4 Years of KTB: Audience Participation Encouraged!

Today is my birthday.

No, not that one. The one I actually give a crap about. Not the day when my mother brought me into this world, but the day I brought myself into this world, in a manner of speaking.

Four years ago today, I took the initiative to change my own life. To be fair, I was just sad about a recent breakup and needed an outlet, but on that day I went for a run. And it hurt a whole heck of a lot. At the time I was, at best, a sporadic and inconsistent exerciser. I had done a half marathon each April for the past two years and had completely abandoned running in the time between. One of them I didn't even train for, so I'm not sure it even counts.

So anyways...on February 18th, 2009 I stepped out the door into the cold and searched for a way to distract myself from my life. Not going to dwell too much on the similarity between that day and my current situation, but it would be inappropriate to completely ignore it. However, that's not what this is about. This isn't about that FIRST run. It's about what happened next.

A lot has happened between that day and today. Starting with that first painful, gasping-for-air mile...fast forwarding 4 years...up through Saturday's 10 miler, my legs have carried me through 2,625 miles. In addition, I have traveled 4,464 miles via bike, and I have swam 83 miles.

I've received finisher medals for 11 half marathons, 2 marathons, 3 50k's, a 40 miler, 5 half Ironmans, 2 full Ironmans, and a generous smattering of shorter races. And I've done quite a few races that did not involve medals at all...though I do love all the Shiny!

Pretties

Today also marks my 49th day of consecutive exercise, on a quest to hit 100 straight...and maybe beyond? Honestly, if I made it that far, why quit?

So what is it I'm trying to say? Obviously this day means a lot to me. It's a day that makes me proud of who I am, what I've achieved, and what I have yet to achieve. It's a day when I get to reflect on everything I've done and take a moment to celebrate Me. Most people do this on their actual birthday, but I like this better. I'd rather celebrate myself on a day where I can look back and say “I accomplished something”.

I can not look back on the day of my birth and be so bold. I think there was a lot of drool and poop involved. I was completely helpless and unable to care for myself. And I couldn't even hold my head up on my own.

Sometimes even now as a grown-ass adult, I have trouble doing that.

But it's not because my head is too massive for my undeveloped neck muscles to lift(Though with all the bragging I'm doing, you might suspect that). Lately it has been hard to maintain a positive attitude due to life's curve balls, but I am trying to fight the good fight and be a happier version of me. This exercise streak may have something to do with that, both as a byproduct of, and a treatment for my depression.

Writing helps too. I like to write down my athletic stories because they help me remember all the little moments of those big races that would otherwise be forgotten within months. They help me fully relive an event which was meaningful to me. Even today I could go back and reread Part 4 of my Ironman Coeur d'Alene report and still get choked up remembering how exhilarated I felt turning onto the home stretch of the run and how raw the emotion was when I crossed the finish line and became an Ironman. When I write, I primarily write for me.

But there are some added benefits associated with making my stories public. I get to share my experiences with family and friends. I get motivation from people who read them and congratulate me on a race well run, or who help lift my spirits after a race that didn't go as planned. Finally, perhaps my favorite part, is that I get to watch others become inspired.

Now I'm not going to sit here and claim responsibility for anybody else's achievements. I know that I did X, and then So-And-So read about it and eventually went on to also do X. But they found that motivation and drive to succeed from within themselves, no question.

I simply like to think that maybe I just planted an idea in their head. Got them thinking about something they might not have otherwise considered. Something along the lines of when my good friend Delaware completed his first Ironman. I thought to myself, “Gee...I thought only freak-of-nature humanoid cyborgs could do that. Delaware is totally a real human and HE did one!” And that's not to say that he's not a badass, because he totally is. BUT...it's that shift in how you view the world, how you view a particular challenge, and how that shift changes the way you think about yourself.

That's what I mean by “What one man can do, another can do.”

I sincerely hope that people who read my blog don't come away with the notion that I'm any better, any faster, any stronger, or any more likely to succeed than they are. I really hope they come away with the thought that “Danny can do that. I bet I can do that too.”

And I have heard a few stories indicating that this is sometimes the case.

So...now....what do I want for my birthday? 

More stories...

If I were to make my life into a book(Don't worry, not actually going to happen), I'd like to think it would be less full of things I did, and more full of things that I inspired others to do.

Have you ever read one of my race reports? Heard me talk about a race, or even just heard 2nd hand about something I did or attempted to do? Were you then motivated or inspired to try something new or take on a challenge in your own life? I'd love to hear your story. Leave me a comment on this blog, on Facebook, on Twitter(@DannyKTB), or send me an email, dloental@gmail.com. No matter how big or small the story, or if you've even told me already, tell me again. It's MY BIRTHDAY and this is what I want.

I don't necessarily believe in a “meaning of life” as the scholars would define it, but I think that a really solid approach to our time on this planet is to try and leave the world a better place than we found it. For me, I think it's helping others achieve happiness and serenity the way I did four years ago today, by becoming active, healthy, and confident in themselves and their potential.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

KTB,
Danny

Run Toto Run 50k: WyCo, Our Fickle Mistress

To catch up on how I trained for this race and what my expectations were, dig my previous post. Otherwise, let's take a journey!

When setting goals and placing expectations, I've always tried to be bold but reasonable. I've never thrown myself at a challenge that I had absolutely no hope of achieving. Perhaps some challenges seemed larger in my mind than they were in real-life, but for the most part I've chosen to take small bites when it comes to new PRs in speed and distance. I don't know if I should be aiming higher or not, but as far as my satisfaction with being an athlete and achieving desired results more often than not, I have been pretty happy with this approach.

And then occasionally, I fail utterly and completely in setting a goal that is reasonable and realistic for my abilities. But not in the way that you think...

As this race approached, as confident as I was in my training, I still kept a wary eye on the weather and the trail conditions. I knew that sloppy trails could make or break my day. If the trails stayed dry, I would have predicted a finish as fast as 6:30 if I raced intelligently and had good legs. If it rained leading up to raceday, I was still confident that I'd break 7:00 barring any unforeseen circumstances, raceday blowups, or nutritional screwups. Two years ago, I had hoped to break 7:00, but I neglected my nutrition and blew up with 2 miles to go, missing the mark by 5 minutes. And face-planting in the snow with about 100 meters to go. Classic!

Although quite chilly, raceday morning arrived with sub-freezing temperatures. This was actually a blessing, as we might catch a break with the early mud being frozen before the day warmed up. I arrived at the race site an hour early by accident because I apparently thought the 50k and 20 milers were starting at 7 am. Better than being an hour late, I suppose. Nonetheless, I hung around, chatted with volunteers and set up my drop bag at the main aid station.

I was pretty satisfied with my nutrition plan for the day, though I must admit I broke the Golden Rule of racing on a few items(aka Never try anything new on race day). In addition to my normal Honey Stinger chews, electrolyte tabs, and PB/Nutella wraps, at the last minute I decided to throw in some coconut water for before each loop, and some beef jerky for the journey. I had always wanted to try beef jerky during a race, just so I could be "that guy". Ideally, I envisioned myself as a tough grizzled 60 year old dude in a full Ironman, riding a 20 year old bicycle, full beard blowing in the breeze, chewing on a hunk of dried meat as he passed some young whippersnapper who would look on in awe at the spectacle. Maybe someday...if I can ever actually grow a beard.

As 8:00 drew near, I begrudgingly stripped down to my race attire, shedding the warm fleece and extra beanie. I walked over to the starting area and began chatting with some Trail Nerd friends who were also racing. I was too far away to hear Ben's pre-race instructions, but I more or less knew the gist of what he was most-likely saying. "Follow the flags, don't be stupid, if you get lost you're stupid, if a sign tells you to 'slow down' then you should really slow down, here's a lighthearted anecdote about a guy who broke his leg there..."

HONK! The air-horn sounded signaling the start of the race. I was caught off-guard in mid-sentence with the guy I had been talking to. I immediately look down to start my watch and realize I've put it on upside down.

Derp!

Helluva way to start a race. I wonder what else I've neglected as I orient my brain to press the correct button. The watch happily bleeps at me as I begin jogging forward. I'm pretty far back in the pack, so I make an effort to pass as many people as possible on this first stretch through the open field and up the hill. Once we hit the trails, passing will not be so straightforward, and I dislike being stuck in a conga line and having my pace dictated for me. I made it a decent ways towards the front of the pack before that first left turn off the road and onto the trails. Twas' the moment of truth...

Doing work on solid earth!

I happily planted a foot onto solid, frozen ground as I started up the hill. This was indeed a blessing! This first few miles can be notoriously bog-like after rain, but the freezing temperatures caused it to freeze, harden, and PRESTO...traction! The trade-off was the cold air wreaking the usual havoc on my lungs as my body warmed up. Admittedly it is much better now with the asthma medications I take regularly, but it still takes me 10-15 minutes to work out all the wheezes and coughs on a cold day.

As I warmed up, I set down a pace that was mildly aggressive. I wanted a strong first loop. After so many long days on this course, I knew it like the back of my hand...the hills I could run, the hills I needed to walk, and the best lines on the technical downhills where I could steal free speed. I occasionally would find myself unable to pass a runner, but took these opportunities to remind myself that I could afford to slow down for a bit and conserve for later.

Triumphantly emerging from Wyandotte Triangle

The Wyandotte Triangle came and went. Fall Down Hill came and went. The Dam Hill came and went. That Place Where The Guy Broke His Leg and Fester's Wander came and went. Honestly, the first loop was going quite smoothly. The minor aches and pains I had been having the previous few weeks were not a problem and the legs felt strong. As I reentered the woods approaching the derelict boat yard, I noticed the mud was beginning to thaw and traction was beginning to worsen. The sun was coming out. Oh well...it was nice while it lasted. I knew that the 10 milers had started at 9 am. Those hundreds of pairs of shoes were hitting unthawed mud and I shuddered to think what condition those early stretches would be in when I saw them again.

Prime WyCo real estate

I fought the slowly worsening mud through the final aid station and through 3 Hills to find myself finishing my first lap in 1:45, which was right around where I wanted to be. I wasted no time in hitting my drop bag to grab a carton of coconut water and a peanut butter/nutella wrap. As I snacked, I handed my hydration vest to the Best Volunteers On The Planet™. Yes, Ben needs to trademark the ever-loving shit out of that phrase, because nobody has better volunteers than a Trail Nerd race. Period. Several attentive volunteers, many of whom are experienced ultrarunners themselves, immediately ask me what I need as my hydration pack is being filled. My eyes survey the smorgasbord of food and hydration options laid out before me. I spy the Tums. My brain consults the archives and mentions to me that in past races, we have run low on calcium. My body seconds the motion. I grab one and toss it down the hatch. Another Golden Rule violation. But not a bad idea, since it will have the dual effect of keeping the stomach settled. I'm entirely unsure why I hadn't tried it before.

My watch tells me 1 hour and 50 minutes of race time have elapsed as I stride away from the aid station to begin my 2nd loop, still munching on my PB/N wrap. Across the field, which is now not much more than a wide swath of mud with the occasional blade of grass defiantly bursting through as if 300-400 pairs of shoes just couldn't keep it down. Up the hill onto the road, left turn...

Hot mess.

THIS is what I expected. Sloppy, muddy, slippery doom stared me in the face as I trudged once again onto the trail. Each footfall, intended to propel the body forwards, included at least a slight budge to the side and back, robbing me of the full amount of momentum it could have otherwise provided. And in some places, you could lose ALL of it.

And then, there were the bogs. Shoe sucking. Soul sucking. Disheartening. Infuriating. I picture the "swamp of sadness" from Neverending Story, and the scene where it swallows up Atreyu's horse because it's just SO SAD. And that's only a slight exaggeration. Only slight.

Even just a few miles into the 2nd loop, my legs are really beginning to feel the punishment. All the extra effort required to slog through this unholy wasteland has brought a distinct fatigue into my body. I'm forced to walk more often. More than I would have expected. I don't have a clear feel for how fast I'm generally moving, but it doesn't feel adequate. The mind games begin as I wonder how much time I'm losing, even though my watch is RIGHT THERE telling me that I'm more or less right on pace.

Fall Down Hill, or in this case "Slide Down Hill" is more appropriate, comes once again. I somehow am able to successfully negotiate the descent without falling using the alternating techniques of "typewriter feet" and "mud skiing". "Typewriter feet" is a term I just this moment coined for the practice of ultra-high cadence footfalls down a steep and muddy incline. The idea is that if your foot is only on the ground for a split-second, it has no opportunity to slide out from beneath you. "Mud skiing" is employed on the steep switchback corners and...well...I don't believe an explanation is necessary.

"Typewriter Feet" - patent pending

Kickin' and a-gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer...

(A quick Google search has revealed that, to my surprise and delight, I am actually the first person to use the term "typewriter feet" outside the context of typewriter repair and maintenance. Score one for originality!)

Fall Down Hill spits me mercifully back onto solid earth as I cross the grassy field behind the dam and begin to work my way up the Dam(n) Hill. I take this opportunity(as I did on the first lap) to take a salt cap and a deliciously mouth-watering piece of beef jerky(Seriously, this stuff was a total game changer). As I reach the road, I'm walking. Until the Best Volunteers On The Planet™at the upcoming aid station start going completely ape-shit crazy-go-nuts bonkers at my arrival. Seriously, can't say enough about them. With 5-6 complete strangers so enthusiastically celebrating my approach, I have no choice but to run the 30-40 yards between us. Quickly downing a few orange slices and slamming a cupfull of whatever electrolyte beverage they had laid out, I thank them all and I continue a solid trot up the road. It just seems so foreign to have my feet staying put for this stretch.

Fester's Wander was similarly messy, including two hills that were steep enough and muddy enough that the race director was nice enough to tie up ropes so that we could have a means of ascent that didn't involve desperately clawing our way up on all fours. Thanks Ben! The remainder of the second loop was difficult, but manageable. 3 Hills were just as steep, but with the added difficulty of the reduced traction.

As I finished out this loop, I was beginning to pass some of the slower 10 milers. This is always nice because it gives me an opportunity to pump up other racers and feed off of the energy they give in return. Basically all trail racers are awesome people. I even ran a stretch of this loop with a guy wearing, I kid you not, khaki shorts and a button up! He was faster than me, but he seemed confident that I was on pace and able to break 6 hours. Fat chance, but thanks for the encouragement! The remainder of my thoughts on this loop involved how much more my legs hurt than I had expected, and dark and dismal thoughts of what the final loop had in store for me.

Also, how flippin' good this beef jerky was!

I rolled back into the main aid station right at 4 hours, having run the second loop in 2:12. I was still right smack dab where I wanted to be. Trying to ignore the fatigue in my legs and worries about my third loop, I hit my drop bag for coconut water and another wrap before getting my hydration pack filled again and hitting the trail for the last time. My second loop had been roughly 30 minutes slower than my first, and projecting my third loop to be equivalently slower than my second, I was putting myself at a 6:45 finish at best. This seemed exciting, but one can never know what's going to happen on your last loop. These worries clouded my head as I finished my snack and turned onto the trails once again.

I'm not sure how I missed it. Perhaps my mind was blissfully occupied. Perhaps my mind was blissfully blank. Both are great options. But it took me at least a mile to realize something...

Where the hell did all the mud go!?!?!?

Indeed. These same paths that were sucking my will to live a mere 2 hours ago had somehow transformed. During that time, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, bestowing upon us light and heat. The trails had begun to dry ever so slightly, and with that drying came the transition from pudding consistency to Play-Doh consistency. And furthermore, the runners ahead of me had been so kind as to tamp down a good portion of the trail surface, resulting in a slightly soft, smooth, and delightfully tacky running surface(With apologies to the Hooters restaurant chain). As my mind became aware of this gift from Mother WyCo Superior, I realized that my legs actually felt fantastic. I was tired, but I was moving really well and definitely still had some juice left to spend.

Knowing full well that I had been been handed a rare circumstance that I did not deserve...the trails actually IMPROVED on the last lap...I knew I had to earn back some trail karma to show my appreciation to the gods and goddesses of trail running. Over the next several miles, I made a point to pick up any bits of trash that other racers had either accidentally(it happens) or intentionally(assholes happen too) dropped on the course. I'm normally not really a superstitious guy. But in an ultra, I am not taking any chances.

In the midst of this joyous realization, while tearing down a hill, out of nowhere I roll an ankle HARD. I nearly faceplant as I reel from the shock and sudden pain. I stubbornly continue running, trying to pretend it didn't happen...just keep moving...just keep moving...I'm fine, I'm FINE! But I did need to stop for a moment and take stock of myself. I rotate the ankle around, gingerly at first, and then more forcefully, now confident that nothing was broken, torn, or strained.

I take this moment to once again offer my gratitude to nobody in particular that I didn't just break my ankle clean in half. After all, it is the sorrowful man who forgets that Wyco Giveth and WyCo Taketh Away. With this in mind, knowing that this trail was taking a lot from me today, I decided that I needed to take some of it with me. I knelt down and scooped up a fingerful of wet WyCo Earth and gave myself some warpaint, Ultimate Warrior style(Ok, I did my best with the crude materials available and no mirror).

I continued forward with renewed resolve and maybe just a hint of additional humility.

The trails had improved significantly, though there were definitely still occasional problem spots. Liiiiike ........Fall Down Hill. I once again put to good use the previously mentioned tactics of negotiating this treacherous humdinger. And thus went my first and only fall of the day....

I was typewriting my feet into The Switchback(if you've run this course, you basically know which one I'm talking about) as I prepared to make my approach for the mud ski run. Partially into the corner, I begin to lose control. Core muscles activate, arms flail, knees quiver, CONTROL!

I come to a complete stop, halfway through the turn. I stand there silently, grateful that I didn't fall. As I contemplate my next move(there's nothing within reach that I can grab to anchor myself for forward progress) my feet begin to slide again, ever so slightly. Realizing there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent what was about to happen, I resigned myself to my fate and watched helplessly as the slowest fall in the history of trail running transpired. My feet lazily slid downhill, and with no leverage to keep my torso above my feet, my upper body went uphill. SPLAT!

I laughed heartily at myself and at my predicament. That fall literally happened over about 10 seconds, start to finish. My left leg, left ass cheek, and both hands were now coated in sticky, slimy mud and I was HAPPY about it! I was going to wear this mud as a Brown Badge of Courage for the remainder of my day. And I was probably going to end up ingesting at least a small amount of it if I wanted to use those same hands for eating. I got around that in the short term...

...across the field, up the hill, to the aid station, where one of the Best Volunteers On The Planet™ doesn't hesitate for a moment before hand feeding me a couple orange slices after seeing that my hands were not in the cleanliest state. I mean...seriously...where else would you see that happen?

Onward and upward, the Dam Hill falls for the final time, I scream down Broken Leg Ridge, clamber up the Slicker Than Snot w/ Ropes section and approach Fester's Wander as I see the "4 Miles To Go" sign. My brain has always been notoriously bad at calculating splits on the fly, but all evidence points to the fact that I might be able to hit 6:30 if I keep the hammer down. Fester's Wander has not really dried out much, and it's an ordeal getting through some sections of it, but I put it behind me and see the next mile marker sign. Further calculations confirm I'm on pace to hit 6:30. Or maybe even slightly under.

Wha-Wha-WHAAAAAAT!?!?!? This was my "best case scenario" if the trails were in good condition. The trails were shitty, and I'm going to maybe beat this time?

This realization put some fire in my belly and I charged out of Fester's Wander wondering why I felt so great all of a sudden. Probably because I was smashing to pieces a goal that I thought was "reasonably possible".  Each further mile marker, in half-mile increments, cements in my mind the idea that I'm blowing this shit out of the water. I realize I'm not only definitely going to break 6:30, but now I've got a shot at 6:20. With two miles to go, I do some more math and realize that 6:15 is the new target.

I'm churning along and who do I spy up the trail? Of all the people in the trail running world, I see Jim. This is the same guy who I met at this exact race two years ago. To sum up, on that particular day, he passed me in the last two miles because I had experienced an epic meltdown, and finished one spot ahead of me. On this particular day, I was the one passing him in the last two miles. If I believed in a deity or some manner of controlling force in the universe, this would be a significant moment for me. The Universe's way of saying, "Hey Danny, way to manage your nutrition. Here's a little friendly retribution for ya!"

I battle through 3 Hills for the last time and suddenly I'm at Ye Olde Iron Post. This is the random rusty bar that is stuck into the ground alongside the very last sharp and slight uphill of the course. It appears to have no business being there, but it has always been a signal to me that I was almost home. I always give it a tap for good luck as I pass, and since I was feeling like a million bucks at that moment, I stooped down and gave it a kiss in thanks for always being there. 100 meters from the finish, I kick into top gear down the hill towards the finish line.

Screaming, hooting, and hollering, I enter the clearing of the main aid station and charge at the finish line, arms raised in triumph and head spinning in disbelief. I leap across the threshold and revel in the beauty of the moment.

Look! A porta potty!

Final lap - 2:19...A mere 7 minutes slower than the second loop

Final time - 6:17...A PR by almost 50 minutes.

Showing off my hard-earned mud. And a sticker and stuff.

I bask in the post race glow for quite awhile as I cheer on other runners to the finish and sip on hot chocolate. But to be honest, I really just want to get to the wrap up and debrief of this race.

How did this happen? How COULD this happen? 6:30 seemed possible, 6:45 seemed doable, and breaking 7:00 seemed likely. Until now, I had never so severely UNDERestimated myself. In addition to how thrilled I am with this race, I wonder if I should have been aiming higher. Shooting for 6 hours instead of 7? Who can say? Maybe with that approach I might have overexerted early on and blown up too soon. I can say for sure that I'm definitely on the hook to go for 6 hours next year. Giddy up!

Beyond that, I have learned some solid things. Put in the miles and TRUST in that training. Planning and practicing your nutrition WORKS! This effort seriously rivals Ironman Coeur d'Alene as one of my  most intelligently planned and successfully executed races of all time.

I've gotta give some serious thanks where they are due. Big ups to Heather C for being my Saturday morning buddy for some 10 and 20 milers out on the course. Lots of thanks to Katie Lewis for keeping my body in good working order with her amazing ninja massage skills. Seriously...go see her. She'll fix your broken bits. Lots of love to Kate at Westport Yoga for helping get me out of the house and start really building my yoga practice into something I can be proud of, the Yin to my running Yang, if you will. I'd like to thank my loving parents who were busy packing for a trip to sunny Mexico while I was suffering in the cold and mud. Couldn't have done it without you! And in all seriousness...for all of the wonderful support and encouragement you've given me my entire life. You're without a doubt the reason I am who I am today...and I like who I am a lot. I love you both more than I can say, and after all your hard work and all the shit your three sons put you through...you damn sure deserve this vacation! To Ben Holmes and the Best Volunteers On The Planet™, thanks once again for a stellar race experience. You are the best at what you do, and it shows. I'll see you guys at Free State!

Finally, I'd like to thank Jack Links, the makers of such fine products as Matador Beef Jerky. Your dried meats are some of the best I've ever tasted. If you are ever interested in sponsoring an ultramarathoner, I'd be willing to hear your offer.

Thanks everyone for reading! It was a helluva race and I'm glad to have shared that day and this story with all of you!

KTB,
Danny

Photos courtesy of Tyson Hofsommer and Dick Ross

Run Toto Run 50k: A Preamble to Madness and Mudness

T-minus 7 hours until my alarm clock goes off and I wake up to face my third 50k, and fourth ultramarathon total.

My most recent big race was Ironman Florida, which was over 2 months ago. Leading into that race, it was all "To say that 'this is the most I've ever trained/best I've ever prepared/superlative blah etc thing more/you get the point for any race I've ever done' would be an understatement!" 

To say that this is the most I've ever trained for/prepared for an ultramarathon is not only a huge OVERstatement, but it's also nefariously deceptive. It's the ONLY ultramarathon I've ever really trained for/prepared for in any proper fashion. My first 50k was a notorious rude-awakening, having never run trails, having never run THESE trails, and having only had 2 weeks to recover after my first Ironman. My second 50k had training that consisted of "running trails once or twice a week wherever I could fit it in during nursing school" and the raceday planning and preparation consisted of "......... ........ ......... um..... yeah." My 40 miler consisted of similar training and a slightly more intelligent approach to nutrition and hydration planning. 

I guess in fine "Pull A Loental" style, I finished all 3 of these races, and some of them in halfway decent time/good style. Lots of people just DNF on ultra races that they put in crappy preparation for, I'm told. I don't really know what to say, but I can certainly shrug my shoulders and make a stupid "I dunno" face. 

So what's so different about THIS race that it warranted three entire tangential paragraphs? Well...I've actually built mileage somewhat appropriately, I've actually done several good long runs, and I've ACTUALLY experimented with my nutrition and might sort of have a PLAN this time. Amazing right? During the course of preparing for this race I did something that most people do in preparation for their first marathon. I ran a 20 miler. 

"But Danny, haven't you done three ultramarathons, two marathons, and two full Ironmans...those runs were certainly longer than 20 miles, you bozo." 

Yes, you are correct. But those were races. What I'm trying to say is that in January of 2013, nearly 4 years after I became a runner, I did a 20 mile TRAINING run. 

"But doesn't, like, EVERYBODY insist that you can't do a marathon without doing at least one 20 miler? Don't you have to KNOW how your body will feel when it hits the wall? How did you weasel your way out of that rite of passage?"

<Shrug> <Stupid face> I dunno...

So it was, this January I ran my first 20 miler out at Colleen's Frozen Fat-Ass, busting out 7 laps at 3 miles a pop. And then two weeks later, I ran my second 20 miler...two laps of The Course out at WyCo. And then a week after that, I ran my THIRD 20 miler, once again at WyCo. 

"Wow....three 20 milers in one month? Making up for lost time? Paying a debt to the gods of running?" 

Well, perhaps...but more than likely it's simply a shift in my attitude. This is, after all, the Year Of The Ultra...so I had probably get used to the idea of 20 milers and beyond. 

Furthermore, in addition to a refocusing of my motivation to excel at running and racing this year, I also kinda stumbled into a very surprising and amazing personal trend. A fellow Trail Nerd, Bryan West, posted a personal challenge on Facebook and invited others to dare and give it a shot. He was going to attempt to go 100 days in a row with at least 30 minutes of exercise. I mean...as much as I have bitched about New Year's resolutions, that's a pretty badass challenge. I decided to throw my name into the hat and give it a shot. I was really just curious how long I'd make it. 

Well...I'm 39 days in and going strong. To be fair, a LOT of those days I've relied on yoga to be my workout. But it fucking counts, and if you disagree then you and I are no longer friends. 

Truth bomb

"Hey wait, weren't you wanting to do more yoga anyways?"

You bet your ass, I sure as shit was! And not only that, but as much of an emotional wreck I've been lately, the yoga has been an absolute blessing. Not only is it giving me something to do besides obsess over things I have no control over, but it is also giving me a calmer mind and better control over my thoughts. Kinda like this: --------------->

It sounds cheesy and hippy-dippy and all that crusty granola BS that I tend to disagree with. But it fucking works. In the midst of the worst depression I've ever experienced, I'm finding serious peace just focusing on my breath, working on the poses, and letting go of all the bullshit that my brain is trying to fixate upon. And more often than not, this serenity lasts for at least a few hours after I leave the studio. 

I could keep ranting about the yoga, but this blog is about a race or something, right? I'll talk yoga another time.

So what do I know?

I'm pretty well prepared. I've got a decent nutrition plan, so I hopefully won't blow up with 2 miles to go (See also: 2nd 50k). Yet, despite all of this training and preparation, the biggest X-Factor in this race appears like it will be the trail conditions. When these trails get wet, they get very VERY messy. And they are currently wet. Throw in several hundred pairs of shoes tramping and slipping and...squorschhhing their way through this course, I foresee an utter quagmire for all 3 loops. 

This was after ONE lap on a mostly dry course. Jeebus help us!

Under favorable conditions, I would predict a finish somewhere around 6:30-6:45 based on how well I've been running during my 20 milers out there. With the deteriorated conditions of the trail, I would be utterly THRILLED to break 7 hours. Though at the end of the day, this is not THE race. This race is just miles. I am fully prepared to DNF if things start to feel tweaky. I'm not gonna risk an injury at this point in the season for just another 50k. Remember that I have bigger plans on the horizon. I have officially signed up as a solo runner for this year's 44 mile Brew2Brew, and plan to sign up for the Free State 100k. An athlete who trains the way athletes are supposed to train would call it their "A" race. I'm just saying I want a belt buckle with a 1 and two 0's. <Protip...For those unaware, 100k and 100 mile races tend to give out belt buckles to their finishers instead of medals>

Please be advised, I am NOT doing Western States. 

So...now it's kinda late and I should probably do the whole sleep thing...though I should mention that I did my first 50k on two hours of sleep. Just sayin...gonna kill some bears tomorrow, regardless of the circumstances. 

READ ABOUT THE RACE!!!!

BONUS PICTURE!

The 3 pair on the left saw me through 1200 miles of trails, and the pair on the right will see me through 400 more.

New Year's 2012

In a continuing effort to keep personal stuff separated from purely athletic stuff, my new year's wrap-up/rant can be found here.

See you in 2013!

Ironman Florida: The Aftermath and Moving On...

I know that a month ago I said I was going to write this soon. Well, I'm finally getting around to it now. Honestly, I've been so overwhelmed by life lately, good in some ways and exceptionally bad in others, that I really haven't had any motivation whatsoever to finish telling this story.

It's hard even now to pretend that I'm still that guy who is 100% stoked about life and ready to drag everybody else along for the ride, because I am really having trouble just dragging myself out of my bedroom when my job doesn't require it. I recently posted on Facebook that "A day I can run is a good day." and that has held extremely true. What I left unsaid in that post was the other side of the coin. The days I can't run...well...those days are painfully bad.

And I should clarify that I am, at the moment, physically uninjured.

Let's get to the storytelling.

I miss feeling this way.

Ironman Florida! Wow, what a ride! If you're just joining our broadcast, you can catch up on the details of the race here.

When I last left you, I was falling asleep after a long day with a vague and undirected sense of satisfaction. If I leave out lots of other things that I've contemplated since then, I can tell you that as the days passed, I became more and more proud of what I accomplished out there in the waters and on the roads of Panama City, Florida.

The swim...well I basically owned it, no questions asked. I didn't hit my target time, but considering the conditions, I couldn't have hoped to perform nearly as well as I did. Definitely my proudest triathlon swim ever. The bike had its highs and lows, including forgetting hard lessons learned in the past, but still a strong showing. The run...mostly lows. Yet despite the crash I experienced...despite everything falling apart...I have grown incredibly proud of the way I was able to pick myself back up and fight my way back from race oblivion.

I was well short of my time goal, but still crushed my former PR by almost 45 minutes. I definitely feel that if I hadn't refocused myself out there, I could have lost so much more time and even fallen short of my former PR. Granted, an Ironman finish is still an Ironman finish, but I hate to think how disappointed I would have been to put in so much more training and finish slower on an easier course than I faced in Coeur d'Alene.

Overall, I am just proud of the toughness I was able to find in myself to deal with the setbacks that were thrown my way...some of them predictable and preventable, and others completely out of my control. I am also proud that, for the most part, I was able to enjoy the hell out of my race...maybe not quite in the way I hoped, especially during a few of the more excruciating moments...but I think I was smiling for a good chunk of November 3rd, 2012.

This ability to stay tough and enjoy myself in the face of difficulty will serve me well in the coming year, which I have big big plans for indeed. I've told a handful of people(basically anybody who would listen) but next year has been deemed "Year Of The Ultra".

No triathlons(well...Redman might be calling my name) and no road running(if I can help it). I'm already mentally committed to my 3rd 50k in February, running the 44 mile Brew2Brew solo, and the Free State Trail 100k in April. Depending on how that 100k goes...

...

...I might....MIGHT....sign up to run my first 100 miler in the fall.

That's a pretty hefty goal, and a lot of work and planning will be required to see me toe the starting line and see the finish line, where I'd inevitably cry like a baby because that's what I do.

So what have I been up to since I got home from Florida? My original plan saw me taking a solid month off of running and doing a bunch of yoga instead. Well...remember what I've always said about plans? If you don't...um...well I'll tell you.

"A plan is a just a list of things that probably won't happen."

So...have I been resting?

Hell no. When I arrived home, I was forced to make an incredibly difficult decision in my personal life and begin to cope with the emotional fallout of that decision. This was absolutely the worst possible time to give up running. So I didn't. Within a week, I was back out on the trails putting in the longest runs that my legs would allow me. I've tried to be smart about it, but there are some days when I simply cannot make it without finding my serenity in the woods. And as I mentioned before...those days when I can't make it out there...they are incredibly difficult.


Luckily, so far I don't feel injured. I don't have any pain when I run, but I worry about how sustainable this is. I shudder to think of what would happen to my state of mind if I were sidelined by tendonitis, plantar fascistic, or worse...a stress fracture. I'm relying heavily on my friends to keep my spirits up and I am constantly searching for new ways to distract myself from heavy thoughts that can be suffocating at times.

Finisher awards with two of CC's sisters-in-law.

One of those distractions was a spur-of-the-moment road trip to Oklahoma City to visit my dear friend CC, hang out with her family, and participate in a race she was helping to organize, "Little Willie's Triple Dog Dare". This was something completely new for me...a stair climbing race. I've always wanted to try one and this seemed like the perfect time to give it a shot. The race consisted of three conjoined skyscrapers in downtown OKC, and as you might guess, the Tripe Dog Dare option involved running up...and back down...a total of about 70 flights of stairs between the three. I had no expectations for how I'd do, since it was a completely new experience for me, and I didn't train for it. Well at the end of the day I received a plaque for 3rd place in my age group, which is the first time I've officially placed in any race I've done in my 3 1/2 year running career. And I couldn't walk normally for a good chunk of the following week.

Good distraction, I'd say. I just wish I could go visit good friends and have fun races every weekend.

As I mentioned at the beginning, there is some good news in all of this. I believe this is my first official public announcement, but I accepted a new job as a night nurse in the Hematology/Oncology unit at Children's Mercy Hospital in downtown Kansas City. This is the same unit where I did my nursing school capstone, and to say that I am excited about this job is a huge understatement. Nearly everybody has the same reaction when I tell them I'll be caring for children with cancer...a gasp and a sad face...but I feel it is a tremendous gift and a privilege to have the opportunity to help these amazing kids and their families through this incredibly difficult chapter in their lives. And yes, I am pretty sure I probably said those exact words during my interview, but it's no bullshit.

So enough about the non-athletic personal life crap. I am incredibly grateful to the friends who have been there for me this past month, in-person and otherwise. I am grateful to my Trail Nerd friends who support me and encourage me. I am especially grateful for my family...they have always been amazing, and I've always felt incredibly lucky to be a Loental. (OKAAAAAY!!!!)

Truth be told, despite how much I'm hurting right now, I am physically healthy and I am legitimately excited about the coming year and what it holds for me in my athletic endeavors.

12 hour shift+no sleep+10 miles of WyCo=THIS FACE!

Take care of yourselves and kill some bears.

Danny

Ironman Florida: Part 3 - The Meltdown and The Recovery

...continued from Part 2. 

To read from the VERY beginning click here.

The Run – Goal – 4:00-4:30

Coming into this run, despite all the pain on the bike, and despite what my body was telling me about its hydration levels, the plan remained the same. Training had convinced me that I should be able to average somewhere between 9:00/mile and 10:30/mile on this marathon. So coming out of the gate, I decided to give my legs a test to see exactly where they'd put me on that spectrum of paces.

As I've said before, a plan is just a list of things that probably aren't going to happen.

I stormed onto the run course with a fierceness. I had cast aside all doubts about what the bike and the heat had done to me, choosing only to believe that I had the legs to start laying down some fast miles. The legs, as expected, felt numb and confused by the conversion to running, but they were turning over a good cadence. I was moving quickly and getting a lot of positive heat from the spectators lining the course. Lots of people were telling me how great I looked and that I was running strong. I began to genuinely believe that this pace was here to stay. The first mile clocked in around 8:30.

The second mile felt similar. Legs still reeling, but without a doubt they were functioning exactly as I expected them to be capable of. This was going to happen. My Fantasy Dream PR. A reality.

And then reality struck.

As the second mile concluded, my Garmin chirped at me and told me how much time had elapsed. And it wasn't altogether reassuring. Just under 10 minutes. Ok...so maybe the Fantasy Dream PR wasn't going to happen, but at this pace I was still definitely going to break 12 hours.

And then the wheels fell off in spectacular fashion.

I can remember only one time in my athletic career when hitting the wall has happened so suddenly and unexpectedly. The last 2 miles of my second 50k. One moment cruising towards an almost certain sub-7 finish, and the next moment stumbling around like a drunk man lost in the woods.

This wasn't nearly so dramatic, but it was exactly as sudden. Here I was preparing myself to settle in and maintain my 9:00-10:00 minute per mile pace, and then somebody pulled the parking brake. Everything I had planned, everything I expected....EVERYTHING. It all came to a screeching halt in a single moment in time as I realized some things.

It was really hot. I was hurting. I was likely dehydrated. And I was suddenly walking. Something was definitely wrong, and I would discover exactly what that was in a few miles, but we're not there yet. The next several miles were made up of sporadic attempts at maintaining my target pace, interspersed with dejection, deflation, and walking. Aid stations were particularly time consuming. It seemed like I needed everything they had. Ice...cold sponge...water...some fruit...SOMETHING had to make me feel better. Additionally, my stomach was pretty upset, so I definitely was getting lazy on the fluid intake.

And the walking became more and more frequent. Each time I walked, I tried to limit how long I let myself rest....only 10 seconds this time....Ok, we'll go to that mailbox....but everybody up in my brain knew that I was in trouble. Nobody had yet come to a consensus on why everything was falling apart, but we were pretty sure it was happening.

Things were kinda rough until I reached the turnaround point for the first lap. It was at this point that things got REALLY rough. I had to pee, and since the course was mostly in neighborhoods, relieving myself in the bushes wasn't really an appropriate option. I finally got to a portajohn and went to do my business. The problem was that I was so dehydrated that I was only able to manage a few drops. And what's worse...the urge remained. I don't want to go into too much detail, but I'll just say that it was incredibly uncomfortable, and I suspect I'll know this feeling again when I'm in my 50's and start to develop an enlarged prostate and urinary retention.

The face of "Hurt"

The next 4-5 miles were very likely the low point of my race. Since I was basically unable to urinate, I realized exactly how screwed I was. I began trying to take on more fluid, despite my upset stomach, but I feared that it was too late to fix the problem and salvage a graceful finish. Between agonizing trips to the portajohn and frequent walking, my day was rapidly turning into an epic blowup. I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to PR, even though I had an hour and a half of extra time budgeted to accomplish this.

Around mile 10, I ended up finding a stranger to run with. We both were moving about the same pace, so we started the small talk and formed a temporary running co-op. I warned him about my urinary difficulties and frequent lavatory stops, but he didn't seem to mind. I think my legs were in a little better shape than his, but he kept me moving just as much as I kept him moving. He and I stayed together through the halfway point of the race, but he got a little bit ahead of me during special needs(which, for the record, I have almost no recollection of). I ended up catching him within a mile, only to discover that he had started having GI problems. At this point, I still hadn't peed, but the painful urge had left me, and I was actually able to hold a steady pace consistently. So when I caught up to him, completely stopped at the side of the road and unable to continue for the moment, I made the tough call, wished him well, and continued on my way. I didn't see him again for the rest of the race. I think his name was Jason.

Almost halfway...feeling a little better!

The only high points of my first lap were when I saw the rest of my friends. Delaware passed me coming the other way. Then Adam passed. And for the first time since I left the beach that morning, I saw Alan. Or rather...first I heard him. In his typical good ol' boy Texas accent, he yelled, "Hey Danno! Kill the bear!" I was so excited that he was still in the fight that I let out a celebratory yell and a fist pump! His story ...where he started and how far he has come to be here today ...it is a really inspirational and uplifting one. I am proud to say that after training for a year and losing 60 pounds, he is now also an Ironman. And I can't think of a person who deserves it more.

Now that I had rehydrated enough to where I didn't feel like I was constantly passing a kidney stone, I actually felt quite comfortable comparatively. I knew that I was a long way from being properly hydrated, but it was good enough for now. I found that I was able to maintain about a 12 minute per mile pace for exactly 12 minutes, at which point I'd allow myself to walk the aid station, recover some strength, catch my breath, and then do it again. One reason this was possible is because it was finally starting to cool down, with the sun sinking low on the horizon.

As I neared the turnaround on the 2^nd lap, I noticed that I had been yo-yoing back and forth with the same girl. I'd pass her, then she'd pass me, etc etc. Around mile 18, I decided to say hello. She was a local and this was her 7^th time doing this race. Her PR was like 11 hours or something ridiculous, but she'd been having IT band pain today, which is why she was moving my speed. This was kinda humbling, but I was grateful for some company. We started chatting and I noticed that our pace was actually pretty good. We were managing sub-11 miles, which for me on that particular day was impressive. She was definitely the one keeping me moving though. She'd mercifully allow us to walk the aid stations, but as soon as we were through, I'd hear “Come on Danny, let's get moving.” She was certainly the stronger runner, but she pulled me through miles 20-24 under 11 minutes apiece. The plan was to stick together and shoot for a 12:45 finish. Again with the whole “plan” thing...

At mile 24, I was hurting. Bad. She was doing everything she could to motivate me, to pump me up, to remind me to get my breathing under control, to insist how disappointed I'd be afterwards if I let up now...but it just wasn't enough. For the last time she said “Come on Danny, you've got this.” 

But I didn't. 

The gap between us slowly increased, she disappeared into the darkness, and once again I was a man alone. With two of the most painful and teeth-gnashing miles left between me and the finish line of my second Ironman. I could've just chilled and walked it in. That would have been easy. But there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen willingly. I wanted 12:45...for whatever reason. We had only chosen that time arbitrarily, since it seemed attainable...but now it seemed like it meant everything. So I pushed...

The last 2 miles felt exactly like THIS.

After she dropped me, my pace fell but I was still moving. The effort level required to run, even barely trotting, felt like I was dragging a dumptruck. I was dead set on running the remainder of the race, but my body would still give out on me from time to time. I was yelling at myself. I was grunting. I was cursing. 

"No Danny...not now...we're almost there...you've got this...NO"

And I'd continue the struggle.

There was now one mile remaining and I was desperately flinging my body forward towards the finish line. I'm sure I looked like a total train wreck. Slumped form, pale as a ghost, eyes glazed over, muttering incoherent things to myself, running form occasionally breaking as if I might collapse, only to start shambling along once again.

It had been a day of ups and downs, and a particularly ugly marathon, but I finally rounded the last corner and entered the finishing chute. In the darkness, the lights were blinding. I saw good friends who had been out cheering for us all day, I high-fived spectators on both sides, and I charged towards the line. Once again, emotion, relief, and pain all combined into a single victory yell as I crossed the finish line.

Indescribable

Final run time: 5:05:46 – My slowest marathon to date, at an average pace of 11:40 min/mile.

Overall time: 12:46:26 (Previous PR was 13:29)

It's funny what we can make our bodies do...and then moments later what we absolutely are incapable of making our bodies do. I remained upright through 26.2 excruciating miles, yet the moment after finishing all of this, with a volunteer standing there ready to help, my ability to hold my own weight left me. To say he “helped me to a chair” would not be giving him enough credit. Let's just say that without his support, I would have been on the ground rather quickly.

Thinking back to my Coeur d'Alene finish and remembering the whirl of thoughts and emotions that overcame me in the minutes following that race, it is sad to think that I was so dehydrated and delirious after Ironman Florida that I lacked the capacity to contemplate anything deeper than answering the volunteer's questions concerning how I felt and whether I needed to go to the med tent. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure that anybody who saw me finish probably knew I needed to go. I still hadn't peed, so I knew I needed fluid. My hands were tingling, so I knew I needed electrolytes. I couldn't walk on my own yet, so I knew I needed...something...

The good news about my med tent visit? I was out of breath, but not because of my asthma. I didn't need my inhaler or any type of breathing treatment afterwards, so I officially validated the effectiveness of my once-a-day Singular tablet and the preventative use of my inhaler. Hooray!

In the med tent I drank fluids, got a few Tums to replenish my calcium, and snacked on a banana and pretzels. Not sure how long I stayed there, but eventually I was finally able to stand and I walked out under my own power. My mother was waiting for me and together we continued on to the post-race area where I proceeded to stuff my face with pizza and finally...FINALLY....I was able to pee.

Finisher photo AFTER my med-tent recovery.

We collected bags, gear, and my bicycle and walked back to our hotel. At this point I still hadn't really contemplated anything that had happened that day. Some things had gone well, but many things had not. I missed my target time by 45 minutes, but I had a new PR by almost 45 minutes. I sat in bed and tried to watch the online video stream of the finish line, but it was clear I would not be able to remain awake for much longer. With a lingering sense of accomplishment and vague satisfaction, I drifted off to sleep and didn't wake up for about 12 hours.

This concludes the race report. Just like after Coeur d'Alene, I'm soon going to write about my impressions and thoughts after the race as well as talk about “What's Next?” for me in the coming year. I want to thank everyone for all of your support before, during, and after this race. Knowing how many of you were following along during my race was a HUGE motivator for me, and at several points during day, this knowledge was very likely the only thing keeping me moving. Whether you followed on Facebook, Twitter, or the event website updates, if you left me a comment after I finished, or if you congratulated me in person when I got home, I want you to know how much your support means to me. Thank you so much!

Danny Loental

Bear Killer Extraordinaire

Ironman Florida: Part 2 - Makin' Circles and Ninja Headwinds

Continued from Part 1...click here to start at the beginning.

Not sure what's up with my face. Seriously.

 The Bike – Goal – 6:00

I exited transition with the cloud of Jake's disappointing DNF and worries about my friends hanging over my head. I was still intent on enjoying my day and racing smartly so I immediately set to the task of taking in some nutrition. I had prepared some peanut butter and Nutella tortilla wraps for the beginning and halfway point of the bike. I pulled them out and hung the bag from my aerobar for easy snacking. I spun easy as I worked the legs out of the shock of switching from swim to bike, and I reached into the bag. I had not predicted how messy my food would be. That is...incredibly messy. Should've kept them chilled somehow. My fingers were COVERED in chocolatey-hazelnutty mess. It was a small ordeal getting these down, but I managed and was soon focused on the task of setting an aggressive but maintainable pace.

This wasn't quite as straightforward as I thought it might be though. I was effortlessly cruising at 19-20 mph, so I decided to stick with that effort level. Ten miles out came the “only climb on the course” or so I had read. A bridge over the bay constituted the highest point on the entire race course. Once that was behind me, I settled back into modest effort spinning. My average pace steadily rose from 17...to 18....to 19(above target pace) topping out at 19.5. This all felt like easy effort so I decided to see how high I could get my average without "spending too many pennies" as they say.

15-20 miles in. Straight up crushing.

I had heard and read stories about this race being notorious for blatant and shameless drafting(which is illegal in most triathlons, including this one). Race reports told of drafting mobs numbering in 20-30 riders at a time. Since I had come out of the water at 1:15, I was on the very tail end of the pack of athletes who would conceivably be competing for age group awards, though I had no intention of riding or running fast enough to do so. Therefore I was only witness to one of these mobs. Sure enough, about 15-20 miles into my day, a pack of about 25 riders came blazing by, all tucked right behind one another...not even PRETENDING like they were there by accident. I guess the time gained from drafting for several hours is worth the possible 4 minute penalty they'd serve if they were caught doing so.

Still not my style...I let them pass and joked with a few other racers who looked on in disgust. In my opinion, if you need the PR that badly, I'll let you worry about sleeping soundly at night knowing how you got it.

The ride went pretty smoothly...literally...until about the halfway point. We hit the first of two out-and-back portions of the ride, and then the road quality turned from “well-maintained” to “OW....SHIT.....OW....FUCK......DAMN IT.... OWWWWW!” This road was in such a shoddy state of disrepair that it shook you to your bones with large, uniform cracks across the asphalt...roughly every 10 feet. This resulted in a very rhythmic “Kathunk....Kathunk” which lasted for the next 10 miles. It was utterly miserable and really brought the slowly growing fatigue in my body into sharp focus. Each rut in the road punished my back, which had been tucked in aero position for the past 3 hours. So I began to sit up. And the speed dropped. There was no getting around it. The cracks went all the way across the road, and we had to ride each and every one of them....TWICE!(remember...out-and-back) This was the point in my day when I really began to hurt like you're supposed to hurt in an Ironman.

The special needs drop point was on this out-and-back stretch, and I was getting hungry. I was still hanging on to a decent average speed, so I was hoping for a quick in-and-out stop here. I remembered how efficient and helpful the special needs volunteers were in Coeur d'Alene, so I was severely disappointed when I rolled in and nobody had my bag ready for me. Nobody was even looking for it. 

Don't get me wrong...they were all busting their asses helping SOMEbody. But not me. I stopped my bike and stared back at the numbered station where my bag would be. It was several seconds before somebody noticed me standing there, wondering if I should just get off the bike and go get it myself. That person immediately ran over, dug through the box, retrieved bag #1385 and handed it to me. He then went off to help somebody else. I guess my disappointment stemmed from the fact that in CDA, one volunteer had your bag ready when you arrived. They got your gear out of it for you. They held your bike if you wanted to stop and eat or use the bathroom, and they were basically your slave for whatever amount of time you spent there. Here in Florida, once they handed you your bag, you were on your own. I guess I was spoiled last time.

I took a few puffs from my inhaler to prevent the airways from tightening up, grabbed my 2^nd bag of melty peanut butter and Nutella tortillas, and rolled over to the porta-potty. After doing my business, I got back on the crappy road and continued.

Here are some nitty gritty details concerning hydration: I was hoping to pee by mile 40. I didn't pee until nearly mile 60...and it wasn't very clear or voluminous. This should have been a HUGE red flag, but for some reason I didn't worry about it too much. I figured I'd catch up on the fluids by the end of the ride, but since I'm mentioning it now, with my history of epic dehydrated blow-ups, you just KNOW that this is foreshadowing of some kind.

We finally got off the crappy road and hit a section of small to medium sized rolling hills. Wait! I thought this course was FLAT! Meh, I ride in KS/MO, I can handle this. Now that the roads were smooth again, I assumed I'd be able to pick the pace back up and make up the time I spent in special needs. Only I couldn't. The rolling hills were enough to hold me just under my target speed. And it felt like we had a headwind. No worries, once we turn, that'll disappear lickety-split. Only it didn't. The course turned, and once again....a headwind? Ok...now for real...the NEXT time we turn, I'll DEFINITELY have a tailwind and I'll rip up the rest of this ride. Only I didn't. The course turned again....headwind?

I'm not sure what direction the wind was blowing, or if it was shifting, or if it was just my tired legs convincing my brain it wasn't their fault and that there was actually no wind. Whatever the case, my pace slowly dropped and I couldn't ride faster than 17-18 for any decent stretch. And my body was really beginning to feel the punishment. I couldn't stay properly tucked for long periods of time, even on smooth roads, and I sat up more and more. I clearly just hadn't spent enough hours in the saddle training my body to maintain this strenuous position.

Nearly 100 miles in, and feeling it.

I began to lose steam for the last 20 miles of the ride, and my morale was beginning to suffer as well. I did end up seeing Delaware on one of the out-and-back sections, so I at least knew one of my friends had made it out of the water successfully. I still worried about Alan and Adam though. I worried that I had once again torched my legs and that I was in for a miserable marathon. I worried about my nutrition strategies. 

I worried about everything as I ground the gears back towards the beach...this time into a very real and very persistent headwind. I turned onto the home stretch that took us back towards transition and was grateful for the high-rise condos lining the road that provided shelter from the wind. The pace picked back up and my mood began to improve. I lightheartedly joked with some other racers. One of them asked if I was looking forward to finally getting off the bike, to which I replied, “Yes, but not as much as I'm looking forward to my post-race massage, peel-and-eat shrimp, and snow crab legs.”

Final Bike Time – 6:09:29. A bike split PR of almost 50 minutes, but almost 10 minutes shy of my goal.

I rolled into transition and immediately needed to change my attitude. I wasn't going to defeat myself by believing that I had overexerted on the bike, and I began quietly chanting to myself, “Legs for days. Legs for days. You've got legs for fucking days......DAYS!” I changed into my running gear, hit a porta-potty(disappointing output, once again) and charged out onto the run course.

To Be Continued...here.