Cornucopia

Staying active while traveling for work can be challenging. Yes, most of my non-late-night training occurs when I'm isolated from the family life but not having consistent exercise venues often leads to creative heart rate raising techniques. 

I always integrate simple body weight exercises when on the road. Some days it's just one set of pushups to stretch out my airplane seat back slouch. Sometimes I put on my loaded work backpack and do squats to exhaustion. Multi-story hotels make for great stair climbs. Other days I'll go through a full yoga routine. 

For aerobic activity, though, I rely on running. I try to explore the city I'm in as much as possible by foot. I search for local running clubs and find their trails or parks. I go on MapMyRun and find public running routes. Sometimes I just walk out of my hotel and run away for a couple miles then turn around and trace my steps back. I've found some gorgeous urban parks (Cherokee Park in Louisville, KY), beautiful suburban trails (The Wissahickon in Philadelphia), and scenic river trails in cities where I least expected scenery (the paved river trails in Dayton, OH). I've admired downtown skylines from the Ohio Street Beach trail in Chicago, The Venetian Causeway in Miami and the Cherry Creek Path in Denver. I've stumbled across group runs who invited me to join (Chicago), was asked to join a hill-climb session where I almost vomited in front of 30 strangers (Louisville) and did impropmtu intervals with a complete stranger in Long Beach, CA. 

Unfortunately, fitting all of my cold weather running gear into my carry-on duffel isn't always possible, so for a few months of the year I'm relegated to hotel treadmills. Many hotels pride their "fitness center" listing on trip advisor, almost always including a photo of their gym that I'm certain was taken by a realtor that was trying to convey a sense of openness that you'd often find in residential home sale listings. But more often than not those same "spacious" fitness centers are populated by secondhand equipment and smell like the equipment room in a community pool. Elliptical machines that creak like old Ford Taurus doors. Recumbent stationary bikes that rock from side to side every time you pedal. Mismatched dumbbells and yoga mats that look like floor mats after a Minnesota spring season. And of course, second hand treadmills. Some that can't keep a desired pace. Some that only have one speed. Some that have a hitch in their belt that catches every third step. Some whose belts are crooked and start to smell like burnt rubber. That one that has a loud clang with every step. One that is jammed at an incline of 10. One whose television screen is stuck on the Hallmark Channel. The one that overlooks the hotel kiddie pool. 

I've seen them all. Some multiple times. But the worst is the hotel with just one treadmill. These hotel fitness centers are the Cornucopias of the corporate travel Hunger Games arenas.

I tried to use that treadmill five times during this 2-day trip. Three times last night, over a span of two hours, only to find three different people walking on it. One early this morning but was denied by another runner on his 5th mile when I peeked through the door. My final visit to the fitness center found it completely empty. Surprised, I inserted my key card and was greeted with the red light on the handle. Locked. I swiped it 6 more times to be sure and, sure enough, my card didn't work. 

I walked back down to my room (4 doors away) and just as I swiped my card to go in to shower in defeat the hotel janitor yelled "Hey bud, I got it for you!"

He explained that the key reader doesn't recognize anyone but hotel staff and he's trying to fix it today. I thanked him as he stuffed a blue-striped towel into the door frame and logged my first run of 2016. 

I've restarted my training regime a few times in the last couple years. Each time was met with a home sale or moving into our rental home or preparing for our home purchase or fracturing my foot or our second move, but with all of that behind us and now getting settled in our new digs, I'm back at it for the new year and have my sights set on re-losing this inch in waist size. 

Here's to finding new trails, tuning out the creaks of ill-kept treadmills and not splitting this pair of slacks before that happens. 

Reset Button

Six weeks ago this happened:

That's an x-ray of the arch of my right foot. If you look at the fifth metatarsal (upper pinky toe) right at the joint you'll see a complete fracture. 

This particular fracture is apparently common enough to warrant it's own term. This is called a Jones Fracture after a doctor named Jones who first identified the physics behind this fracture. Dr. Jones found that his patients often suffered this fracture near the joint when pressure was applied laterally to the outside of the foot. 

Dr. Jones was spot on. I would like to say that the lateral force was attributed to an extreme activity like doing parkour during my son's baseball practice or testing the new American Ninja Warrior course in my backyard. Maybe attribute some blame to stress fractures from recent marathon training or overuse injury. I'd also rather be able to blame the injury on an equipment malfunction such as breaking a pedal on my hardtail mountain bike while attempting a log pile climb. I'd even be willing to admit to just olain being a bit drunk and stumbling down some stairs.

But I can't honestly say any of those things happened, even to strangers on the internet.

A close friend from high school was in town from Maryland and another of our friends was having a barbeque for everyone to meet up rather than having her try to make dates with everyone separately. I did have a couple beers but I definitely can't place any blame on them. 

I kept my rolling cooler out on the front step so at the end of the night I went out to bring it back out to the car. I was barefoot and stepped down onto the front landing. I didn't really pay any mind to the welcome mat that was down there because, well, it was a welcome mat. They don't really require attention unless their artisitic or funny and this one was neither really. It was rather unnoteworthy save for one minor detail: it was over an inch thick.

I somehow managed to place my foot directly on the edge of the mat which caused my foot to roll to the outside. All my weight went onto the outside of my foot and I made it worse by reacting trying to catch myself. There was a loud onomatopoeius *pop*, I caught myself just fine and the host of the party who was standing right behind me asked "Was that your foot?!" 

I knew right away it was a broken bone, but it didn't hurt. It was that dull burning sensation you feel with a fracture and the fact that I felt the pop through my whole body that confirmed it for me. 

I played it down and just said that my ankle just popped from being stiff from running then just went on with the night while gugrly walking and trying not to limp. 

Got home, iced and elevated and waited to see what it looked like in the morning.

Woke up, swollen but not much color but I couldn't bend my foot in any direction without sharp pain. 

Here's what it looked like the following evening after a flight to DC for work:

At the point of this picture I knew it was broken by intuition but was still holding out hope via denial that maybe it was just a sprain instead. I iced it repeatedly [every time I woke up through the night] and laced up my formal work shoes gingerly in the morning to act as my cast until I got home.

I used the airport trolley for the first time in my life to get from security to gate at Reagan Int'l and felt every air pocket at 30,000 feet. 

The xrays were taken the next day with an order for an aircast and 6 weeks to heal. 

Here we are, 6 weeks later. I've been able to walk without pain or favoring my other foot for about two weeks and I started my own physical therapy sessions at home doing basic strerchinn and ankle exercises. I finished a 2-ish mile test run earlier this week and am happy to report that there was only minimal swelling and the only pain was felt in the surrounding joints that have atrophied a bit in my 1.5 month recovery.

Unfortunately, as my last post prominently announces, the reason I reactivated this blog is coming up in 3 weeks. I am VERY tempted to just wing it and give it the ol' senior year college try, but we've also just got approval to buy a house in three weeks so there's no chance that I'm going to risk my motor skills for a half-assed marathon attempt. 

The good news is that our new place is just a mile from my favorite running trails at Lebanon Hills. Cold beer will always be waiting for any running partners at the end of the trail. 

Motivation Hunting

Two posts in two days? On this blog?!

Yes. I went to bed with the intention of waking up at 6:00 for a short treadmill run. I succumbed to my routine over the last two years of hitting snooze twice and rolling over until my regular daily alarm went off signaling the morning before-school-circus was to begin. 

So I'll be running tonight instead. It's killing me that I didn't follow through on my "first run" so this morning I've been putting together motivation tools to get my ass moving. Nothing truly new for me. I dug up the flash drive with my old training log from the 70.3 training year and saved it to my laptop's harddrive for easy access with a brand new, bright and shiny tab labeled "2015". Did some retail therapy and bought a new pair of training shoes to kick off my new mileage counter (a new brand to me: Saucony Verrata). 

But what I just found to be the best motivator was digging through some things from my 'past life' (yes, it's just two years ago but it seems like forever).

I read my Almanzo 100 report from 2013 then kept scrolling to read my 70.3 report. Gasp...I forgot that I didn't write anything here about it. It never happened!

Luckily, Professor Boz hasn't deleted his blog. Boz was generous enough to show up and practice some of his writing skills using me as a subject back in 2012. He followed me around the course all day and made his own race report which he merged together with my own account and posted to his blog in daily installments. I had originally meant to post coincidentally with his posts but never did. 

Without further redundant explanation, here is Part I of our Chisago Lakes Triathlon race report.

[Target identified]

That's the text from my wife that is kick-starting me back into training. We've got a tag-team style of parenting between my weekly travel and her working nights and weekends where, unless we're both training for something at the same time, it's hard to make time to support the other in their journey.

When I was getting into bike racing and triathlon back in '08 and '09, we had just one child. I'll admit that I was putting a LOT more time into training and competing than she was, but she was still running and working out with her own goals at the same time.

Two-kids-within-16-months later, our fitness goals went mostly out the window in the sleep-deprived haze of raising babies. I still finished a 70.3 and met a few other fitness goals along the way, but nowhere near as much as I wanted. She, obviously, sacrificed much more than I did and it took embarrassingly long for me to realize that. 

Which brings me to the last two years. I've all but given up on signing up for anything endurance related. Our schedule is crazy just with trying to balance our own work schedules, let alone adding in the kids' activities at an exponential rate. We were both active children ourselves and want nothing more than for our kids to be active and happy and involved, which is why we promote and encourage their involvement at the expense of our own "free time." We cancelled our dusty and expensive gym membership long ago in lieu of getting our own treadmill (which we paid off within 5 months of our saved gym membership dues). I built up my own little DIY home gym and got into body weight training as an answer to my busy travel schedule and needing to be able to workout wherever I could. 

Wife was able to run the DisneyWorld Marathon in 2014, but not at 100%. She came down with pneumonia right in the middle of her peak training which made her go into the race nearly cold turkey. But it was all pre-paid already and she wasn't going to waste a trip to Disney. She got up early with her running mates and decided to just run until she couldn't do it anymore...but she finished! AND she got some great photos with Disney characters along the way during her walk breaks. 

I still run once or twice a week with my trusty training partner, Dixie the dog, but haven't run more than 10k in two years.

The wife and I have talked here and there about getting back into things. She's disappointed with her Disney marathon luck and just plain wants to get back into shape. She knows my passion for all things sport and knows how dangerous of a trigger it is to send documented permission to sign up for something as big as a marathon. 

But I signed us both up. We might run together, we might not. The intent is to train-together-but-not-together most of the time, but moreso to tackle this and learn how to both train for something and accomplish personal goals without sacrificing the million other family obligations. The medal won't just signify our ability to finish a marathon; we both know we can do that individually. It will signify a new accomplishment done together in our marriage. 

So, here's to Day 1.

Almanzo 100 - May 18, 2013

My friend and neighbor, "Deathrider," has been trying to get me to join him on these crazy endurance events since I met him 5 years ago, right about the same time that I started to take cycling "seriously." For me, 5 years ago, telling someone that I was getting into cycling a bit more meant that I bought a nice pair of cycling bib shorts and a matching generic jersey online and that I was going to do my first sprint triathlon back in my hometown that summer. When I met DR and his wife in the neighborhood park and we got into the subject of hobbies, their eyes lit up when I said that I was getting into cycling. A couple weeks later I was down in the Minnesota River Bottoms on my first MTB ride since my 8th grade Huffy. DR borrowed me a bike that his buddy was trying to sell, a full-suspension Jamis, and invited me on a group ride with a teammate of his. I'd never ridden a bike like I did that evening...and I'd never sucked wind or crashed like I did that evening, but the bug bit me. It bit me hard and judging from DR's shit-eating grin when I told him I wanted to ride with him again sealed the deal.

I bought my USAC license the following year and got through the Cat5s and have raced sporadically since (as evidenced in a half-assed manner in this meager blog). DR was more of an off-road guy and was doing something different every weekend. Things I'd never heard of or even knew existed: The Arrowhead Ultra. Trips to Moab. Climbing frozen waterfalls on the North Shore. He was the first person I've ever seen ride a Pugsley/fat bike and also the first person I've ever known to use said Pugsley as a flotation device while fording a river. 

Every time we talked it seemed like he was trying to convince me to buy a new bike or piece of equipment that was absolutely necessary and specific to whichever task he had planned for the next weekend.

But there was one event that he glamorized that stuck in my head. One that was relatively local, very accessible and all-around fun that didn't require a significant up-front investment. He told me that I had a couple days left to register so I sent in my first Almanzo postcard in 2011. I planned on riding my hardtail MTB for the race. Once the snow melted that spring I set out on the roads for a couple longer rides and quickly realized that if I was struggling to keep a pace on pavement with my knobby tires that there was no way that I would be ready in a couple weeks' time to attempt 100 solo miles on gravel. The word "unsupported" may have scared me a bit as well because I never ventured farther than 10 miles from my car or home on the mountain bike. I was listed under "DNS" on race day and hid from Deathrider's judgemental looks for a few weeks when we passed each other in the neighborhood (he was totally cool with it, but was already trying to convince me to make it next year). 

I needed wanted a better bike for the task ("it's definitely not my training that was lacking; I just need a better bike."). One of the recurring must-buys that I heard most was a cyclocross bike. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed perfect for what I was looking for in an bicycle investment. I eventually built up a bastard Cannondale CAAD9 frame using ebay and Hollywood for parts (and a sweet pro fitting!) and got the new ride up and running in the summer of 2012. After just one ride on the gravel section of the Southwest LRT trail over lunch I mentally confirmed that I would ride the 2013 Almanzo. I rode as long as I could into the fall (until the roads and trails iced up...I'm not THAT into cycling...yet) and did all I could to extend my Battlestar Galactica-fueled trainer rides in the garage through the dark winter. 

I postmarked my postcard on the first day possible. Fast forward to May 17 and there I was in the kitchen triple-checking my equipment bag, pinning on my race number and rearranging my snack food in the Camelbak. The thought only crossed my mind once during prep that night: what if I can't finish it? I started to type "Almanzo 100 route" into Google so I could download it to my phone, but before I hit enter I realized that if I gave myself an out while I was on the course it'd be too easy to take it when the going got tough. I told myself that I'm going to do it. I'm going to finish it. I wasn't going to read the cue sheet beforehand; I'm going to do this the proper way: absolutely clueless at the start with a plan to never lose sight of the riders in front of me and with full hope that they know where they're going. I shut the laptop, packed my bag in the trunk of the car and laid out my clothes for the morning next to my pre-measured coffee and travel mug.

I'll skip over the part of the morning where I snoozed through both of my alarms in my sleep, jolted awake with an F-bomb with that terrible feeling that you overslept for something important and left almost an hour later than I planned and get to the part where I showed up to the race only a half hour later than I planned.

I picked up my packet the night before as I was driving home from a work trip in Des Moines, IA, so at least I didn't have to worry about those logistics. As I was finishing getting ready out of the trunk of my wife's VW Beetle (my race wagon) a guy rode by and asked if I had any zip ties. My only casualty of the rushed morning was forgetting my toolbox on the floor of my garage, but his question made me relax by realizing that was truly ready for this adventure: I had zip ties packed in my Camelbak. 

The ride from the high school parking lot to the starting area was uneventful but the weather was ridiculously gorgeous. Rain sprinkled on the windshield as I pulled out of my driveway a couple hours earlier but the sun was shining in Spring Valley. I took off my arm warmers after I got into the starting area and packed them away in the Camelbak before we even started. 

I lined up in the lead half of the starting area right when Chris announced that there was about 20 minutes until roll out. 

Chris got on the PA a few times in those 20 minutes. He choked up when he first got up there after the majority of us were lined up. His dream of this race came true right at the moment he saw almost one thousand people listening intently to his every word as he used a bed of a pick up as a podium. We got his rules of the road which boiled down to: be nice, don't pee in front of others, pick up your trash and enjoy the water crossings. He briefly introduced to us the tradition of singing happy birthday to his son before the race, which we did, then he gave us the 2 minute warning. 

Usually, at this point in big races people usually starting shaking out their legs or doing goofy warmup stretches or bouncing their legs or whatever people do to calm their nerves. Often people start to inch forward and crowding into the people in front of them making clipping in one of the most critical and nearly impossible points of a race. But everyone just chilled out. A few people adjusted their shoes or helmets. A couple people shifted around in the crowd to get closer to their friends but otherwise everyone was just smiling and chatting. There was no pressure back here off the starting line. We all just wanted to get out safe and have a great day in the saddle. 

Chris cut the ribbon and rather than that moment when the seatbelt light turns off after our plane lands and everyone stands at the same time to get out of the plane, we all just waited for the people in front of us to get their push off and get clipped in. Everyone had room and we were off one on of the coolest rolls out of town I've ever had. Spring Valley closed off the roads leading out of town for us. Locals were out with cowbells cheering on all of these cyclists that took over their town for the weekend. Rather than many races where people get angry at road closures, these people were welcoming us and cheering for us. Well, technically they were cheering for us to get out of town that morning, but I digress. 

I had my cue sheet tucked into my Banjo Brothers Top Tube bag (along with a couple GU gels and some homemade puppy chow) and the first cue started at mile 1.2, right when we turn onto the first gravel road. As I turned onto the road that first sight of riders strung out for a half mile ahead of me was pretty surreal. A quick glance over my shoulder held the same view for a half mile behind. Some riders were filtering forward and backward to join up with others or to actually be part of the race that was happening at the front, but for the most part everyone seemed to know their desired pace and just tucked in and held a line. Everyone was careful going through the first turns and I didn't recognize shakiness or nervousness around me. It felt like every rider out there was quite experienced in riding and knew how to handle their bikes. That held true for the whole race as I didn't see one person go tires up all day. Quite an accomplishment for an unsanctioned race with almost 1000 people on the course at once. 

Within the first couple miles of gravel things were strung out pretty nicely. 

Lots of self pics were happening around me throughout the course. I obliged and even smiled...

There was someone on the right side of the road ahead taking a few pictures of riders racing by. I gave the thumbs up as I got closer and instantly realized it was the guy that got me into this mess the first place, Deathrider (check out his blog to see the cool gift he just crafted for Chris). He was riding his fat bike and told me he was just there to see the start as he had other things going on for the day. The conversation was short but he dropped back and I was solo again. 

The pace held in the upper teens and even over 20 mph for the first third of the race. There were groups forming here and there. I latched on to a few but knew that I had to race my own race, especially early. As I promised myself I had no idea where we were going or what the course held for me so I was cautious to burn my matches while the shadows were still long. The roads were all in perfect shape and had at least 3 hard packed lines to follow which essentially made it feel like pavement unless you strayed. 

The weather in the picture above held all morning. We were around 80 degrees by noon with a light breeze. The humidity was still relatively low despite our recent rain storms so I never felt uncomfortably warm all day. 

The big news leading into the weekend was a bridge closure on the route. Chris communicated like crazy but it never really seemed like he truly considered a re-route. There already was one planned water crossing so what would one more hurt? And after a few social media comments and replies to his concerns it seemed as if everyone was actually excited rather than worried about the new water "feature" on the course.

We passed the road closed signs at about mile 39 and I craned my neck around every curve in the road waiting to see this demolished bridge with my own eyes. I got there soon enough and dismounted casually as I approached the rubble. It was a steady line of dismounted riders and it seemed that the biggest decision was not where to find the best footing but rather whether shoes were necessary. 

By the time I got there the racing state of mind seemed to be gone. Most people had their phones out to take pictures. The majority of us opted to remove our shoes and socks and barefooted it over the slippery rocks. The water was just under knee deep in the middle and the ice cold water had my toes tangled up in cramps half way through, but it felt great. I was very tempting to dip my head for a quick rinse but I didn't dare lose my balance with my bike on my shoulder. I hiked over the rocks at the edge of the water and up the slippery, muddy slope on the other side then sat on some of the old bridge beams that were laid in the ditch waiting to be disposed of. I cleaned the mud out from between my toes in the grass under the beams and used my practiced triathlon technique of putting socks on over wet feet. We had pavement again for a bit then it was back to business. 

And by business I mean that within a couple turns we hit brand new fresh gravel. It was rim-deep and there weren't any pack lines to follow save for a few inches on the far edges of the shoulder. By this time these lines were well-ridden so the grass on the top edge of the ditch was laid down, but it was literally just inches wide and not consistent so on occasion it was more efficient to just suck it up and dig through the gravel. There was now some swirling crosswinds so the pace dropped severely for everyone involved around me and we all just put our heads down and powered through it. I realized I hadn't eaten yet so I grabbed a GU gel and washed it down with my now-warm ice water bottle that I'd been saving. 

By this time I was approaching the longest I'd been in a saddle since last summer. I've only been able to master about 3 hours at a time on a stationary trainer and rollers before going crazy and I haven't gotten more than three outdoor rides in this spring with the late snowstorms we had. My legs were still feeling alright but other parts of my body were starting to yell "uncle," particularly my neck and shoulders. Going through the deep gravel takes concentration and balance so I'm pretty sure I was tensed up through the entire stretch. 

We turned a corner and started heading north around mile 50. The tension in my shoulders was starting to run up high in my neck and the cramping starting to set in. I couldn't relax my shoulders and it was becoming painful to simply look over my shoulder. All I wanted to do was stand up and straighten my back out. I started the "just go another mile and maybe it will feel better chant" already and I knew that wasn't good considering I was only halfway done with the day. But, after a small rise in the road I saw a lot of riders pulling off to the left and dismounting. Turns out a farmer opened up his well to everyone on the course to refill their water bottles. 

I gladly swung over and dismounted. 

Parking...

By this time I'd drained my liter of homemade Gatorade/electrolyte mix and the majority of the 90-degree water in my Camelbak so it was definitely great to top everything off, but I was even more excited to be able to stand up straight and stretch and give my shoulders and neck a break. Someone asked if it was possible to overdose on Ibuprofen and after glancing up at her baggy of about 50 pills and seeing her down a few I realized her question wasn't rhetorical. Me and a few other riders convinced her that she really could shut down her liver and gave her a crude recital of the drug label. I should have taken some of the pills off her hands for my own sake but I think the shock that someone didn't know they could paralyze their liver very easily with those magic orange pills distracted me. After making it to the front of the water line and filling up with water I ate a strawberry granola bar and rearranged the food in my top tube bag while flipping over the cue card. I'd made it to side two of the directions...

The sun had disappeared for a while and it had intermittently sprinkled on us for about 30 minutes but it was definitely welcome at that rate. Dust is rarely a concern in Minnesota this time of year but with all the traffic the roads were seeing today a few rain drops wouldn't hurt the cause. 

The next 20 miles were pretty uneventful in my mind. Lots of long stretches of beautiful scenery. I don't think the city founders could have given Spring Valley a more apt name. So many times we'd find ourselves at the top of a small hill overlooking rolling fields and meadows then within minutes we'd be descending curvy gravel at 40 mph into a valley with small streams and lined with small groves of tall hardwood trees. There were "wild" tulips in the ditches in full bloom and the tree buds were finally opening. We'd encounter farmsteads that fell out of cinematographers' playbooks. I imagine Mr. Wilder would have been grinning at us from his wooden porch after completing his morning chores while we enjoyed his valleys of spring.

It seemed as if we'd gotten rid of most of the deep gravel by this point and were back to two or three nice tire lines to follow, but the hills seemed to be more frequent now, or maybe they were just more noticeable after over 4 hours in the saddle. I'm not sure.

Then, suddenly, the clouds parted while we rounded a rare paved turn. We were riding into a small township. There were a few cars parked on the edge of town next to an overgrown softball field with a few people cheering us on from lawnchairs. Then from between the parted clouds a ray of light shone down upon a small tent. There were riders pulling off and parking next to it. I looked down to double check my mileage as I was sure we weren't done yet. We're only at mile 78. Could it be...a support tent? 

Wouldn't that go against THREE of the rules of Almanzo: You are responsible for you, You are responsible for you, and You are responsible for you?

Well, after just one glance I was sure that Mr. Wilder wouldn't have had any qualms with keeping his name atop the race banners. Banjo Brothers and Twin Six teamed up to provide free beer, whiskey and Oreos to all riders. There was water available too, but it was more of an afterthought after grabbing a tall Nordeast out of the ice cold water in the down-cycled (or up-cycled, depending on your point of view) wash basin. It was our own responsibility to decide if downing a beer was the best idea at this point in the day. Nobody was forcing us to stop and partake. It was entirely up to us.Technically, this wasn't a support tent at all; it was a tent of temptation and full of vices. Wonderfully delicious vices that may not have helped me at all from a biochemical standpoint.

I walked over to some picnic tables and gingerly laid down alongside a few other riders whom I assumed shared the same neck issues. I iced my neck for a few minutes with the ice cold can then sat up and cracked it open. Sadly, I couldn't finish the whole thing without indigestion but I had stopped for over 20 minutes and decided that the sooner I finished this damn race the sooner I could take care of the saddle sores I was incubating. 

As I was getting ready to roll out we all starting calculating how far it was to the next water crossing. This crossing had been part of the original plans and was part of the course for the last few years so a few guys knew where it was and were pretty sure we were just a few miles away. It was supposedly deeper this year so we were all assuming we'd have wet shorts for the last couple hours. 

We find out soon enough, by Chris himself, that they decided to reroute the second half of the riders around the water crossing. The first few guys that went through it made it to over waist deep and a few were taken down by the current. The rains had raised it higher than expected and it just wasn't worth the safety anymore. You could tell it killed Chris to disappoint us with a reroute like this but he had a sense of humor as he described the reroute and was there, personally, to stop every rider individually and apologize for the inconvenience. 

I'd heard about it, but it was right at this moment that I realized firsthand that this guy is just oozing with passion, and if it weren't for that Red Sox hat I might even call him a hero. I'm pretty sure his pants were still wet from wading through the defunct water crossing to help a few of the last allowed riders and he was now here, standing in the middle of the intersection with a smile on his face. Rumor has it he stood there until the last rider went by later that evening, foregoing his long-standing and trademarked tradition of shaking everyone's hand at the finish line. 

"Be the change you wish to see in the world" has now been deemed to essentially be just a bumper sticker made for Prius drivers by Hallmark card writers that butchered a paraphrase from another philosopher rather than an inspirational quote from Ghandi, but I think Chris Skogen is the embodiment of this quote and it should be tagged to him from this point forward. His vision for taking advantage of the hundreds of miles of nearly empty yet highly maintained roads and forming one of, if not the most well-organized-non-organized events in the upper midwest is something that every entrepreneur and budding race director should pin to their mirror and look at every morning. 

While all of this was going through my head I'd covered a few more miles and encountered a couple nice long climbs, one of which made me swallow my pride and dismount. The change in motion from climbing a hill on foot rather than mashing the pedals made my hamstrings twinge in confusion for the first few strides but they quickly stretched out and relaxed and to be honest the evolution back to an upright and walking neanderthal felt great on my shoulders which were still as hard as rocks.


I took the time with my free hand to down another granola bar and finish off my Clif ShotBlocks to get the electrolytes back into my bloodstream to hopefully keep the premature cramps from fully setting in over this last hour or so. I also made a note to change up my gearing in the future to get at least one better rear ring for climbing. I was noticeably over-geared when I saw people spinning up the hill next to me. It's not a full excuse for my current state of conditioning but it definitely would have helped.


I remounted at the top alongside of a couple guys on singlespeeds (speaking of bad choice in gearing...) and we paced on through a couple more miles until we came to a quick turn and faced this just after mile 90.

The picture doesn't do it complete justice but after looking at my GPS data after the fact it said that this was about an 11% grade we were facing. Everyone directly ahead of me had thrown in the towel and I took another dose of shame and joined them by foot. About halfway up the hill we heard cheers from behind us and some stragglers were attempting the ride up. They all made it but we could hear every pedal stroke all the way the hill from each of them. One guy behind me, who was also walking, said out loud that this was the perfect place to attack the pack and started walking faster, eventually passing me. The humor was caught by all and we eventually made it past the disappointed photographers at the top who, I assumed, had hoped to catch some great pain faces on the hill but rather got us jokesters that were on a nice hilly stroll through the woods. 

I remounted and chugged on. 

These last 10 miles were the worst I'd ever had in an endurance event. I wanted to be done. I'd been on the course for over 7 hours. I was hungry for real food. My water was all warm and I had a raging headache from the tension in my neck. I couldn't get comfortable on the handlebars and I was just all around crabby.



I tried to avoid looking at the mileage but every time I looked it felt like I hadn't moved nearly as far as I thought I should have. 94 miles. 94.75.
94.9.
95.2


It was dragging and I just wanted end this death march. The string of riders was well strung out by now but I never lost sight of someone in front of me. My mileage was still matching up with the cue sheet so I at least felt good that I was on track. I swore that we were west of the finish line at one point and I remember that as I was turning east that it was the homestretch and we were on our way back into Spring Valley. I might have scared some cattle when I dropped the F-bomb when we had yet another turn to the west and I thought we were heading away yet again from my car. 


I had the number 101.8 etched into my head as my finish line. I had been counting down by the tenth of miles to that number since mile 96. Imagine my surprise when I hit 101.8 and there wasn't a city limits sign to be found. I could still see a couple riders ahead of me so I was sure we were still on track but I was mentally done with this thing. I put my head down, ignored my watch and just spun away. It wasn't long, though, before I spotted the white tape which Chris said would mark the finish area in the distance and the endorphins came back. They didn't rush back to surge home on the final stretch, but I think I managed a smile. 


We curved around the water treatment plant and over some of the sketchiest terrain on the entire course in that last half mile and I finally crossed the line to quite a few remaining cheers and cowbells. The race volunteers were there with smiles on their faces and the finish area was nice and open yet filled with a bunch of half naked people stretched out on the grass and enjoying the nice warm afternoon with their butts off of their sweaty saddles. 

Either my wife had ESP (I'm pretty sure she does to an extent) or it just marked the first time I had cell reception in a few hours, but I received a text from her just seconds after crossing the line asking how the race went. 


I asked for directions back to the high school and rode yet another mile, mostly up hill, through town back to my car and dismounted for the final time of the day. 


Now that I was done and sitting upright in the car I realized I didn't feel nearly as bad as I thought I would. Even though I'd drained the last of my water on the home stretch I was definitely still dehydrated and it only took one glance at my knees and upper arms to realize that I'd completely neglected sunscreen after I took off my arm warmers early in the morning. 

A few miles into the ride home I had some of the most coincidental hamstring cramps I'd ever had occur just before the exit that led to a McDonalds. 


Aside from that I felt fine when I got home. A few days removed from the dehydration and I'm now more than excited to do that course again. I'll say again that this was one of the most well-organized events I've ever done. The many volunteers for this race do so much for we riders and you can feel the Chris' passion run through each of them. Thank you, Chris Skogen, for making this event everything that it has become.

 LINK to zoomable map of from my GPS

Vacation training

Still no races under my 2012 belt. That WILL change in the next couple weeks as our team is hosting the Capitol Crit in June and I'll be racing in between other duties on race day. 

So aside from the usual trainer sessions and the few Lake Minnetonka rides at sunrise before work with a couple coworkers, I thought I'd share another training experience that I did while on vacation with my wife down in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. 

A friend that attended our destination wedding in Playa del Carmen, Mexico five years ago was so inspired by our wedding that he convinced his fiance to plan something similar for their own. Because he attended ours and their wedding date so conveniently fell just one week after our 5-year anniversary, we decided to splurge and figure out a way to make this trip work.  The in-laws adopted the three kids for us and we cashed in my hard-earned frequent flier miles and we arranged ourselves an amazing 4-night tropical getaway. 


I won't get too much into the general atmosphere of our resort's location and my opinion of the state of the country (definitely apparent that this country borders 3rd-world Haiti), but I'll highlight our trip here. 


We arrived mid-afternoon on a Thursday after getting to MSP airport at 3:00 am for an on-time 5:30 am departure, one uneventful 45-minute layover in Atlanta with an on-time arrival, then an hour-long transfer to our hotel on a tour bus. It was down-pouring when we checked in and we learned that they don't like to advertise the fact that we arrived during the middle of their rainy season. I suppose it's fairly obvious, but the couple who planned the trip were not made aware of this at all during their meeting with their travel agent. Just one of many complaints they planned to share with that agent upon their return, but I digress. 


We spent the evening having an arranged dinner with the entire group that night. It was a so-so dinner put on by the hotel staff. We noticed that there really weren't very many meals that were fresh; most of the food had been frozen, particularly the seafood. Odd considering we're in the Caribbean, but another sign of the state of health in the country. 


Not much for drinking or partying that night since we really hadn't slept for over 24 hours, as a few of the others in our group also experienced, so it was a quiet night. 


I had a goal of trying to get some sort of workout in 3 of the 4 days we were there, and I started off on the right foot that Friday morning. There was a well-advertised running trail around the resort campus that I decided to check out. I remembered to bring our little point and shoot camera solely for the purpose of this blog. I logged both of my runs with my GPS watch as well, but haven't been able to download the data, for some reason. I'll update this post with the maps when I finally get them off of the watch. 

From here on out I'll pretty much report by captioning the pics. 


The guilt trip sign that everyone faces as they walk out of the building.

 Turn to the left and you see this:

 To the right (For what it's worth, that'd be a 19 minute/mile pace):

 The path had markings every 50 m or so, so to get to the start I turned right and found it pretty quickly:

The path went around the outside of the resort property, so if I turned my head to the right I saw the fence and "the other side," which was quite literally straight, untouched jungle for about a half mile on either side of the resort:

Standing on the starting line left me with my first big decision of the trip: do I go straight, or do I turn and run the other way:

It was an easy decision, so I took off down to the beach. Right away the sand was very fluffy and unpacked, which really made it difficult to run, but I made it down to the shore and the sand became perfect for running. I started running to the right (East/Southeast) down in front of the resort. The beach is flanked by large signs disclaming any resort responsibility for any members going past, at which point the beach turns from gorgeously raked and kept to this:

I dodged the incoming tide as I ran around the small point, then went another quarter mile or so and stopped to take a pic of the point that I just ran around:

Like I said earlier our resort was flanked on both sides by about a half-mile of jungle. Well, that half-mile was bordered on each side by abandoned resorts. This is the first, Nouvelles Frontieres Hotel - Club:

I walked up a bit closer to the property but it was really, really creepy and I didn't know how far I could go before I was trespassing. There were still a few sunshades and blinds open in some of the windows, and this resort didn't appear to be deserted very long so I didn't feel like tempting fate at exploring after being on the island for less than 24 hours so far.  The wife and I walked up a bit farther the next day on a morning walk and peeked at the pool area a bit more. Not much else to see but it was very clear that it hadn't been vacant very long. The grounds still appeared somewhat taken care of and there was even still clean water in the pool (though it was only half full). 

Back down to the shoreline.

After about another half mile of what looked like very untouched shoreline:

Then, out of nowhere, the beach suddenly turned into an fossilized coral reef. I'd seen one just like it in the Bahamas during an ecological field trip, so I slowed down and explored it for a bit (note the very straight, almost man-made line of mangrove bushed up on top of the beach that I didn't notice until just now as I uploaded this pic *foreshadowing*). 

As you can see, there's a ton of footprints in the sand right along the edge of the coral, but that only lasted for a hundred more feet or so, then it was all to myself:

Stuck into the reef were a bunch of bamboo poles. It seemed that they were at somewhat regular intervals, so I figured it was just some bored beach combers that were having fun with them. Here you can see the reef a bit better, as well as a few of the upright bamboo poles:

There were little ghost crabs all over the place, magically disappearing into the sand as I approached and quite a few were climbing up these poles. No, this isn't a frog, it's just a weird knob on the pole, but you can see the crab peeking around the corner of it. Very camera shy:

Hey buddy:

 
I got a bit further up the beach and around another small point and suddenly there were two excavators and a big ol' hole in the beach with these piles of sand all over:

The white piles are broken pieces of coral; the same pieces that are used around our resort for landscaping borders/edging. 

I explore a bit around the big pit and go maybe 100 yards farther or so when suddenly I see a large gray animal out of the corner of my eye, maybe 20 yards away that was behind a mangrove bush. I stop, look around a bit closer and:

Not 10 seconds after I took this photo a little mixed breed spotted dog comes flying out of one of the bushes barking like crazy at me. Fight-or-flight kicked in at the sound of his bark and upon seeing my foe I planted my feet and made myself bigger. He stopped but kept barking at me. About 100 yards even farther down the beach there was a small tin shack and I see a native come out to see what's causing the commotion. He had what I assumed was a rifle slung over his shoulder and he started shooing me away with his hands. Quite universal language asking me to leave, so I waved back feigning my apologies the best I could and obliged my way back up the beach without any further ado. The guard dog kept his distance but followed me back until I came to the last upright bamboo pole in the beach that I passed on the way down, where he abruptly stopped and turned around...feeling satisfied for protecting his herd I'm sure. I stopped and settled down a bit, then actually walked back down the beach a quick bit to take a picture of the last bamboo pole that I passed. In the background you can see the two excavators I mentioned earlier. My footprints down the beach are down near the water. I actually ran back up through that seaweed mess on the left as the dog chased me. I don't know why:

 Here's a close up of the pit, used mainly to get nice beach sand and sell to the resorts to replace the erosion, I'm guessing. You can see that I'm standing directly on coral and they excavated it away, hence the white piles of chunks of coral along with the nice sand. What I didn't notice on the way down was another native in that small yellow hut. One can assume he had a rifle as well, but he just waved and nodded as I went by:

 The run back wasn't as eventful, but I stopped regularly just for photo ops. A small island straight out from the beach:

An obligatory "SpongeBob picture":

Looking back down the beach towards the end of the reef edge again, which I walked out towards this time to find that it was actually quite the drop off into the water (about 10 feet. Hard to tell in this photo, but the water was really crashing against it):

 My prints going out and coming back, and a cool triangle raft that was likely used by a drug smuggler that swam to shore in the night (seriously). I thought it was a good little metaphor for my triathlon training:

I ran back past our resort and decided to keep going a bit longer to make the run get a bit over 3 miles. I go past the other disclaimer sign and head up the coast towards the other deserted resort. I pass a native on the beach that has a sign that read "Souvenirs" with an arrow that pointed towards the jungle area behind him. He didn't bother me but just waved, but another guy in our group said he had a bunch of sea shells for sale later in the day and offered to sell him drugs. A few hundred yards farther around another point and I started to approach the other resort. This one was a lot more overgrown, and as I got closer I saw people moving around on the grounds. There were actually a bunch of lean-to shacks built and quite a few people living there, or so it seemed. A couple glanced up at me as I approached, but I decided to stop and turn around before I took any pictures. I turned pretty quickly and forgot where I was on the beach and was immediately smacked by a wave, soaking my shoes. I stopped and figured, eh, what the hell and decided to run barefoot back to the resort. It was about 2/3 of a mile back and it was honestly one of the greatest feelings I've ever had while running. 

I'd tried running on the beach a few years ago and I hated every step of it. Really sloggy and squishy and my calves killed me as I tried it. 

But that was with my old gait. Since I've started running with more of a "barefoot-style" gait, (still with shoes but landing on my forefoot rather than my heels) my calves and overall strength in my feet and ankles have improved dramatically. I've noticed, especially during this run in the sand, but not nearly as much as when I took off my shoes and went barefoot. Feeling the sand between each toe with every step was really, really rewarding. I even just let the ocean hit me a few times without trying to dodge it, never missing a step. Absolutely amazing. Proof:

 I got back to the resort and there was a local police officer in the hut right on the edge of the property. He asked to see my hotel key or ID. I didn't see him before so maybe he just came on duty, but either way he saw my dripping shoes and camera in my other hand and asked if I wanted my picture taken on the beach. Here I am with the disclaimer sign. The second "abandoned" resort is behind me, directly around that point:

I went back to our room and showered and was back out on the beach by 8:30 am for our first full beach day. As you can see, the clouds were already rolling in and it was raining by noon. We spent the rest of the day under the tikis during the showers and in the pool when it let up. 

That night we had an official groom's dinner in one of the resort's restaurants then just hung out in one of the lobbies and watched some of the entertainment. 

The next day was Saturday, aka Wedding Day. The entire group met out on the beach at dawn and we were able to get a few more sun rays in before the clouds rolled in at about 11 am. I went for the same run again at about 11:30, but I didn't venture very far past the excavation pit this time. Came back and chilled in the pool for a little while, then got ready for the wedding which was at 5 pm. 

Everything went pretty well. From the bride's point of view, things could have gone a lot more smoothly but she is going to go home with some amazing photos from their ceremony and reception. 

Our final full day on Sunday was spent going into town for an excursion which was guided snorkeling followed by a booze cruise up the coast on a glorified pontoon boat. The snorkeling was great. Really mature reefs, but a lot of them were visibly dying or dead. There was still a lot of fish and other creatures to swim around though, and the excursion also included the power blades to use for half of the the dive, so that was pretty cool. I was able to free dive to about 20 feet with the snorkel and power blade and got to see some of the lurking life in the nooks and crannies of the reef. We didn't bring or buy a waterproof camera, unfortunately, but it was still really cool. 

Spent that night just hanging out and watched a big bonfire on the beach at about 10:30 pm, then went back to pack our bags so we could catch a couple more hours of beach time before catching our bus back to the airport at 11:30. 

It was really a great trip. Four nights for us to reconnect as husband and wife instead of parents and we got some good itinerary/plan/care-free time. Despite the cloudy sky on that first day, we both still got some pretty severe sunburn through the clouds, from which my legs are still peeling as I sit here almost three weeks later.

It was good to come home to the kiddos again feeling refreshed, but even better to be able to just turn on the faucet and be able to brush our teeth and drink the water without worry. I don't think we'll be going back to the Dominican Republic before checking out some other countries first, or until we hear some better reviews from somewhere else on the island.