I'm glad the story is bigger than that, because, come on, that's a little boring.
My friend ES decided he wanted to do this race - a couple of years ago. This fall he decided that this was the year, and he trained. Watching him put in the work, and answering questions (should I ride my mountain bike? -No. Are there bathrooms on the course? -Yes) made the whole event more exciting. His first timer jitters gave ME first timers jitters! As the day got closer, he was more and more confident about finishing, and he was surprising himself with how fit he had gotten in a few months.
I was nervous. I put out a time goal, and I wasn't sure I had it in me. I didn't get to the Sandia Ski hill more than 4 times. I only got on my bike to do the Tramway and La Luz hills twice. TWICE! I had been running, thankfully, but still there were weeks that didn't have a whole lot of that either. I arrived in Grants on Friday, uncertain if I would be able to go 5:45 - my stated goal, or even if I would break 6 hours. But, I was resolved to try to race, and see where it got me.
The weather, being the one thing that we racers can't control, was the one item on everyone's lips. Windy. Rainy. No, REALLY WINDY. One thing that is a constant in this race is the headwind on the bike downhill; this year promised to set a new benchmark for nastiness. And another thing that is not so good for me - it was warm. Give me frigid any day, and I'm a happy camper. But, wind, rain, or warmth - didn't matter. I was resolved. Off we go.
The start of the bike is always fun. Most in this crowd have never biked in a crowd. The roadway has many potholes, seams, and cracks. Everyone is a little squirrely, most heading out faster than they should. In years past, there's been someone I know who is near my speed on the bike, but not this year. So I rolled along, and pretty quickly became aware of a nice little headwind. Dang - I thought we might at least get a tailwind on the way up to make me feel better about the headwind on the way down. I caught on to a group and we rotated leading for much of the way, until the last few miles I pulled ahead. I saw a yellow jersey in front of me. It looked like it could be ES! Really? I hadn't biked with him before. I decide to try and catch him, so I started working a little harder. The glimpses I'd get around each bend showed me I was gaining ground, but as I got within 50 yards, I realized it wasn't ES after all. Too bad, but I was happy with how the bike had gone, the only downside was that I had only eaten one cliffblock for 30 cal. And had drunk maybe 6 oz water. I worked hard, but was still ready to run. (and ski, and snowshoe...) I resolved to do a little better on the food front.
I got into transition having reviewed it in my mind several times, and with the help of the volunteer I felt like I managed to go pretty fast through it. I started slurping from my water bottle right away. After the first 1/2 mile, my legs settled in. I was moving right along. I passed a couple of people, had to retie my shoe, got passed by a few people. I started to notice something a bit different. Normally in this race, whether passing or being passed, we racers are encouraging each other. This year, though, at a faster pace, none of the women I passed or that passed me reciprocated or even acknowledged my encouragement. Really? So focused that they didn't hear me, I bet. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. I did find some success on two other issues - I ate a gel, and I ran until the second cattle guard before taking a short walk break. Wahoo! On to the run-ski transition, still working hard, and still feeling pretty good.
I had a father and son help me through T2, and besides getting the right and left ski boot mixed up, they were a big help. I made sure to leave with my snowshoe backpack, and off I went. And.... promptly felt like I was going to have a very very sloooow ski ahead of me. Wow. My legs did not want to go up anymore. My muscles were ready to go AWOL. I backed off a bit. Really as much as I could without stopping, practically, just hoping that I'd find another groove. I got to the short flat spot and finally my effort and pace seemed to come back into alignment. My slow progress let me lose focus a little, but I don't feel like I lost too much time, even so. Soon, I was moving up heartbreak hill, trying to stay on the white patches in the midst of the bare grassy field. The sun was out, and the snow was slushy. I wondered how the downhill was going to be. No telling until I get there! And into the Ski-Snowshoe transition, T3.
I focused and tried to be efficient, removing my skins, getting into my snowshoes. I grabbed some water on the way out - I was thirsty and a bit hungry. While I was worried about this, I did what I could and kept moving. I ran all the way to the edge of the world for the first time ever. Brief glances at my watch along the race so far had me ahead of even my 5:45 predictions, but I could tell I was slowing down. The showshoe hike to the top is the hardest on tired legs. I was proud of myself, though, I didn't stop for rest breaks. I just kept moving, even though it was hard, and I couldn't see the top. The wind, always strong on the exposed S face seemed particularly strong today. I wondered about the downhill bike, but, No telling until I get there! And, finally, the top. I was ready to enjoy the downhill shoe through the trees in the soft snow - most of the time you can get a really nice glide going, and I can really move. It was not to be this time. The route was a mix of hardpack and soft, with huge divots that you could never be sure if you should avoid, or use to your advantage. They might be hard, and trip you up, or they might be soft and let you glide. Oh, and there were briars exposed this year that would grab onto your snowshoe cleats and not let go. Amidst all of that, the toe-box of my snowshoe got caught under the plastic of the snowshoe platform. So, between falling into divots and NOT RUNNING, I sat down and wrestled with my snowshoe for a minute. Not my best downhill shoe by a long shot. Ok, well, I had been ahead of my estimates, so hoped I had the time to spare and I kept my chin up. I ran along the packed section back to T3, and quickly changed back into my skis.
I look up, ready to move... and couldn't tell how to get out of transition. I mean, I knew where the course headed, but they routed us with poles and tape a bit differently. After a small wrong turn, I get out, and .... am surprised by how slushy the snow is. This might be better for me, not so fast and out of control. But I am poling a lot here, my arms are getting very tired. I get to the steeper sections, and still can't seem to pick up much speed. I'm actually looking for speed, that's how slow it felt. I still managed to fall, once, inconsequentially. I got up quickly and actually WAS mad at falling like my sis-in-law had told me to be, and pushed myself to go faster. I wasn't sure I could afford a super slow ski on top of the slow snowshoe. I was poling as hard as I could for the last section, and finally, finally got to the road with very tired, quivering arms, quads and hips. A few minutes later, I was in to the ski-run transition. I didn't dare look at my watch. I had set an alarm for 4h17m into the race. if I could get out of the ski-run transition before 4h17m, I thought I'd be able to finish in 5:45. Though the wind on the downhill bike might make that tough. I hurried through transition, thanking the volunteers the whole time, and got onto the downhill run.
YES! I love this section. It's steep, and the legs get set free. It's relaxing to just be able to run after the ski. I get about 4 minutes into the run, and my alarm goes off. Wahoo! I just need to keep pushing - I'm pretty tired, and it's hard - but I CAN still make 5:45. Doggedly I run the uphills, shortening my stride and accepting the pain. I take another gel - the first food I've had except two orange slices in ~2.5 hours, and drink all the water left in my bottle. I take an extra salt tab. I'm still thirsty. Gotta keep working. DD passes me 1/3 mile before the run/bike transition. We exchange encouragement. I think about sprinting into transition, but as I crest the hill overlooking the bikes, the wind pushes hard against me. I tuck my head and keep my steady pace, and try not to think about how tired I am.
My bike is near the exit of the transition. The guy helping me was again, fantastic, holding things, and encouraging. He says the wind had come up stronger maybe 1/2 hour ago, although it had been blowing all day. I strap on my helmet, and face the last section. A glance at my watch shows that I have 47 minutes to get to the finish to make 5:45. I've done it faster than that, but without the wind. And I've done it slower than that, without the wind. Time to see what's left.
The first 2.5 miles are steep and winding. Typically I have to touch the brakes a few times to go around curves. This year, I am locked in my aerobars, only thinking once or twice about braking. The wind gusts push me around, and I ride at an angle to the road even when not going around a curve. At the bottom of the big climb, a wicked gust comes from the side and then from the front and robs me of all my speed. I ratchet down into an easier gear, and keep moving. The uphill protects us a bit from the headwind, and I find a groove that isn't too uncomfortable. But I know what's coming. About 30 ft from the crest, the wind comes howling over the top, fiercely whipping over my helmet and jersey. Just get over, just a little further... these little lies you tell yourself are really something, don't you think? It wasn't just a little further, I still had ~8 miles of the bike to go in the stiffest headwind I had ever been in. Anyway. I pick my speed back up from the dusty road. I shift back into my big chainring. I can't take it easy. I have to push. I can see that I'm only occasionally above 20 as I work past the jail, and I'm working hard, where normally I'm cruising at 27. Gusts accompanying the steady headwind slap me around, and pelt me with grit. I can see dust devils coming for me down the road. At first I try to hold my breath and close my eyes against the dirt. But the oxygen debt is just more than I can take, and I relent. I spit out grit after each devil whips over me. I'm working, focusing on making myself small in the face of the wind, and finding a gear that I can manage, but isn't slacking. I pass a couple of people, and I wonder - do I look that miserable? I spot the turn by the Smiths, and put my head down, and focus on the line. I work for several minutes, then look up, sure the turn must be right ..... dang, still 1/2 mile ahead. After the turn comes the first slight break - now the wind is cross, and not a headwind. I motor, feeling like I have to push now that I can - until I make the next turn, right back into the teeth of the wind. I do believe I groaned, although no-one could possibly have heard me. Ok, come on, head down, stay aero, WORK. I watch my speedometer drop - 12, 11, 10 mph. I stop looking and just work. I feel myself slow down and take another glance at my speed - 8!?! I must be starting up the little rise... that must be it. But when I glance up, that rise is still two blocks away. It's ok, almost there, doing great, geez this hurts. I get over the rise, and make the last turn. Without the wind in my face, I can't crawl across the line at 10 miles an hour! I kicked it in for the last few blocks, cranking hard and picking up speed.
The reward: as I got close to the line I see the time 5:45:5X.
Ok, it was worth it. Unbelievable. Racing is fun. I coasted jerkily over to the aid table at the finish, and grabbed water and an orange. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry. I look up to see DD laying on the covered bed of his truck, neatly tucked out of the wind. KC comes over too, and all the commiseration talk about the wind on the bike begins. I duck inside quickly, needing to see in print, in black and white my finishing time. There it is, 5:45:54 - and, it says I'm first in my age group, too. Something that means more to me, though, I'm the 8th woman across the line. Wow, not bad. I did it. I did that.
ES finishes with a smile, and can't stop talking over the race. I am so glad he had fun, and had a good day. I heard him say something about next year already!
And so, to end, Analysis Girl is going to poke her head out and take a look around.
2008 | 2009 | 2010 | Goal: 2011 | Actual 2011 | |
Bike up + T1 | 1:18:25 | 1:06:25 | 1:16:54 | 1:08 | 1:08:49 |
Run + T2 | 1:10:47 | 1:09:04 | 1:07:53 | 1:05 | 1:00:47 |
Ski | 54:26 | 51:34 | 50:11 | 0:49 | 45:19 |
Snowshoe +T3 | 35:51 | 35:23 | 37:44 | 0:33 | 30:21 |
Snowshoe down | 15:01 | 12:58 | 13:27 | 0:12 | 13:55 |
Ski down + T3' | 33:56 | 32:51 | 31:47 | 0:30 | 29:17 |
Run down + T2' | 53:58 | 51:31 | 48:08 | 0:48 | 45:22 |
Bike down + T1' | XXX | 46:40 | 38:13 | 0:40 | 52.07 |
Finish Time | 6:06:34 | 6:04:14 | 5:45 | 5:45:54 |
So on the way up, I was ahead of my time goal by 10 minutes. That's huge! the shoe down was 1 minute slow, which I can account for by the sitting down to fix the snowshoe, and the not great conditions. The ski down was my fastest yet, and I think with more practice I could even get to like this. The run down was also my fastest yet, so by the time I got on my bike, I was still more than 11 minutes ahead of my goal. Good thing I had the buffer to deal with the brutal conditions!
Female overall placings:
Bike up: 10th
Run up: 7th
Ski up: 13th
Shoe up: 9th
Shoe down: 6th
Ski down: 16th
Run down: 6th
Bike down: 6th
Where are easy improvements to be made?
-> biking and skiing. CLEARLY. To be on the same level as my good events, I'd need to:Bike up in 1:06
Ski up in 42 min
Ski down in 22 min
Which would save me 12 minutes. Ok, so next year? goal time 5:25.
Better start working!
