HITS Naples with Athletes in Tandem

A few weeks ago, I was offered the opportunity to race a HITS sprint triathlon in Naples, Florida.  This would not be an ordinary race for me.  I'd be traveling to race with a young man who has cerebral palsy with an organization out of Ft. Collins called Athletes in Tandem.  This was not an everyday opportunity and I felt compelled to make it happen.  

I met Dennis Vanderheiden, the founder of AiT, at the Horsetooth 10k swim a few years ago.  He had recently seen video of Rick and Dick Hoyt at The Ironman World Championships and was inspired to create a charity that would bring opportunities to kids and adults who would never have the chance to participate in triathlons and running races without a partner.  The disabled athletes are not able to assist in any way--they're along for the ride.  The experience gives them freedom and joy that would otherwise be unavailable to them and has some real therapeutic benefits as well.  Dennis had been planning to travel to Florida for this race on his own but there were two athletes who needed partners.  


I was able to take the time away from work that the trip required and Teegan changed some plans and cancelled others in order to allow me to get away.  Within a day of being invited, I had a plane ticket and was set to race.  Thanks to a special contact at Giant Bicycles, we were offered a free loan of a couple of bikes from The Bike Route in Naples.  We needed to fly with the large trailer/strollers that our athletes would ride in.  Not having to fly our bikes as well was incredibly helpful.


I left Colorado on the morning of a serious cold snap and arrived in Florida on a warm Friday night.  Early the next morning, we headed to the race site to volunteer.  This race is a two-day festival--there are full (iron) and half distance races on Saturday and the short-course races on Sunday.  We were on our feet for three separate volunteer shifts--about 8 hours total.  Not exactly the kind of preparation that leads to a great race result the next day, but neither of us were worried about top finishes.


On race day, I was up before the alarm.  I wasn't nervous about racing--just excited.  We arrived at transition a little under an hour before the start of the race.  It seemed like plenty of time but by the time I set up my area, went for a warmup run, met our disabled athletes, blew up the rafts, and got to the beach, we had only a few minutes to spare.  


My partner was Tony.  He’s about 20 years old and has cerebral palsy and mental retardation. The introduction was brief but I was told that he raced last year and I should expect him to move around if he’s excited.  He doesn’t speak so that would be the only way to know all was going well.  


As the announcer called out one minute to the start, I was still getting my wetsuit zipped up and pulling on the harness.  At 15 seconds to go, I was finally ready.  I took a deep breath and relaxed.  This was going to be fun!

The horn sounded and the field took off running.  I should clarify that this was a “normal” triathlon--Dennis and I were the only ones paired up with disabled athletes.  I waded in gently, letting the fast folks go.  I told Tony, “here we go,” walked the slack out of the rope, and dolphin dived in and took my first strokes.  There was a lot of activity around us but I was calm and when I peeked back, the raft was peacefully bobbing along behind me.  After about 50 meters, we reached a sandbar.  I stood up and walked the raft over it, then started swimming out to the first turn buoy.  We were just about in the middle of the pack at this point and there were a lot of swimmers around us.  When I was learning to use the equipment, Dennis advised me not to worry about other swimmers--they’d get out of the way.  So I started making my way through the pack and took the first turn.


Every time I peeked back, I could see Tony’s arm.  If anything was going to go wrong today, the worst possible place for it to happen would be in the water.  Seeing that arm sticking out the side of the raft set me at ease.  We were passing a lot of people and by the time we reached the second turn buoy on the triangular course, there were only about a dozen swimmers in front of us.  Over the sand bar again and then the final, short section of swimming.  I think we came out of the water in 6th or 7th position.  Not bad, even though we weren’t really trying to win the race.  The crowd was going nuts but I had a bit of tunnel vision and wasn’t able to take it in.

Transition took a long time.  At the beach, two helpers from Tony’s residence home unloaded him from the raft.  Someone unclipped me and we headed up the beach to the trailer.  I struggled a bit getting the harness off--my first instinct was to get out of my wetsuit, but that was out of order.  By the time we reached the road at the end of the sand, I was back on track.  Tony was buckled into the trailer as I popped off my wetsuit and slipped into an extra pair of shoes.  


We started the short run (maybe 200-300 meters) to transition.  I was pulling the trailer like a rickshaw.  A few athletes ran past us and we passed one or two ourselves.  Now in the transition area, I slipped on my bike shoes and an Athletes in Tandem race shirt, and clipped my helmet on.  Connecting the trailer to the bike took a few tries and soon enough, we were ready.


As I pushed the bike and trailer out of transition, I got my first taste of the difficult ride ahead.  Tony weighs about 110 pounds and the trailer another 35.  Even when I had us all going forward, it took a lot of effort to stay moving.  Once on the bike, I was working hard in my small ring the whole way out.  The course was out-and-back with minimal elevation gain but a slight headwind on the way out.  I was putting out a pretty strong effort, but getting passed by just about everyone.  A lot of folks had very kind words for us as they went by and the police officers controlling the intersection and spectators gave us thumbs up and extra cheers.

Just like in the water, I could feel Tony moving around behind me.  A good sign.  I talked to him a bit--calling out little bumps and assuring him we’d go faster on the way back.  We made the turnaround and I was finally able to shift into the big ring, but the combination of the extra weight and the shape of the trailer (with it’s big opening in front--like a small parachute) made the ride back tough too.  I just focus on keeping my cadence high and my effort strong as we were passed by a ton of racers--young and old, lean and fat.  We didn’t catch a single bike ahead of us.  Normally this wouldn’t just be discouraging, it would be soul-crushing.  But not today.  I told Tony that we’d get them all on the run.


The second transition took a lot of time as well.  Once I unhitched the trailer, I had to tip it up so Tony was laying on his back.  Then I had to flip the metal bar that attached the trailer to the bike and attach a wheel to the front.  It’s a pretty simple process, but it takes time and I was trying to hurry.  I took off my helmet and changed my shoes.  We were on our way out of transition.


Once out on the run, we started passing people almost immediately.  The run was also an out-and-back course so we saw the top finishers coming in as we were headed out.  Even the folks who were out of breath and suffering on the run managed a “nice job” as we went past.  The run was very flat except for one hill near the turnaround.  Running with the stroller wasn’t too much trouble, although I kept both hands on it most of the time so I couldn’t swing my arms.  But going over that hill (and coming back) pushing all the extra weight and holding it back on the downhill scrubbed a little extra energy out of me.  

By far, the funniest moment was on the way back when I passed someone who said, “what a good brother.”  No time to explain--we were moving on.  A couple of people later, I hear, “what a good dad.”  That’s probably a bit closer...  Soon we were making the final couple of turns and headed to the finish line.  I slowed my pace a bit so we could enjoy the cheers as we crossed the finish line and received our medals.  We had worked pretty hard for 90 minutes but I was on an emotional high.  There was hard effort, but I felt no pain on this day.


After the race, we answered some questions for a reporter and posed for a few pictures.  (http://www.naplesnews.com/news/2013/jan/18/athletes-tandem-lend-more-helping-hand/) Then the guys were headed back to their home and Dennis and I were left to pack up and head back to the hotel. I was with Tony for just a few hours, but hopefully gave him a fun morning that holds benefits beyond simple recreation.  


For me, well, this was a memorable race to say the least.  We finished 86th out of 226 athletes and had a top 10 swim and top 25 run--not too bad all things considered.  But this one wasn’t about our time or placing.  I have come to the realization that triathlon is most often a selfish sport.  We all have our own reasons for racing and I think the net benefit is immensely positive (of course).  Having the opportunity to give back in this way--to race for someone else’s benefit, left me feeling good about the whole experience.


As we were packing up, another racer stopped to talk to me.  He was quite passionate and insistent that what I had done was a really big deal and he was getting emotional as he talked with me.  He explained the the 4 S's of Life: Survival, Stability, Success, Significance.  They’re on a hierarchy--like Maslow.  He poked me on my chest and told me I had achieved significance.  That's something I aspire to--today, maybe I was there for a few hours, at least...

Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim: The Complete Write-up Part II. North to South

How did we get to this point?  Read Part I

North Rim to Phantom Ranch

Despite my little bonk on the way up, I was feeling good right away as we headed down.  The trail was steep, but largely runnable and we were back at Supai Tunnel in no time.  At this point Wendy wasn’t feeling tops so we decided to split up.  Artie, Mike, and I pushed ahead in hopes of reaching Phantom ranch by 3:30pm.  Tressa had hiked down and was going to hike back up with us if we got there by 3:30.  Else, she was going to head up on her own. 

After topping off with water and hitting a quick bathroom stop, we began running down to Cottonwood.  Again, the trail was steep in parts, but almost entirely runnable.  The three of us strung out a bit, but reached the campground within minutes of each other.  But everything was taking a bit longer than we had expected and it was going to be a stretch to reach Phantom by 3:30.  We topped off the water again and then Artie took off with plans to push the pace, but I set my sights on 4:00pm to try to buy a lemonade at the canteen before it closed.

We were over 30 miles into the day at this point—longer than I’d ever run before—fatigue was setting in.  I didn’t rest long enough at Cottonwood and knew almost immediately that I would not be running hard through this section.  We ran though the dessert-like area as I watched Artie then Mike pull away and we were strung out again.  I needed to slow down as the heat began to overwhelm me—it was well into the ’90s at this point.  Then I was walking.  The idea of reaching Phantom by 4:00 became laughable as I was averaging 20 minute miles.

As a general observation, I was surprised by the large numbers of people on the trail all day.  Except for this section at this time of day.  Over the 7+ miles, I saw only a half-dozen other people.

I arrived at Phantom Ranch pretty wrecked—nearly exhausted.  Artie had already been there for over 30 minutes (Mike only a little less) but had missed both Tressa and the canteen.  I asked for 15 minutes to sit and rest.  After that, I was feeling much better and as we were deciding whether or not to wait for Dave and Wendy for the remaining (and likely hardest) 10 miles of the day, they came into camp.  We decided to head up Bright Angel as a group so we took a little extra time to let them rest.  I wasn’t complaining.

Dave suffering from an acute case of overcompensation

Phantom Ranch to South Rim

Some of us were fresher than others, but make no mistake that we were all in some state of exhaustion by this point—38 miles and approaching 14 hours into our day.  As we jogged out of camp and toward the river, I was laughing through the pain as I watched from the back of the line as everyone tried to run.  Ha-ha—look them!  That looks slow and miserable!  I’m glad I don’t look like that!  Wait, why am I falling behind…?

From the bottom of Bright Angel to Indian Garden, the trail climbs “gradually” (only 400 feet per mile) for about 3 miles.  From there, it’s 4 and a half miles and 3,000 vertical feet of often steep climbing to the rim.  The sun was setting—we’d go up the way we came in: in the dark. 

There would be no more running for the day.  We hiked at a fair pace considering our fatigue.  Mike was still feeling good and pushed ahead.  The rest of us stuck together in the dark.  My tummy was finally starting to rebel against the 14 hours of sports nutrition I’d been pouring into it.  I kept drinking my Infinit because I knew I needed the hydration and calories, but I was starting to feel queasy.
 

When we reached Indian Garden, my gut was still a problem but everything else was actually feeling better and stronger than an hour or so before at the river.  I dumped out what was left of my Camelbak bladder of Infinit and refilled with plain water.  It was, in a word, delicious. We sat and rested briefly before heading out to the next stop—3 Mile Resthouse about 1,000 feet up over a mile and a half.  Mike again pushed ahead and we didn’t see him again until we made the rim.  Dave was beginning to crack at this point.  The four of us stayed relatively close, but Wendy and I pushed ahead at times with Artie hanging back with Dave as we yo-yo’d to the next stop.

The Garmins ran out of batteries as we approached the 17 hour mark.  When we stopped at the resthouse, we were all pretty tired but the very steepest section was behind us.  We still had to climb 2,000 feet over the last 3 miles and it was easy to see at this point how people get into real trouble attempting this one-day double crossing at this point—so close to the finish.  We could see from the headlamps that there were still several other groups out on the trail, most of them finishing up rim-to-rim-to-rim just as we were.  We talked to a few folks from those groups as we met up on the trail or at rest stops.  Many had run into trouble during the day.  One guy (a manager at a Trader Joes near my hometown who let me know that Colorado is on the expansion plan, maybe as soon as 2013.  Was this the most important info we learned on the day?!) had to split with his partner on the north rim because of medical issues.  He headed back across the canyon while his buddy caught a shuttle for the 200+ mile drive back to the south rim.  The failure rate seemed to be in the 10% range for initial members of the groups that were still out with us.  But everyone in our group was going to make it—not a small deal.  With everything that could go wrong when five people attempt this together, it’s really a testament to the quality of our preparation both as individual athletes and as a group.

But we still had to get out.  Wendy was still physically strong but borderline delirious—laughing hysterically at every word that came out of her mouth.  Dave was moving into pretty rough shape—moving forward more on sheer will than physical strength.  Artie and Wendy moved forward and I stayed with Dave as we moved up to the 1.5 Mile Resthouse.  With my tummy finally flushed out, I was feeling pretty good at the pace.  I know I could have pushed faster, but there was no way I’d leave Dave at this point.  He was making good progress, but seemed a bit unsteady.  I made sure he stayed on the inside of the trail and fed him from my stash of glucose tablets every 10 or so minutes.

When we arrived at the 1.5 Mile Resthouse, Wendy and Artie were waiting for us.  They looked exhausted.  I was feeling better and better by this point, but I’m sure my face was showing a different story.  We moved out again as Wendy and Artie gapped us—we’d next see them at the rim.  Dave and I made slow steady progress on this last push.  Shortly before the top, Dave stopped and asked whether I’d seen a cat cross the trail right in front of us.  I hadn’t, but I looked where he said it went and didn’t see anything.  I didn't see any pawprints on the dusty trail.  We needed to get out of the canyon. 

All smiles at the end of the day

It wasn’t long before we reached the rim roughly 18 hours and 45 minutes after we started.  Tressa snapped a few pictures of us and then we headed back to the campground to eat the dinners she had bought for us when it became evident that we wouldn’t be up in time to get to a restaurant (most of which closed at 10pm)—salmon, rice, and veggies with corn bread and roasted red pepper soup.  It was an unbelievable feast after our day.  (Mike and I also grabbed a couple slices of pepperoni pizza at the one open restaurant between the rim and the campsite.)


Post-run

Only one blister (and not nearly as bad as it looks in this pic)

We mowed down our late dinner and then headed straight for bed in a wave of stink—the campsite showers had closed at 9pm.  I fell right to sleep but my legs were twitchy and my body thermostat was completely out of whack—first I was warm, then cold, then a sweaty mess.  I awoke at dawn feeling reasonably recovered but not well-rested.  I was achy and sore, but in pretty good shape, all things considered.  Aside from a blister on the side of one of my toes (which I had successfully treated with duct tape on the trail around mile 30), I had no injuries or even any substantial chafing.  Walking and moving around helped loosen things up and the hot shower ($2 for 8 minutes) was absolute heaven.

We had a fancy breakfast at El Tovar before breaking down the campsite and beginning the long drive home.  The weekend had been a success for all of us.  We had each hit and broken through a wall or two during various times of the day, but accomplished something enormous.  For me, this was a one-and-done situation.  There is no chance I’ll do it again, nor will you see me running ultras again.  I’m really, really glad I did it but now it’s done and I have no desire to do it again. 
Would I recommend it to someone else?  Sure—if this is the sort of thing that moves you.  Despite all of the things that could have gone wrong, I was surprised by how safe it felt.  The main trails we packed were full of people almost all day.  The planning and training take some work for sure, but it was all attainable.  I had thought I was well-prepared with my training—turns out I had probably done the minimum necessary.  But it was enough.

Thanks for following along on the SPOT map (if you did) and for reading about the day here.   Many, many thanks to my friend Sharon for hooking me up with the SPOT (and for being my reliable weekday running partner).  And of course, a shout out to our little Grand Canyon R2R2R crew—Mike, Dave, Wendy, Artie, and Tressa.  We made some big memories this weekend.  I’m grateful for your friendship, patience, compassion, and humor.  I’m awed by what we accomplished.


(Complete photo set: http://photobucket.com/r2r2r)

Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim: The Complete Write-up Part I. South to North

An epic blog post (in two parts) to match our epic adventure.  As always thanks for reading!

Pre-run

Looking at the north rim from the Bright Angel trailhead on the south rim.

Mike, Artie, Tressa (Artie’s wife), and I drove all day and arrived at the Grand Canyon after dark on Thursday.  We caught a few glimpses of it in the moonlight as we arrived at the park, but the plan for the night was to get to bed for a good night’s sleep as soon as possible.  Mike and I split a hotel room this night to give us a better shot at quality sleep.

Our crew: Arte, me, Mike, Wendy, Dave

Friday was mostly about relaxing, checking out the canyon, setting up the campsite, and getting Saturday’s logistics nailed down.  The day was easy with a little walking around and seeing the sights—the canyon was beautiful and big.  Dave and Wendy arrived mid-day and we all ate a nice dinner in the Arizona Room overlooking the canyon.  After a short campfire, we hit the sack—at 8:30pm. 

Dave and Wendy sorting out nutrition

I managed some nice sleep…for a few hours, then tossed and turned with anticipation until the alarms went off at 2:30am. 

Tressa and Mike

South Rim to Phantom Ranch

Moments before taking the first step into the canyon.

We arrived at the South Rim at 3:15 and, after some bathroom trips and posed photos, we stepped into the canyon at 3:30am.  Within 3 minutes, the temperature became noticeably warmer.  I peeled off my jacket right away.  We took the descent very easy—no running.  We were concerned about blowing out our quads on the way down and ruining the day.  We got passed by two groups of runners heading out on the same challenge.  Even though it took nearly three hours, it felt like we reached the Colorado River in no time.  The sun was just coming up as we ran the mile along the river to the Bright Angel bridge.  We reached Phantom ranch in a little over three hours after we started where we filled up with water, used the bathroom, and rested for just a minute or two.  Everyone was feeling good and just getting down there felt like an accomplishment (even though it would be the easiest thing we did all day). 

The mighty Colorado River at sunrise

About to cross the river.  All smiles--getting to the river is easy...

We hadn’t set a time goal for the day, but thought 15-17 hours total was reasonable.  Our conservative estimate had us reaching Phantom in 3 hours so we were off that number, but completely unconcerned.    My fear with setting a time goal was that doing so could lead to bad decisions in the canyon.  So the day would take shape as it took shape and we’d make adjustments as necessary.

Moon setting (tough to see) over Phantom Ranch

Phantom Ranch to North Rim

A relatively wide section of "The Box" heading toward Cottonwood

We began the long run up the hill at a very easy pace.  Each area of the canyon was beautiful in its own way.  Through “The Box”—a high-walled red canyon within the canyon—and then into a more dessert-like area and past Ribbon Falls as we came to the Cottonwood Campground.  Although we gained about 1,500 feet over the nearly 7 miles, we really hadn’t begun to climb.  At Cottonwood, my fluids looked good so I didn’t top off to try to save a little weight.  It was only 2 miles (but 1,100 vertical feet) to Roaring Spring. 

This section was our first taste of serious climbing.  Not the steepest we’d face, but there was no question that we were going up in a big way.  Running quickly turned to hiking as we managed to go (unintentionally) right past Roaring Springs without refilling water.  From Roaring Springs, the next water stop is the Supai Tunnel 2.7 miles (and 1,800 vertical feet) later with the rim almost two miles (and another 1,500 vertical feet) beyond.  The water at the rim was set to be turned off for the season at noon (our estimated arrival time at that point).  We had been told the seasonal water would remain on in the canyon all day, but there were some conflicting opinions about that depending on which ranger we spoke with.  As far as mistakes go, this could have been a big one.  We all ran very low or completely out of water before reaching Supai.  The trail includes a flat-ish section here, but the climbing portions are very steep.  We passed over trails carved into the solid rock of the canyon walls and saw some beautiful fall colors.

The last half-mile to Supai was very tough mentally and physically.  Our limited water and the uncertainty of being able to refill wore me down until we passed someone coming down who told us that the water was indeed on.  At the tunnel, I was tired and climbing the steep sections is not my strong suit.  We were at about the same elevation as the South Rim.  The North Rim is 1,500 feet higher.  This last section to the rim is probably the steepest sustained section of climbing on the north side.  I quickly started falling back from the group.  I had the energy and the will, but my hip flexors were shot and each step was hard work.  Artie waited for me and then walked with me most of the way.  By the time I reached the rim, I was looking forward to heading back down not because down is easier, but just so I could use a slightly different muscle group.

Supai Tunnel

We arrived at the rim at exactly noon and found out the water had been turned off an hour before.  This wasn’t a big deal since we were still pretty full and knew it would be quick back to Supai.  It had taken us 8 and a half hours to cross which would put us at 17 hours if we came back at the same rate.  We have read about some people coming back the same or faster because the North Kaibab trail is longer (so more downhill), the Bright Angel  trail (on the south side) isn’t as steep, and the south rim is lower.  We spent about 10 minutes resting, taking pictures, and eating and then stepped back into the canyon for the return trip—all of us feeling pretty good, considering that we had just run and hiked across the Grand Canyon.

The last few steps up to the North Rim

North Rim

Find out what happened next! Read Part II


(Complete photo set: http://photobucket.com/r2r2r)

Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim FAQ

Next Saturday (10/15), I’ll be attempting a rim-to-rim-to-rim run/hike at the Grand Canyon.  This is a big undertaking and definitely not a “slam dunk.”  Thought I’d share a little FAQ—the questions folks have been asking me about the run and my thoughts.

Q. What is rim-to-rim-to-rim?

A. We’ll be starting at the South Rim, running down the Bright Angel Trail across the Colorado River (over a bridge) and up to the North Rim via the North Kaibab Trail.  When we get to the top, we’ll turn right around and retrace our steps.  It should be about 48 miles.  There are a couple of options for getting across and back.  This option is a little longer than others, but the descent/ascent from the South Rim is a bit more gradual and the trail has year-round water sources.  We felt that even though it was longer, it was the safer choice.

Q. How long with this take?

A. We’ll be doing it as a continuous run/hike in a single day.  We’ll leave around 4am (in the dark but with headlamps and handheld lights) in order to get on the trail ahead of the mule trains and give ourselves the best chance of completing the crossings and getting out at a reasonable hour.  I’m guessing we’ll be in the Canyon for 15-17 hours including stops.

Q. Are you crazy?!  Why are you doing this?

A. I’m probably at least a little bit crazy.  It’s a bit difficult to express what motivates me to take on this sort of challenge.  The simplified version is: it’s out there and I’m capable of it—so why not?  Few people attempt something this big.  I like being the type of person who is willing to try.  Life is a series of experiences to be collected.  They don’t always come to you—sometimes you have to go get them.  Why not take on something that scares you every once in a while?


Q. Is this safe?

A. We’ve made it as safe as we possibly can.  This is NOT an organized event—there will be no aid stations, no medical staff, no support of any kind aside from what we provide to one another (and, for thousands of dollars after the fact, the National Park Service Search and Rescue squad is our “backup”).  We’re a group of 5 friends—strong endurance athletes (Ironmen, marathoners, etc.) but none of us do adventure racing or ultra-running for a living.  The National Park Service strongly discourages people from hiking down to the river and back in a single day.  Attempting to go all the way across and back is not a great idea.  But my training has been very solid and I’m comfortable with my preparation from both a physical and mental standpoint.  We’ll have food and water (and water filters), first aid supplies (including some basic equipment if something goes wrong and we have to spend the night down there), proper clothing, and a SPOT device (satellite-based emergency tracking/distress device).  I should be able to set up a webpage this week that will show our progress if anyone’s interested in checking in.  We picked this weekend because the weather should be decent—not too cold on the rims and not too hot at the bottom.  I’ve done a ton of training (40-60+ miles per week), have read books, visited websites, etc.  I’m absolutely committed to turning around at any point in the day if things aren’t going as planned and we’ve selected the most well-traveled trails in the canyon.  So while this really isn’t all that safe, with the right preparation we’ve made it substantially less risky.  To be fair, I’ll bet that statistics would show that driving from Colorado to Arizona and back is arguably the riskiest part of the trip.

 
Q. What will you eat and drink?

A. While there is a small canteen at Phantom Ranch (on the floor, just north of the river), I’ll be pretty much self-contained with food.  I’ll get the bulk of my calories with my hydration via a calorie rich Infinit mix that includes electrolytes and other critical nutrients.  I’ll also carry some “product” type food like Clif Bars and PowerBar Chews as well as a little real food like PB&J sandwiches.  There are year-round piped-in water sources along the trail for refilling my CamelBak.  (I’ll carry enough Infinit to make a mix each time I refill).

Q. Do you have life insurance?

A. Yes.  I’m worth substantially more dead than alive. ;-)  In all seriousness, there are a lot of ways this can go wrong (and I don’t write that to be flip).  I respect the magnitude of this undertaking and know that nature (and the Grand Canyon in particular) is not to be trifled with.  This was not undertaken on a whim.  We’ve done a lot of research and have done everything we can to make this successful and safe.  I’m very thankful for the support of my family and friends.  I love the adventure and the unthinkable size of this challenge, but I really don’t want to die and wouldn’t be attempting it if I thought that was a likely outcome.  All that said, in the words of my friend Mike (who will be taking this on with me), “you’d be a fool to attempt it.”

Horsetooth Race Report

"Traditional" customization of the race shirt.

It hurts to type.  A day-and-a-half after finishing the race, every part of my body aches.  Head to toe.  Literally.  But I actually feel good about it.  My friend Whitney calls it "glory soreness."

Here's the (really) long-form race report.  I've added a few headings so you can scroll down to the actual race report if you just want to read about the pain.  Remember two things--you aren't required to read this and you paid nothing for it.  (You get what you pay for...)

Saturday
Saturday was a busy day--kids' sports, brunch with an old friend, packing/prep for the race, just trying to rest and stay out of the sun.  Horsetooth was my only "A" race of the season and I was serious about hitting it hard.  As I pulled out of the driveway at 4pm to head up to Fort Collins for the pre-race meeting/dinner, I managed to relax.  I was in the "funnel" that would draw me to the event without too many distractions.

Arrived at my friends Sandy and Dean's house just after 5pm. (Dean was my paddler--each swimmer goes with an escort, primarily for safety reasons.) and we relaxed and chatted for a while before leaving at 5:45 for the dinner (which was to start at 6).  Just as we're leaving, I get a text from my friend (and fellow competitor) Jenny letting me know I'm late. (I know it's trouble when she calls me "mister.")  Apparently they had changed the start of the event and I was working off an old email.  We were probably the last to arrive, but worked out fine--the mandatory meeting portion of the evening began about 3 minutes after we walked in.  Let's just call that perfect timing.

The meeting was longer (and more boring) than necessary, but it's part of the ritual and I was content just to be sitting down and immersing myself in the race.  Afterwards, Sandy, Dean, and I stopped for some sandwiches (not a good sign when you're hungry an hour after dinner) and drove up to the start area.  The race went from south to north last year but was turned around to go north to south this year so this was a valuable perspective that I hadn't seen before.  We noticed right away that the contour of the start inlet and the shoreline beyond led to an obvious strategy.  Once we got around that first point, the straight line route would take us out toward the middle of the reservoir as the concave shoreline didn't come back out to the next point for what looked like about 4 miles.  Dean was very comfortable taking me along that straight line--definitely the shortest distance.

Back to the house where we watched home movies for a bit, then in bed a little after 10.  Sound asleep by 10:30.

Sunday (Pre-Race)
Awake at 1:00am.  Dang!  Listened to some boring podcasts, tossed and turned, suffered with my thoughts of not sleeping.  Finally dozed off again a little before 3am and then had the classic "missed the race start" dream.  Alarm woke me up at my usual 4:44am.  Haven't had that restless pre-race sleep in a long time.  I took it as a good sign--this was a big event for me and my brain was clearly working on it.

Ate my usual oatmeal breakfast and we were off to the start, arriving a few minutes ahead of schedule.  The air was already warming up and temps were very comfortable.  Got the boats unloaded, got body-marked, hung out with Jenny and family, pre-race instructions, got our paddlers in the water, then went for a short warm-up.  The water felt great--official temp was 72 degrees.  This is a non-wetsuit swim and the reservoir can be in the mid-60s this time of year.  We had been tracking it and were expecting a nice temp but actually getting into the water and feeling it was a relief.

I swam a few hundred meters and did a couple of pickups then lined up at the start.  Traded a few good words and high fives with friends, and cleared my head.  Ready and relaxed.  With 30 seconds to the start, I looked over to notice that the majority of the field was on the south side of the little dock.  We'd been told to be on the north side but the lines were better from the other side.  Too late to move.  We were off.

The Race
As soon as we started, I could see the line of faster swimmers begin to extend out to my right.  It's a long race that I wasn't likely to win so it didn't really make much difference in the long run, but I was unhappy.  I expected to be near the front of the race and this was a disadvantage.  But I settled my brain and kept an eye out for their direction as I sighted for the line of paddlers at the first point (less than 1k out).

The paddler meet-up is a crazy thing when it goes as planned; mayhem when it doesn't.  We had mayhem.

The paddlers line up their boats side by side in two lines (facing each other).  Paddlers with faster swimmers line up at the far end, slow swimmers at the near end.  Swimmers are supposed to swim down the middle lane created by the boats and the paddlers call out numbers as we pass through.  Theoretically, by the time the faster swimmers reach the end of the lane, their paddlers just peel off the end and move out along with them.  Great plan!  (On paper...)

The paddlers lined up way too far out from the point and the lead swimmers smartly didn't bother going out the extra distance to the meet-up lane.  The entire race passed by well behind both lines of paddlers.  I was out about as far as anyone but never got close to the paddler lane--they were just too far out.  I definitely should have made a bee-line for the point from the start had I anticipated how this would go down.  Cost me a little time and distance, but there was nothing I could do about it but hope Dean would eventually find me.

As I mentioned, it was mayhem.  Paddlers and swimmers everywhere.  The paddlers were too dispersed to hear each other calling out numbers so they were just moving up and down the slowly spreading out line of swimmers.  I decided just to go with the flow and hope I'd be found before my first planned feeding at 30 minutes.  I spotted Dean up ahead before he found me, but didn't bother taking the time to stop and try to get his attention.  I figured I'd keep an eye on him to make sure he was moving with the group and we'd hook up eventually.  He was looking for me in the lead group but because I took the bad line out there, I was further back than expected.

We eventually hooked up about 5 minutes before my first feed and all was good.  He immediately sighted the far point and began paddling a perfect line.  When I stopped to drink, we talked for a moment and I made sure to take in the right amount.  (This was a problem for me last year--my stops were too infrequent and I took in too little at each one.  Bonking at 8k sucks.  You can't exactly walk it in...)

My plan was simple: swim strong for the first hour, build to my max maintainable speed during the second hour, and then hold it for the last 30 minutes to the finish.  Feedings (all Infinit drink) at 30 minutes then every 20 minutes thereafter.  The feeding schedule would also help me keep track of time since I don't race with a watch.

There's not much to report for the next few miles.  Dean did an excellent job tracking in a straight line.  I drifted to my left a bit a times (I sometimes have this problem), but only had to sight ahead in order to get my bearings or keep an eye on the competition.  I'd go 100 or more strokes between sightings.  At one point I went about 500 strokes.  I sang songs, counted my strokes, and generally tried to keep my mind off what I was asking of my body.

At my 1:50 feeding, I was approaching what I estimated was my goal speed and I was definitely working very hard.  I was nervous about this point in the race.  Last year, I hit the wall shortly after 2 hours.  It was miserable.  My training and focus were much better this year and I was pretty confident, but the memories haunted me a bit.

There was a small group of swimmers who had been ahead of me following the shoreline instead of taking the more direct straight line Dean was piloting.  We had come together now and I was just behind.  Even though I thought I was at my max, I dug in and found a little more.  It was risky--I didn't know whether I could hold this new, higher pace to the finish but I just had to go for it.

At the 2:10 feeding I was right alongside the last person I could pass.  Took a short feed and got back to work, not losing too much distance in the process.  My 2:30 goal seemed unlikely at this point, but I was focused on the present situation.  I finally passed her after another 10 or so minutes of work and she was not going to give it to me easily.  When Dean signaled for the 2:30 feed, I waved him off.  I was only about 10 seconds ahead and the finish was in sight.  Plus, I had been working so hard, my stomach was turning and I thought I was going to throw up.  I didn't just think it, I expected it.  To the point of considering what I'd eaten that morning in anticipation of how bad it would be.  But somehow, I didn't.

The race is a straight shot--point-to-point down the reservoir--for 6 miles.  We swam past the finish line and then u-turned back to get the last 0.2 miles in.  As I approached the turnaround buoy, I began to worry what the twisting and change of direction might do to my body.  Cramping up was a real possibility--I was at my limit in every sense--and would have been a major bummer with someone hot on my tail.  I decided to take a couple of backstrokes as I went around to try to keep my body more aligned.  It worked and I was headed for the finish--flat out at this point.  If she could have passed me, she would have earned it.

The finish area was confusing and I was headed toward a buoy from an earlier race (not part of our race).  We had seen a picture of what we were looking for at the dinner the night before, but it was taken from the shore--the opposite of what I was trying to look for.  Dean started squeezing me in toward where I was supposed to go but at this point, very little oxygen was getting to my brain and I wasn't moving over.  He finally moved ahead of me a little and turned the boat in front of me.  I finally got the picture, made the adjustment and took the last few strokes around the dock and across the line.

Then, it got even rougher.  I was exhausted, emotional, and a little dizzy.  My muscles were throbbing and my head was foggy.  I was completely drained and felt like crying.  I stayed in the water for a minute or two to try to get my bearings.  I saw Sandy cheering from the shore.  Lindsey walked down to greet me.  I have no idea what I said.  A few strangers high-fived me or patted me on the back.  It was a blur for the next several minutes but I eventually regained my senses.

2:40:15.  11 minutes faster than last year but about 10 minutes off my goal. (I set an audacious goal.)  But that was as fast as I could have swum.  Maybe I lost a minute or even two taking the bad line at the start of the race but that was it.  I swam to the maximum of my current ability and it felt great. This was the hardest I've ever swum and I left everything I had out there--no regrets.  That's the way to race and I'm really proud of my day!

Looking good! (pre-race)

11k SCM. WTF!

Nope, I'm not nuts.  Okay, well I am, but not because of this.

Saturday morning, I was first in the pool (6:54am) at the Y to get my key workout in to complete my peak week of training for the Horsetooth 10k on August 7.

11 x 1,000 meters on 1 minute rest.

Assuming neutral wind/lake conditions, I'm aiming for 2:30 (or 15 minutes/kilometer) at the race so I set out to swim about that pace here.  The stroke and kick work go a little slower plus the rest interval made for 3 hours and 2 minutes.  Solid.

This workout has scared me ever since a friend pointed it out to me back in January.  It's just a long way to go.  I tried, unsuccessfully, to get someone to join me.  So it was just me and the thoughts in my head for all that time.

A few takeaways:

• I'm ready.  I won't say it was easy, but it was easier than I expected it to be.  Last year, my longest workout was 6k and my biggest week was probably around 15k.  It wasn't nearly enough prep as I hit the wall with 2k to go in the race.  I'm determined to burst through the 8k mark with speed and strength this year.
• It wasn't that boring.  I don't know why, but it really wasn't.  I counted strokes and laps, sang songs, did a little deep thinking.  My brain is an entertaining place.  It's not a great place for everyone, but it seems to work for me.
• It wasn't that hard.  This has more to do with the right kind of prep and training ramp than the workout itself.  I came into Saturday with over 20k on the week and a solid progression of building volume over the past several weeks.  Even the 1,000 IM wasn't a big deal (though I took that one pretty slowly...).

It was mildly surprising that none of the four lifeguards who watched over me bothered to ask what the eff I was doing. Thanks to Dave McMillan for sending me the link to Tim Hola's blog post about this workout.

So that's that.  The longest swim workout of my life.  Somehow, I suspect that even longer workouts are in my future as I look at some of my bucket-list swim goals...

Catching Up on Race Reports: Loveland Lake to Lake

I shouldn't put this off because I forget the details.  (And I know all my faithful readers want ALL the details...)

I raced the Loveland Lake to Lake Tri at the end of June.  This is a very well-run, local event with a longer than usual, challenging bike course and a flat/fast run.  I came into this race feeling pretty good about my training and somewhat, but not completely, rested.  By my assessment, the race is all about what happens from the time you exit the water to T2.  There's a long run to T1 and then the long and somewhat hilly bike.  My plan was to push the bike harder than usual, but my bike fitness is not as strong this season as it has been in the past.  This is an easy course to over-ride.  Of course, the Ricci-rivalry was top of my mind.  After a little bit of fun smacktalk in the week leading up to the race, on race morning, Mike mentioned to me that the best the loser of this one could do was tie our summer series.  (We were 1-1 coming in, this was race 3, and the Peak is the last head-to-head meeting of the season.)  Spoiler alert: I made Mike eat his words.

I got out to a nice start in the water, pulling a few guys out with me.  As soon as I hit the back of the wave ahead of us, (only about 200 meters in), I put on a small gap and then pressed hard, weaving through the stragglers.  I figured this was a good opportunity to ditch everyone behind me and it worked.  Although I was working through traffic, gaps just seemed to open up and I was hauling.  On the long straightaway to the swim exit, I was completely alone.  For some reason, everyone was taking a wide line--the crowds were about 10 meters off to my right.  I took a few extra long looks at the finish buoys to make sure I had it right and everyone else was off (what are the chances, right?) but that was exactly what had happened.

Out of the water over a minute ahead of the next closest guy in the wave and I was hauling butt on the long run to transition, knowing this is a place where Mike should have an advantage.  Another solid transition (this has been a real strength for me this season--no time wasted).  Out onto the bike course and feeling really good.

The first several miles are mostly downhill and I spent a fair amount of time checking in with the powermeter to be sure I wasn't riding too hard.  I settled into an effort that felt about right and was passing everyone in sight.  (We were the last wave to start.)  Around 10 miles into the ride and we're heading up a long gradual grade moving toward the steeper climbing that's around the halfway point of the 30-mile ride.  No one has passed me.  My brain was having trouble comprehending why this would be the case--I knew I'd had a good swim and I was riding well, but didn't seem like it was that great.  Finally got passed by a few guys in the age group on the climb at around mile 15 and then a few more came by on the rollers on the way back.  I was able to hang in just behind the second group.  A slight headwind makes this section challenging but I still felt strong.  The ride was otherwise uneventful and after another fast transition, I exited T2 with the group.

They pretty much ran away from me right from the start.  No worries, I had a decent pace going.  My plan was to try to build effort through the run.  Although the course is essentially "flat and fast," it always feels like there's more elevation loss on the way out.  I was going to really start pushing at the turnaround (just before halfway) but I got passed at mile 2 by a guy I knew who is only a little faster runner than I am and I pushed to try to hang with him (which I did for a while).  By the time I was coming back from the turnaround, I was already going about as hard as I could maintain so that was that.

Mike and I crossed and I estimated I had about a 90 second advantage.  That math was good--he wasn't going to take 30 seconds per mile out of me back to the finish at my pace.  But no relaxing either.  The last mile was very painful and the course has a lot of turns through the park on the concrete path.  I turned to look for Mike on more than one occasion as I came into the park but couldn't see him.  I was starting to come apart and couldn't even lift my pace a little bit to try to kick at the finish--I had maxed out.

I set a big PR on the course overall, ran a PR split (43:45), and beat my boy Mike by 62 seconds.  The first thing he said once he was able to talk after crossing the line was "Good news/bad news.  You beat me at my best."  I had a hard time figuring out the bad news part of this, but appreciated the compliment.  So yet another close one and another race where the rivalry made me a better racer.  Thanks Mike!