrashed away for a few strokes. I'm no competitive swimmer, that's for sure. Then again, none of us were. We must have looked laughable, really. A bunch of skinny guys flailing away, making a lot of noise and splashing like madmen, but barely moving forward. Comical.

Half way across, I was putting my feet down looking for rocks to push me along, and found that I could barely touch the bottom! Gulp. But through a combination of thrashing arms and hopping on my toes, I somehow managed to scramble out of there and pass three guys in the process. As I cut across the road and back into the mud, I thought, "My wife is going to kill me over that water crossing". She is a talented trail runner, but she likes RUNNING, not wading, and certainly not swimming, and if that water was up to my chin, she was going to be in over her head.

I managed to get past two more guys in the next half mile or so, leading up to the notorious sand "wall". This is impossible to run, you just have to hike it, and maybe use your hands to help you along. I do have a technique for this: use short, quick steps, and place your feet carefully. Most guys tend to lean too far forward, over-stride, and as a result lose traction at the moment of push-off. I was doing well until just near the top, when my right foot slipped on a push-off and I came to a dead stop. Argh.

Once over that hill, there was a bit of technical stuff remaining, then mostly fire roads until the third and final water crossing just before the finish line. I tried to push myself on the single-track, knowing that each guy I passed was probably capable of running me down on less-technical trails.

Pride cometh before the fall.

With about 1.5 miles to go, I made a typically human and stupid mistake. I started feeling good about myself. I thought, "Hey, I'm having a pretty good race!" and I stopped concentrating for just a few seconds (on a non-technical, double-track fire road). The next thing I knew, I was face down in the gravel. I must have clipped a small rock at just the wrong moment. Nearly knocked the wind out of me, but I'd managed to catch myself with palms, elbows, and right hip, so I hadn't smacked my knees or ribs. I hopped up, did a quick check, no major bleeding, no protruding bones ... okay then - run! Yeesh.

Shortly after that, old George came flying past me. He must have been saving something for the last mile. I did all I could, but I just could not match his pace. We have dueled on these short trail races for years, he usually gets the best of me, and he did that again on this day.

Photo credit Dawn Moore Photography

Approaching the final river crossing, I tried to muster a kick, but with no real speed training it was probably not noticeable to anyone who was watching. Pushing across the river and struggling uphill into the sun, I somehow managed to grab 9th place overall. Results.

In front of me, Matt had garnered 3rd place, and Morgan 4th. If it had been a team competition, we'd have done all right. Matt talked about how much he'd been in oxygen debt throughout the race, even on the downhills. I talked to him briefly about the trail runner's need to detach breathing rhythm from running rhythm, not an easy task but one that can separate champions from pretenders.

Jogging back to the river crossing, I watched for my wife to finish. Along came our friend Cassandra (5th woman, first in her age group) and Heidi Schaller (6th woman, doing her first trail race, "fell down only a couple of times"), and then Monika. She splashed across with our friend James Redmond, then headed uphill. I could tell she wasn't in the mood to kick it in. Still, she finished as the 7th woman overall, not bad for "not racing" the event!

By a stroke of luck, I somehow managed to win my age group (and the story is nearly identical to this race two years ago). The overall winner Tommy Nohilly is in his 40s, and of course actually "won" the 40-49 age group, but they eliminated the winner from the age-group awards (which is appropriate). George Buchanan is a old guy like me, but he's in his 50s, so his 8th place overall gave him first in his age group, leaving the 40s to me (the last time that will happen in this race, I'll be 50 years old this fall). My prize: a delicious fresh blueberry pie. Perfect.

Post-race, tracking down my family and chatting with friends, the warm sun shining ... a pretty good day. And Monika didn't seem too angry with me about crossing three rivers, partly because the people around her had been helping each other through the obstacles (trail runners rule!). I suppose I really should not complain. But I'm a runner, so I will, just a little. My left foot is sore and slightly swollen. I hope I just twisted it a bit and will recover this week. Think I'll do some cycling for a couple of days to let it rest.

The best news of the day? The little guy didn't get sick in the car on the way home. Whew!

My history at the Loop:

Year Time (Place) Notes

2000 40:22 (2nd) My first loop at age 38, much too late. I should have run this race earlier.

2002 40:51 (6th) Very competitive year.

2003 41:54 (4th) Getting older, getting slower.

2005 43:45 (6th) 1.5 years after reconstructive surgery on my Achilles.

2006 44:23 (3rd) Year of the raging river detour, and my now-wife Monika won the women's race.

2007 49:39 (30th) After only 2 weeks of training following months off with hip injury.

2009 44:47 (7th) Hot day melted my brain (click to read my post).

2011 45:05 (9th) With the added water crossing, I think the time compares well to 2009.

Found an awesome gallery of photos online here:

http://dawnmoorephotography.zenfolio.com/leathermans2011

Bring on the Mud

Next up: Mudders and Grunters 5 mile trail race in FDR Park on Sunday, March 27, 2011.

Yes, I prefer longer races (can't keep up with the speedsters anymore - I have no speed at my age), but I've had so much fun at this race over the years that I just have to go back. It's raining today, and more rain is predicted during the week, so I'm hoping for a real slop-fest on Sunday morning. Mud, mud, glorious mud, nothing quick like it for cooling the blood.

As an added treat, my 17 year old son has decided to leap into the mire this year. I don't think he's race-fit, but I do think he can manage to have a blast wallowing around in the mud with everyone next weekend.

People ask me about running these kind of races, particularly about special gear, techniques or other tricks. Actually, I think it's pretty darn simple:

1. You need shoes with some traction, preferably lightweight ones because they're going to get wet and muddy. Trail shoes aren't that expensive, get some.

2. You shouldn't wear extra layers of clothes, even if it's pretty cold out there. Once those extra clothes get wet and muddy, they just become heavy and cold. Keep it light & tight, move fast.

3. You need to tie your shoes tightly. You don't need to duct-tape them to your ankles, or any other crazy technique. Just tie them tightly and attentively. And skip the socks, they just get wet and heavy. A quick slathering of petroleum jelly on your feet will do.

4. Run with quick & light feet. In muddy conditions, you need to get up on the balls of your feet, chop your steps a little, and just keep churning along. Drop your heel into that quagmire, and it can bring you to a near-stop, and possibly suck the shoe right off of your foot.

5. Turn corners with your feet, not your torso. That probably sounds funny, but it's important on slick surfaces to keep your center of gravity over your feet, and run around the corner, as opposed to leaning hard and just having your feet come along for the ride (like you can on a track).

It's spring time, so that means time for some muddy, messy trail running. Enjoy.