While it's tough to see summer go, autumn will bring good squash soups, apple pies that permeate the air with cinnamon spice, comfy sweaters, a new president, and pretty colors on the trees...
Mugsy and I rode the highly acclaimed Monarch Crest Trail yesterday, a 32-mile section of the Colorado Trail, right in the peaking fall colors. With all this you'd think I'd be ready to capture nature's best. Nope. Left the camera at my condo. Left my phone (with camera) in the car. Therefore, no pictures from yesterday.
While only being 32 miles, the ride felt a whole lot longer. It took us about six hours to complete, with a few hiccups along the way. Mugsy had a flat with about two miles left on the trail, and I spent the day occasionally pumping up the Pugsley's rear tire due to a slow leak.
This was the Pugsley's first trip onto an actual trail. It drew a ton of attention - "Look at those tires!!!", "Sweet wheels!!!" ... etc. - and while it perhaps wasn't the best for single track, there were a few sections of scree and creek riding that it cut through like a hot knife through butter.
While the Puglsey has no active suspension, it does have a lot of ability to soak up bumps, rocks, logs, etc., due to its 4-inch (3.7) Surly Endomorph tires. I started the day running at about 20psi, but kept tweaking until I was down to around 10psi. At 10psi, I had a good combination of control and "squishiness" in the tire to soak up the obstacles on the trail.
While Mugsy felt the trail was "Girl-Scout Technical", I don't know if I'd want to take the Pugsley onto a trail any more technical. That doesn't say it couldn't handle it - I'm sure it could - I'm just not the most adept rider on mountain trails. It really amazed me how quickly people were bombing down the rock and cobble strewn trail at significant grades. I seriously wonder how anyone could actually be in control! With rocks and trees everywhere, it seems just a little bit risky.
Now that Ironman is over, I've had some time to be a bit more productive.
Karen's always has had big issues with how the basement's store/bike room has been organized. The bikes were leaned up against the wall and one another, making it difficult to get to the one you want to ride, not to mention running the risk of scratching paint jobs.
Before shot:
I decided to re-live my dorm room days and visit the local big-box hardware store to pick up some lumber, screws, and stain to build my own free-standing rack.
Here it is. Seven bikes total, even the Pug-baby will fit on it. After shot:
The biggest reflection on Ironman Wisconsin is that I can say I have seen a different side to Ironman distance racing. Mostly because I have successfully put together a race that involved distances running over the length of a half marathon. Finally.
The race day weather was perfect. What was supposed to be a day of occasional rain and thunderstorms, started with clear sight of stars in the pre-dawn morning.
After quickly getting my last things organized in T1 (water bottle & GU flasks on the bike), I made my way down to the swim with Karen and got ready for one of the most spectacular race starts in Ironman racing.
The Monona Terrace was filled with people: Along the top, lining the helices that we would be running up and biking down.
After seeing Karen's wave off (the elite wave left ten minutes prior to the start of the agegroup race), the jockeying for position was on. Being faster swimmers, my friend Ryan Paterson and I went to the front and left - the pole position. Soon, though, it became clear that it could very well be a knock out drag out situation: too many people, too amped up. I never was one for a mosh pit. I moved to the right.
The race started with the traditional cannon shot (only a model - really! about the size of a foot), and I quickly sprinted off to stay at the front of mayhem. I had a great swim, around top 20, and much faster than my swim in Roth three years ago.
Moving onto the bike, I slapped down a pretty aggressive pace for the first loop. I caught Karen heading in Mt Horeb on the first loop, and heading into Verona at the end of the first loop, I was told I was the 13th overall male racer - pros included. That's when the wind started picking up.
The wind really added a load and my legs were suddenly feeling like lead climbing the hills that I nimbly climbed on the previous lap. I had to slow down, or really run the high risk of blowing up completely on the run. I backed off quite a bit, and soon I was watching some of the pro men I had passed on the first lap start to stream by.
Excited that I was approaching Old Sauk Pass Road, where I would see our race group's spectators, a small disaster struck. I felt my wheel starting to go flat. Looking down and confirming this, I started feeling anxious about what was to come: a tubular tire change that I'd never done in a race before, and with an older tire I had taken off a few years ago, the glue having not been re-applied. Stupid of me. I figured, like everyone else, that I wouldn't need it ... that it wouldn't happen to me ... but it was happening at that moment and I felt the weight of my stupidity weighing on my mind.
Again, luckily, it was right at the base of Old Sauk Pass, and so I took the chance to ride the slow leak up to the top where I'd have moral support to change my tire (and if it didn't work, have a place to catch a ride home).
I was soon greeted by Mugsy, running me up the hill and cheering me on. "Muggs, I got a flat..." I said. "You can't have a flat Murph!?! Whaddya talking about!?!". And so it went.
I was able to change out the tire and get back on the road in just under nine minutes, but the glue was old and brittle. Only the air pressure was holding the tire to the rim. This wasn't a good sitation. With about thirty miles left on the hilly and winding bike course, there would be plenty of opportunity to roll the tire Joseba Beloki - style (resulting in a crash that ended his career). The following footage would be all that I would think about for these next thirty miles, as I slowed to walking pace on every corner and stopped to check the tire before every downhill:
I finished the ride safely, and started to run at my planned pace of 8min/miles. A few guys in my agegroup ran past early, and I kept my planned pace knowing all too well that I could easily run into trouble if I pushed any harder.
For years I've been unsuccessful at running Marathon distances. My first Marathon is, to me, nearly an aberration. At 2:59, my 2001 Chicago Marathon stands out as a great accomplishment next to the years following: one DNF at Milwaukee in 2004 (foot pain trying to get a sub-3hr Marathon, ended at 16M), a 3:53 at Ironman length Quelle Challenge Roth in 2005, and a 3:59 at the Lincoln Marathon in 2007.
In my longest training run of 22 miles leading up to this Ironman race, I posted 8's until mile 15, then dropped the hammer in the 6:30mi/min range for a few miles to catch Karen (who'd been running in the mid-7's). I held out fine for the remaining four at mid-to-low 7mi/min pace, and could've run another 4 at that point. I determined then my pace would start slow, and build, if possible, at the end.
Back to the race, at the half marathon point I was feeling tired but still capable of running 8's. I just passed one of the guys that had passed me early on. People were pushing it too hard, and as a result, they were starting to run backwards. I held to my pace for rest of the race, falling to around 8:01's or 8:02's after 20 miles.
With about a quarter-mile to go, I saw the other guy that passed me early on, and feeling absolutely able to kill the last quarter mile, I immediately picked up the pace, running that 6:15 pace I'd hit in my 22 mile training run. Blowing past this now struggling guy at that speed would most likely break any thought of trying to catch me.
With this, I ran in with as my brother would call it "a sprinter-like kick" for the final steps of my 2008 Ironman Wisconsin. Feeling great the entire race, all the way to the end.
The best of the race were the fans. So many people out on all portions of the race - swim, bike, and run. And most importantly, the fans of our immediate group of racers - my brothers, their wives, and children, Karen's parents, my three good friends from home, and the rest of the crew that came along with John, Erin, Jarrod, and RP.
A fun race indeed. As I said, I have a new outlook on Ironman racing, and I'm so looking forward to racing at Kona in October of 2009.
Lungs a-fire. 10K topping out at 9019ft, 3.3 miles of climbing. Heart beating like a jackhammer in the temples. Average 11 percent grade. The chilling cold of snow kicked up behind you and falling down your back. Fluffy snow that mimics quicksand that makes your body scream for Mommy...
Yesterday, Karen, John, Erin and I ran the first of the four Beaver Creek Snowshoe Adventure Series races. It was fun, but man did it hurt!
I was very happy with the hard fought 7th place finish in this first-of-four largest-in-the-world snowshoe race series, but there's a long way for me to go to be competitive in this sport. With the likes of mutants Seth Wealing (a former ITU Triathlete like myself who has began spanking people on the XTerra Circuit) and Bernie Boettcher (an older guy that makes me hope that runners do, in fact, like wine, get better with age), I was ten minutes behind the winner. Ouch.
Karen also picked up 7th in the female division, and like me, was quick to state that she was happy with the result, but so far from being acclimated to this type of effort at this altitude.
On the way home I read my brother's blog post on 'The Distance' (http://steel-cut.blogspot.com/2007/12/distance.html). It got me thinking quite a bit on what my distance was... and I have to note a couple of times in my life that I've broken through walls in my beliefs in what is possible.
First: The first run over 5K in the parent's neighborhood the summer that I decided to get back into shape (1998). All 210 lbs of me had started running about a month earlier and at the time was just able to make it down the block before having to stop to catch my breath. A month later I finished three 1.3 mile loops in my parent's neighborhood and thought I'd become a true distance runner. I bragged to my friends who said "What!?! Shut up, Murph! You didn't just run a 5K!"
Second: Chicago Marathon, 2000. I still don't know how I did it, but I ran a 2:59 and change in my first attempt at the 26.2 mile distance ... I still have never come close to it (one DNF, a 3:53 in an Ironman in 2005, and a 3:59 this year). My running training that summer consisted of nothing over 30 minutes of running per session (I'd suffered from knee pain in 1999 when training for the Chicago Marathon and decided that running anything over 30 minutes was terrible for your body). I had also been racing mainly Olympic Distance triathlons, and did (I think) a single 15-miler a couple of weeks before the actual Marathon since Triathlon season was over.
Third and most distinguished running memory: Amakusa International Triathlon, Amakusa, Japan. I was about four minutes down from the lead pack of cyclists (yes, ITU is draft-legal) coming off the bike on a mid-90 degree day with an obscene amount of humidity. I was relaxed, though, having seen the good omen of a butterfly right before the race, and decided that I was going to run down the lead pack. I'd been reading "The Power of One", and while there are plenty of great quotes in the book, the one that stuck out in my head that day was the following:
The power of one is above all things the power to believe in yourself, often well beyond any latent ability you may have previously demonstrated. The mind is the athlete; the body is simply the means it uses to run faster or longer, jump higher, shoot straighter, kick better, swim harder, hit further, or box better ... [it means] thinking well beyond the powers of normal concentration and then daring your courage to follow your thoughts.
I turned completely mind at 4 miles. I had already run down a number of runners by then and saw four more a half mile or so ahead. I let it completely out and ran past that point of any previously demonstrated ability. It didn't matter how I felt, it didn't matter how hot it was ... nothing mattered. I just ran, and ran fast.
I ran down the four and finished fifth. It was something that I will never forget.
Fourth: Four runs strung together when I trotted across Ireland, where I put in 70 miles in the span of four days. That more hurt than anything else (and truthfully was a source of an injury), and really wasn't the source of a "Gee, I didn't think I could run that distance...." I was crazy then (but I'd do it again!!!).
Mugsy and I rode the highly acclaimed Monarch Crest Trail yesterday, a 32-mile section of the Colorado Trail, right in the peaking fall colors. With all this you'd think I'd be ready to capture nature's best. Nope. Left the camera at my condo. Left my phone (with camera) in the car. Therefore, no pictures from yesterday.
This was the Pugsley's first trip onto an actual trail. It drew a ton of attention - "Look at those tires!!!", "Sweet wheels!!!" ... etc. - and while it perhaps wasn't the best for single track, there were a few sections of scree and creek riding that it cut through like a hot knife through butter.
The biggest reflection on Ironman Wisconsin is that I can say I have seen a different side to Ironman distance racing. Mostly because I have successfully put together a race that involved distances running over the length of a half marathon. Finally.
Moving onto the bike, I slapped down a pretty aggressive pace for the first loop. I caught Karen heading in Mt Horeb on the first loop, and heading into Verona at the end of the first loop, I was told I was the 13th overall male racer - pros included. That's when the wind started picking up.
With this, I ran in with as my brother would call it "a sprinter-like kick" for the final steps of my 2008 Ironman Wisconsin. Feeling great the entire race, all the way to the end.
Lungs a-fire. 10K topping out at 9019ft, 3.3 miles of climbing. Heart beating like a jackhammer in the temples. Average 11 percent grade. The chilling cold of snow kicked up behind you and falling down your back. Fluffy snow that mimics quicksand that makes your body scream for Mommy...
