Even more important - I took a x-c ski lesson. yup, a lesson. It was the best thing I'd done for my cross country skiing ever. Two hours with Jessica Kiesel increased my confidence on the skis about 100x. Now when I got unbalanced, or fell, I knew what I had done wrong. I could correct it - it wasn't just some random chaotic occurrence that I couldn't prepare for or counteract. What a relief!
I love the Quad. The scale of the race is huge - hey, start in this town on your bike, and go up that mountain there, and run, ski, and snowshoe along the way. I love the volunteers - the father-son team that helped me at the run/ski transition, the group of 3 or 4 people that helped me at the downhill run bike transition - just fantastic, in great spirits, patient, encouraging, helpful. I love the feeling of dropping off the gear the night before, the feeling of weightlessness and fatefulness that follows. I love the mix of competitors. Most other races, the newbies can blend in. But the challenge of the quad - all the gear, all the transition areas, the route - there are so many questions to ask, that no new racer is so sanguine to hide in the shadows without asking any questions. Even after 4 years of doing the quad (and paying attention) I still find new things to try, new information, new ways to consider the course. I know too, that even if I have a bad day, it'll be a day to remember - which in lots of ways is equal to a good day.
Two weeks before the race, my tight IT band, hamstring, and glutes on my right side morphed into a pretty sore hip/gluteus medius. Rats. Guess I should have paid more attention to making my yoga sessions. I took a few days off, and saw my chiro, but it continued to bother me. But, I didn't want to skip the quad. Unthinkable. So. I thought I'd just do it, and not push too hard. I didn't make up any time estimates, or review last year's time, or think about fast transitions. (That is so very unusual for me!) I kinda hoped I'd beat my friend ES, but even that wasn't a driving factor. I didn't want to hurt myself further - that was the goal.
I didn't even wear my Garmin for the race. (But I did wear my timex watch, and start the stopwatch at the gun. I'm still me.)
I could tell on the bike up that my training had been minimal. I was kind of glad that I hadn't bothered to calibrate my speedometer - it said I was going 10 mph., but I knew it was slower. I traded spots with ES a few times in the early part, then didn't see him again. I passed another fellow on a FELT - I complimented him on his bike, and he returned the favor. We had the best weather I've ever seen, calm and sunny. At transition, ES came in as I was changing shoes and we yelled out encouragement to each other. He was gunning for a PR, and the way he had trained he deserved to get a big one.
1:12 read my watch on the way out of transition - oof, I think that's a lot slower than I've done previously. Oh well. I was able to run the whole dang run route this year - I think that's a first for me. I had felt my hip on the bike, but the pain dulled during the run. My screw shoes were an excellent addition to my race gear - not a single worry about slipping. Magical! I overheated a bit in my jacket and hoody, but it wasn't too bad. I ate 2 gummy bears and an orange slice, but ignored the gel packet in my pocket. Oh, and I'd forgotten to take any salt tabs on the bike. oops. I got to the run/ski transition in 2:08 - hey, that's a pretty good run time. Awesome. The volunteer had my bag waiting for me, and she left to go get my poles. I didn't see my skis - drat. So I waited for her to come back - which she does... with my poles. "Uh, could you get my skis? my boots are on them, and I can't change..." She points to my side - "they're right there"
oops. I apologized and thanked her like five times. I'm so blind, deaf, and dumb during a race. I remembered my snowshoe backpack, and headed out.
2:11 read my watch. Hey, not bad. And the ski up was just what I remembered. La-la-la.... I didn't take it easy exactly, but I didn't push it either. A woman passed me, I thought she was in my age group. I let her go. On the steeper sections I could feel my hip, and since I was making decent time, I didn't feel any need to push it. On my way up heartbreak, I passed a guy with kicker skins. Poor guy. he was slipping and sliding, his herringbone-ing was erratic. It was going to take him a long time to get up that steep slope. I gave him what encouragement I could. In transition I see Ed. I ask him to take care of my skins, but he demurs and a volunteer says he'll do it, and take care of my stuff. Cool! I get into my snowshoes with my shoehorn (awesome!) and leave. I check my watch, but can't make sense of what it says.
I decided I would run to the edge of the world without walking - which I don't think I've ever managed before. Maybe silly, but it seemed like a fun idea at the time. I didn't have too much problem with that and I was pretty happy with myself. Until the two people I had passed while running in my snowshoes passed me back as I started hiking up the last steep 100 yds to the peak. Oh well. I had also decided I wasn't going to stop on this hike up to "try to catch my breath". Which I also managed. Wahoo! At the top, I get a good look at my watch - 3:20. hey... I think that's a few minutes ahead of last year... but I don't remember exactly. nice! I decide to get a shot of something at the edge of the world to celebrate. I cruise down the downhill shoe - once of my favorite parts of this race. And it's hard to not think about my time now... wonder if I can do better than last year? At the edge of the world, they offer me water - "how 'bout something a little stronger?" the group of guys laugh and give me a shot of Hot Damn. Woot!
I run into the shoe/ski transition, and ask a volunteer about my skis...
"what number?"
"my number is 16"
"here it is" pointing to some skis that are not mine at the base of a pole marked 16.
"no those aren't mine."
"well, what do yours look like"
flustered, "um, they're white grey and red I think"
we're wandering around the transition area now, hunting among all the skis.
"what number did they tell you before you left?"
"what? I don't know... a number... " I'm more flustered now.
After wandering helplessly for endless minutes, other racers coming and going, I spot my skis laying on the ground (near number 7 post). Relieved, but still frustrated, I start shoving on my gear. My socks get bunched in my boot. I can't figure out how to click my new ski pole hand loops back into the poles. I am entering the Bermuda triangle of bad race transition attitudes. My jacket zipper gets stuck. I still can't clip into my poles, and decide to head down without being attached to the poles. Have you ever tried that? Just hanging on to the poles without straps? It's hard not to drop your poles. Really hard.
ok, reset.
Stop. fix the sock in your boot.
Check. (a little snarky)
Take a deep breath, and figure out your pole straps. Oh, see, there's a hole for the clip on the opposite side from were you were looking.
Check. (relieved)
Unstick your zipper, or you'll get cold. yes, people are passing you. It's ok.
Check.
All ready now? cheerful again?Check.(a little sheepish)
ok, head out.
Although normally the approach to the downhill ski part winds me tighter than a gen chem lab monitor the day we do the thermite reaction, I had actually been looking forward to this part today. Because I had taken a lesson! I was all smart and stuff. I centered myself on my skis, bent at the knee, and glided off. I looked at my watch, since I wanted to see how long it took me to ski down without the Bermuda triangle transition. 3:40.
And the ski went great. I was smiling the whole way. I wasn't tense; I negotiated the three 180 deg turns without a single wobble. I stayed low, but upright. What a difference! gone were the gritted teeth and the forced upbeat self talk -"you can do this, it's not that bad, don't freak out, speed is your friend...". Instead, I was just having fun. Some volunteers were watching at one of the u-turns, and they shouted out as I zoomed around the corner, "Just a walk in the park for you!"
And it was.
4:02 (ish) read my watch at transition. Hey. Hey, that's pretty good - I skied down in ~22 minutes, if you don't include the Bermuda transition. And... (adding slowly in my head) yeah, if I take 1h30 for the run and the bike, which I think is do-able, I'll be around 5:30 for my time. That'd be 15 minutes better than last year. Cool! The run/ski transition was facilitated by a father-son team. The son held open my bag and offered to take things for me. I love the volunteers here. And, I was off. Woot!
I enjoyed the run down - I worked a little on the steep downhill parts, and relaxed on the few uphills, not wanting to aggravate my hip. Which was burning a bit. While I was happy to see the parking lot come into view, I was more relieved to find my bike still in one piece and ready to take me down the mountain. My watch read 4:45 as I slipped my helmet on, got my shoes on, all amidst 4 volunteers holding this or that, bringing me water, taking away my run gear. Thanks guys!!
I thanked the volunteers and police officers for being out there, and then set myself to speed off downhill. I ignored my brakes, and stayed in my aerobars - I didn't feel any wind gusts. (Though others said they did on this section. I guess I was lucky.) The downhill bike is so much fun. I know the road well enough that I don't feel the need to brake, I know what turns to accelerate through, when to sit up for a sharper turn. Plus, I was in a very good mood now - last leg, faster than I thought I'd be, and there was NO WIND TO SPEAK OF! Even though I hadn't practiced my aero position, I stayed in it beyond where my shoulders started to ache. One guy passed me on the bike - part of a team, and I kept him in sight for most of the ride. I couldn't catch him, though. That's ok, I thought, my hip is aching now, so I just need to keep it steady and finish so I can dismount. The rough road through town vibrated my bike so hard my teeth ached, until finally I was up the short hill, and round the corner, down the hill and across the line. In my haste, I forgot to look at the clock. I wandered over to the water table, chatted with the volunteers. My watch read 5:22:XX - That's unbelievable. But I double checked with the race clock and that seemed about right. I hadn't taken any short cuts - I could remember every twist and turn... Pretty funny when you consider accusing yourself of cheating because your time is much faster than you expected. Final Clock time - 5:21:10. More than 24 minutes faster than last year. Encroyable!
Post race, I have a few thoughts:
- Geez, that's way faster than I ever thought I'd go. And I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard. Cool.
- The ski down + transition took me 32 minutes. That's ridiculous. I can do better than that!
- Say... wait, I wonder how much better I can do?
- Being vegan for one week before the quad (for the first time ever) had no effect on my energy levels.
- Not having Coke for 2+ months before the Quad ... or during the Quad .... or after the Quad... had no effect on me either. Sorry Coke. You can toss my application for sponsorship.
- I ate almost nothing the entire race (4 gummy bears and an orange slice. And the Hot damn). Not sure I noticed that either. I did drink water though.
So, goal for next year - let's go crazy. I want the sub-five t-shirt. I have no idea what it looks like, if it's technical or cotton, if it's female specific fit... but I want it. So. 4:59:59. :)
And now, to rehab my hip and train for the Ice Age 50 miler in May!
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