It's Not (Just) About The Hills.

This post is to appear in the April 2012 edition of The Wingfoot, the newsletter of GBTC

One of my favorite Boston Marathon quotes is from Fatuma Roba, who won
Boston three times starting in 1997. After her first win, she said
something like "I was told there was a hill, but I didn't find it."
While it's true that Heartbreak Hill is no Mount Washington, most
mortals do notice the series of hills that begin at about mile 16 and
finish at the top of Heartbreak around mile 21.

I have run Boston only twice: the first time was in 1994, a day
similar to 2011, with cool temperatures and a tailwind helping Cosmos
Ndeti and Uta Pippig to course records that would stand for many
years. My experience was very different from theirs (although the
forgettable PR I set in 1994 did stand until 2007). I was completely
focused on getting to the top of Heartbreak Hill, figuring that if I
could get to the top in decent shape, I would coast down the gentle
slope to the finish with ease.

I really had no problem getting up Heartbreak, but once I was on the
top, it was like a switch had been flipped. I had a classic hitting
the wall experience, and the final 5 miles were a nightmare of jogging
and walking and watching my goal time go out the window. I crossed the
line saying "I never want to do that again".

I have told that story to countless people over the years, and my
advice has always been: don't forget that those last 5 miles of any
marathon are hard, and the last 5 at Boston even more so. Make sure
you are ready to work harder after Heartbreak than at any other point
in the race - and that includes getting up Heartbreak. The funny thing
is that I almost failed to take my own advice when I finally came back
to run Boston the second time, in 2008.

After my 1994 disappointment, I did one more marathon in 1996, which
went even worse (don't ask), and then swore off marathons for a
decade. Finally in 2007 I embarked on a proper training plan,
compiled with input from Tom Derderian, many GBTC team-mates, and the
great book by former GBTC member Pete Pfitzinger, "Advanced
Marathoning". I also paid a lot of attention to pre-race nutrition,
guided by my expert partner Christy and the wisdom of Nancy Clark. At
Philadelphia I not only lowered my PR by 19 minutes (to 2:46), I
finally ran a marathon without hitting the wall. My last 5 miles were
the hardest of the race, but they were no slower than the first 21,
and felt much like the last couple of miles of a half-marathon. OK, I
thought, train properly, eat right, avoid the wall, it's that easy. On
to Boston 2008.

My leadup to Boston didn't go quite as well as the previous Fall, with
a bit of time off for injury and illness, but I came into the race
with a solid half-marathon tune-up and having hit most of my training
targets. Figuring that the 2007 Philly marathon was pretty close to perfect
(including great weather and a mostly flat course), my pre-race plan
for Boston was to go no faster than 2:47 pace for the first half. Once
the excitement and steep drop of the first couple of miles were behind
me, I settled into that pace and held it for about 15 miles. The steep
downhill coming into Newton Lower Falls - around mile 16 - was the
first sign that Boston might be a different race than Philly, as I
felt some pretty serious soreness developing in my quads. But then it
was into the infamous Newton hills, heading up to Heartbreak, and the
quads relaxed.

I felt strong all the way up to the top of Heartbreak, and chatted
with a running acquaintance who was doing his first Boston. "All
downhill from here, right?" he said. I gave him my usual advice -
expect it to get hard after you crest the hill. Those words were
hardly out of my mouth as I started down past B.C. to the "haunted
mile" when I realized that this was advice I still needed to hear
myself. Once again I felt a switch had been flipped and I couldn't
imagine maintaining any sort of decent pace for the next 5 miles. I
really wanted to start to jog it in or worse, and it was clear that
this was not going to be at all like the end of Philly. I was hitting
the wall, and I was going to have to deal with it. Two thoughts formed
in my head: first was "listen to your own advice" and the second was
"this is what you trained for all winter, don't throw it all away
now."

I got a little mental lift at the next mile split as I had actually
made good time down back of Heartbreak, but still 4.2 miles to go and
the course is essentially undulating from there on. My quads were
getting sore again, and no part of me felt good. I just focused
on getting to the GBTC cheering squad at mile 24, figuring I had to
pretend to look good there at least. The sea of cheering red at
Coolidge Corner did lift me for about 30 seconds or so, then on to
Kenmore. I was just trying to get to the last mile and hoping I could
keep it together from there. Finally I made the turn onto Boylston St
and I wished I had remembered how many blocks I had to cover to the
finish - it looked implausibly far away (note: it's about 3 blocks).

And then, with the finish in sight, my quads essentially stopped
working altogether. Video footage shows me wobble and fall forwards,
and I remember thinking - well, time to crawl as fast as I can. A few
"steps" later I decided to try to get vertical again and I was able to
walk across the line. That whole crawl-walk episode took only 15
seconds to cover the last few feet - just as well the marathon isn't,
say, 26.3 miles. I managed just to break 2:50, a barrier I was pretty
happy to get under (and still 16 minutes better than what my
30-year-old self had done in '94).

So, it's really not hard to run well at Boston. Train well, eat right,
pace yourself correctly, and be ready to talk yourself through some
tough times in the last 5 miles. Crawl if necessary. You might want to
practice your downhill running. Just don't expect the racing to be
done when you get past the top of Heartbreak.

Rubber Side Down

Photo Courtesy of SKN Photography

My introduction to multiday bike racing was the 2010 Tour of the Catskills, a 3-day stage race. I had a great time there last year and vowed to come back in 2011. Having upgraded to Cat 4 in the interim, and having noticed that the combined Cat 1-4 masters category was perhaps a little more competitive that I really needed, I decided to race Cat 4 open. My "tune-up" race for the Catskills was the Tour of the Hilltowns 2 weeks earlier, which has a similarly hilly profile, but unfortunately I managed to crash early in that race and then spend 2.5 hours chasing the peleton while bleeding from several spots and trying to stay hydrated on one of the hottest days of the year. I've heard it said that training for bike races is all about making deposits in the pain bank from which you make withdrawals on race day, so on that basis the Hilltowns was a great day of training. I'm pretty sure the only reason I finished it was because I had watched so many pros crash in the Tour de France and keep racing (most notably Johnny Hoogerland). All things considered I got off pretty lightly but I was still wearing bandages on race day (as the photo above illustrates - at least I was easy to spot in the peloton.)

In contrast to last year, which started with a real hill-climber's time trial stage, this year had a much flatter and longer ITT for stage 1, and my hope here was just to avoid losing too much time to people who would be better suited to that event. I only manged one practice TT race all summer, and my average speed of 22.5 mph for 10 miles wasn't that impressive. After a bit of adjustment to bike position I was hoping I might at least be able to break 23 mph for the 12 mile stage at Catskills. I was also hoping that among the Cat 4s in this race there wouldn't be too many TT specialists with fancy bikes, and on that point I was not disappointed. In the end I was pleasantly surprised to average close to 24 mph, covering the 12 mile course in 30:11, 43rd out of 71 and less than 4 minutes down on the leader.

I discovered that one of the problems of stage racing is that you go to bed with both pre-race stress and post-race excitement, which doesn't necessarily make for a great night's sleep. But I woke up feeling pretty good in the morning, and ready to tackle the first mass-start stage of the race, a 65 mile hill fest that includes the infamous Devil's Kitchen. This climb of about 1300 feet is at a 12% average grade but much steeper in sections, rivaling the steepest sections of Mount Washington and much steeper than anything in the Tour de France. It also comes very close to the end of the stage. There are some hairy descents before you get there, and the official who read us our starting orders made sure to remind us that it's not worth taking risks on the descents. I hit 45mph a few times on the downhills, and even at that speed I was losing ground to some of the heavier and more adventurous racers. I also have a dim memory of possibly pinching my rear tire on a bump near the end of one such descent, and feeling relieved when it didn't go flat. But as we got further into the race I started to sense that the tire was losing air, and around 44 miles I hit a bump and it went completely flat. Ironically, this was almost the same spot at which I had flatted in this race last year. The wheel van pulled up behind me, but there didn't seem to be a great sense of urgency in getting me a wheel. I said several times "Shimano 9-speed" and was given a wheel and finally got on my way again, and shortly afterwards established that it was actually a 10-speed. A later conversation with the wheel man convinced me that this important distinction of componentry was lost on him. Amazingly enough, I was able to get a fair number of the gears to work smoothly, and I set about chasing the peleton. It was hard work and I had been stopped long enough - about 2 and a half minutes - that I couldn't even see them. And I didn't want to arrive at the base of the Devil's kitchen completely cooked, as it were. Eventually I was caught by a group of stragglers and the 4 or 5 of us worked together to the bottom of the DK. I was very glad for the company.

The Kitchen was just as bad as I remembered it. I had actually changed my rear cassette before the race to improve my gearing for the climb, but of course that cassette was sitting in the wheel van now. GPS data shows that my slowest mile up the climb was a 10:44 - slower than anything I did at Mount Washington on bike or on foot. But it wasn't as bad for me as for some other folks, and I was soon passing the rear of the peloton that I'd lost when I flatted. Quite a few folks were walking, and I came extremely close to joining them but resolved not to do so as long as I could keep the bike upright. The top half of the climb starts to get a bit less steep and soon enough I was over it with just a few miles to cover to the finish. Heading down the other side I caught or was caught by a handful of other riders and soon we had a nice, fast-moving paceline heading into the finish. I was happy to be done but frustrated to have lost the peloton with a flat. I have had 4 flats in the last 5 years, and 3 of them have been in races, which doesn't seem reasonable from a statistical point of view. But I'm thinking that it might be related to the fact that I don't often exceed 40mph on my training rides either.

Results showed that I had moved all the way from 43rd to 42nd with this stage, and lost about 8 more minutes to the leaders. 2.5 of those minutes were from stopping for the flat, but I can't tell how many more I'd lost by being solo for so long after the flat. Not the day I'd hoped for.

Another night of not-great sleep as I looked back over the day and hoped for some redemption on the final stage. While the final stage lacked the steepness of the Devil's Kitchen, it actually had more total climbing, and I was hoping I could get over the first climb near the front. That hope was dashed pretty quickly as we started up the 1500 foot climb for the first "King of the Mountains" points - I know how hard I can work when I'm going to be climbing for a long time, and there's not much point pretending otherwise when the leaders pull away from you. But settling into the level of effort that I could sustain did allow me to pass a lot of people who had overcooked the first part of the climb, and so while I never threatened to take the lead, I did get over the top in something like 15th place. The descent that followed was really something, with plenty of turns to keep things interesting, and a group of about a dozen folks coalesced as we made our way down, hitting a top speed of 49.5 mph. We formed a good paceline as we headed on to the second big climb of the day.

The only way to make a hill less steep is to zigzag. Yellow line rule? Who cares?
Photo courtesy of SKN Photo

The photo above illustrates just how hard many folks found the last big climb of the race. In a move that I was pretty pleased with, I moved my way up to the front of our paceline right before the climb started and was able to break off the front of the group from the start of the climb. Of the dozen folks who had been together between the two climbs, I was second over the top, and quickly joined forces with the first guy, who happened to have been one of my companions the prior day. We caught one more straggler from the group in front of us and tried to see if we could stay clear of the folks who had been with us before the climb. But we were 3 small guys and before too long we were caught by a few of the bigger guys from behind, who were better at descending. Soon we had a good little group working well together and trying to make the best time we could for the last dozen miles. At one point a pair of guys from the Speedwell team launched a perfect attack and got clear, but as soon as the next hill came along we caught them again. We worked hard over the last few miles and as we shed a couple of riders off the back there were about 7 of us as we hit 2k to go.

I know that I have one of the worst sprints around so with about 500m to go I decided to see if I could manage a sneak attack, and it sort of worked as I did get off the front with one other rider, but then we turned for home and it was a 300m uphill finish. Much as I like hill climbing, those short hills do not play to my strengths, as I just don't have the explosive power, and 5 of my 7 companions powered past me into the finish. But I did manage 22nd overall on the stage, and moved up to 25th in the General Classification.

In the end, I was happy with the result. One thing that I got from the last day was the satisfaction of doing the stage to the absolute best of my ability - I feel like there was no point at which I failed to be aggressive when it mattered, and there was no way I could have hung with the leaders on that first KOM climb. Furthermore, I finished right behind Dan Moon, with whom I finished every stage last year. Had I not flatted on stage 2, I expect I would have been with him that day as well, which would have moved me a few places up the GC but not enough to really matter. So I can look at the flat with more equanimity than I did after the end of stage 2.

They say the best way to become a good rider in your 40s is to do a lot of riding in your 30s. Well, I missed that, but it's not too long for me to see if I can be a good rider in my 50s.

Up the Rockpile With 20 Extra Pounds

Mt. Washington and I have a bit of a checkered history. In 2002 I showed up at the start of the foot race to the summit, only to find that bad weather had forced the race to be cut down to only go half way up. I ignored the race for the next 8 years, then returned in 2010 to find that I actually enjoyed the race to the top - enjoyment that had a lot to do with near-perfect weather and a better result than I expected - 1:15:14, good for 50th place. Unlike most of my GBTC team-mates, I was planning to come back next year from the moment I finished.

But it was not to be. After a bout of injury in February this year, I spent a lot of time on the bike, and began my Mt. Washington training in mid-April. By early June I was ready for a tune-up race, the Pack Monadnock 10 miler, and a top-10 finish there within seconds of last year's time made me feel I was ready for Mt. Washington. Five days later, doing nothing more than an easy shakeout run, I felt my hamstring tighten to the point where I had to abort my run. It failed to improve in the 10 days before the Mt. Washington race, so there would be no running up the rock pile for me this year.

Once my non-starter status as a runner was confirmed, I started considering the option of entering one of the two bike races that go up the same road. I had 3 weeks to decide - fortunately the "overflow" race, a.k.a. Newton's Revenge, was not yet full. But as a bit of a cycling rookie, I wasn't sure I was willing to commit to that sort of challenge. I decided to try the Okemo hillclimb as a "proof of concept" and that went surprisingly well. That race climbs less than half as much as Mt. Washington, at a grade of 11% compared to almost 12% for Washington, and it was tough, but I placed well enough (19th from 114 finishers) to make me think Mt. Washington might be worth a shot.

There were enough moments on Okemo where I wished for a couple of extra gears that I decided some adjustments had to be made for Mt. Washington. Thanks to my crazy cycling friend Russ who got me started as a cyclist and who has done Washington a few times, I came to the conclusion that a 24-tooth front chainring was required, and with 8 days to go to the race, I found a shop in Boston to put one on for me. After a quick test of the new setup on the hills of Arlington, I entered the race.

One day before the race, on Russ' advice I removed my bike's rear brake to save a few grams, but resisted the temptation to remove the larger chainrings and front derailleur for fear of having too many untested changes on race day. (If this weight loss strategy seems extreme, note that a pound off the bike would translate into about 30 seconds of time improvement for a cyclist of my size and speed.)

Race day was warm and sunny at the starting elevation of 1500 feet, but we heard reports of 50+ mph winds at the summit. Fortunately, that was not enough to cause postponement of the race. We went off in 4 waves: the "Top Notch" wave reserved for those who had broken 1:20 in a prior race, then age-groups. The 45+ crowd, last to start, also included 2 tandems and 2 unicycles. Good to know I wasn't the craziest person there.

Determined not to go too hard too early, I let a dozen or more people get ahead of me as we started up the hill, and still I found myself breathing too hard for what was going to be a 70 minute or longer effort. I eased off and tried to find the right level to sustain for that duration, a tricky balancing act.

I had decided that beating my running time was a good goal, and that the way to approach that was to try to hit half way at about the same time I did in the foot race. However, for some reason I kept missing the mile and elevation markers by the side of the road, possibly because I was spending my mental energy thinking about gear choice, staying relaxed on the bike, not going to hard or too easy, and staying upright at an average speed of 6 mph. I did however reach half way (which, it turns out, is rather less than half way up in terms of elevation) just ahead of the 35 minute goal. Soon after than point, I decided to get out of the saddle for a little change of position, which required a downshift, and then when I sat down I had to upshift suddenly, which somehow sent my chain into the rear spokes. My bike came to a halt and with no time to unclip I fell over sideways. Fortunately there was no-one next to me. I unclipped, turned the bike over, unjammed the chain and got it back on the sprocket in what seemed like a few seconds, but then I couldn't remount the bike on such a steep slope. I kept getting the front wheel airborne as I tried to lift my unclipped foot off the ground. Eventually I managed to scoot the bike along and get clipped in and moving again with my heart pounding from adrenaline. I told myself to calm down and tried to resume my progress up the mountain. I had started to catch people from the wave in front of me at this point and I got some words of encouragement from the folks who had seen me crash. Thankfully bike and rider were in good shape (although my knee was bloody and would double in size later that day.)

Soon I hit the famous dirt section, and initially it was all good, with nice views out across the valley, but as it continued up around a hairpin I entered the clouds and felt the strong headwinds for the first time. I also found this section so steep that I was struggling to keep the front wheel down, but if I stood up the rear wheel slipped. As I passed a rider from 545 velo we shared some words of encouragement and I expressed my strong dislike for the dirt and the weather in language that needn't be repeated here.

It was great to be back on the paved road even as the weather worsened and I remember seeing the 5000 ft marker. I thought "Hmm, more than half of Okemo left" which probably wasn't the most positive attitude. I hit the 6 mile mark just inside the hour and realized that beating my running time wasn't assured. I tried to push every less steep section yet I also feared too many gear changes. Finally I reach 6000 feet - less than 300 feet of climbing to go. The excitement may have been too much, as my calf cramped precisely at that moment. "No cramps!" I yelled, and received some more encouragement as I passed another rider.

I knew that there was a flat section right before the infamous 22% "wall" and I managed to downshift and upshift without incident. Visibility was almost nonexistent, so I was glad I had seen the wall before and knew what to expect. Christy was there to cheer and I gave a fist pump, mostly to psych myself up as I approached it. What caught me by surprise was how curvy it was, and I came very close to the shoulder, but I was able to make my way up and then over the finish line, with 1:14 still showing on my watch. I could barely dismount, I was so wiped from the final "sprint".

Official time of 1:14:22, almost a minute under my running time, and certainly a much tougher day in terms of weather. Also no problems of stuck chains, banged knees or slipping wheels when you run it. I confess I had hoped to go a bit faster, but I have to admit that as a debutant in this event and a newbie to cycling, I can't complain. It was a great treat to find that I got 3rd in my age-group (even though the first two places were way in front of me) - my first ever "podium" in cycling. (How come runners don't have podiums?) And just as I said when I finished the race last year, I want to come back.

Since it's Tour de France week, it's amusing to compare Mt. Washington against the famous climbs in le Tour. It is steeper than any of the famous climbs, and higher than Alpe D'Huez - but, as local climbing guru Doug Jansen points out, those guys do the climbs at the end of long days in a 23-day tour. I bet they don't have 24 tooth chainrings either.

Cycling Anniversary

My first ever bike race was on April 10, 2010, at the Tour of the Battenkill, aka "America's Queen of the Classics", aka America's answer to the Paris-Roubaix spring classic. The organizers kindly moved the race to a Sunday this year so that it not only coincided with its more famous French cousin, but also marked the exact one-year anniversary of my competitive entry to the sport.

Last year's race was a great introduction to bike racing, with none of my major fears (crashing, flats, or bonking) being realized, and a surprising 8th place finish in my 50-man field of 45+ Cat5 riders. This year I hoped to improve on that placing with a year of experience, a plan to work with another rider I had met last year, and a more aggressive race plan. However, I was still afraid of all the same things as last year. The course this year had more dirt sections than last year - a total of about 20% of the 64 mile course - and an additional two hills to bring the total climbing to about 2900 feet (although it's been reported in some places as 4000 feet.)

I lined up close to the front at the start with my "team-mate" Greg alongside me, and after a 1km neutral start we were off at a brisk pace. This was also my first race with any sort of bike computer, so for once I could figure out how fast I was going and where I was on the course. I was also gathering power data for later analysis, and trying to avoid being distracted by my instantaneous wattage.



One of my reasons for starting near the front was to reduce my risk of being behind any sort of problems, like water bottles popping out on the first section of dirt, but almost as soon as we hit the dirt road there was a crash in front of me. I was just able to get around it safely and when we regrouped on the other side I didn't see Greg. I guess if we were a proper team I would have stopped to wait for him, but not being sure what was going on I just kept riding. (Does this make me sound like a bad person? Let me stress that we were not officially on a team. And read on.) Soon we were into the first hill, and I followed my plan of doing whatever was necessary to stay with the leaders. This meant a pretty full-out effort, but I consider myself a decent hill climber so I hoped I wasn't digging much deeper than the guys around me. I made it to the top of the 2nd hill (Juniper Swamp Rd) in about 3rd place, feeling OK, and in a group of about 8 riders. We regrouped on the way down, and then one of the riders organized us into a paceline. The plan was clearly to get a move on and separate from the rest of the field. Before long it was my turn to lead the paceline, and after a little stint at the front I moved off and dropped to the back, as you do.

What happened in the next few seconds probably determined the rest of the race for me, but that wasn't apparent at the time. Somehow, when I got to the back of the paceline, I couldn't muster the energy to accelerate back up to their speed, and so I fell off the back. I have replayed this scene many times now and I have to think that the effort on the first two hills plus a maybe too-long stint at the front just left me too tired to pull out the effort to rejoin the line. But I probably also made a rookie mistake of waiting too late to start accelerating as I reached the back of the line. (Subsequent power data analysis suggests that my peak power for the race occurred at this moment.) And I certainly didn't know then that by losing that paceline I was committing myself to a very long day of largely solo riding.

I soon found myself in the company of one other straggler, and I suggested we work together to try to join the leaders, but we turned out to be a very poor team: he was much bigger than me, and I would lose him on the hills only to see him flying past me on the downhills - and this was with me being as aggressive as I dared on the descents, hitting 40mph at times. There's no substitute for gravity when it comes to descending I guess. We did eventually managed to work together on some rolling sections, and then were joined by two other riders. We lost one of them to a mechanical issue, and the three of us hung together for a while.

Last year's course had a longish flat, paved section in the middle which I recall spending at a very relaxed pace in a paceline, recovering nicely before the 2 serious hills in the last 20 miles. This year, that section had been re-routed to go over dirt roads with another two serious hills. So there was really no place to recover, and eventually my two paceline companions dropped me. (Again, I wonder if I should have dug for something extra to avoid that fate, but I was really pretty spent, and still 30 miles from the finish). Fortunately, I was soon joined by Greg, who was very scantily clad in a pair of torn shorts, testifying to the fact that he had indeed been in that crash way back near the start. To his considerable credit, he had got back up and ridden solo for about 25 miles, passing most of the field to reach me, and we were at this point both in pretty much the same worn-out state. We rode together into the feeding station, where I picked up my third water bottle without incident (unlike last year).

Soon we were on to Meeting House Rd, a series of rolling hills on dirt, where I almost lost it riding through some deep sand, and then a tedious flat section before the final climb. I gave Greg the last dregs of my water (he hadn't picked up a third bottle, and was clearly having an even harder day than me - see, I'm not a totally bad person) and ate a final gel to keep me going.

As we approached the last hill I saw a 10k to go sign which lifted my spirits considerably. Somehow I was always able to find something to get me up the hills in a way that I struggled to match on the flatter sections. The last hill has a few false tops, but eventually I was at the real top, on my own again, with 4 miles of downhill pavement in front of me. I was determined not to lose any more places if I possibly could - last year I was caught by 5 guys on the last section, testament to my dreadful descending abilities, and 4 of them outsprinted me, pointing to another weakness in my arsenal.

Soon I was seeing 5k to go, 4k, etc., and finally into the finish on my own. Greg came in a minute or so back, pictured below. I crossed the finish line feeling a lot more spent than last year - I slumped over the bike while a kindly volunteer asked me if I was OK. I'd compare the feeling as close to the end of a marathon, whereas last year it felt much more like a half-marathon.

Greg holds his shorts together at the finish for the sake of modesty.

I had been trying to keep track of how many people were in front of me, and estimated that I might just have made the top 10. Indeed, that was one of the things that kept me going. After initially showing up as 11th, the official results show me exactly at 10th, which somehow feels a lot better than 11th. Not quite the placing I had hoped for, but I will also say that I went for it a lot more than last year, against what I suspect was a considerably stronger field. And I think I've learned a few things that I can improve on both tactically and in my training. I'll definitely be back next year, hopefully as a Cat 4.

If you can't stand the heat...

...don't climb in the Devil's Kitchen. So goes the amusing little introduction to the most serious climb in the Tour of the Catskills, a 3-day stage race that marked my entry to the multi-day format of bike racing. The Devil's Kitchen is a 1300 foot climb near the end of the third day, that was nicely described by the winner of the Pro race: "steeper than Col du Tourmalet in the Tour de France, Verbier, or even Mont Ventoux". But I am getting ahead of myself, as Tristram Shandy said. I had to get through two and a half days of cycling before even facing the Devil's Kitchen.

Up the Devil's Kitchen. That's me on the left in long socks. It's steeper than it looks here. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Benepe.

Day 1 was a 2.2 mile individual time trial prologue. Very Tour de France, I thought. But why bother with a silly little 2.2 miles when 110 miles of racing lay ahead on days 2 and 3? Well, the thing about a TT is that everyone gets a different time, whereas the rules of cycling are such that if you cross the line in a bunch sprint, you all get the same time. So the TT provides a good little tie-breaker. I would come to be very thankful for this detail.

As a newcomer to bike racing, I get to race in Category 5 with all the other guys who have yet to finish 10 races. (Cat 5 is also known as Crash 5 for obvious reasons.) And this race has only 2 age groups for Cat 5 - under 35, and 35+. So I raced with the older novices. Prior experience has shown that this category is by no means non-competitive.

The TT went off at about 1pm on a Friday, and in reverse alphabetical order, so I was one of the later starters. While it was only 2.2 miles, it did include 479 feet of climbing. I figured this was in my favor, since I have never time-trialed before but I can climb a bit. I took off at my assigned time, powered up the first steep section of the course, which I planned to treat like a 3k run on the track, given the expected duration of 9 or 10 minutes. However, within one minute I was gasping for air, rather like a mile race in which one has gone out way too fast. I backed off a bit, and near the 5 minute mark I passed the guy who had started 30 seconds ahead. I managed some sort of self-deprecating comment as I went past. Near the top I passed the guy who had gone out 1 minute ahead of me. I never saw the 1k to go mark (and I had no computer on my bike) but soon I could see the stone church that marked the finish, so I got out of the saddle and hammered home. Crossed the line gasping for breath, much like I would after a 3k run on the track. Final results showed that I had managed the distance in 8:46, 6th out of 47 starters, and 39 seconds off the lead, much closer to the front than the back of the field. My fantasies of getting on the podium were not realised, but I couldn't complain. (I was off having lunch when they called the top 3 guys to the podium, so was actually a bit relieved I didn't blow that opportunity.)

I spent the afternoon driving over the course for Day 2 and making sure I was well rested for the "real" racing of the weekend. Not to mention well fed and hydrated. I was taking no chances on the carb storage - if there was a moment when I was remotely hungry, I ate something. Out for a pasta dinner and then try to sleep.

Day 2's race started 2 miles from my B&B, so I was able to ride over after breakfast to the start and sign in for the 2nd day. Apparently the daily sign-in is a ritual of stage races; when I had signed in and asked if I was all set to race, the officials "yes, it's just like the pros". The cyclist next to me, attempting to make some light conversation, and wearing his street clothes, said "how come no-one is announcing my name"; without drawing breath an official said "you're not wearing your race gear. You don't see the pros signing in like they just rolled out of bed." It was said with more than a little bite; the other cyclist and I made a few jocular comments but it was clear that the official was trying hard to create a real "pro" experience and wasn't too impressed at cyclists who didn't act the part.

45 riders started on Day 2 (a couple of folks either DNFed the time trial or realized they were out of their depth) and it was a huge and somewhat unruly peleton for about 25 miles. The last race I did, I felt like the least expert person in the field, but there were plenty of contenders for that title in this field. Crossing the yellow line down the middle of the road is a big no-no in the rule book (a good way to win a Darwin award, though) but that didn't stop some of my fellow riders. (The thinking, I'm sure is something like: "I want to be closer to the front. On this side of the yellow line, I am blocked. But there is all this open space on the other side of the yellow - it seems a shame to waste it.") After a few flagrant violations we got a formal warning from the official in the support van. And then not too long after that, we got an experience that I think no-one in the race will forget: a horse, scared and trapped between the passing peleton and a grassy bank, started to buck, apparently trying to throw his rider so he could get to the serious work of kicking in the heads of the 45 irritating animals passing him at speed. I crossed the double yellow line faster than you could say "brain damage". As I said soon afterwards to a fellow rider, "better DQed than dead".

With our adrenaline suitably primed, we were soon into the main climb of the day, about 1500 feet of it. The peleton broke apart pretty quickly, and I took my normal position of being relatively cautious, knowing that there was a lot of race left. Shortly before the top my calves cramped, as they are prone to do, but I got them sorted out and kept moving. I ended up about 8th at the top of the hill, and completely on my own, with 20+ miles of riding still to go. On your own is not a good thing in a bike race. The peleton is a powerful machine, and solo riders don't make good progress. But there wasn't much point in stopping and waiting to be caught, so I just pressed on, hoping I might catch some riders in front of me.

Soon we reached the feeding station, and with no bottle thief in this race I picked up a full bottle of Gatorade from Christy as I rode through. Then on to the next big hill, which I tackled alone. Near the top I caught another rider, whom I was disappointed to find was not from my race, but a laggard from the race that had started ahead of mine. I couldn't get help from him, so I carried on in search of other riders from my race. Before too long, I heard a voice behind me, and I had company from my own race. In fact, lots of it - a group of four or five riders had caught me, as will typically happen to the solo rider. I could not have been happier, since riding in a group is both more efficient and more fun than going alone. These guys were organized as a fast-moving paceline, and I gratefully joined the train. With about a dozen flat miles to go, we were all in it together, trying to chase the guys who had beaten me through the hills, and avoid getting caught ourselves from behind. We must have been moving at 25mph for most of the last 10 miles. Each of us would take a turn at the front, peel off, move to the back, and wait for their turn again. This was probably the best fun of the weekend. Suddenly we saw the finish line in sight, and went into sprint mode. My sprint is truly horrible - just enough to keep me attached to the bunch, but unable to get ahead of anyone. So I finished 12th for the day, but with the same time as 7th, and when the General Classification (or Classement General) was announced, I had held on to 7th place, less than 6 minutes back from the Maillot Jaune.

Saturday night I had another carb-loading frenzy that couldn't be beat and hoped that my legs would recover sufficiently to tackle a much tougher day. Day 3, at 58 miles and 2600 feet of climbing, would be just a bit longer than Day 2, but the fact that those 2600 feet happened to be largely concentrated in the 2 mile stretch of Platt Clove Rd known as The Devil's Kitchen had given everyone pause. There were a few attempts to break up the peleton in the first 30 miles, but they didn't amount to anything. We entered the feeding station with all our starters in one group (we were now down to about 40, with a few DNFs and a few missing the time cutoff - you had to be within 40% of the stage winner to continue on to day 3). Another successful bottle handoff and I was getting psyched for the big climb. Then, about 7 miles before the start of said climb, I heard a pop. I had time to ask the guy next to me "was that you or me" before the air left my tire and I had my answer. How is it that I have had only 2 punctures in 4 years, and both in races? Well, we had a support van, I pulled over, we got my wheel off and a new one with a good tire put on, and I was on my way. No idea how long I was stopped - maybe 2 minutes. I could still see the peleton in the distance, but not close. I had to catch them to stay in the race (see earlier comments about solo riders.) I got into my best time-trial position (which is nothing great) and started hammering, all the time knowing that I couldn't afford to arrive exhausted at the start of the dreaded DK. To my good fortune, the entire field was nervous about the upcoming climb, so they were not going nearly as fast as a peleton can go, and after about 5 miles of heavy breathing (and no small amount of saying positive things to myself out loud), I did catch them. I figured I was completely screwed at this point. I just had time to catch my breath, relax a bit, and then it was Kitchen time.

The Pros on the Devil's Kitchen. This gives a better sense of the steepness. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Benepe.

The Devil's Kitchen is reported to be 1300 feet of climbing at 14% average grade, with some sections at 22%. That puts it steeper than Mt. Washington (albeit much less high) and with sections matching the infamous "wall" at the top of Mt. W. One of those sections comes right at the bottom, and within a minute I was thinking "no way can I hold this for 1300 feet". But then it flattened out a bit, my legs got some rest, and the next steep section arrived. The fluctuation in grade definitely helped make it manageable, and just as in the Mt. Washington race, I adopted the strategy of going as slow as I could without stopping to walk. Slowly I made my way to the front of the field. Just shy of the top the road flattened out, and with no work to do suddenly, my hamstrings started to cramp. I pounded them with my fists and started pedalling, causing me to move further up the field, and then it was time for the final push to the top, where I think I was 6th guy over the summit. I had one rider on my tail, but as I was still punching my hamstrings to try to get the cramps out, I could hear a few expressions of dismay from him as he was no doubt almost colliding with my erratically moving bike. I urged him to pull along side.

We started the descent as a twosome, but soon we had company, maybe 8 guys in total, and about 10 miles to cover to the finish. It was similar to the prior day - even mostly the same group of guys, but we had picked up one or two others who fit the "Crash 5" moniker a bit more closely. There were a few near crashes and some crossing of the yellow line, but mostly we managed to proceed at speed towards the finish. There was one exciting moment - a section of road that had been cut away and filled with loose gravel - which fortunately we had been warned about, and negotiated safely. Soon it was into the main street of Hunter for another bunch sprint, and I knew that if I could stay in the group again I would keep my 7th overall place at worst. As the sprint got going I managed to do a bit of drafting so I didn't die so soon, and this time I actually beat 2 guys (while getting outsprinted by 6). OK, I have some work to do on the sprint, but I got what I needed, which was the same time as my bunch.

Final results had me 7th in the GC, with only 36 of our original 47 finishing the race, and only 31 making the time cutoff (20% behind the stage leader). My total time of 5:41:45 was 9:51 behind the winner, with an average speed across the 2 long days of 19.75 mph. Yes, those peletons move fast, when you consider that I was probably doing 4 mph up the Devil's Kitchen. And the difference between me and 10th place? 29 seconds, all from the time trial.

This is a great sport. But I've got to get myself out of Cat 5 (where everyone complains about the other riders, but never admits to being dangerous themselves).

Finally, a bit of suitable music:
Wheels - Cake

Eight years in the making

In 2002, I entered the Mount Washington Road Race for the first time, and on race morning I arrived at the start to learn that we were not going to be allowed to run to the top. Sub-freezing temperatures, freezing rain, and the notorious Mt. Washington winds meant the race directors considered it unsafe to send 1000 runners and their support cars to the summit. We ended up racing about half way, which was a new experience but not the one I had prepared myself for. Ever since, I have kept my "only one hill" t-shirt in the closet, feeling like I didn't earn the right to wear it.

I stayed away from the race for years, until this year a group from GBTC decided to enter en masse. With some help from our coach Tom we managed to get through the lottery, so for the last few months I've known I had this race in my future. I remember running up the final, comparatively gentle hill at the New Bedford half marathon and wondering what foolishness had led me to enter a race that was entirely uphill at an average 11% grade.

Arthur's seat, site of my early 2010 training and first serious hill race in 1988.

My training for the race got kicked off by a timely business trip to Edinburgh, where I first tried my hand at hill running in 1986 (and learned that I was pretty poor at it). The biggest hill in Edinburgh is Arthur's Seat, and on the day I arrived in Edinburgh, Christy and I ran to the top (about a 600 foot climb) and then did a few more hill repeats on the lower slopes. I repeated the climb again once more before leaving Edinburgh. Once back in Boston my hill options were more limited, and my main preparation was to race the Pack Monadnock hill race 2 weeks before the big race. The last 1.3 miles of that race is comparable in gradient to Mt. Washington, but comes after a more gentle 8.7 miles of gradual climbing. As I struggled up that hill at the slowest non-walking pace I could muster, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of running a race that holds that gradient for 7.6 miles. Still, placing tenth and inside 70 minutes at Pack Monadnock gave me just a little confidence that I might not be crushed by Mount Washington. Looking at people who ran times similar to mine in the Monadnock race made me think a 1:15 at Mt. Washington was possible, but only if I was able to extrapolate my mountain running skills from a 900ft vertical climb to a 4600ft one.

Race day at the base of Mt. Washington (1600ft) was pretty warm although not too humid, and I was good and sweaty before the gun went off. I drank a lot more water than normal, with the predictable effect that I had to race from my last bathroom visit to line up at the start. In the end I think this was a good tradeoff. The canon was fired to start the race, and a thousand or so people raced off across the only downhill section on the course to reach the start of the climb. I followed CRC member Chad Carr, who has a habit of passing me after I go out too fast, but on this occasion I was never tempted to get ahead of him.

Determined not to feel as bad as I did at the end of Pack Monadnock too quickly, I took the first mile pretty cautiously, but in the second mile, which is actually one of the steepest, I started to feel pretty bad. I tried to slow down - in fact one of my strong memories of the race is of constantly trying to slow down while still running. This definitely helped, and as we approached half way I was in good company: near team-mates Ted Breen and Ryan Aschbrenner, as well as experienced Mt. Washington runners Dave Quintal
and Jim Pawlicki (who is next to me in the photo above). My split at the half was about 35:30, and I had heard that the 2nd half would be longer, so I just hoped I could keep it under 45 minutes to get in the 1:20 range. A little while after the nominal half, a sign indicating 4,000 feet of elevation is passed, and I calculated that this was about the mid-point in terms of elevation gain, with 2,300 feet to go. That wasn't a good moment in the race.

Soon we were on the fabled dirt section of the course, which just seems to rise relentlessly for ever with no turns. I passed the 45 minute mark during this section, and decided to eat the gel I had brought along. Unfortunately I was very dry and there was no water until sometime later, so I ran for a while with a coating of gel on my throat. Just one more annoyance at this point. Also on this section I was passed by Matt Harringa, who is never behind me in races - clearly he had gone out very cautiously and was now passing people with abandon. He said something about GBTC's entry in this race being my idea, and I reminded him it was Ted's - fortunately, Ted was just ahead, so Matt promised to hit him as he went past.

Not too long after the dirt section, we reached the final water stop, the terrain seemed a bit less steep, and there was a nice cooling breeze - summit temperatures were in the mid-50s at this point - and I started to feel good about the race. Not knowing how long the last 0.6 mile would take, I wasn't thinking much about my time, but I was feeling good about my place, as I had kept up with Jim and Ryan while passing Ted and Dave. I didn't want to take any chances, not knowing much about the last part of the course except that it included the infamous 22% "wall". So I just kept trying to make progress until I could see that section, and then suddenly I was facing it and chasing Jim towards a finish line that said "1:15:xx". I was frankly astonished to see that number and so happy. I couldn't quite catch Jim, but my reward was to be the 50th person to cross the line on the 50th anniversary of the race. Officially 1:15:14, 8th master, 45th male, and remarkably the 4th GBTC runner. Our team took 2nd place behind the unbeatably strong CMS but ahead of the formidable Whirlaway.

I am forced to re-evaluate my assessment that I am no good at hills. My 3 best races this year arguably have been the two hill races and the very hilly Amherst 10 miler. I feel sure I could go faster up Mount Washington now that I know the course, and I think I'll be giving it a try next year.

Enjoying the view after the race