2018 Leadville Trail 100 MTB

**Sam raced in Leadville, Colorado again this year and below is the tale for 2018. His words are in bold type, while my rambling can be found in regular type.**

The Leadville Trail 100 mountain bike race has become a kind of tradition for us. Although it's not a very long tradition (Sam first raced the 100 in 2014), the second weekend of August has become synonymous with a visit to the two-mile-high city of Leadville over the last few years.

When Sam raced last September in Flagstaff, Arizona, he hoped to get a spot in this year's LT100 MTB, and it did not disappoint. The great thing with getting his spot early is that he would have lots of time to plan and train. The bad news with so much time to plan and train is that it can be a bit of a challenge to put the plan/training into action early, especially as we rolled into winter.

Fortunately, we had a very mild winter and although most of our riding time was spent on the tandem, rides were happening and Sam knew that spring and summer would provide more time for mountain training specifically. Still, time was definitely slipping away as spring came and went and summer was very quickly in full force.

Over the winter, we also picked up a little project in the form of a 1960 camper trailer that was being prepped for use as a chicken coop. The former owner of this camper decided that there were better choices for a chicken coop and then had a hunk of aluminium he wasn't sure what to do with... Which is where we entered the picture and took this project off his hands for an absolute steal.

It didn't look too bad from the outside, but certainly in worse shape when standing face-to-face with this project.

Since we tend to be project people, it was just one more thing to add to our list of things to accomplish. Plus, we are always up for a bargain on something we can use. So, despite this option being an absolute wreck, we were willing to take it on with the hope of creating something that would make these bike race trips (and just camping in general) a little more pleasant.

You may recall my personal battle with mosquitoes on a former bike race adventure in Leadville, and I was not very excited about the prospect of being ate alive again in a tent. We figured having a more enclosed space might help with that somewhat, and not having to sleep on a slowly deflating air mattress seemed like it would make for a better race day too.

(left) After insulation and paneling was partially pulled out; (right) nearing the end of fixing up this camper.

The camper was full of wet fiberglass insulation from years of leaking and the paneling wasn't going to be salvageable at all, so we knew that we'd be gutting the insides, sealing up holes, and hopefully reusing anything that we could to keep costs at a minimum for this project. Ultimately, it came together pretty well and although we still need to paint the exterior and make a few screens for windows, it was ready to use for this trip.

In the weeks leading up to the Leadville ride, Sam was hoping to get in some high altitude training. Unfortunately, there was a disaster at his employer and he spent the few weeks prior to the race working 16+ hour days and didn't get a day off at all during that time. It certainly wasn't an ideal racing situation to be off the bike for so much time prior, but sometimes life happens.

This year, leading up to my fourth Leadville 100 mountain bike race, some unintended work issues arose and I was unable to train/taper like I should have. Without going into detail, I was never able to train above 7k feet, nor did I ride further than about 60 miles leading up to the 100+ mile event.

Things would be a little different this year. We decided to travel out to Leadville a day earlier than usual pulling our recently fixed up camper. In many ways, it was great to be there a day early and to be able to use the camper. It was definitely cheaper than a hotel room (if you can even obtain one) and way more comfortable than a tent.

We arrived Thursday afternoon, set up, then went and picked up my race packet. It was very chill and easy to be there an extra day early. We were able to relax in the camper and hang out Thursday afternoon and evening. I was also able to get my stuff set up, checked out and ready to go.

We had decided before leaving that I would bring a bike along too since we'd have an extra day and hopefully we'd be able to do some riding during our stay. The dogs were being cared for at home, so we had no responsibilities. The hope was that once we were set up and parked we could just ride instead of drive the places that we needed to go.

On Friday morning, we rode the few miles to the racer meeting, which didn't seem like a big deal but became more so after doing it (for me, not Sam). Apparently, I am a giant climbing wimp because by the time we arrived, I was panting more than I would've liked. When we got to the meeting (about 45 minutes later) I said to Sam, "And you're going to do a hundred miles of worse climbing than that? I would never survive!" The downhill back to the campground was awesome though!

The meeting hadn't even started and Sam already looked annoyed. 

Friday was the super awesome race meeting during which the organizers run through the same stuff that they have during prior events, tell you things to know, and roll out people that have been around for awhile - oh, and remind you to drink water, but only if you're thirsty. This lasts about two hours (or more) before we are freed and can go about the day. We were already hungry for lunch so we took care of that and then walked around the event tents a bit, checked out some things, but beyond that, the day was pretty uneventful. 

On Saturday, we arrived at the corral area at about 5:15a when the area opened up to racers. This year (as has been the case for the most part in the past), I was in the purple corral, which is probably about the exact middle of the field. I was one of the first there and forgot no less than ten things, which G.E. was kind enough to repeatedly walk back to the vehicle multiple times to retrieve for me. There was some talk with other racers, first timers, and we saw some familiar faces, like "Pink Taco," the tandem duo of ladies who always seem to be around me any time I race in Leadville. This year, they were lit up with lights (both themselves and the tandem). 

Not the best photo, unfortunately, but it was still pretty dark out at this point, so at least the lights on the bike can be seen.

For me, some things had changed this year. I was going geared (1x11, figuring my knees could use the break from single speed), I was using a Camelbak instead of bottles, and I was using some new-to-me nutrition (which, unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to test out before race day) called Maurten, which I would use specifically for the Columbine climb.

At 6:30a, we roll. It was a very uneventful start this year. No crashes or tie ups, oddly. At any rate, I was rolling and getting up to the pace I wanted through St Kevins. Probably my best pace yet to that point. Getting through the first aid station and continuing through was again, uneventful. 

At the first real "road" section, I hooked up with a very large and very fast group. We were probably averaging about 28mph and working like a peloton. Things were getting better.

At the base of Columbine, G.E. and I agreed that this is where I would stop on my way up. The plan was to swap out my Camelbak Chase for the second one. This would be the "climbing up Columbine" one that would have the Maurten supplement and about 640 calories of liquid. The point was to be able to drink instead of trying to chew and feed myself on the way up the mountain. 

Sam came through at the base of Columbine pretty fast. I was surprised that he'd made it to that spot a little sooner than I'd expected, but it was great because he hoped to get a sub-10 hour finish this year, and this was looking promising. Luckily, I had just finished mixing up his Maurten mix in the Camelbak so I was ready when he came tearing through.

The swap went smoothly and I was on my way up. Once again, I was doing well, riding it as though I had been riding single speed instead of geared (trying to keep it in a harder gear) and passing people.

Waiting for Sam to come back down Columbine has become less stressful to me at this point. I know it always takes longer than most seem to think it will, so I know I have some time before I'll see him again. Usually, waiting is entertaining as I have the opportunity to talk with other racer's crew and families. Sadly, this year people really didn't seem as friendly as they have in the past. There were a lot of people who thought their racer was the most important person on the planet, and while I can respect the fact that individuals want to see their person do well, I don't think this should come at a cost of respect or enjoyment to everyone else who is around. To put it bluntly, people were on the rude side this year, and I truly haven't experienced that in the past at all.

About half way up the Columbine climb, the traffic backed up a bit. We slowed, and suddenly I could hear two familiar voices behind me chatting. Unfortunately, one of the familiar voices was not paying attention and ended up hitting my rear wheel, which knocked me off balance. I couldn't clip out quick enough and before I knew it, I landed on a pile of rocks. Over I went on the same shoulder I hit a year and a half ago (that has never returned to normal), cut up my knee and mildly bonked my head.

The two helped me up and asked if I was okay, at which point I insisted it was no big deal and that I was "fine." I didn't want to rattle anyone, but my shoulder had definitely seen better days (just as recent as the day prior). 

I continued to the hike-a-bike section of the climb that we all struggle through right around mile 50. This was as slow as it usually is, but we managed to get through it and moving helped my jacked up shoulder feel a little better. I rolled through the turn around earlier than I had the previous year and bolted down the hill. At this point, I had consumed nearly all of my Maurten and was moving as quickly as I could to the base of Columbine.

By the time I met up with G.E. again at the base for the Camelbak swap out, I was not feeling as well as I had been on the way up. I was struggling to shake the "high altitude" feeling, and normally that isn't a problem. 

After the Camelbak switch with Sam on his return trip, I headed out to Pipeline in case he needed anything for the last 25 (or so) miles back to the finish line. When he arrived there, I knew he was slowing down and frankly, he didn't look good. Other than his first year, I don't think I've seen him look as bad as he did and this time may have even been worse than that. He didn't need anything other than a couple of sips of Gatorade and he was back on his way, but I could see in his eyes that he was not feeling well.

I continued with a pretty good run through the next section and hooked up with another fast group as we headed up to everyone's favorite walk: power line. 

Power line was as expected, steep and HOT. It was extra hot that day though and not a bit of rain in sight. The day prior had hailed as we walked through town, but that wasn't even a glimmer of a possibility on race day. Despite the heat, everyone seemed to be doing really well. A bystander even sprayed cold water on me (requested) and we hit the top pretty quickly. Then, on we went to the false summits.

At about 80 miles, I hit a nauseous wall. I was insanely dizzy! I was still climbing, but I began to stop about every half mile. I would hit a shady spot and stop, wait a few minutes, and then start again. I just couldn't shake the nauseous feeling, an unusual thing for me during this race. I was pretty well convinced that I was experiencing heat exhaustion and it felt like there was no way I was going to make it to the end. All that I could think to do was to keep stopping and to try to make my way to the last aid station at Carter. Then, they would be able to drive me back to the start for my DNF (did not finish).

I kept checking the race app on my phone, expecting to see Sam come through the final check point, but it was taking an eternity. I knew that most people would slow down the closer they get to the finish, but this seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time for him to get there. I knew that Sam didn't look well the last time I saw him, but I also know that he will push through anything to finish. I continued to update the app, hoping to see him come through the check point, but it just wasn't happening. All that I could do was to wait.

I worked my way to the down hill portion and was starting to feel a bit better once air was blowing against my skin. I was still dizzy, but trying to move quickly. At the approximate 90 mile mark (the last check point), I decided that I would attempt to finish the race. At this point, I fully realized that I would not be making the sub-10 hour goal I had set pre-race and that I would probably do worse than my last finish.

Finally, I saw that Sam had made it through the last checkpoint and decided that I should head to the finish line to wait for him there. I was in an extraordinarily bad mood. People's rudeness, my lack of food/water for the day, and the heat had all got to me and I really didn't want to be in Leadville anymore. This little town had been invaded by too many people and we were all guilty of various atrocities.

Standing at the finish line, all that I kept saying to myself was that I did not want to do this again.

The rest of the race was as smooth as can be expected, but mostly painful. There was the climb up the back of Kevins, then the down hill, which was great, and then the final four miles after the 100 mile mark, just to mess with our heads. 

And then, I made it back to the finish line. Officially finishing at 10:26:29, which was not my slowest, but definitely not even close to my goal time. But then again, I hadn't thought I would finish at all this time.

On this side of things, I feel bad that I was so cranky at the finish line. I know that this is a huge, exhausting race for the participants, but the day had just got the better of me. I'm pretty sure the same thing happens every time Sam races here: I swear at the end of race day that I'm not returning to Leadville, and by the next morning I've changed my mind. It is the wondrous, magical, mystery of Leadville, I suppose. Or, perhaps it's just that I had water and food so I felt more like myself again.

I was truly concerned about Sam after hearing what had happened during the race, however. I was pretty well convinced he had either experienced a concussion from hitting his head when he fell earlier in the race or that he had heat stroke (or at least heat exhaustion). Later, we would learn that the Maurten may likely have been the culprit in all of it. After speaking to some people after the fact, we learned that the side effects for some people (dehydrated feeling, despite drinking plenty of water, nauseousness, etc) are exactly what Sam experienced, so he learned that this is not the product for him. He was unfortunately not able to test it out prior to race day, which is a lesson to take in to the future.

What did I learn this round? Don't try new stuff without vetting it first. Don't skimp on training you plan to do. Don't worry about how awesome your bike is - it probably doesn't matter as much as you think it does. Camper > Tent, without a doubt. 

In all of this I realize I'm not a great story teller/writer. I have left out tons of details - some important and some just "meh" stuff. Often I look at it like taking a GoPro on a bike ride... you just see the same stuff over and over and it's not really all that much fun to watch, so, in this case, why would it be fun to read?

As with every year, I'm not sure if I'm going to do this again, or even try. If I do try, I want to hit Flagstaff coming up soon in September, because it's the best way for me to gain entry. It does become easier to think about doing it again though every day I'm removed from the torture, so who knows?

I know I had talked about possibly doing the 10k run the day after the 100-mile ride, but we were definitely ready to get out of Leadville Sunday morning and the run just wasn't going to happen. We've toyed with the idea of me racing too if Sam goes to Flagstaff (I would just be doing 1-lap of the 4-laps possible, as I have no desire to race in Leadville), but we'll see if any of that comes about. It's all sneaking up quickly though and after my pathetic attempt at riding 3 miles up hill, I'm not sure I'm cut out for that sort of thing - but it's always fun to test those limits too.

Overall, we were both a bit disappointed this year in Leadville, specifically with the lack of enthusiasm both among the racers and spectators. Generally, riders are great at encouraging each other as they pass and spectators are happy to help anyone along the race route, but that didn't seem to be the feeling for the majority of the race. We have hypothesized that this could be due to the fact that the race continues to grow and take on more racers. It's hard to keep that family-like feeling when there are so many people. Even over the few years that Sam has been racing this event, it's easy to see that things are changing and evolving. We both hope that it doesn't become just another event like any other, but there was definitely a different feeling this year, which was a bit sad.

Only time will tell what is to be for the future of Sam's Leadville racing. I know he is still debating his desire to head to Flagstaff, but he'll have to make a decision soon. In the meantime, he should have some time to get a little training in and decide what makes the most sense for his personal goals.

2018 Silver Rush 50 MTB: Racing for a Better Corral Position

**It's race report time once again, and as usual, both Sam and I have sides of the tale to share. Sam's experience is in bold letters, while mine will be in regular font.

During September of last year, Sam raced the Barn Burner MTB race in Flagstaff, Arizona. It's kind of become a tradition because most people are wrapping up their race season and don't seem to travel to this particular event. Fortunately, Sam was able to get a spot in the LT100 MTB upcoming in August of this year because of racing that event.

However, Sam didn't time as well as he'd hoped at the Barn Burner, so a couple of months ago, he decided he would race the Silver Rush 50 in Leadville with the hope of getting into a corral position that would have him closer to the front. When he signed up to do the SR50, we had discussed the reality that he would be on his own. He was fine with that idea because he knew that he could get up early, travel to Leadville to get his packet, race, and be back before the sun set. 

Of course, as reality sets in, sometimes we all start changing our minds about such matters. Sensing something was amiss, I asked if he would like to reserve a camping spot for the night prior so that he wouldn't have to get up so early. He didn't seem keen on this at all. Though I felt bad that I couldn't be there, with one of our aging dogs (who happens to also be incredibly cranky around other dogs) losing most of her vision and having a difficult time with traveling these days (not that she was ever a very keen traveler), it just didn't seem feasible to do a 15-16 hour day with her.

Then, I started to feel bad that I wouldn't be there for Sam so I tried to plot out how to make it happen. We went over several scenarios, but none of it made much sense. Ultimately, we worked it out so that our older dog would stay home and have a couple of friends check on her, walk her, and feed her during the day and we'd take the younger dog with us (since she doesn't do well being left for long periods of time and actually likes to travel).

Now the only challenge would be getting me out of bed by 3 am. I am not a morning person - at all. It's not so much that I sleep in, but I prefer to just let my body wake up naturally whenever possible, which usually happens between 5:30-6:30 am (dependent on how late I go to sleep). Mix in the fact that my alarm clock has decided that it is permanently stuck on 6 am and I knew it would be interesting to see how the morning went.

Miraculously, I somehow made it out of bed and we were on our way pretty much as expected.

This third time might be the charm.

Things that were different this round:
- I slept the night before the race
- This is the third time I've had a different bike for this race (but my build skills have advanced)
- Instead of single speed, rigid, steel, I rode a geared, carbon frame that has front suspension
- There was no overnight camping this round - instead we drove out the morning of the race
- I decided to use primarily a Camelbak instead of bottles

There wasn't much to worry about the morning of the race. We got up around 3am and headed out. I had prepped everything the night before so that I wouldn't forget anything.

We arrived plenty early, just before 6am.

Since we had arrived early and I had forgotten to brush my teeth in my morning stupor, we stopped by Safeway with the intention of using the restrooms and obtaining a toothbrush/paste for me to feel more human and to not have to have gross morning breath and a film on my teeth all day long.  Unfortunately, Safeway wasn't open, so we waited a few minutes for the doors to unlock, got what we needed and were on our way to the starting area.

We have parked each time for this race at the college just above the starting line and this race was no different. After putting some air in my bike tires, I rode down to the starting area to pick up my race packet and bib number.

While Sam was gone, I noticed the woman next to us getting ready for the race and happened to see that she had a "Leadman" bib on her bike. Of course, being the nosy sort of person that I am, I had to inquire as to how the series was going thus far, despite it still being early [For those who are unaware, the Leadman/woman requires racers to complete the Leadville Trail Marathon, the Silver Rush 50 MTB or Run, the LT100 MTB, Leadville 10k Run (which just happens to be the morning following the LT100 MTB), and the LT100 Run].

The racer shared her nerves about doing the SR50 mountain ride because she had attempted it on other occasions and had yet to be able to finish. Instead, she was viewing the ride as training and telling herself that if everything spiraled downward, she would be able to do the SR50 Run instead. I shared that I would personally fear the running distances far more than the riding (Who runs 50 or 100 miles all at once???? Crazy people, right?), but she was more confident in her running than riding skills (which I can respect - we all have our strengths).

Warming up for the SR50

I rode back up the hill to the college parking lot to prepare for the race. I'm not sure who gets to park down at the main area, but it doesn't seem to be us [G.E.'s note: I think they reserve the main lower parking lot for medical and race staff, as well as those who genuinely cannot get up and down the hill - and it's definitely a hill that I went up/down at least half a dozen times that day.]

I feel like I've ceased to be nervous about these endurance races, but I always hope to be well prepared. G.E. had been chatting with a budding Leadwoman who we hoped would make the cut off time this race and move on to her next level of "torture." I continue to contemplate doing Leadman each year, but haven't quite worked up to actually registering to do it [G.E.'s note: I stand by my statement that the two long runs are the worst of this, I think. I truly believe a 50 mile (let alone the 100 mile) run would break me].

At about 7:30am, I rode down the hill, while our Golden Retriever pulled G.E. down the hill. [G.E.'s note: True story. She does get very excited when there are people, so I kind of expected this of her. On the up side, my core got a good workout from clenching all day trying to keep her from lunging toward others constantly.]. I dropped my bike in the starting corral and went back to find G.E. and Bernie (I needed to have my arm mauled a bit before the race, as most do) [G.E.'s note: mauled by the dog, not me - just for the record - and to be honest, it's really not a "mauling" but more of a just wanting to put an arm in her mouth to hold], and we stood for a bit until the start time got closer. 

Sam's intended times for this race at each aid station/stop.

This year, the organizers decided to do two waves with those expecting to finish sub-7 hours and then those expecting to finish a little later, with the intention to help with some of the bottle-necking at the start (I assume). I strolled back over to the starting area about 10 minutes before the race would begin.

Bernie and I stood quite a distance but within eye shot of Sam so that we (or at least I) could see him take off up Dutch Henri Hill. I was busying myself with keeping our overly excited dog from jumping or annoying those passing by when I happened to look up and have a moment of pure shock. Sam was actually speaking to other humans. I couldn't see who he was talking to, but he was definitely engaged in conversation which was rather shocking to me as he's not normally one to go out of his way to have a chat with those unknown to him or who are just standing around. I smiled and thought it was great that he was stepping outside his comfort zone, but didn't give it more than a second or two of true thought.

In front of me at the start I noticed two familiar faces/helmets and a very familiar voice. Somehow, I had ended up set up directly behind Elden (Fatty) and Lisa (the Hammer) Nelson. Certainly outside of my normal behavior, I introduced myself as the only guy that is shorter than Fatty. We chit chatted a bit and then I spoke to a first time rider just on the other side of me who was nervous about the race. I tried to reassure him that he would do well and that death was not imminent. Lisa appeared highly focused and did not interact much, but I have to say both Fatty and the Hammer both appeared pretty intense - maybe it's just my perception. It was at this point that I thought that once we started, I would try to stick with Elden, knowing he is a stronger endurance rider than me.

Climbing Dutch Henri Hill at the start of the SR50.

The start was the typical National Anthem, flag and gun shot start. At the base of the very steep but short hill, racers prepare to travel on foot with their bikes to the top of Dutch Henri. Some choose to RUN up this hill in the hopes they will get to the top first and obtain an LT100 coin. Fortunately, I already have one for this year, and I like my ankles, so after a mild jog up the hill we were on our way through the start.

After watching Sam and the others take off from the start, Bernie and I headed back up the hill to start our journey for the day: trying to help Sam at the few crew points in this race. The first stop is about 14.5 miles into the race, so we knew we had some, but not a ton of time to get there and cheer for Sam. Frankly, since Sam had expected to go on his own, I figured he didn't really need me to do anything (perhaps that was a bad way to think, but it's what happened).

As we bottleneck at the start, we are released into some mild single track for a couple of miles and then make our way out while hopefully picking up some speed. Really, it's a climb out for about 11 miles from the start. I had Elden in my sights for the first six miles or so and then I got caught behind some groups. Prior to that, I had been picking off riders one at a time. The climbing piece seems to be where I have suffered recently, particularly when I ride geared, as was the case with this race. I just seem to do better on a single speed.

Things were going pretty smoothly as I approached the first aid station at Printerboy. I had no intention of stopping but somewhere along the way I lost the remainder of my GU packs. Apparently, I need to do a better job of securing my stuff in the new Camelbak. I didn't want to stop, but knew I needed to grab some GU from the aid station. One of the volunteers handed me a couple of packets, I saw G.E. to my right, but kept rolling as quickly as I could. At this point, I was about 10 minutes behind my target time.

As Sam arrived at Printerboy, Bernie and I were amusing ourselves - she was trying to beg for and/or steal food from anyone who was willing to give it to her (or not paying attention). What can I say? She's a Golden and loves food in any form.  I attempted to assure others that they should eat their breakfasts, snacks, etc and not give it to our pathetic-acting dog who gets plenty of food. When Sam came around the corner, I yelled to him, but he seemed to be ignoring me. I wasn't worried because I knew that I had a package of GU to give him at the halfway point. When I saw him grabbing packets from the aid station, I wondered what he was doing, but since he didn't stop but for more than a couple of seconds, I figured he was fine.

At the 14.5 mile point (Printerboy), racers are at a low spot and are preparing to climb up again toward Stumptown. This is the turnaround point and the halfway mark. Over that 10.5 mile stretch, I parceled out the two GU packs I'd received at the aid station by stretching eating to every 45 minutes (instead of the 30 minute increments I'd planned on). I knew it would be close to the turnaround, so I just hoped it would be enough. 

During this stretch of the race there was also an insanely large amount of people who decided that they needed to clip out without warning which caused me to crash a few times while climbing. None of them were serious falls, but I really wish people would give some warning before they just stop when we're climbing.

Bernie and I were on our way to Stumptown. Sam has done this particular race three times now, but I manage to forget how horrible the road is to get to the turnaround spot there every time. After attempting it yet again, I decided I would go to another spot that is both easier to travel and would allow me to see him twice in a short period of time. I'd just have to make sure he actually saw me so he would know I wasn't at the actual turnaround.

When we arrived to our spot to wait just before Stumptown, I kept hearing someone yell, "Bernie! Bernie!" I was looking around because I found it amusing that there was someone else there named Bernie, but after a few rounds of this, I realized it was coming from a young lady Sam and I had been talking to before the race started. She and her mom were there supporting their dad/husband and she had quickly bonded with our sweet-though-often-a-pain-in-the-rear Golden. We walked over to where they stood on the opposite side of the course. Bernie was content to roll in rocks there and to get treats, which made it easier to focus on getting Sam what he would need.

Soon after, Sam came tearing through. I yelled to him, but he didn't seem to realize I was there. As he rode off, I said to myself, "Well, I guess you don't need anything." I would find out later that he had seen me, but was just focused and decided to stop on his way back toward the finish line. As we all stood waiting, several racers came down asking for water, caffeine, and food. At first we all thought they were joking, but some of them seemed really angry that we didn't have anything. We tried to tell them that they had just come out of the aid station, but many of them seemed confused.

By the time I reached Stumptown and the turn around, I had run out of GU, water and whatever little liquid I had been carrying in my single bottle. The bonk had begun around 23 miles, so when I reached G.E. a bit after the 25 mile point, she gave me the rest of my GU and filled up my water.

When Sam came back down from the turnaround, he shared that he'd lost all his GU and that he was completely out of water. I asked him if there was water at Stumptown because several people seemed to be out and I was confused because I thought that was where the aid station was. He said that he hadn't seen any water there, so I still am not quite sure what happened, but I think it explains many of the upset racers.

I knew I had given Sam all of his remaining GU, so it would have to hold him for the entirety of the race, but the plan was to make sure I had cold water for him back at Printerboy on his return trip.

It's really difficult to un-bonk yourself once it's happened. In fact, I have never been successful doing this. It's always a downhill spiral and a test of mental fortitude after that point.

But, I was going again, loaded up with GU and water, but pretty bonky (not completely, but I knew I was getting there). We climbed up and down pretty much until right after Printerboy inbound. Immediately after Stumptown though, I encountered Lisa Nelson multiple times. We did some leap frogging. She would pass all the people walking their bikes and then I would somehow pass her on the downhill. Climbing did not go well for me after bonkville, so we swapped like this until around mile 39 when we start to bomb downhill. Climbing back to Printerboy, she lost me once again and I now had no more GU and only drops of water (I do have a better plan, I just thought for this 50 mile ride I wouldn't need it. Pshhhht! Who needs water or energy?).

Even though I knew I didn't have any GU to give Sam, I did bring a jug of ice cold water for me. I always seem to forget to eat and drink while I'm out on these courses, so I wanted to make sure I had water. When I'm riding long distances, I love cold water. I know it's better to drink room temperature water because our bodies process it easier, but it always tastes so good! So, I figured I'd give up my vacuum sealed ice water to Sam when he came through Printerboy inbound.

When he stopped there, he informed me that he was out of water and GU. I told him that I didn't have anymore GU to give him, so I wasn't sure what to do. Meanwhile, I was trying to unscrew his bladder for the Camelbak to add in the ice-cold water. One of the race volunteers overheard Sam and ran over to the aid station to grab a couple of GU packs for him, and as I was starting to pour in the water, another racer crew member came over and helped me add water to his pack from his own stash (I have to say, one of the things I adore about the races in Leadville is how great all of the people are to each other - It really is a place where anyone will help anyone). As I was adding the cold water to fill the bladder to the top, some of it spilled out on to Sam who let out a shriek.

"That's COLD!" he stated firmly.

"I know. I thought you'd enjoy it. I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spill it," was what came out in the moment. We didn't have time to argue over cold water though, so I sealed him up and sent him back on his way. "See you at the finish!" I yelled after him.

After stopping briefly at Printerboy and having way too cold water poured down my pants, I knew we were reaching the peak of this race and it would start the 10 mile downhill back to the finish line. This is where I performed better than I ever have [G.E.'s note: I'm gonna say it was the extra cold water.]. I went absolutely as fast as I could and had no issues through this area. It was all smooth, wet, muddy, and rocky sailing.

I encountered at least five people who had pinch flatted on the way down and saw one mild crash. I tore through all of this as fast as a crappy down-hiller with a hard tail really could. Sadly, I was now at least 40 minutes off the time I had wanted and really thought I could do. I had been shooting to finish in 5 hrs, 15 minutes, but I was now just hoping to finish in sub-6 hours.

The last part is no longer down hill, but has some climbing through a bit of singletrack, winding around, and for me was just about surviving the bonk that had taken over. A couple of people were passing me and I just gave in and let them.

Up until about a mile out, someone in a white jersey was tailing me. While we're riding the winding portion of the singletrack, you can see each other from a bit of distance. I didn't look very closely, but every time I turned the rider seemed to be getting closer. I really didn't want anyone else passing me, so I gave it all I had and kicked it through this part to the final little dump right at the finish.

Bernie and I waited near the finish line. It's always fun to see the racers come in. Some look as though they could ride the course again, others appear to be near death. I think figuring out the nutrition and water situation is always a challenge, and most of the riders aren't used to the altitude so I completely understand why there's such a variance. I chatted with a couple of individuals who were wondering how long it would be for their riders to come in. One asked if it's all down hill from Printerboy. Even with the downhill stretch, a lot of the riders are tired, so many tend to slow down. This was disheartening to one crew member in particular who really wanted to be done, but I just didn't want her to have too high of expectations and then be disappointed. It's sometimes difficult to know with certainty how long it will take.

I knew that Sam wasn't going to make his intended time of 5:15, but I still had hope that he'd make it in close to that time. It was unrealistic, but I always hold out hope that he'll find a way to do it.

At around 5:42, I heard Lisa Nelson's name announced. I was hopeful that Sam would be close behind her. I know she's a very strong rider, but I knew it was possible that Sam could've been close enough to finish in the next few minutes.

A few seconds from the finish line.

Just prior to 5 hours 52 minutes, I saw Sam's helmet pop over the last ridge with a rider right on his tail. I yelled and screamed because, you know, that's what you do at things like this, and watched as he rode into the finish. As I walked to meet him outside the finish, I heard his name announced, as well as Elden's name immediately following. He had somehow managed to finish just prior to Fatty. I couldn't help but wonder how that happened, if they'd met up on the course and figured out a way to work together, or if they'd planned this, or what exactly had transpired. I would find out soon enough that I was entirely wrong with all of my thoughts.

I finished the SR50 in 5:52:28, somewhere around 34 minutes faster than my last attempt, and approximately 1 mph faster average. Little did I know until after crossing the finish line that Fatty was the one tailing me in the white jersey. I had come in -- somehow -- 5 seconds before him, though I knew there had to be some reason for this. I knew he had to have broken down - and later, I would realize that it happened early on in the race when I wasn't seeing him anymore. He hadn't ridden away from me, he was actually behind me the whole time - and I mean, RIGHT behind me.

I had failed at my mission, which was to move up in the standings. Unfortunately, I'm staying right where I am with that finish time, so I guess my resolve will need to be even stronger come August. The victory came in some improvement, so I'll take that, but it just wasn't what I'd hoped to gain out of this race.

As for learning... For the next race, I'm swapping Camelbak's out at the aid stations (I have two of the same one - G.E. can tell you all about it). [G.E.'s note: Sam's mom and I ended up both buying Sam the Camelbak Chase for his birthday, so now he has two. Even though I was upset about it at the time, I think it will actually work well for him in the upcoming LT100 because I can have the other one ready to go and just switch it out with him.] I have to climb harder and faster. I think near the peak I will burn all but the last of the matches to increase my climbing speed. I was my best ever on the downhill for this race and I hope to stick with that. I need more nutrition, so I'm going to try some liquid supplements in the Camelbak, particularly for the sustained climbing portions. I would love to find someone fast to trail and stick with, but I don't know how likely it is to make this happen.

Overall, I guess it was a good day. The weather was good, though a bit dusty. G.E. only got mild leg sunburn [G.E.'s note: I was so good about reapplying sunblock during this race, but never put it on my legs. Ugh!]. The race was shifted an hour earlier, which was excellent for missing the afternoon rains that inevitably come in Leadville.

I think Sam did well. Taking more than a half hour off his time is impressive. I know it wasn't what he hoped to gain out of this race, but it's still improvement (and there were a few things that would've likely helped him do better - it's always a learning process). It was a good day though and it's always fun to be in Leadville.

Only a few weeks until the LT100 ride, so I know Sam is trying to implement anything and everything he can that will help him improve. We'll be dog-free for that round, so that should help me focus a little better (hopefully) on getting Sam what he needs during the race... and I'm actually pondering doing the Leadville 10k Run that follows the day after the mountain bike race. We'll see if that happens or not, but I figure it could be an interesting way to wrap up the Leadville season this year.

Leadville Trail 100 MTB: The Tale of 2017

Leadville has become a bit of a tradition for us over the last few years. You may recall that Sam was unable to participate in the 2016 Leadville Traill 100 MTB because of a misunderstanding during a qualifier last year. When the time for the race rolled around last year, I think he was disappointed that he wouldn't be racing, but we both kind of figured it would be a nice break and give Sam time to train for 2017. 

We never stop to get this photo... but this time, we managed to get the iconic Leadville photo.

Sam knew that he'd be racing in 2017 very early as he obtained his spot in September 2016 during the Barn Burner in Flagstaff, Arizona. I can say with certainty that he rode more this year than in any year in the past, so I knew he was ready to do his best when August rolled around. I think he actually pushed himself more this year because of missing out on 2016's race. Perhaps that extra push was the right sort of motivation?

Originally, I wasn't going to attend the race with Sam. As has been pointed out in past race tales, taking our dogs along for these adventures has proven difficult at best and nightmare-ish at worst, and because we didn't have anyone to watch them, Sam was planning to go alone. Fortunately, we had a friend who was able to put her plans on hold and stay with our four-legged kids at home so that we could travel together.

So, without further ado, here is Sam's tale of the LT 100MTB for 2017...
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I'm back for my third installment of single-speed pain in the "Race Across the Sky."

You might recall that I qualified nearly a year ago in Flagstaff. I have been hammering since then in preparation for this race.

About a week out from the LT100, I received an email with the athletes guide. Monkey wrench. For some odd reason, everything related to the timeline for packet pick-up and the pre-meeting had shifted. Packets/race bibs could be picked up on Thursday, all day, and then Friday from 7a-10a only, which would be followed by the "mandatory" racers meeting at 11a. In the past, packet pick-up has been available until the afternoon with the racer's meeting taking place late in the day, which allows us to take our time driving up.

No such luck this year. Instead, we would have to leave prior to 6a on Friday in order to make it up in time. I assume that this is a maneuver to get and keep racers around the city of Leadville for an extra day. For out-of-state individuals, it's not a big deal, but when living within a reasonable driving distance, it's unfortunate to not have more time to doddle in the morning at home. But, I digress.

Ultimately, we arrived on Friday pretty early, making incredibly good travel time (likely because of the early hour). I picked up my packet, medical bracelet, and discovered that they had aged me an extra four years. Apparently, this happened to a number of people. I made a comment to the volunteer that it didn't matter for me anyway. He looked confused and asked why it wouldn't matter, to which I responded that I was riding single speed, which removes me from the age division categories.

A full auditorium for the racer meeting

Fast forward a bit to the (mandatory) racer meeting after we'd spent a few hours walking around Leadville. The meeting, I have found, is largely pointless and mostly consists of boosting the egos of the special people, meaning the professionals, the people who are heads of the sponsor organizations and so on. Then, we are all reminded by Ken Chlouber that we won't quit during the race. Ken and Merilee Maupin seem like very sweet, caring people, but beyond them, there is little I find beneficial, essential, or motivational in this meeting that couldn't be expressed in the athlete guide.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate this duo and the team that created this event and the idea of helping out this small, former mining town. I just get worn down with the meetings and the hoo-rah for others. [G.E.'s Note: Sam spends a good chunk of his work days in meetings (which he doesn't love, especially when nothing is accomplished), so it shouldn't be surprising that he's not thrilled to have to sit through a meeting in his off time. I will also add that I get a bit restless toward the end of the meeting too. It just feels like something that could be shortened a bit. Of course, I don't actually have to be there, so perhaps in the future I'll find something else to do during this time.] Even as I type this though, my mind is wandering, thinking about Flagstaff and racing in the Barn Burner again, potentially getting to ride Leadville again in 2018, despite my loathing the long, drawn out, high school gym meeting time.

Eventually, what feels like five hours later, we finish the meeting. [G.E.'s Note: The meeting is not five hours, for the record. It usually lasts about an hour and a half or so.] We had a bit of time to kill before we would be able to check in to the Airbnb house, so we made a decision to drive back down to I-70 to find lunch. While there, we were met by the worst Taco Bell ever. I hadn't been to one in about ten years, and this one definitely motivated me not to go back. Ever. [G.E.'s Note: We were looking for something better as we don't generally eat fast food, but we exited in the wrong spot and ended up with a couple of very poor options. Sadly, Taco Bell seemed like the best choice... but we were wrong. Very, very wrong.]

After surviving the horrors of The Bell, we headed back to Leadville, checked into the Airbnb, walked around the city some more, and then settled in. The house was actually a very cool old place. Once a bed and breakfast, the current family lives in the back house and uses the front as a rental through Airbnb. It was a great, (relatively) inexpensive, laid back option in a fantastic location that was very close to the start line of the race, but tucked away well enough to not be too loud from street noise.

The evening was quiet. I believe everyone staying in the house was racing, but we (myself and G.E.) weren't particularly social that evening because I wanted to try to get to sleep early to be rested for the following day.

Our bunk for our stay. The room was small, but cozy. We'd definitely stay again.

The room we were staying in was intended to be just for me. We had reserved it months prior, knowing that G.E. would likely not be coming along, so when we arrived, we discovered that our room had single sized bunk beds. G.E. immediately proclaimed, "You're in the top bunk!" and laughed. [G.E.'s Note: To be honest, I have a mild amount of fear when it comes to heights, so it was just instinctual.] Ultimately, we ended up both sleeping in the bottom bunk, as it was wide enough to accommodate us. At about 8p, I forced myself to sleep, and so did G.E.

Somewhere around midnight, I began to wake up every hour. Finally, I got up at about 3:30a, deciding that I just wasn't going to sleep anymore. [G.E.'s Note: I am not the best sleep mate, I must admit. I like to sleep diagonally across the bed, so the fact that we were sharing a single likely didn't make Sam's sleep time very enjoyable. When I'd wake up occasionally, I'd realize I was infringing on his space and move back to keep Sam from falling off the bed, but it's not easy to fight natural tendencies.]

Line up starts at 5a and continues until 6:15a, so it gave me plenty of time to prepare. I shuffled around, ate something, stretched, and finally got dressed at about 4:45a. I said my goodbyes to G.E., knowing that she would see me over at the super awesome, middle of the road, green corral shortly. I did some sprints up and down one of the streets nearby, then drifted my way over to the start area. I was nice and warmed up... ready to stand around for an hour.

I was the first person there in our corral, but was quickly followed by a few others. We chit-chatted for a bit, which helped pass the time. A tandem team, that I believe got on the podium at the end, was there, and there was a woman from northern California who was doing this Leadville ride for the "first and last time," as she stated. She had injured herself just before arriving, but she seemed in good spirits and ready to tackle the challenge. She asked a few questions about what to expect and we passed the time. G.E. had arrived at this point as well, which gave us plenty of time to shiver a little bit (it was cold, as always, in the early morning hours of August).

At 6:15a, the organizers moved us all forward to cross the main boulevard (Harrison), so now we were all crammed together. [G.E.'s Note: The organizers had kept the main road open to allow those staying out of the city to get to the start line. Fifteen minutes prior to the start, they removed the barrier separating the green corral from the red, which then blocked Harrison until after the start.] I think it's the most fun part because those who believe themselves superstars try to move up through the pack, believing that the five feet they just gained is going to somehow make a difference or give them an advantage.

The national anthem was played by the guitarist from Sugarland, who was also racing this year, and then it was time to go.

104 miles to plow.

The race gun was fired and we took off. I was spinning my single speed gear as usual, and those with super high hopes and $6k+ bikes were already crashing less than a mile down the boulevard. One sad racer was walking back toward the field very early on, with twisted/broken carbon handlebars and a bent front wheel.

In these early moments, I spotted another single-speed rider who I nicknamed the Power Single-Speeder. He was killing it on the boulevard, heading out to St Kevins. I could not touch him; he was so, so fast!

In almost every photo of Sam racing this year, it looks like he has a bulging stomach. For the record, he does not. We've tried to figure out if it's the jersey, the colors, the fact that he has stuff crammed in pockets, or some other reason, but have come up empty.
*Photo courtesy of CenturyLink

The Leadville course is largely climbing and it starts pretty early on. I was doing well, passing the slower spinners, feeling good and fast (at least for someone with only one gear).

At about mile 18, during an attempt to pass a slower rider, I was cut off and went down on a very large rock. My left kneecap and head broke the fall nicely. Nothing was broken, but I had to do the rocking back and forth OWWWWEEE warble for about three minutes before I was able to get going again. I knew stopping would only allow my knee to freeze up, so I had to keep moving forward.

I was well stocked with Gu and water, so I didn't stop at the first aid station at mile 26 at Pipeline. I rolled through, knowing G.E. would be at Twin Lakes at just about mile 40 with a bottle reload and Gu if I needed it. Plus, a familiar face (which is always nice to see).

This was the group of leaders when starting up the climb to Columbine.

There is an open road section between Pipeline and Twin Lakes Dam, and I was able to lock on to a few different pelotons to break the headwind. This seriously helps, even though I had to push hard to hang on. The single speed decision definitely reared its head. I rolled to Twin Lakes pretty well and had that familiar feeling of thinking that was where G.E. was supposed to be, but after going straight through and not seeing her, I thought I had missed her somehow. I'm pretty sure I do this every time. I think she'll be at Twin Lakes, but then end up seeing her at Columbine.[G.E.'s Note: The night prior we had a discussion about where I would be. We had decided that waiting at the base of the Columbine climb made the most sense because I could refill anything before Sam went up and when he came back down, if needed. Sam insisted that I was referring to Twin Lakes and not the base of Columbine, so it's not surprising that he thought he'd simply passed and not seen me while riding. I had actually attempted to get to Twin Lakes, but the traffic was so ridiculous that I opted to continue to the originally discussed location.]

G.E. waved me down at the base (duh, where she was supposed to be), swapped a bottle and threw in 3-4 Gu packs. The stop was short and sweet; no more than 45 seconds, and I headed up the eight mile climb to over 12,000 feet. [G.E.'s Note: This is where I was informed that Sam had fallen off his bike and messed up his knee (at the time, he failed to mention that he also hit his head). He didn't have time to explain what had taken place, but he looked to be in pain, which was concerning since he was getting ready to head up the highest elevation climb.]

Besides the sick feeling I get every time I go somewhere over 11,000 feet in elevation on a bike, it was going great! I was passing others and chugging along at about 5mph (Don't laugh.. It's actually pretty fast). The sad part is that reality quickly sets in and at about 48 miles into the race, everybody starts doing the hike-a-bike portion. It's not that the terrain is that steep, but it is somewhat narrow and washed out in the middle, so many riders stop and get off their bikes to walk. In addition, by this time in the race there are now super fast, leader group riders coming down the mountain, so it simply isn't plausible to continue to ride. So, we're all stuck walking for about a mile.

This year, the walkers seemed extra slow, walking at about a 1.5mph pace. This was terrible and it was taking an eternity, which was, of course, killing everyone's time. Eventually, we got through it and mounted bikes for the last 1/2 mile to the top. Normally, I don't stop at the top, but I needed to take care of some relief business, so I did that and ate a quarter of the worst PBJ I have ever eaten. [G.E.'s Note: As someone waiting at the bottom of Columbine, I will confirm that other racers coming in were saying the same thing -- that people were really slow walking this year.]

Heading down off of 12,600 feet always amazes me. Once we get about four miles down the hill, that sick feeling goes away and I just feel beat up from riding about 50 miles and about 5 hours in the mountains.

At the base, I met up with G.E. again for a deja vu stop. She swapped one bottle again and gave me a bunch of Gu to get me through to our next meeting. She asked how I was doing and told me she would see me again at Pipeline inbound. I took off, knowing the worst hike-a-bike's were to come, along with another trip through the windy flats. Unfortunately, on the return trip, I'd have trouble finding help from a group.

*Photo courtesy of CenturyLink

Through the flats, I saw a familiar person... a person with one gear too. Boy, was he struggling! I offered to let him draft, but he didn't want to come along (I'm still not sure if he was angry or if he just didn't want to slow me down). So, I proceeded, mind filled with thoughts about the next of the four hike-a-bike sections I would encounter.

I won't bore you with all the walking, but will tell you that the Power Single-Speeder from the start line and I jockeyed for position so many times you wouldn't believe it. His obvious strength was downhill, but mine is climbing. Over and over we would repeat the same equation: he would nail the downhill, and I would lose him on the next climb. At the time, I had no idea what our positions were, but in my mind I was convinced we were first and second place in this little universe I'd made up.

We came up on the last hike and then the last serious downhill on St Kevins inbound. He nailed it again, and I didn't even see him, and then he was literally out of my sight. All I had been thinking was that I needed to hold him off because it was all I had in the moment, besides the searing pain in my knee.

Between mile 95 and 100, it gets very lonely and spread out. It was looking like rain and massive thunderstorms, which didn't help my mental state. I had tried to hang on to a small group, but they were too fast and I was too tired and in pain from my crash.

Mile 100 might be the most demotivating portion of this ride because the organizers put riders through four more miles and one last climb before getting back to the small climb up to Harrison and the finish line.

With about two miles to go, I hit the last dirt road climb, slogging my way to the end. I knew I would not make sub-10 hours at this point, but I had hopes to at least beat any of my prior times. [G.E.'s Note: Waiting at the finish line is the worst part of this race to me as a crew/spectator. Of course, I want my rider, in this case, Sam, to finish in his best possible time, so I always head there early, hoping that he'll be able to push through. Standing there, waiting, is just excruciating for some reason.]

To my surprise, who do I roll up on? The Power Single-Speeder. During the last dirt mile climb, we had chatted and he shared that he was from North Carolina, how many times he'd finished this race, and we both complained a bit.

Last push to the finish line.

Once we hit the pavement and the final mile up the boulevard, I knew it was made for me. I slowly moved away from him, knowing he wouldn't make up the distance with the mild uphill at the finish. It was my sole victory in this race, which landed me an exhausting 13th place in the single speed division, with a finish time of about 10:12. [G.E.'s Note: There is nothing as exciting as seeing Sam finish this race. I find myself constantly looking and thinking that he's coming, so when it is finally him, it is a moment of pure elation and pride to watch him roll through to the finish.]

I'll skim over the rain, the pain that night, a pretty decent burger for dinner, and a tough night's sleep, and skip ahead to the 7:30a meeting on Sunday. God, I do love meetings. [G.E.'s Note: In case it wasn't obvious from earlier comments, this is sarcasm.]

Again, we all attend the after meeting so that we can hear more about the awesome people... the pros, those who've done this 10 years, 20 years, the last ass (the last person to finish in the time constraints of the race). Basically, we are all held hostage until the end when we are finally released to collect our finisher belt buckles and custom finisher sweaters. This year was absolute chaos. The buckles and sweaters were on site at the gym/meeting location unlike past years and nobody listened to the instructions and instead nearly everyone got up the moment they heard the buckles and sweaters were ready, and stood in the doorways and hallways.

Choosing to try to follow instructions, G.E. and I sat (along with a small handful of others) and waited for the crowd to disperse, all the while becoming more hungry and agitated. I cannot state this strongly enough: I do feel it's important to recognize people, their achievements, all of us; however, it gets tiresome when people don't listen and the meeting drags on.

Eventually, the lines died down and we got up to stand in line. G.E. had a raging headache at this point, and mine was coming along too. It had also become quite hot (as is typical with so many people in an enclosed space). We drifted through the confusion and after being in the gymnasium for about three hours, I finally get to the front of the line and give the representative my name.

Someone is shuffling around behind the rep who then hands me my sweater (unfortunately, it was the same color as 2015 - I was really looking forward to a different color), and then the representative states this: "Here's the thing, we ran out of small buckles." He smiles as he says this, which just stings all the more. My only response is to lower my head. He then proceeded to snark at me, "What? It's not like you were going to wear it today."

I responded, "So, I guess I waited here for nothing?" I started to say something else, but then decided to just walk away.

Eventually, the buckle will supposedly be mailed out to those of us, however many didn't get theirs, who finished in time but hung around for no real reason. We'll see if it actually happens. [G.E.'s Note: I find this to be a terrible thing - both the interaction with the worker/volunteer (I'm not entirely sure which he was) and the fact that they ran out of buckles. The buckles don't change from year to year, so why not have some extras available and keep them for the year following? I realize that Sam has other buckles and it seems like a silly thing to be upset about in some ways, but when that is the "prize" for completion, everyone should either get them at the end of the race, or send them out to every finisher afterward. Following instructions definitely didn't pay off in this instance.]

I try not to get agitated by the little things, but this was difficult when, for all of us, we put so much into this event for an entire year. The planning, the training, the money, the sacrifices... only to be slighted in the end.

As I said though, in the time I've been typing this I've also had a browser tab open for the Barn Burner registration. What is wrong with me? It's as though I keep getting pulled back in.

One of the art galleries in Leadville always has fun bicycle art.

Through my training this year, I found that I did not become particularly faster. I need to figure that one out. Perhaps it's because I should be on my geared mountain bike instead of doing this on my completely rigid single speed. I did certainly become much, much stronger.

There were many, many great people out there - participants, event staff, and volunteers.

Later on Saturday, we ran into the woman from Northern California who was racing her "first and last" time, and found out that she crashed at mile 80 and called it quits. I felt bad for her, but hope that she'll come back and try again. She seemed in relatively good spirits when we chatted at the end though.

When we returned to the Airbnb rental, another racer was in the hot tub. It was his first time out and it thrilled me to know he was able to make it to the finish on his first try.

As always, a special thanks to G.E., your awesome author of this blog, and of course, my lovely wife! [G.E.'s Note: I am pretty awesome. <laughing> Seriously though, it's always an adventure in Leadville and I'm glad I was able to come along.]

And, I can't leave out our fabulous friend who was willing to put her life on hold to watch our two crazy dogs either. It was great to be able to have G.E. with me in Leadville once again.
****************
I don't know that I have anything of much significance to add to the end of this 2017 tale. A couple of items come to mind though. 

First, Sam had a second fall later in the race that he failed to mention, but I think by that point he just wanted to get to the end so it seemed less significant. I know he was disappointed to not finish quicker than he did, but all things considered, he still improved and even finished being injured, which is nothing to take lightly.

I'm also always amazed at the amount of walking I do during this race. This year I wore a pedometer because I was rather curious to see how far I actually walk with all the picking up and moving to a new spot. Even though I know pedometers are notoriously imprecise calculators, it marked me at just over 12.5 miles for the day (I joked near the end of the day that I should go walk down the boulevard just to make it a half marathon). I had no idea it was anything close to that, but then again, I'm a horrible calculator of distance, usually far underestimating the distance I've traveled both on bike or foot.

I am curious to see if Sam will race in Leadville again. He seems to improve each time, so I think it's possible he could get under the 10 hour mark if he were to give it another go. The Barn Burner in Flagstaff will perhaps give him that opportunity, if he decides to go and race there. We shall see!

Why I Participate in Races, Even Though I Stand No Chance of Being Competitive or Winning

Mother's sometimes have a way of saying things that no one else can get away with expressing to another individual. Mine happens to have no filter when it comes to people she knows and strangers alike, so the questions she asks at times shouldn't really surprise me (though they sometimes leave me apologizing to strangers). Now in her 70s, that filter seems to be nearly non-existent, so if I thought her verbal spouts were difficult to deal with at a younger age, I am learning that the verbalization of whatever enters her mind is becoming more frequent as she gets older.

Recently though, mother dear posed a question that I thought was rather interesting (even if I was slightly offended at the asking). We were chatting about recent happenings and I mentioned that Sam and I had participated in a running race. Her response was, "You? You were in a race? Running?"

It was a mostly legitimate question as my body has taken some blows over the last couple of years that have resulted in both my hesitancy to want to participate in group activities and that often keep me from being able to run. Not to mention that I am, of course, overweight. The combination hardly makes for a good recipe for success in a race of any sort.

My response was that, yes, I participated in a race but for the most part, I didn't run because I wasn't capable when I arrived to race on the day in question. It's not as though it was the first race she thought I'd completed, so her question seemed a little out of place to me, but it still had me thinking.

The thing is, I had entered the race knowing that there was a strong possibility I wouldn't be capable of running on race day, and also well aware that I stood no chance of being competitive regardless of whether I was running or walking.

I have joked with others that I participate in races to make everyone else feel better about themselves. I say it really in half-jest because I am conscious of the reality that I stand no chance of winning any foot or wheel race, or even placing in my age division or any other category. It's just my reality. I have never been fast at anything and regardless of my training regimen, I will never be faster than the slowest individuals.

So, why participate in races at all?

I have pondered this over the years, but never really put it down on paper (or computer in this instance), so I thought I would share thoughts for anyone else who may believe him/herself to be slow or who may be hesitant for whatever reason to participate in races. My reasons may be different than others, but perhaps sharing them will be of benefit to someone who is thinking about entering a race of his/her own.

Personally, I tend to be a go-big-or-go home sort of person. My very first race ever (other than being forced into events in physical ed in school) was a marathon. Yep. My first race as an adult was running 26.1 miles. I did not run the whole event, but I did ultimately complete it. Most people start with a 5k or 10k, but not me. Nope, I headed straight for the big show. Honestly though, I did this because I was afraid that if I entered a shorter race and didn't do well or it didn't go well for me physically, it might keep me from doing the marathon, and I was determined to complete a marathon.

It was both one of the best and worst experiences of my life. I was not properly trained for the event, I didn't understand the need for fueling during an endurance race, and I had a number of obstacles to endure throughout the race including heading off in the wrong direction half way through, only to find myself about a mile off course before someone informed me that I was going the wrong way.

But there were amazing things that I will never forget about this race like having my very own unknown-to-me cheering section that followed me from mile 8 to about mile 11, and actually completing the race, which was something I wasn't sure would happen by the time I hit about mile 16.

Surprisingly, I was not the last person to finish, which I was certain was my fate. I had been very slow and added about two miles to the course, so as I watched others pass over the finish, I admired the fact that not one of them had given up... and believe me, we had plenty of opportunities.

When I reached mile 14, the race barriers, cones and water stations were all being removed. Vans for the event started to circle and ask individuals if they wanted a ride to the finish line. It was very demotivating, I must say, particularly as they seemed to come around every 5 minutes. By mile 17, I realized most participants were likely done and I felt very alone on the course. I was also in a lot of pain. My back had started to seize up, and I had no water or food with me.

I had a bright spot though. There were a group of ladies, who had finished the half marathon operating in tandem with the marathon, driving around offering water to those who were still on the course trying to finish. About every mile or so, they'd come around again asking if I needed anything. These few ladies were seriously one of the big factors allowing me to get to the finish line because by mile 20, I was seriously considering conceding and taking a ride to the finish line.

I imagine for any competitive runner there are always pains too, and that running 26+ miles isn't easy for 99% of the population, but when a person is slow it is that much more time that s/he is on their feet which creates additional aches and pains. Imagine walking or running for 4 hours versus 8 hours - it's a huge difference to any body.

The miles between 20 and 23 were some of the most painful in my life. I had to stop several times to issue out some positive self-talk and remind myself why I was doing this race.

Why was I doing the race? Completing a marathon was a bucket list item for me. It seemed so ludicrous to be able to finish that I wanted a big challenge to see if I could get it done. When I had moments of doubt, I told myself, "You never have to do this again. Just get to the finish line." Remarkably, it seemed to help. Nearing the end of the race, my legs were barely moving, and I had absolutely no idea where I was in the race because all of the markers had been removed.

At this point, there was a police officer in the road still assisting those who needed to cross a busy spot during the race. As I crossed I asked of him, "Do you happen to know what mile this is?" He responded telling me I was at mile 23, and suddenly I had a renewed pep in my step. "Really?" I couldn't help but gleefully respond. That meant I only had about 3 miles left to go. I could do three miles, I thought, even if I had to crawl over the finish line. It was also a very obvious reminder to me that our minds have so much control over our bodies.

Happily, I did not crawl at any point during the race, and Sam, who had finished hours before me, came out to meet me with about two tenths of a mile to go. It was perfect timing as I needed that push to get through that last little bit.

*Image here

After the marathon, I pretty much swore off races. If I wasn't going to do another marathon, what could ever compete with that type of distance? But, as it turned out, it would not be my last race.

Which brings me to the real point of this post. The reasons or the motivation that keep me entering races both on foot and bicycle.

Really, there can be one to several reasons I choose to enter a race. I've participated in races simply to help out a friend who was starting a new race and needed participants to sign up, or because I wanted to support a charitable organization. I've participated because the course just sounded fun, challenging, or both. I've done some races simply because I needed a kick in the rear and to have a goal to work towards. But most often, it's just the need to challenge myself and improve on the past.

The reality is most people who enter races know they aren't going to win. If the goal was simply winning, there would be only a handful of individuals who would participate in any race. For the vast majority of participants, I would say the purpose or goal is something found within themselves. Maybe they want to beat a prior time on the same course or they want to better a time from a similar distance on another course. Perhaps they just enjoy running or cycling and being in a group headed toward the same goal is helpful. It may stand to reason that a person simply wants to visit a city and participating in a race is an easy "excuse" to have a mini-vacation. It's not for me to say what, where or who motivates another person to race, but I do think that everyone finds their individual reason(s).

My point is, just because I'm not fast doesn't mean I should shy away from a race. In fact, during a race recently, I was at the very back of the pack to start. I had told Sam before we began that my only goal was not to finish last, so when I realized where I was I knew I wasn't off to the best start. However, it turned out to be the perfect spot for me. It takes me awhile to warm up and I could see where everyone was in front of me. A few had started out too fast and it became a mental game to try and overtake as many individuals as I could. As soon as I'd passed one person, I'd set my sights on the next and tell myself internally that I would not allow the person I'd just passed to get in front of me. Not only did it make the distance seem much shorter, but it was great motivation as well.

If I were to offer thoughts or tips to anyone who is considering a race and who hasn't raced previously, I don't know that I'd advise him or her to start with a marathon run or a century ride, but I suppose it would depend on the individual. For me, I thrive on the possibility that I may not finish at all (it's a bit of a twisted thought process, I do understand), but I also participate in short distances which can be just as much if not more challenging and/or fun.

Ultimately, there are some things I wish someone had told me before the first time I raced. Here are a few, in no particular order:
1. Understand that endurance races require fueling. You will "bonk" without taking in some sort of nutrition. I used to think because I'm bigger I didn't need fuel. Unfortunately, the body doesn't work that way. For me, if the race is longer than 2.5 hours, I know I need to start fueling every 30-45 minutes from the start. If it's less than 2.5 hours, usually water is sufficient. Your mileage may vary though, of course.
2. Test your food/gu/energy product prior to race day to know if your body will tolerate it or not. I've had some quite unpleasant reactions trying to test energy products on race day.
3. Invest in proper, comfortable equipment/clothing.
4. Don't test new shoes, clothing, saddle, handlebars, bike, etc for the first time on race day.
5. Take care of injuries and rest when needed; trying to push through training when injured only delays healing or intensifies the injury.
6. Recognize the difference between true injury and excuse-making to miss a training day.
7. People have always been kind to me during races, encouraging me when I needed it or offering support, and I try to return that favor whenever possible.
8. Many races have cutoff times, but if you're concerned you won't make it in the allotted time frame, look for another race that allows everyone to finish (walker-friendly events are great resources for runners who are slow), or contact the organizers to see if they'll allow finishers after the listed cutoff.
9. Don't shy away from something that seems scary simply because you don't know if you can finish. If you don't train and try, you will never know.
10. Slowing down or going slow doesn't mean you're a failure or that you should give up. We all start and end somewhere and finishing always feels better than quitting, regardless of the finish time.
11. Race/action photos are some of the worst photos I have ever seen of myself. If it's going to make you crazy to see a bad picture, just don't look at the photos at all (or have someone you trust preview them and tell you if it's safe to look).

*Image here

The saying goes, slow and steady wins the race, but that definitely hasn't been my experience. I suppose it depends on ones definition of "slow" though, and the definition of "win" as well. There are lots of moments that take place during a race, whether a person has the best overall finishing time or not, that can feel like victories. I sometimes wonder where I'd be today if I'd never tried a race at all, but I don't truly want to know what that world is like. Every race teaches me something about myself - whether I want to learn a lesson or not - and, the great thing about being slow is that there is always room for improvement.

Racing isn't everything to me, and my world doesn't come to an end if I don't participate in an event, but it's a nice, occasional practice to remind myself that there is competitiveness within me, even if it doesn't show by finish times or to anyone else who's racing. Plus, it's always fun to see if I can improve, even a small amount, from one race to the next.

Any other slow racers out there? On foot, on a bike, or any other sport? If you have words of wisdom or your own race stories to share, please do!