Rolling 2012

The comeback trail, troubles with poop, and exciting news that will shake up all the plans.

After returning from Tanzania, rested from the climb and the first half of training, I am now in full swing with my training. Mostly I have 3 swims, 4 rides, and 4 runs per week, give or take. A typical week is a swim on Monday, a swim and cycle on Tuesday, a cycle right into a run Wednesday, a swim then run workout on Thursday, and off on Friday. Cyclelab, a country-wide club, does rides of about 47 miles every Saturday. With relative ease, as riding in a pack is, I bang out almost 50 miles with ease, plus whatever I do before or after. I have been backing this up with a run of about an hour. Then Sunday I do a long run and then hop on the bike for a spin ride. Lather, rinse, repeat.

That is, unless I am racing. Starting in late January, I race a marathon, triathlon, or cycle race 6 times in 8 weeks. The roads here suck for running and riding (traffic and hills) so the best indicators of fitness and just simply getting in the distance come at organized events. Plus when a marathon costs $10 and a triathlon not much more, why not take advantage?

Recently, I did a marathon in Pretoria. Originally, I had planned to run a fast race, getting an “A” qualifier for Comrades and testing my speed. But with only 3 weeks since the break, I decided to chill out and get in a solid run that I could recover from. Out smart, I crossed halfway in just under 1:33. A solid pace. Toying with my talent, I dropped the pace for the next 10k, blowing by people. But the last 10K of the course was largely uphill and I slowed, not horribly, but enough to even out the pace. At no time was I pushing for sub-3 hours, and I settled nicely to a perfectly even split and a 3:05:52. Caught 22 people in the 2nd have of a small marathon – many of who were many minutes ahead of me – and was caught by no one. That’s how I roll.

The battles of the past have returned (See Feb, 2010). What I thought was a stomach flu going around now appears to be similar to my disastrous 6 months of 2009-2010 that kept me less-than-competitive for half a year. It isn’t as intense; my performance is not as effect, but the same full feeling consumes me along with the gut pain. A self-induced expulsion fest did not cure it (as it did in 2010) and I have gone back to the doctor for the blood, scans, and poop tests of old. For now I train through, hoping for a solution and praying for safe resolution.

Things are going well. I nearly ran a Boston qualifier (new standards) on nothing (18.25 miles per week over the preceding 8 weeks of training). Not to be fooled because my log lies in a box in a basement somewhere, but I know I wasn’t doing this kind of training for Ironman ’04. Not 50-60 miles rides backed by runs. Not the intensity in the pool. My times in the water are dropping like a rock. My latest 2K time trail converts to a 1:06 Ironman swim. My rides are becoming faster and more comfortable, and I can keep it together on a run. In ’04, I had run 4 open marathons. Now I have nearly 40 under my belt and know what it takes to keep the momentum going. The next month will be hard on the body and mind, but the homestretch looms for Ironman 2012!

And now, the chain in the cogs. I got into the Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile jaunt through the mountains of California in June. After many, many years of entering the lottery and being denied, this year, with my Ironman, trip to Germany, and conferences in the summer, I got in when I least wanted to. But how can one turn down a ticket to the most prestigious ultra in the world? The only problem is that I cannot possibly dedicate myself to both events. Nothing can sacrifice my training for Ironman (April 22). But then that means I have only a few weeks to transition myself into ultra running and the Comrades (June 3). The Comrades now becomes a training run for WS100, and I have 3 weeks to recover and maintain for WS (June 23). It is going to be a crazy 12 weeks!

In order to survive this roller coaster, I have solicited the services of Chase Pack Consulting, a group led by Michael Trahan, former college athlete turned ultra runner. Michael provides pacing services, spiritual resolution, diet and training advice, and overall justification. Under his tutelage I will emerge from this SNAFU of completion successful.

 

Training From August to Jan 29

	Cumulative Distance	Cumulative Time
Swim	68550m	28:36:02
Bike	1202.9 mi	71:06:11
Run	533.8 mi	73:49:01
Core	N/A	13:45:00
Lift	N/A	6:00:00

Kilimanjaro and the Roof of Africa

How to make climbing Kili harder:
1) Have surgery on your eye the morning you depart
2) Go to work after that
3) Fly over night
4) Do the hardest route
5) Carry your own 35lb pack instead of having a porter do it
6) Have a hole in your air mattress so you sleep on rocks

A small cist on my eyelid had to go so I started my trip with some surgery. Pulse rate on the table = 40bpm and went to 46bpm when they cut open my lid. Got dressed and went to work. Finished that and went to the airport for an 11:50pm flight. Worst flight ever! I sat in the middle seat with the guy on my left a loud talker (and a spitter) and the guy on my right stank. These two became buddies and talked across me, even high fiving each other at some points in front of my face. When I hunched over my meal to keep saliva out of it, they talked on my back. They each had 4 beers (not to mention whatever they had before getting on the plane) and stayed up all night. I just wanted to rest. After 3 hours I just crawled over them to another row. Landing at 4:40am was no better; a mad dash for visas that are processed randomly. Then you go outside to wait in a long line only to go back inside through security. Get your pass and then upstairs to, you guessed it, security. I sat in the airport, caught the flight to Moshi. It was excellent seeing the summit of Kili above where we were flying.

The first look

In the down time at my hotel, I met my guide, Silvano. We got along well until he told me to pack my day pack with camera and water and the porters would carry the rest. I told him no, I would be carrying, and he was skeptical. But I won (because I am the client).

How I knew my route was harder than the others
1) When asked which route I am doing and I respond “Umbwe”, people wince.
2) I took a Land Rover to the trailhead; others took a bus
3) I was the only one to sign in for my route that day; other routes can see 25 per day.

The first day was about 8k of hiking and an elevation gain of 1,000m. My boxed lunch eaten, gear sorted, and porters already on the hump, I shouldered my pack. Immediately it started to rain. We slogged uphill in a river of water for several hours. My pancho could not cover my bag and me so I opted for the bag, figuring if it were dry then I would be dry, eventually. My guide kept saying “pole, pole” (pronounced polly polly meaning ‘slowly, slowly’ in Swahili. At first, I thought it was super slow, but by the end of the day, I realized that it made it possible to hike forever. Muddy and soaked to the bone, 4 ½ hours later we got to camp and ate.

Camp 1 (2940m)

That night we slept at 2900m, and it was the darkest I have ever known. There was no light. I could make out nothing in my tent – no shapes, no color; with no light within miles and a cloudy sky it was something to value.

The route

Camp 2 in the cloud (3900m)

The next day was the “short day.” The exciting part was a Class 5 scramble up about 50ft of wall. With the heavy packs it was pretty sketchy, and the route was bolted for people to be roped up. There was a longer way around, but this was an adventure. The porters waited at the top to see me make it (or watch me fall, if that were the case). 4+ hours of hiking up a very steep section of trail was miserable. The rain started toward the end and I resumed my usual state of dampness. I suppose I was irritated that it wasn’t faster. Our camp was stuck in a cloud on a barren plateau. I was not impressed. People would roll in every 15 min or so yelling for their team in the fog. Barranco Camp sat 1,100m above the first camp and 8k away. It wasn’t short.

On the third day, I awoke to a much better view. What was socked in a cloud to my right was now a long view to the valley below. To my left, a beautiful peak with the summit beyond. In front, Barranco Wall, a large slab of rock that was our route.

 
Once clearing the wall (again, an exciting scramble), there was a lot of hiking along the valley floor. We hit Karranga Camp after about 2 ½ hours of hiking. But we would not camp because it was only a couple of hundred meters higher than the previous camp.

 

After lunch, we kept going up to the Barafu camp making it a 6 hour day. All in all, we did about 15km and gained about 700m. I was feeling very strong and seemed to only be doing better as we climbed. Altitude was not a factor and I was getting better at carrying my heavy pack. Still, I was glad to be done. But rest was short. It was summit night.

Dinner in high camp (summit beyond glacier)

High Camp (4600m)

The summit was beyond our view but we did have a nice glimpse of the glacier on top. Dinner and some rest; I can’t say sleep. At 11:30pm you drink your tea and dress up for the midnight departure. I was very warm early on and had to take off my hat and gloves while most everyone I passed was sewn up in Gore-Tex. Even though I started later than many others, soon I was leading the pack up the mountain. Things were good for a couple of hours as we went pole, pole. The trail of headlamps behind me was nearly as beautiful as the stars in the sky. At that altitude, many miles from civilization, we could see a mix of galaxies and planets that painted the black canvas of the sky. I moved well for 2 hours, and then, suddenly, things went bad.

My head was spinning, my stomach sour. Was it the altitude? I had performed well up till now. Was it my calories? I only had a protein bar for “breakfast.” For the next 2 hours I slogged behind Silvano, placing one foot in front of the other, never looking up. Every step sucked and I struggled significantly. We pushed up the steep wall to Stella Point (5700m) and things started to get better. Stella is essentially the top as there is only a gentle summit ridge remaining.

Sunrise from the Roof of Africa

We rolled on up the ridge. The summit was 400m away. Then 300m. Suddenly I was sitting on a rock, wishing my life was over. People started passing me, which had not happened all climb. I was no longer first; in fact, now I was yelling at Silvano for toilet paper and he threw me some baby wipes. Well equipped, I squatted amongst the rocks. I can’t tell you what came out because it rolled down the mountain and out of sight. Instantly, my life was better. Within a few minutes, I was on the summit! Uhuru Peak, 5895m, 5:35am!

My stay at the Top of Africa was brief. In order to wipe my tukus, I had to take off my glove. Now my hand was frozen solid. A few pictures were snapped and we bolted back down to Stella Point as the magnificently orange African sun was on the rise. Unfortunately, the next 90 min were torturous scree-gully descents with me sliding, falling, and skidding back down the mountain. The sun was now up and I was started to soak with the layers of clothing on. At 7:45am I crash landed in my tent at high camp. I had a little over an hour to eat breakfast, pack my gear, and get my body to stop hating me. Then we were off.

Death in high camp post climb

Down, down, down we walked, quickly but still with a lot of weight. I had to carry water, my gear, and I didn’t eat any of the snacks I brought because the meals were so large. My pack weighed about the same as it did when I left. Silvano paid me props by telling me he thought I would do the first day and give up my pack. Then he said he thought there was no way I would keep it after the second day. He said he had never had a client carry all their own stuff before. I told him I wouldn’t do it any other way. Carrying weight makes it hard and hence better training and simulates future climbs. We stopped in the Millennium Camp for a $4 Coke (which I bought for Silvano since the average Tanzania lives on about $3/day) and continued down to Mweka Hut (3100m), the last camp on the route. Although only a couple hours from the gate, we stopped. It had been a long day and it was going to cost me about $55/night extra for every day I got off the mountain early, so one day faster was enough. I got there from high camp in 2.5 hours, a route that normally takes 4 for the solid guy. I laid around, ate, and slept.

Last camp, Mweka Hut (3100m)

A coke and a smile with Silvano, my guide

And then I paid for it. Climbing with weight, summiting, and bolting down the mountain with weight so quickly caught up with me. I felt like I had just finished an ultramarathon. My quads were shot, and my legs screamed with every step. Within minutes of our departure I was dripping in sweat and near tears with pain. Everyone went past me, and not just porters. Finally, when two German women (one of them….older) went by, I told Silvano enough was enough. He reassured me that the pace was good and that I was the only one carrying all my gear, but I had had it. We picked up the pace; it hurt like hell anyway so why not get down. I gritted my teeth and pushed on, and soon we reached a road. From there, I even jogged a bit and was to the gate 2 hours after starting. After signing out and jumping in the Land Rover, my time on the mountain was done.

Overall, my experience was interesting. The route was not difficult as technical climbing can be, but it was not easy. I made a challenge for myself and it was worth it. One of the interesting finds was that from the pictures, Kili looks like a flat hill. In fact, it was miles of jagged peaks and dozens of valleys. Even the summit was a rounded mass distinct from the rest of the peak. The mountain was very beautiful and extremely well maintained. The trails were well groomed and the camps cleared (of course not without its garbage). It carries my recommendation for pretty much anyone to hit up – from those looking for some adventure straight from the job to a serious climber needed one of the seven summits. Holds a little something for everyone. And now my appetite is whet for something bigger…

Four Races in Five Weeks

You know how to train? Race 4 times in 5 weeks. It will do it. Coming off the Soweto Marathon and the triathlon, I rolled into the Momentum 94.7 Cycle Challenge. Last year I was hurting for the ride. This year, we were better off. Because I was seeded, I started at 7:03 in the morning, hours earlier than last year. Plus, it was cooler and overcast. Whereas last year I struggled up every hill, bonked hard, and cramped over and over. This year, I cruised in my group, moved to the front by halfway, and blasted up the long hills that killed me last year. When I hit the highway, I rode in a large peloton doing no damage to my legs. I stopped near the end of the road to pee and get drinks. So from 20k out, I rode alone trying to hammer back to where I was. I caught rider after rider and sprinted to the finish. I finished 8th in my wave of 500, and in under 3 hours for the 61 mile effort. I was very pleased…the perfect ride.

With three races in three weeks done, it was fitting that Thanksgiving was a week off. A few rides and a couple of hour-long runs and I can’t say I rested. So why not come out for another race? The BSG Energade Sprint Triathlon was a good place to start. The swim was only 600m but it was in a river with a current. While I can’t say I tore it up, something happened that rarely does for me in the swim; I passed people! Of course, I was in the 30-50 age group. My transition to the bike was quick.

On the first few hundred yards of the ride, I sailed past people. Then a couple of guys came up and we packed up. It was a draft legal race, which means we could ride close together to reduce the wind. We took turns pulling at the front, with me directing the pacing. A group of 4 of us dropped rider after rider. I hopped off the bike with another fast transition.

My run was flawless. I scooped up runner after runner, 32 in all over the 5K course. No one passed me. I logged the 11th fastest run but I question my split (I had 50 seconds faster on my watch, would have put me as the 5th or so fastest). I was 22nd overall, not including the elites. It was great practice for transitions and open water. 1:06:55.

I threw in another 2K time trial in the pool and banked a 36:34, my fastest yet. That equates to about a 1:09:30 Ironman swim, so I am happy with that. With drafting, a wetsuit, and no turns to make, I am hoping this is an indicator of getting closer to my goal.

I am off to Tanzania to climb Kilimanjaro, go on safari, and hit the beaches of Zanzibar. Training will take a hit – will be non-existent – for two weeks, but when I come back it is great training and diet for the month of January. Plus, a little surprise thrown into the mix.

Training from Aug 1-Dec 11

	Distance	Cumulative Distance	Time	Cumulative Time
Swim	4000m	43900m	1:35:00	19:44:57
Bike	60.6mi	848.8mi	3:31:13	49:23:24
Run	25.7mi	380.4mi	3:35:25	52:46:37
Core	N/A	N/A	1:00:00	12:15:00
Lift	N/A	N/A	0	5:45:00

Africa's Toughest Triathlon

Or, the race that never happened.


When all is said and done, the history books will be written, but I won’t be in them. My second race in two weeks (there would eventually be 4 races in 5 weeks) went very well but no one will ever know. Because when anyone goes to look me up, they won’t find anything.

Backtrack several days: It is hot, smoldering, and my whole family is with me. We shot up to Pilanesberg, this time not too look for animals but to stay close to the start of the race at Sun City. The parking lot was full but the start line was a 2-mile-ride away. Once in transition, I looked left and right, only to see that no one had on a wetsuit. Hmm. This was news to me. So I kept mine in the bag and set up my transitions, shocked at how many of these little routines were unfamiliar to me. After all, it was my first triathlon in exactly 7 years.

My swim was atrocious. From the start, I was kicked, punched, and pushed under. Each time I came up for a breath of fresh air, I swallow a pint of lake water. Saying a silent prayer to survive this swim and not get giardia, I swam wide of the first buoy to stay out of trouble. This caused me to be a bit too wide and by the time I made the final turn, I was content to just draft behind people on the way in. Stomach full of water, I lost all motivation to dig deep. I cleared the water in about 25+ minutes which I considered decent considering my lack of effort and getting ripped by a ton of people.

I was in and out of transition surprisingly quickly. What was not so fast was the mount line for the bike was about 700m from the transition zone, and up a huge hill. It turned out that my decision to have my shoes already attached to my bike (rather than putting them on in transition) was a good one. I shot past people attempting to run up a brick path, pushing their bike, in bike shoes with cleats on them. Most walked. Finally, the summit crested and the long decent of the first hill (at 36mph) behind me, I turned on the open road and began the cycle leg for real. A stiff headwind hit me in both directions on the out and back course (how is that possible?!?!). The course likened to Kona, Hawaii as the terrain was rolling, the landscape barren, and the wind heavy with heat. I blew past some better swimmers and was also passed by a few people on some sleek tri bikes. At the end of the first loop, we had a 2K climb up a long hill that again had some walking their bikes before shooting down again for the second loop. The second loop wasn’t as fast but still solid. Again the long climb to the top capped off by the dismount and 700m run down the hill to transition again. My average of about 20.8mph was seriously lowered by the long runs in and out of the zone but all in all, a 1:08:30 for 25 mile bike was great.

My transition was great despite not having zip laces yet. On the jog I immediately was sweeping up loads of runners. I caught nearly 40 in the first 2K. But the course was very hilly and soon things got very spread out. A runner I caught early on teamed with me to roll through the halfway point of the race. My goal was to make 7K and see what happened. I did and things got tough. The next 2K was uphill in stagnant, jungle air. My life ground to a halt. I crawled through the last couple of K and after several minutes into the final K I started counting down the steps. Since the last K took about 9 min, I would say it was mismarked. It hurt and I collapsed at the finish, content to lay there for several minutes before reuniting with the family. The bike down to the car and walk back up for breakfast was torture. But I survived.

So all in all, I had a decent swim pace for me, a solid bike, good transitions, and overall a great run (a run that was slower than I would have liked but faster than much of the field). In unofficial results I had the 9th fastest run for men.  But due to a timing error, none of it is available. I will never be able to see what place I was in during each event or how many people I caught.  It is lost in the African wind. But a hugely solid performance for November in the midst of other racing. I am stoked.

Soweto Round 2

My intention was to include the 2011 Soweto Marathon in a longer blog of a month full of races. But this event was just too bizarre to exclude from its own write up.

After parking and peeing in the trees, just like last year, I got into the corrals, which were back loaded. I inched toward the start line and found myself pinched off to the left between the fence and road. Literally, I was standing in a rock garden. To my left, a fence. To the right, a road. Ahead of me, a tent and wall for the announcers. All around me, well, people, but intermixed within the sea of humanity where cacti. Many, many cacti, about 3 feet off the ground, and sharp. I looked all around, and no one else seemed perplexed by this. My mind jumped ahead 5 minutes to when the gun would go off and I saw myself plowed face first into this spiny monster. Just as I started to push and inch my way toward the road, the gun went off. Amazing, the first time overseas a race starts on time.

Since I am writing this, you can be sure I was not the victim of a deadly cactus accident, but within feet of crossing the starting line, I was tested with even more challenging obstacles. Because of the grotesque amount of questionably intelligent people who toe the line of a marathon only to walk the moment the gun sounds, I was forced to run on the median, which was cobbled brick and, really, more cacti. To add insult to injury, people had lined up in the wrong corral (10k’ers in the marathon corral and vice versa) and were now making a mad dash across the median, and across my path. Now, this would be semi-acceptable if the openings to the start line didn’t have big signs indicating which way people should head.

Once out of the mayhem of rocks and criss-crossing idiots, I pulled over for a quick pee. After all, I had taken about 3 minutes to cover the first quarter mile so now was as good as any for a break. Ankle rolls, being cut off, and jumping over 3-foot-deep channels of water runoff, I rejoined the road. Now, I am not kidding when I say this: I am nearly a mile into the race and the crowd parts ahead of me to reveal five bovine-like creatures coming straight at me. When I ran with the bulls in Pamplona I wasn’t as intimidated as this. How these large ladies managed to get this far down the road 1) ahead of me (even with the poor start and pee break) and 2) without realizing that they were supposed to be in the 10K (which was headed the other direction) was beyond me. I yelled. “Jesus Christ!” and leapt to the side of the road, into another rock garden, and into a tree. They mooed in response and the race went on.

I can’t stress enough how funny I find the water stations here. Again, they use sachets of water sealed in these plastic baggie-like things. But they are easily dropped by the volunteers when handing to runners. So each time you go through a water station the sachets end up on the ground. When they get stepped on, 8 oz. of water explode into the air, soaking the victim’s feet and showering others with liquid. D-day comes every few miles as it is like the beaches of Normandy which these bombs going off.

The highlight of my race was running a good portion of it with Lindsay Anne van Aswegen, 3rd at the recent IAAF 100km World Championships. Ironically, Andrew Henshaw, a guy I had run with in Colorado, finished 3rd for the men in the same race. It was almost a sign.

Despite the excitement and chaos, it was a really hard race. I would have to say it was one of the easier first halves – mostly downhill. I clicked off 5k splits around 21:00. But after a first half in 1:32:30 (and staying totally slow having run 3:07 here last year), it got tough. A combination of 11-30 miles per week of running going in with monster hills, rising heat, and a very casual approach to the day just about killed me. I lost interest, slowed to about 23:00-24:00 per 5K and luckily, hooked up with some guys who wanted a sub-3:20. I shine with I have people to pull to the line. So I backed them off on hills, held pace through water stations, and dragged two guys to the line in just over 3:16. This race is painful and not for greenhorns. But I made it, and kicked off my month of Sundays – Marathon, Olympic-distance Triathlon, and then the 100k bike ride. I toyed with a long ride over Thanksgiving, but at this point, I’ll be ready for a rest.

Scares on the African Highveld

Let me tell you about my ride. I roll down the first street, and within 3 miles from home I come to a stop light. I roll through and along comes a taxi cab on my right. Soon he is drifting left and I lock up the brakes, skidding all the while. Slowly the cab drops off the edge of the road into the shoulder. I am leaning like a cycle sprinter into the cab as it drags me off the road into the ditch. After glaring, I ride on.

Rolling past the Lion Park, I catch a glimpse of giraffe, ostrich, and zebra. My fun soon ends when I turn on the highway that is two lanes and a 3-foot drop off from asphalt to dirt. A semi roars up, honking at me. I scoot over. He honks. I ride the edge. He honks. I pray. He honks and blasts by, never moving over an inch, despite no oncoming cars and a whole road to work with. After swearing, I ride on.

By now my neck is getting sore. I put my chin to my chest to stretch out. It is a welcome relief. But riding like this is not very smart so my head lifts back to the more common position. When it returns upright, there is a large SUV in my lane, going about 65mph, and not more than a few yards away. The jackass just had to pass these cars in front of him and cared very little about who might be in the way. Panic sets in I yank the wheel left, sailing into space before landing in the dirt shoulder, thankfully without blowing a tire. My hatred and curses fly in the wind back toward a yuppie that will never hear them. Even more fortunately, after surveying the land ahead and behind me, I realize I have landed on the only 10 feet of rural South African shoulder that isn’t filled with large dirt mounds or raging canals of runoff. The adrenalin fades, feet clip back in, and I ride on.

Thus completes my 50 mile ride.

Several days prior to the ride, I did a time trial at the running club. After 2.8 miles there, I set out in front by more than a couple minutes. Running solo I held a decent pace for 4K. Then I really tired. The end was not impressive. But I crossed in 19:05 on a course that is so hilly I say it is worth 15-20 seconds over 5K. Then I jogged 2.8 miles home. It was a very good result for the time of year, total lack of intensity, and the miles per week (12-30) I have been doing. Two days later, I finished a 50 mile bike ride that neither felt long nor hard. I am getting there.