Recreation Through Endurance

Please note, the rim was perfectly true until the tire was deflated.

Liz and I are meeting my mom and sister in Tahoe for Xterra Nationals this weekend. Liz and Jana are doing the 5k on saturday, I have the tri on sunday. Honestly, it would've have had to have been so hard to get there. Last year, I qualified without even knowing about the points series. This year, I could've finished 8th in my age group twice to get invited. Most races don't even have 8 racers in the age group. What I did have to do was feel like I earned it. Since, this is the biggest competition I'll probably ever do and I won't be doing it every year, so I had to deserve it. I feel I did. Needless to say, I'm very excited.

If you're interested, you can read the course description. Here's a snippit from the bike leg:

Sixteen hundred vertical feet of climbing welcomes competitors on Tunnel Creek Road. Riders ascend three miles to the Flume Trail, one of the most scenic mountain bike trails in the world. The Flume is known for its grand views of Lake Tahoe's azure blue waters and mountain peaks to the south and west.

Riders who get distracted by the view might end up casualties of this 4.4-mile section of single track, which includes two mandatory dismounts to cross rocky outcrops. After The Flume, a short challenging ascent leads to Marlette Lake and the start of another leg-burning climb.

Today's Frazz should be posted next week after this is over, but when I get back, I'll have lots to tell, so I'll give it to you early.




Especially appropriate since I just got suckered into the OBX marathon.

BRR captain Chris was able to get a write up into the Richmond paper. You can read it here.

September of last year, I wrote about how annoyed I got at the KFG (Kroger Fish Guy). Today, I got this email from my sister:

After the experience I had at Jewel the other day, I was reminded of your interaction with the KFG. Here’s my version:

Jewel Scallop Lady: What can I get you?
Me: Can I get a third of a pound of bay scallops please?
(JSL continues to finish what she was doing, wash and dry her hands, then turn to me again.)
JSL: What did you need?
Me: A third of a pound of bay scallops.
(JSL gets a container and spoon, then turns back to me.)
JSL: Sea scallops?
Me: Bay scallops please.
JSL: How much?
Me: A third of a pound.
JSL: A quarter?
Me: No, a third.
JSL: I can only do a quarter, a half…
Me: How about a little more than a quarter?
JSL: Okay.

Thought you’d get a kick out of this.
Love, Jana

I blamed it on the South. I guess similar things also happen in Chicago.

When I moved to Richmond several years ago, my life was going through some changes. I had a chance to explore or redefine myself and was interested in what I could become. An individual befriended me and invited me into his circle. His band was playing a show in Shockoe Bottom, he said they were pretty good, and I was invited. I went. I wore black, casual black. I showed up early. I ordered a beer. Everyone else wore black, shop black. I noticed no one else was drinking out of a bottle. I then noticed no one else was drinking anything but PBR. The show was good and I hung out when the "hard-knockers" a few more times, but never quite fit in to the local subculture. I didn't have anything against PBR, I didn't have anything for PBR. I just never had one, maybe I was never Richmondized.

This last weekend was the MORE Douthat Campout. Plenty of riding, plenty of friends, plenty of food. Simply, great fun at one of my favorite places.

While there, I met a man named Tom Doyle, who I'd heard of but never ran into. He went on the morning ride, then after lunch he was the only one to take me up on an afternoon ride. After getting out of the shower after the second ride, some folks were kind enough to point out that Tom had opted for a swim and I didn't. I swore to them that I would've swam also if I'd known he was going, which may or may not have been true. Tom had also kayaked the lake that morning before the rides and joined several of us on the night ride.

At the bottom of Brushy Hollow on Saturday's second ride, Tom and I ran into Susan Mains and David, who was fishing. The setting was beautiful, a trout creek about a foot deep with river rocks lined with small red flowers, which Susan knew the name of. David came in from fly fishing and Susan set her book down to chat with Tom and I for a few. David opened the cooler and offered Tom and I a PBR, which I accepted,.

Sunday, after Mr. Doyle kayaked while I had breakfast, a group rolled out again. At the intersection of Mountain Side and Mountain Top, a couple of riders jumped the logpile for photo ops. Tom went up the trail, but never came down for the jump. He was riding to the top of the mountain on his own. Tim Kimrey kindly pointed out "another thing Tom's doing that Jared isn't." Now I had to take off after him. The two of us finished the climb and at the top he told me a story of when he was 19 and had almost died in a car accident a month before his wedding. Ever since then, he's been living every moment he can to the fullest because, well, you just never know... A lesson I can easily take to heart from a man twice my age even if he did have a parrot on his head.

I never would've made it as a hard-knocker. I just don't have the tattoos for it. Still, there are other subcultures in Richmond that are just as inviting, perhaps more fun, and a lot more fitting. Next year, I'm bringing my goggles.

It took a little bit, but here's some finishing photos from the Relay. Who's the cheesy one?

This last weekend was the Blue Ridge Relay, which is a 36 leg running race made up of teams of 1 to 12 runners. The legs vary from 2 to 10 miles and the vans leapfrog the current runner so the next one is ready. With our team's starting seed time of 9:30am from Grayson Highlands State Park in southwest Virginia, it was a logistical nightmare. Still, Captain Peck did a great job of recruiting runners for Team RSR (Run, Sweat, Repeat), planning most everything from food to rental van to lodging, and getting my apprehensive self excited about it.

I was in Van 1, with Chris Peck, his fiance Liz Ward, Glenn Melton, and newlyweds Tyler and Brook van Rensselaer, with Courtney Roberts driving. My legs were 5, 17, and 29, which were 2 5 milers, and a 7 miler. I was a little nervous about running 17 miles in 24 hours after the SM100 5 days earlier, but I just kinda left that out when talking with the team. Van 2 had Jeff Powers, Steve Lindridge, Anne Green, Blake Puhak, Gerry Kealy, and Brittany Hott running with Paul Rulli driving.

Van 1 left Richmond about 5pm on Thursday, picked up Courtney in Staunton, and got to the state park around 11pm to set up camp in the dark. Van 2 didn't make it to camp until after 3am after locking the keys in the car, set up camp, then broke camp 5 hours later.

There were two other teams from Richmond that raced. Team Mountain Goat, who I don't remember ever seeing and The Blue Mountain Oysters, which several of our runners knew several of their runners. Also, a good friend of mine, Woody, was one of their drivers. The Oysters also were seeded the same as us, so we started at the same time with Erin lined up next to Captain Peck. No one thought about it at the time, but as the day and night wore on, both teams came to understand how evenly matched the teams were, trading places and goading each other.

The Exchange Zones were invigorating. Waiting for your runner to come in had an element of anticipation and cheering on the outgoing runner made me feel like we truly had a coherent team, even though most of us had only recently met each other.

By the time it came my turn to run, I was so excited that I forgot about any residual SM100 fatigue or worried about dropping pace. I held back a little just because I knew I had a long way to go, most likely without sleep, but it was hard. A couple miles into my runs, I actually felt a sense of loneliness missing my vanmates, which quickly went away with the sense of chasing down other runners or of fear of being off course.

After we got to the 12th Exchange Zone where Van 2 transfered the baton back to Van 1, we got to talk with everyone after they've done their first leg. This course we ran was hilly, some might even say mountainous. Some had stronger than expected legs, some not so. After Blake's first leg, he said "I'm never speaking to you again" for recruiting him to the team. I decided to wait to see if he changed his mind.

During the first leg of the race, Chris got ahead of Erin, the Blue Ridge Oyster's captain. At some point during Van 2's first legs, the Oysters had passed us. Talking with them and their drivers at Exchange 12, some light heckling had started and a little competition was building. Not only were we there to have fun, but we now had a sense of purpose.

Van 1 took back over and ran on. Chris ate up the Parkway, but Tyler spit out Grandfather Mountain. 10 miles, all uphill, and did it in 67 minutes! We pulled off twice during his run for his new wife to motivate him and the rest of us to relay water and food. By the time he got to the top, it was dark and time to start our night runs. Liz and Glenn came down what Tyler went up and when it came my turn I was pumped and ready to go. 5 miles with a tough climb and a fast downhill. I think being a decent mountain biker helps with downhill running because I flew as fast as I could down that thing. I passed 3 runners and got asked by someone on their porch what I was doing. "Blue Ridge Relay! 208 miles!"

While we were running, Van 2 had a nice dinner. After they took over, we tried to take naps. Maybe 30 minutes... I don't remember where the Oysters were at this point, but we knew they were close. We talked over and over about how evenly matched the two teams were. Van 1 ran their third set of legs entirely in the dark, but full of adrenaline. Glenn looked like he might fall asleep on the run, but did great once he got started.

I ran into a little confusion twice on my last leg when I wasn't sure of the course. First time, another arrow at an intersection would've been nice. Second time was a case of doubt. According to the elevation profile, the second half was supposed to be level after a somewhat steep downhill. Either it was wrong or my sense of time/distance was skewed after 14 miles and no sleep. Damn maps. Running on doubt for a while without seeing our van, a runner, or any other van, I stopped, looked around, and was on the verge of deciding to turn back or not. Woody suddenly drove up, confirmed the course, and I kept running down.

Van 1 passed off to Van 2 to wrap this thing up. We knew we had a good lead on the Oysters, but also knew they had their best runners left. Thanks to the Pensacola United Methodist Church, we had a good pancake breakfast and followed Van 2 for the rest of the course cheering on the runners Van 1 hadn't seen much of. The most exciting part of the whole event was Leg 33, an insane mountain leg where running is about the same speed as walking. The Oysters had gained on us some and both teams knew it. Also, from what I hear, their strongest runner was planning on taking the lead back. If we finished before them, we had a good chance at keeping the lead. The Oysters closed their lead some, but after a super strong downhill, Anne held them off. We just had a maintain it for a few more legs.

By the time it was Brittany's turn, we had enough to descend into Asheville ahead of the other Richmonders. In a 26 hour event, the time split was 6 minutes. That's less than 1 second per mile pace. You couldn't design a more equal match-up between such close teams. RSR finished 6th of 47 teams, which is a great showing for a virgin team. We retired to the cabin, shared stories like walking up to the wrong team in the middle of the night yelling "Wake up girls! Time to run!", and ate some well-deserved burgers and drank some well-deserved beers. Upon getting back to Richmond on Sunday, Van 1 rewarded Captain Peck with the leftover Gatorade.

As you may remember, last year I finished My Own SM100. In the face of whatever setbacks happened, I felt I had the best DNF a guy could ask for. And regardless of logging 100 miles that day, It wasn't an appropriate end to the hardest event I'll probably ever do. I had to come back and bang that gong.

A couple of months ago, my sister Jana called me and said she and her boyfriend Chad were thinking about coming out for Labor Day weekend and wanted to know what we were up to. I told her she was welcome to come out to visit as long as they were interested in camping for a couple of nights and drinking beer with a bunch of endurance mountain bikers. I might even make them try mountain biking. They signed up for the trip, I borrowed a couple of bikes and sleeping bags from my good friends Richard and Blake and we were set.

After getting to the campground, where we got a spot next to Paul Leager, Francine Rapp, Chris McMillan, Travis Williams, and a few others, we got ready for an afternoon ride. I got the bikes mostly adjusted for Jana and Chad and gave then an primer on how to shift, brake, and steer. We rolled out. By rolling out, I mean pushing the bikes up the hill to get out of the campground. Jana and Chad may have been rethinking her mountain biking career at this point.



The out-and-back along the abandoned-fireroad-turned-singletrack was about 10 miles, with a few rocks to dodge, a couple long downhills, and some nice views of the valley. Liz and Chad mostly took the lead while I hung back with Jana. We chatted and pedaled and I jumped over rocks while she steered around them.

That night was spent preparing the drop-bags, pasta dinner, a couple beers, and checking out the observatory, where we saw Jupiter and 3 of it's moons. What I didn't understand last year and still didn't get this year is how many people were doing maintenance their bikes. Really, shouldn't you have your issues figured out by now? It's one thing to oil the chain and check tire pressure, but I saw someone running new shifter cable as it was getting dark. I wasn't going to guarantee my bike was going to be perfect through the race, but it was fully functional saturday morning before I packed it up.

Sunday, 5:00am. Airhorns, Gongs, fireworks, and a lot of "Damn, it's cold!"s. I stayed in the tent until about 5:30, when I felt I'd laid there long enough. Still after getting dressed, I just sat around waiting for the start. I'm still using the eat-light-just-before-the-start strategy for endurance events, so no real breakfast. All I had to do was get dressed and walk my bike and bagel to to the starting line. I could've stayed warm in the tent for at least 20 more minutes.

At the starting line, I wished a good race to Billy Moffett and a few other people. I don't remember a starting gun, but at 6:30, the mass started moving forward and narrowing down to fit 450 bikes onto a gravel road. It was a calm chaos. My intention was to start mid- to back- of the pack, but I have no idea if I did. A couple of miles of pavement where I passed a bunch of single speeders and everyone else passed me. I was going to keep my pace comfortable all day and going slower at the beginning would serve to break the mindset of pacing off of others. To be honest, for the first 6-7 miles I felt weak like my legs were stiff and it worried me. Last year, I felt anxious and energetic, but not now. Chris McMillan passed me on the climb, and we wished each other a good ride. About mile 8, my legs starting feeling like they didn't mind working for me. Still, I knew it was too early in the day to take much meaning out of how my body felt.

At the top of the first climb at mile 10, a course marshal pointed us onto the singletrack and said "A little more, then about 80 miles of downhill." For all you course marshals out there, racers love this stuff! It's a great boost, even if it's a blatant lie. Saying "4 miles of downhill, then some road, then a miserably painfully hike-a-bike" just doesn't have the same effect. Wolf Ridge (?) is a very nice descent, but still a little crowded.

At the bottom, everyone was blowing checkpoint 1 and rolling fast. People were still packed together and a group of us formed a paceline of about 8 people and it was my turn at the front when we caught Chris and I told him to hop on. Lynn Trail hit hard next. Last year I rode as much as I could and this year I didn't bother. As soon as it turned up, I hopped off and pushed, along with Chris who hiked it up with me. I don't remember the descent, but I'm sure it was a blast.

Liz, Jana, and Chad rode to Checkpoint 2 to volunteer. It's such a huge boost to see family and friends during a race. The volunteers throughout the SM100 are incredible and treat you like a pro doing everything for you at the aid stations. It's so much that I kinda feel guilty letting them do so much for me, like refilling my sweaty camelbak. Still though, they insist. Liz and I toyed around with the idea of stuffing a bunch of PB&J sandwiches into a pringles can and putting it in my waterbottle holding for the climb ahead. From what I hear, Floyd skipped the checkpoint, not stopping for his pop tarts. Travis came through a little bit later and was pumped.

Hankey Mountain, which Travis and I climbed a couple weeks earlier, was next. The difference between knowing a climb and not makes a huge difference in how much it hurts. Last year, this climb seemed to go on forever. This year, it did too, but I knew it would. I also knew that when I got to the top of the fireroad, I'd have to hike-a-bike, which is also good to know. The Dowell's Draft downhill is the best section of the entire course. Once you get off the rocks, where I passed some racers walking it, it's straight, off-camber, fast descent. About half way down, I got a flash of a red jersey a couple hundred yards ahead and said "I'm going to catch that guy." About a half mile after that, I come up on a bike on the side of the trail and the red jerseyed man swinging around a tree by one arm. I guess I caught him.

After Checkpoint 3, the race goes out onto Hwy 250 for a few miles. I remember feeling pretty beat at this point last year, getting passed quite a bit. This year, I rode with someone taking turns at the front and keeping a good pace. Knowing my legs were still able to hold the constant effort I wanted to maintain was a good sign at the halfway point. The singletrack climb away from Ramsey's Draft was about half ridable. Just a few steep or rocky sections that weren't worth the effort. My only mechanical of the day was here also. My chain fell into the spokes which took some time to dig out, but nothing major. Probably took me about eight and a half minutes to fix. I tore down another downhill into Braley Pond, where I chowed down more sandwiches, junk food, sodas, and refilled all the necessary compartments.

Leaving out of aid station 4, I hit the pavement and kept that constant effort that I was concentrating on all day. Sometimes, I was doing 10mph, sometimes 24 depending on which way the hill was pointed. Either way, I was thinking about how much pain I was in last year, how committed I was to completing the distance, and how I didn't do it. I thought about how much pain I was in a year ago, but also how much better I felt this year. I realized for a second that I was going to finish because I had overcome those fitness, mechanical, and nutritional obstacles. Then I came back to reality and recognized I still had 35 miles left, including the longest climb of the day.

On the fireroad climb, I started riding with a guy who liked my constant effort approach over the constant pace that he was trying to keep. We rode together for a while, but when it got steep he had already burned too much energy and couldn't hold my 4.5mph. Again, having rode this section twice since the last race, I knew when to expect what. When I finally got to checkpoint 5, it was 3:06, 2 hours earlier than last year, which I proudly announced, quite loudly, to everyone there. I was super-stoked and humored the idea of sub-11 hours for just a moment, then shrugged it off, just happy with a comfortable sub-12 pace. In a moment of deja-vu, I noticed a rider laying on his back where I did last year looking very, very drained. I felt sympathy for the guy and at the same time it motivated me more.

The false-flat climb wasn't as bad as I remembered from the preride Travis and I did. The downhill afterwards was long, but almost too steep to maintain enough control to let up on the brakes. Fast, but scary as hell. I got passed by 4 riders that flew down like an avalanche, reminding me, you can always get better. I pulled into Checkpoint 6, where Liz, Jana, and Chad were at again, still feeling good.It was time to wrap this thing up. 88 miles down at 4:40, 12 to go. Unless I got thrown into a rock garden and snapped a leg, I would finish this thing. Another racer said he did the last section in about an hour, so I asked "What about 50 minutes?" for an even 11 hours. He said "You can always try." My body wouldn't let me eat anymore, but I didn't think I needed to. Just some electrolyte drink, I was ready. I took off, tucked in on the road, and hit the last climb with everything I had. It didn't take long to find out I didn't have much, just enough to maintain that same constant effort and I resigned my 11 hour pipe dream. I climbed the last climb, descended the last descent, and rode the last fireroad. Turned into the campground where someone yelled "Go Jared!", and pedaled across the finish line at 11:08:30.



Liz, Jana, and Chad were at the finish line to congradulate me. I walked over to the timing tent, grabbed my pint glass, which got a good amount of use that night, and gave that gong a good beating. The rest of the night, we spent hanging out with other racers, refueling, and celebrating. It was after dark when Travis came in, but the idea of him not finishing never crossed my mind. Most everyone I knew completed the course with various times. With 14,000 feet of climbing over 100 miles, finishing is enough to say you kicked ass. Really, after last year, that's all I wanted to do, though I said I'd feel good finishing under 12 hours. That I did it in almost sub-11, is more that I could've expected.