Sometimes, when encouraging clients and athletes to jump to the next fitness level, I challenge them to take an outdoor hobby they enjoy, and master it. Learn about it. Buy the stuff. Practice subtleties and facets. Go all in, instead of being "Joe Shmoe". "Don't just be someone who hikes/skis/runs, become a hiker/skier/runner," I tell them. Something changes when one wills themselves to the mastery of an activity. In becoming the student of a sport, a person's level of skill and fitness soar to new heights. Passion increases. Passion drives motivation. Motivation drives results. While the personification of an activity and all that comes with it can be overall positive, it is important to check in with ourselves frequently. How deep does the root of the obsession go? Who are we without this? BECOMING a cyclist, weightlifter, etc. does not mean becoming a one-dimensional human. Injuries and setbacks always occur on the journey of mastery. If a person's universe is only this new fixation.. depression, anxiety, and frustration are sure to follow when these inevitable misfortunes occur. This is a great time to revisit other passions; sometimes those in a totally different realm of activity. It is not uncommon in the life-cycle of the athlete, fresh after this new awakening of self, to tie their entire being to a result: a 24 minute 5k, finishing a 100 mile bike ride, bench pressing 225 pounds. Placing pressure on yourself is one thing, losing sleep for a week prior to your "big test" is another. If the feeling of "but what happens if I don't make it?" is rattling around, it might be time to check your perspective. After a certain level of mastery, the ego begins to truly reveal itself. I've DNF'd (Did Not Finish) a lot of races. Every single one revolved around my ego, in just about every way. I have: -showed up to races having barely trained because "I've finished XYZ, so this race should be easy", and had my ass handed to me on a silver platter. -been injured during a race due to lack of preparation. -toed the line thinking I was going to be competitive, just to find that I wasn't in the same zip code, bailing because my fragile ego couldn't handle stumbling in at a level I thought was less than it should be. Lame. It's not all bad, though. In this new world of "self love"and "self care", where people become satisfied with simply existing, ego can be a helpful elbow to the ribs, pulling a person out of their own version of mediocrity. Allowing ego to be a driver of motivation can be a great thing. Having it drive your life however, is another. I'll leave you with a famous quote from Tyler Durden, from Fight Club: "You're not your fucking khakis" Now, go outside! -krp
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My brain still feels a little scrambled from sleep deprivation, but I'll give this a shot. Months ago, Wayne presented the DUTOR Challenge. I was neck-deep in work, and barely gave it a thought. What usually happens to me, is that I get "bottled-up" for months at a time, and then need a blowout. After an insane Summer, by early September I knew exactly what I needed for the release.
I called Wayne. We've both done multiple events of this distance, but no one had ever done one off road. He said the elevation would be off the charts(30,000 feet of gain!), and that we might be on the bike for over 40 hours alone. I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that it would take that long to cover 224 miles.... boy was I painfully wrong. The 4.8 mile swim was really just an easy prologue to the event. I was stoked that I made it through with mental ease, seeing as the last time I swam a stroke was at the Deca in 2018. We drove home and prepared to ride bikes. I brought my gravel bike, because I had ridden that thing over the gnarliest terrain in VT with some buddies a few months ago. Surely if I could ride it down the slopes of VT, the hills of PA would be manageable. No suspension, skinny tires, and a drop bar. Ouch. We rode the first lap together, and it became clear what we had gotten ourselves into. Roots, rocks, and long, grinding climbs, broken up by other shorter, undulating, rolling hills. After 96 miles, at 2am or so, Kevin (my crew man) and I decided to sleep for 2 hours as a means to freshen up the mental state and get ready for the final push. It had been over 17 hours of straight riding and I wasn't even halfway. I knew that Friday was going to be a long day. I got back on the bike around 5am after a quick bite. My feet, hands, ass, and neck hurt from riding a rigid bike on a course that probably demanded a mountain bike. With 8 laps to go, at current pace, I would be STILL on the bike by sunrise if I did another sleep. Fuck that. I didn't want to begin another day feeling how I was feeling. I pedaled the 16 mile course for the next 24 hours straight, struggling through the night big time, helped by Kevin at the end of each lap, and by Russ who kept me conversationally-engaged during the hardest of laps on that second night. Forever grateful for those two. 224 miles, and almost 30,000 feet of gain complete. The new “sexy" thing in cycling is to do an Everest. In finishing this bike course, we would do the first off-road Everest I've ever heard of. 40-plus hours of ride time. It hurt like hell!!! Here we were at 5am, 48 hours into the event, and I had slept just 2 hours. We decided to sleep a little while before beginning the run. I ended up with about 90 mins of sleep, and by 8 or so was back on course. It felt amazing to be out on a cool morning, without a bike seat shoved up my ass. The day was kind of uneventful. I never stopped moving. I sauntered through base camp each time, afraid that stopping would halt momentum. There was also a very real time constraint of getting home at a reasonable hour the next day. By mile 34 or so, I was starting to lose my mojo- I was running less, and things hurt considerably. Russ showed up. We chatted and laughed, and talked about the dumbest stuff in the world(specifically, Trailer Park Boys), but it worked. By 48 I was excited about finishing but unable to go as fast as I wanted. He helped talk me through those miles, and we showed up for mile 52 at Wayne's house to an intimate, very small crowd of friends and family. It was the perfect finish. Wayne was in between laps, and I was so SO glad he was there for the end. We chatted and laughed about how ridiculous the course was, and he was off to head toward the completion of HIS race. This was one of the best, hardest things I have ever done. Wayne and Jan are like family to me. Wayne, the ever-positive, creative thinking man that he is, was SICK in the head to come up with this, and that is why he and I are great friends haha! Jan, HUGE thanks for the hospitality as usual, and the amazing food that always comes at just the right time. Kevin, my crew just knows what needs to happen to get this stuff DONE in a timely manner. I would have NEVER finished without this man. I’m not sure Russ knows the impact that he had on my race. Those hard miles can be exponentially slower when left to your own devices. There is no question in my mind that he saved me from being 5 to 7 hours slower in total. A huge thanks to him! Finally… thanks to Nicole, my wife, for understanding my need to go off once in a while and blast myself into smithereens. And to all of you who are still reading and follow along on these crazy adventures… THANK YOU!!!!! -KP PREFACE
At this point, I've spent months trying to wrap my head around what happened in New Orleans last November. Finally, I am able to sit down and chronicle the events of DecaMan USA through my eyes. I knew that when the time was right, I would be far enough removed to reflect a bit and draw conclusions on the event as a whole, instead of simply vomit race details one after another into a blog. At 2:30am on March 5, here we are. It's the right time. What happens when you send an open invitation to some of the most prolific ultra endurance athletes in the world to come to America for what many consider to be the pinnacle of hamster-wheel style sports? What happens when an event that covers 1,406 miles in less than a week and a half receives no real media attention, but in each athlete's inner circle draws lots of social media attention? How far can a human go on motivation from Likes, Followers, and Comments? How much suffering could one take in order to create and uphold a false image? Before DecaMan USA, my answer was "not far, and not much". I find it wildly ironic that last June at a Deca Camp in Pennsylvania, I discussed this very topic with a group of Americans. I remember saying specifically, "You're going to need more than just the power of attaboys from social media to finish the Deca. External motivation only goes so far. The race needs to stir something in your soul." I figured no one could finish the Deca fueled on vanity. I was kind of right, but I was also kind of wrong. There is a small part of me that didn't want to acknowledge Alyx Ulbrich's cheating, but in this lap-format sport, the courses are very short. Interactions happen every single hour around the clock for days, and days, and days. I HAD to acknowledge it. Her race and antics before, during, and after had an effect on every racer, volunteer, and crew person. At first, she was the top story coming out of Louisiana, which was sad because it overshadowed some of the truly superhuman performances that took place. This race was so much more than a struggling fitness model propping herself up for a world of fake followers. Rather than report every minute detail of my race, I thought it might be fun to tell you about the event as a whole from an athlete's perspective: what I saw while i was on the bike, witnessing during the run, and all of the high drama that comes when humans become sleep deprived and rationale goes out the window. ----------------------------------------------------------- Race Director Wayne Kurtz met me at the baggage claim. It was late- something like 11 o'clock. While he greeted me with his trademark massive smile, his eyes showed hints of fatigue, or stress, or a healthy mixture of both. He and Don had been transporting athletes and crews from the airport to the venue all day long. They were rightfully smoked, but the 40 minute drive in Steve Kirby's MASSIVE truck over Lake Pontchartrain was a laugh-fest. I've known and raced with Wayne, a legend of the sport, for 10 years now. Don "The Destroyer" Devaney was instrumental in my Peak 500 Mile Run finish back in 2014. It was great to catch up, and hear all of the "race gossip" that was already starting. The logistical challenges of putting on the sport's most participated-in Deca of all time, mixed with the personalities of those showing up to crew and race, was already creating a vibe to be remembered for all time. We arrived at the cabin and crashed hard. I spent the next few days preparing to race the Continuous Deca, an event I had done over 6 years prior as a 29 year old. There were shopping runs for high calorie junk food, a few rides and runs on the course, and laying around thinking about how things might go once this whole thing kicked off. The race is too long to stress about, but you do tend to dwell on the logistics a bit. A good crew will handle that, leaving the athlete to just GO, but Greg wouldn't arrive until Day 1, and Kevin wouldn't arrive until Day 8. It was great mental fodder for me. I was happy and relaxed. It was great to see the athletes I knew like Chuck, Dave Clamp, Greger Sundin, and Georgeta, and meet the ones I didn't: There was Shanda, the wild Canadian. Alyx, whose reputation as a fitness model and strong cyclist preceded her. Mike, a good-time guy who I knew from social media but hadn't raced with, and more. We rolled down to the beach to see Mark and Brian in Lake Pontchartrain battling ocean-esque swells in the water. They were extending their race unofficially- Mark doing 10 one-per-day Irons before beginning the continuous for a total of 20, and Brian doing 5 before beginning the 1 per day Deca for a total of 15. This is the type of person the event attracts: people who do things not for the recognition or certificate or prize money. They do it to find the limits inside themselves. I knew Mark was a good dude when he came out of the water and mooned us. Everything he wore was stars and stripes. Brian, a tall, powerful athlete with massive chest and shoulders was also a fun guy to be around. The morning that the Continuous Deca was to start, everyone quietly boarded the charter bus to the pool. There was no bravado. Everyone "went in" to themselves. There is so much pain, that you have to find a way to accept it. We all seemed to be in the process of that acceptance. At the pool, we donned wetsuits and prepared for our lives to change dramatically for the next week and a half. People laughed and made jokes, and set up their food at the end of their respective lanes. Alyx recorded video for her followers. Shanda made inappropriate but hilarious comments and gestures. I liked how she gave no fucks, and just owned who she was- everything in good fun. Christine Couldrey of New Zealand laid down by the pool and perhaps slept. I climbed into the bleachers and took it all in. One last minute of silence before sticking my face in the water for the better part of the next day. I knew I was toast within 4 hours of the start. That old familiar nausea from my first Classic Deca 6 years prior had already started rearing its ugly head, and more calories were going out than in... but it seemed to be much worse, and more violent. Other people were having problems, too. We theorized that the pool, who planned to open an hour after the 23 hour swim cutoff had been "keeping up" with the chemicals. As a result of caloric loss, I was weak. My technique became worse by the lap. I had to believe I could keep going, come out of it, and swim to some sort of resurrection. It couldn't be over this soon. By 10 or 11 pm, I was crunching numbers and miserable. No way. "No way I could finish in 23 hours", I told Greg, who had only been there a few hours. I wasn't going to get faster after midnight, that's for sure. I started panicking a bit, asking other people to crunch the numbers. I had Don meet me behind the bleachers. Perhaps I was just looking for validation to quit. I told him the numbers, which in my heart knew were correct. Always the motivator, he looked me square in the eye and said, "You know what I think? I think you're looking at that fucking watch too much. Give me that thing, and get back in the god damned pool". I swam about another half an hour, and Italian Vincenzo Catalano, who I shared a lane with, was also having a rough day. He said, "I think I will quit. The times are not possible for me. I will see if Wayne will let me do the 1x10." My heart leapt. I hadn't thought of that option. I had swum the last couple of hours thinking about how to tell the world I couldn't hack it. How would I get an early plane ticket home without losing my shirt around Thanksgiving time? Now, I could have the opportunity to put the most recent Deca-Debate to the test: "Which is harder, 1x10 or Classic?". The stats said 1x10. While I waited to see if Wayne would let us switch, I swam. I'm not sure why. Around midnight and 16 miles of swimming, Don said,"Get out of the pool. You start the 1x10 on Thursday." I was free from swim purgatory, and not disappointed. I wanted to get my stomach right. Greg and I spent the next day sleeping and chilling. My shoulders were cranky, but I wasn't super concerned about having to swim an hour and a half a day for the next 10 days. I figured I could deal with an hour and a half a day of anything, but as a New Englander, I had irrational fears about open water swimming in Louisiana. What about snakes and gators and brain-eating amoebas? Little did I know, those would be the least of our swim worries by Day 3. THE START- Day 1 The national anthem was sung by a local group of school kids, and we waded into the water. My shoulders hurt like hell as we began. The swims were going to be a grind, thanks to the 16 mile "warmup" from a few days ago. There were some pretty shallow sections on the out and back Lake Pontchartrain course, so I used those as much as possible to dolphin-dive and give the joints a rest. Either way, the swim felt good muscularly. I felt that I was too casual in my first Deca- lots of stops that added up to probably a day and a half of time. This was one reason I had come back to the distance. I wanted to do it, and apply the lessons I learned 6 years prior, on top of all of the other race experience. I wanted to treat it like a race- not just a journey. That being said, when I came out of the water (I believe in last place), I quickly changed into my bike stuff to "catch up" to everyone. Wheeling onto the 8ish mile bike course was interesting: a 4 mile out/back on The Tamany Trace, which is a very long, straight, and FLAT bike path. You could see pretty much all the way to the other end of the course. It was just wide enough for 2 bikes. We were all curious about how this might play out when fatigue began setting in for the Classic Deca folks in the dark, and also how it might be mixing those wobbly Classic folks in with the faster-moving 1/day riders. We all pretty much assumed there would be accidents, as there were always some in these races- usually nothing serious. That first day, I became caught up in the race, and rode harder than I should have. Kevin Willis of Canada was FLYING, and everyone else was hammering along. I was merely trying to keep up with traffic- I hadn't spend any real time on the bike after I broke my neck in April, except for one big one-day ride to Lake Placid, NY from my house in NH. Classic Deca athletes were still looking pretty good, despite having been on the bike for the better part of two days. Prior to our 1/day start, the Classic folks had been complaining about flat tires. Apparently the trees were shedding thorns and/or very sharp bark. This became a massive problem for some- permanently changing the outcome of their races. At one point on day one I looked up the Trace, and there were people off to the side changing flats every couple hundred yards. I wasn't surprised when I felt my first rear tube go. I removed all debris, and made it to about a mile and a half from "home base"... when both my front AND rear went. Out of spare tubes, I decided I wasn't going to be one of the athletes who were forced to walk miles back. I rode slowly and carefully, trying to keep both tires on the rim. Luckily, those would be my last flats of the race. At first, we would stop and see if the rider with the flats had tubes or methods of inflation, or whatever... but after a while you just couldn't. It would be possible to spend hours a day just helping people change flats! Biking on a course that flat and boring for 112 miles takes a lot of mental patience, so I was glad when it was over. Greg rigged up a "changing room" in my stall with a tarp, so I quickly changed into my run gear, and trotted onto the course, which was a pretty flat trail- about a half mile out and then back for 1 mile total. Usually, these courses are all pavement, so it was nice to run on something soft. Kevin continued to lead. He was running HARD, breathing and sweating... racing in a manner I would describe as frantic- the same pace you might do for a single Iron. The fun thing about hamster-wheel style racing is that you are constantly going back and forth with the other competitors, and on a half mile course, you see each other every few minutes...giving you the opportunity to see their condition. I figured he'd be at a sub 11 hour Iron on day 1. How many days that was sustainable for? I guess we'd learn. I had no real expectations for myself on the run, except that since my first Deca in 2012, I had done a lot of "real" shit...including a 500 mile run, a 185 mile run, a Double Iron, and many, many long days in the White Mountains of NH. I figured I would just plug away and see what happened. I didn't want to walk as much as I did in my first Deca, which I staggered 90% of. The day 1 run was easy, and I ran through the field. Greg fed me every few laps, and I finished the day around 9pm very excited that I still had 10 hours until the day 2 start. There was time to eat and shower and relax and still get 8 hours of sleep. I couldn't imagine how the 1/day would be harder than the Classic on this premise alone! It took me something like 3 days to get that amount of sleep cumulatively in my Classic. Group Camp 3, as our venue was known, had 2 bunk houses and a main lodge with a kitchen. There were a couple of bunks behind the kitchen. Classic Deca folks were in one bunk house, 1x10 in the other. The separation was for the simple fact that Classic athletes come in and out at all hours. 1/day athletes are generally all going to bed at similar times. I had planned to sleep in a tent as a classic deca guy, but my plans had changed and the kitchen bunks were open, so I opted for indoor arrangements instead. These were noisy because of round-the-clock kitchen traffic, but it wasn't too bad. I figured it might get worse when the Quintuple people started- just more humans around... but I could deal with that later. Weather was coming in. Non-Louisiana weather. Mid-forties and rain. Day Two is always brutal, as the body responds to the trauma of day 1. Now it would be worse. We all came through the swim unscathed, but the rain and cold was real once we starting riding. Athletes bundled up and used the power of CALORIES and hard riding to stay warm. The rain was also exacerbating the flat tire problems. Classic Deca people, who had now been dealing with this for 3 days were absolutely losing their mind. Some even quit. Some people were getting 20 flats a day. The organization that maintains the Tamany Trace used jet dryers mounted on the back of compact cars to blow off the course, and that seemed to help a little, but we moved faster than them. They had yellow strobes on the roofs, and when they saw us coming in the rear view, they simply pulled over. People were moving a little slower today, thanks to the weather and the usual Day 2 blues. Sometime mid-morning I had made the turn around and was a couple miles from Group Camp, when athletes coming toward me began yelling things to me with concerned looks on their faces. "Don't look when you get up there!" What were they talking about? I heard fragments of sentences from everyone during the split second we passed each other....Then: "There is an accident". Now I saw the yellow strobe of the car a mile away, with red and blue strobes as well. The Trace was opened to the public, even during our race. I kept yelling to the athletes "Who?" "One of ours?" No answer. As I rolled up to the accident, I HAD to look. I didn't know what I would do when I saw it, but I needed to know who it was. I saw a white bike in pieces off to the side and immediately thought it was my Swedish buddy and Classic Deca guy Gregor, who gets very groggy because he rides himself into the ground. When I came around the car, there was a man laying half against the back of the car, half in the basket normally used for the jet dryers. Blood was splattered all over the back of the car, with a pool of blood under the basket. His hand right hand was twitching. It was Kevin, but I didn't recognize him. He had ridden at a high rate of speed directly into the back of the car and shattered his face. I didn't learn that it was him until I made it back to Group Camp. Chris Solarz, who I believe had witnessed it, was visibly upset as he hugged his mom inside his stall. The race continued, but the vibe was kind of down all day as we pieced together snippets of facts from a variety of sources about the accident and extent of Kevin's injuries. The rain had been so persistent that our running trail was now a quagmire. The run would be moved to the road. People were freezing, but 40 degrees felt absolutely amazing to a guy like me from NH. Perfect running weather. I began what would become my nightly process of finishing the bike toward the back of the field and running up into 3rd place. On the course, most people were walking quite a bit, but 3 of us did not walk at all. Henning (IUTA World Cup Winner) of Norway ran hard, and Jozef (Won the world's only TRIPLE Deca)of Hungary was never far behind. As I finished this second marathon in as many days having not walked, I made it a personal goal to not walk a step of this Deca. The temperatures PLUMMETED into the 30s as we slept. Lake Pontchartrain is massive- 24 miles south to north, and 40 miles long east to west....but it is not deeper than 15 feet at any point. The water temperature dropped from 60s to mid fifties. As our already-depleted bodies shivered on the beach at the start of Day 3, the air temperature was 45. I simply cannot put into words how palpable the dread was as we walked into the water. It took your breath away, even with a wetsuit. Cold, tight muscles. We all tried "sprinting" to stay warm. I wished that I could pee more in my wetsuit. As we exited the water, appendages did not work. We were all at the very least mildly hypothermic. Shivering uncontrollably, I tried hurrying to get bike stuff on, just so I could start generating heat. Eventually socks were pulled over wet feet, ALL the layers I had were pulled on, and I made my way to the bike course. I think this was when I started getting grumpy, a trend that would last for... awhile. By this time, I realized that I was not going to be fast on the bike at any point for the rest of the race. Normally my strength, the lack of training was really showing. I relegated myself to just chugging along at 15 mph and forcing myself to not stop. It wasn't great for my morale, but I owned my lack of cycling fitness, and justified my slow riding by the fact that every night I was going to rip through the run. By this time, all of the athletes had kind of gotten to know each other a little bit. Riding side by side was permitted in small doses, so people would roll up and start conversations, but I really just didn't want to talk. I kind of enjoyed just sitting in my own personal darkness. It made the light of the run that much more enjoyable. Most of the folks figured it out after a few one-word answers, but one didn't. I began getting very agitated with Alyx. Perhaps we started off on the wrong foot, but she had a way about her that made her very hard to like. In the pool when I was puking, she'd pull up in the lane next to me, sing-songing "Don't be a fucking pussy". It's didn't hurt my feelings, but it was annoying as hell. Imagine throwing up in a bucket after 12 hours and someone's talking shit. On the bike, she'd pull up and just talk about how awesome she was, or complain about the race, or the directors... but what started really getting to me was how she was bragging about all the sleep she was getting. As a Classic deca athlete, you NEVER sleep, you perpetually move until you're done. When she was on course, she was always flying.... but she never seemed to be on course. Every day she would pull up and say "I feel great! Got 8 hours of sleep last night!". It was weird to me. As a 1/day athlete, you're on course all day long. How could it be that she wasn't constantly on course all day, but then also sleeping all night? How was she still on pace to finish? These questions rattled around in my head as she yammered on. She never rode alone, always talking while the others listened. That situation would become a lot more interesting later on. Greg, my crew, had gone home at this point, so I was kind of fending for myself in the food department here and there. Lots of people were helping when they could. During marathon number 3, this was starting to feel like routine. I started believing I wasn't going to feel worse. The question of whether I would walk during the Deca was: how will the feet hold up? During the run, rumors were circulating that tomorrow was going to be a weird day. The lake temperatures were still too cold. We were going to have to find a pool to do our swim. The pool we swam in for the Classic was OUT. This put massive pressure on Wayne, who had to sell the idea: "Hey, can we bring 15 people over and take up your whole pool and pee in it too?" What's worse, the Quintuple would be starting in the next couple of days- how was he going to make this all happen? Race staff tensions began to heighten. Some wanted to turn our race into a duathlon. Wayne, an athlete first, would have none of it. These people flew from around the world to do a Deca TRIATHLON. He was going to make this work, but not without some miracles. Athlete tensions were also rising- particularly in the Classic, as these guys were deep into the race and very sleep deprived. As I ate dinner in the main lodge after the race, Mike and a few other Classic racers came in and said to Wayne,"There's about to be a fight in the bunkhouse." Ferenc of Hungary (who has only lost 1 Deca and competed in many) had brought his girlfriend as crew. Mike and the others said that they would turn lights on, talk loudly, and basically be as disturbing as possible in the bunkhouse as a tactic to not let others sleep. Wayne had to be the police for the rest of the race, as the tactics would only get wilder. It was a loud night for me in the kitchen bunks as well. I barely slept. A couple of the classic deca athletes that had quit were playing slap and tickle in the bunk next to me. Normally I'd probably let that go and laugh about it later, but the consequences of sleeplessness were high. Before day 4 began, I moved my stuff onto a bed in the 1/day bunkhouse. Some of the athletes had quit, therefore opening up space for me. We began day 4 on the bike, not in the water. We would have to get a ride an hour each way later in the day to a pool that I think Wayne was still searching for, even as we started. I couldn't stay awake, so I was riding really slow. Word began to spread that we were to stop riding before 2pm so that we could head to the pool. I started doing the math as noon approached. I wasn't going to get time to finish the bike before we had to head to the pool. With the drive each way, I was going to have to ride in the dark. With fatigue factored in on top of the usual slower pace of night riding, I knew I was in for a long night. The routine was altered. I was pissy. The pool was at a fitness club. It was very hot, and something like only 20 yards long. The lap count was stupid-high. That day, I was not last in the swim. Michael Ortiz was having big problems with fatigue, as he had barely finished day 3 before day 4 started. Cumulative fatigue was becoming an issue for some. Wayne had told me "You don't have time to have a bad day in the 1x10". Michael had one day 3, and I had a feeling I was heading for mine on this day. My weigh in had not gone well. I was down 10 pounds from the start of day 1. That, mixed with the sleeplessness was a real issue. I sat and ate all I could while I waited for Mike, who was sharing a ride with me. Our commute times were to be taken off of our total time for the day, but that didn't change the fact that we were losing hours a day, which would normally be used to sleep. I had gotten off the bike around 1:40pm, and did not start the bike until almost 530pm. I had lost almost 2 and a half hours to commute and slop-time. The only thing that kept me running the marathon on day 4 was the fact that I had a quiet bunk waiting for me. Up until this point, I had showered every night, but it was so late that I went directly to my bunk... but something was wrong. In the dark I saw a figure laying on my mattress. My shit was on the floor a few feet away. I felt my blood pressure go nuclear after a long and trying day. Imagine someone having the audacity to blatantly move my stuff when it was obviously placed there with purpose. "Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Don't lose it." I lost it. I went to the bad and grabbed a sound asleep Eldar Spahic by his legs at 1am. "HEY!" He bolted up. "WHAT THE FUCK?" "You're in my spot." His wife chimed in at the same time when he told me that no, I was wrong... and pointed to his name on the bed, which had been reserved for him. I tucked my tail between my legs and moved to another unoccupied bunk, feeling like a dick. I don't know how many times I apologized to him throughout the rest of the event. He ended up crushing the Quintuple, despite his bad night of sleep prior! The thing about the Deca is that the fatigue stacks up. There is no catching up on lost sleep or time. The clock is brutal. The sleepless night of day 3, coupled with the short night of day 4 made Day 5 maybe hardest one yet, and I was not the only one affected by this, because I could run. Some of the athletes were forced to walk the marathon on day 4, and had barely finished in time to hop in the cars to go to the pool on day 5. Georgeta, always the positive and happy racer was mentally thrown for a loop. Michael Ortiz still hung on. The Deca was getting real... and these were the people who could have really used that commute time to and from the pool to finish and sleep, if only for an hour. We began to wake up thinking about sleep. It wasn't about Race staff tensions Jan Chris's mom Mark's attitude Deca Shin Day 1 course Alyx, Steve, etc Day 3 change Lightning and tornado watch Armadillo Hogs The many different pools Truck stuck Christine on course Flats On June 27, at 4:18AM, I departed from Quoddy Head in Lubec, Maine, from the lighthouse, known as the easternmost point in the USA. It was a cool morning with a slight breeze, and the sun was on its way up as I began pedaling. For the first few hours, it was like I had the roads of Downeast Maine all to myself. It was beautiful! I was so excited that I really had to hold myself back from going too hard too soon. Having lived in almost every section of Maine, this ride was to serve dual purpose as a fun long day in the saddle, as well as a long trip down Memory Lane. Having a history in multi-day racing (having completed every distance from Double to Deca Iron triathlon), but not in this format, I was super amped to not have to worry about anything but pedaling. The goal was to try and match the West to East record, because I felt like it would be legit to go against the prevailing winds and beat the faster time of the two crossings.
I kept a long sleeve on until mid morning. The weather report stated that it would be a warm day, but it certainly didn't feel that way until I made my way inland. As I made my way through Ellsworth around 9am, the heat was starting to build, as well as the traffic. I was happy to have my folks and Christine, the UMCA official in the car directly behind me, especially as I made my way through the heavy construction around Bucksport. For the rolling terrain given, I was glad to have used my road bike, with clip-on aero bars. I tried to stay aero as much as possible, but the climbs between Belfast and Augusta really put the hurt on me. The sun was beating down, and with not a lot of breeze to cool me off, I suffered in those middle miles. During that time, my parents would roll up to me in the follow vehicle and hand me a water bottle of Tang, or a piece of pizza, and I'd be good to go for a while! In my head, the middle miles are always the ones that hurt the most- too far from the beginning to be fresh; too far from the end to start pedaling hard. Just mentally brutal. Sometimes funny things happen during those doldrums. At one point, I passed a farm tractor going downhill, which was followed by a very long, steep uphill. As I made my way up the hill, I could hear the tractor, who also had a follow vehicle, getting closer and closer. I wasn't about to let the old John Deere by, and it made me smile as I attacked, trying to separate myself from that diesel beast! As we closed in on the final 30 miles, I made a slight wrong turn thanks to some construction and ensuing missing road sign, which was a huge mental blow. We only lost a mile or so, but at that time, you just want to be done, and any extra mileage feels like an eternity. The climb up Gore Road just about killed me, as I was still on a low from taking a wrong turn. Even though I knew I was close to being done, I couldn't get myself to be happy about it. As I pedaled into familiar territory in Bridgton, I climbed out of town, and all of a sudden it kicked in that I could still go under 15 hours, which was my initial goal. I put my head down, and began pedaling my face off. I went into time trial mode, and could not stop looking at my watch as I tried to extrapolate speed vs mileage left to go. Pedaling through downtown Fryeburg, I prayed the light would not turn red, and it didn't. Up and over the final hill, I sprinted toward the state line, and crossed into NH after 15 hrs and 1 minute at 7:19pm. It was a total blast to see Maine in a day, in a way that not many people ever will. Big thanks to my parents, and Christine, UMCA Official. I could not have done this without them. For anyone interested, check out my GPS track: https://www.strava.com/activities/334403914 Stay on the Grind! kp I see it year.
After year. After year. You stroll in self-consciously, eyes darting around. You get on the treadmill, and fumble with the buttons. It has been a few months since you were on one, and forgot that the up arrow isn't speed, it's incline. You stare down at the numbers on the display. It is either something to focus your attention on, as opposed to looking around the gym at the regulars, or to somehow force the space-time continuum into getting this over with faster. Everyone is expecting you to fail. They know you haven't been here, because they've been here. They know why you have automatically popped out of the woodwork after January 1. You are a Resolutioner. Don't be angry at them for expecting you to fail- by joining a gym on the first of the year, you have automatically put yourself in that demographic. However, your fate does not have to be the same as the masses. A couple of tips: -I don't care that I'm about to drop F bombs. THROW THAT FUCKING SCALE IN THE GARBAGE. That number has nothing to do with anything. You gauge fitness like this: Are you going faster? Are you lifting more? And most importantly...are you feeling better? Yes? Ok, you are getting results. -Results for you will come quickly, at first. And then, things plateau around February. That's when you'll want to quit. Don't. Find new activities and move along. Incorporate the ones you started with, with the new activities. Try classes, try outdoor stuff. Just keep trying. -No weekends off. In fact, I am huge proponent of NO days off. Days off breed other days off. If you take 3 days off in a row, you might as well just wait until next year to join again. The best part of NO days off, is it never gives you a chance to quit. Don't look at it as grinding away. Look at it as giving you the opportunity to try many different activities. Obviously, keep it light. Just. Stay. Moving. This moment, the one where you are eyeballing the display with intense and abnormal focus, is the hardest one of all. Get over yourself. No one is staring at you, trying to figure out your fitness level....they all know- and they don't care. The fit people around you expect you to fail, but not because they are jerks. In fact, they are some of the most fun-loving and upbeat people you will ever know. They just know the precedent. This is your hardest moment. You stepped out the door and into an uncomfortable situation. Stick with it. Get results. Make friends who hold you accountable. Soon, it will become your lifestyle, too. See you around! kp I was pushing 350 miles at the Peak 500 when Nate Sanel of bikernate.com arrived to run the 200. He looked at the shoes I was wearing and I believe said,"What the fuck are those?" Nate, a wear-tester, first hooked me up with Skechers Go Runs a few years ago, before Meb had made them famous. I wrote a review on these new shoes on a blog that would later receive thousands of hits. On my way to the Peak 500, I had stopped by his house to snag 3 different types of Skechers that he'd kindly left for me on his porch...hence his surprise when he saw that I was not wearing them. I explained to him that I'd ditched all of my Skechers about 170 miles ago...not because I didn't like them. They simply no longer fit my swollen feet. I began the 500 with Skechers Go Runs and cycled through 3 pairs of those during the rain and nastiness. These are my go-to shoes for everything from road runs to ultra-hikes. I then tried Nate's Go Bionics, which I enjoyed for their large toe box, but overall hated because it felt like my heel was inches below my forefoot. Before making the switch to my Starters, I ended with the Skechers Go Run Ultras, which before the race I found to be too cushy, but 150 miles in, felt amazing. But Skechers is not the reason we're here. Let us discuss department store shoes in a serious test- The Starter MNST040002 at Peak 500. The Peak 500 course involved single-track running, rocky, steep ascents and descents, lots of mud, and running through the middle of the woods following only flagging. Let's start with this. Starters are sold in a setting where everything is big and bulky, from the deals to the product...to the customers. I started wearing the size 12s at mile 170 and immediately appreciated their wide toe box. They were surprisingly lightweight on my feet, but maybe that's because I'd been wearing waterlogged shoes for days. A couple miles later, our "trail" went up a small stream, and I loved the fact that these shoes were not breathable enough to let water in, even if I submerged them almost up to the top laces. The first pair carried me about 50 miles to mile 220, until my feet became too large for them. The real test would be on the final pair..size 13s for 280 miles. STABILITY- None really to speak of. This shoe has nothing in the midsole but EVA foam. You don't feel anything in there guiding your foot roll, but the torsional rigidity of the shoe is significant. Perhaps it is the super-stiff upper that prevents the shoe from twisting. Or maybe it is Walmart Mystery Magic. H20 Proof- Let's call it water resistant. Not by design. Cheap materials used. I wouldn't spend any more than 10-15 seconds submerged, though. DROP- Eyeballing it...looks like 4mm drop from heel to toe. UPPER- As I mentioned before, it is very stiff. They have made no attempt to seal the seam where the tongue attaches just over your metatarsals. Consider using a thick or wool sock. TRACTION- A little slippery in mud, but better than some shoes I have encountered! Strangely, the soft ply of rubber/EVA on the bottom makes for good traction on rock surfaces. Not surprisingly, the downfall of this is lack of durability. After 280 miles of mud and rock and unstable footing, the only signs of wear were peeling of the sole at the front of the shoe (left side only), and a little wear on the back of the shoe (left side only). The "industry standard"....or, what the shoe companies want you to believe, is that every pair of shoes should be swapped out every 300-500 miles. The Starter Model MNST0400002 will give you that and more, at about 1/10th the price.
RUN IN THEM IF YOU: -are mechanically sound with a wider foot -have good running form -want a good deal on a lightweight shoe -are constantly annoyed on your morning runs by the dew on grass making your feet wet. The problem is solved with MNST040002 DON'T RUN IN THEM IF YOU: -analyze everything. One side might wear quicker than the other because, let's face it, quality control is just not there. You might not be able to deal with this. -need a stability shoe with what feels like a baseball under your arch. -are going to run less than a half marathon. They just don't feel like a speed shoe. OVERALL GRADE: B+ I enjoy a more minimal shoe for anything less than 24 hours on my feet, but for multi-day running, this could be the "in" shoe. Watch out, Hokey 911s! kp Nicole backed the car away from the Pony Barn in Pittsfield on Wednesday, May 21. I walked up the ramp and into what would be my new digs for the next week and a half- a small room with one light, some tables, and cots. On the wall closest to the door was the board that our entire lives would revolve around during our journey. Staring at it while I sat on my bunk, the actual length of the race hit me. I knew from past experience in long races that the sheer amount of emotional and physical output that the board represented was unintelligible, and tried to imagine how I might feel at 20. 120. 350? 410? There were too many question marks. Here with no crew and $100 worth of junk food, I would only have to take this race in one form mentally: the present. Sitting here, 24 hours before the start, which was to be at 4pm on May 22, I made a promise to myself to live in the now. Right now. Not 2014. Not 2013. Certainly not 2012. The Deca Iron meant absolutely nothing here. This wasn't a race where you rest on your laurels and skate by. I was nervous. Jess walked in. I was surprised to hear that she'd driven all the way from Iowa, and wondered how in the hell she might have trained for this mountain run, being from a land where flat is flatter than flat. She was a totally awesome individual and I had a great time chatting with her for a short while. She would inevitably surprise us all with her planning and raw ability, trucking through 200 miles FAST before succumbing to a bad bout of cellulitis in her ankle. Nick, Steve, and Jeff walked in, and I immediately recognized my fellow 500er from images from the Peak website. He seemed preoccupied and not very conversational, but then again, probably so did I. It was the eve of what was to be an incredibly stressful 9 or 10 day stretch for us. Sleep that night was good, and the aura around the barn on race day was very mellow. I was drinking coffee and relaxing, chatting it up with Margaret about the Born To Run Fest, when Andy and Peter came in to post a nice note for us. photo: Steve Antczak Super. We all laughed it off, and by the time noon hit, everyone was slipping into race mode: laying shoes and socks out, getting food prepped, medical supplies in order, etc. Nick and his amazing crew were filling gel bottles, calculating ounces, and really analyzing what was to happen over the first stretch of running. His food, clothing, and everything around his bunk was flawless and organized perfectly. My shit was everywhere. From the start, it was quite obvious we were two very different people with two different strategies. He was cold and calculated. I had no damned clue what I was doing. He was here last year, so I secretly wondered if I was screwing up from the start. The afternoon seemed to revolve around lasts: last meals, last drinks, and last moments of normalcy before our version of normal changed drastically for the next 10 days. Nick, Michelle, Jess, and I were waiting around at the barn in the minutes before before the race, when a young guy with curly brown hair came in, and introduced himself as Bill Bradley. I laugh now at this because Will is a cool guy and probably chuckles about it as well, but the whole room just deflated. This wasn't Epic Bill Bradley that we were expecting. I hoped he didn't feel unwelcome by our response to him. Will would end up blasting out 100+ miles before calling it quits from an injury. A great guy and a hilarious personality in the barn. All of a sudden it was 3:50pm. Andy spat out a 5 minute meeting, and then we were outside, taking pictures before the start. I had done a Peak Race or two before, so I knew what to expect when we started, and was not surprised when we were immediately hiking up vertical inclines. Nick flew out to the front right off the bat, and I just kind of hung with him as we seemed to be able to hike together at a good clip without blowing up. Will and Jess hung back, racing smart, and Michelle stayed within earshot of us as we power hiked inclines and ran flats. That first lap was a bit of a shock as the course was revealed to us, mile by mile. Singletrack, dirt road, single track steep, bushwhack, bushwhack. All I can say to the 200, 100, 50, 30, and 15 mile racers is "You're Welcome!". We created that trail with our own two feet, over a week in rain and sun and day and night and good moods and bad moods. Nick and I hit the peak in about 45 minutes. I had a feeling we were going too fast, but with no GPS or mile markers, we really couldn't be sure. It felt comfortable in the present, and that was all I was going for. We ran most of the way down the mountain to Middle Ravine, where there was a fair amount of standing water in the trail. Down the insanely steep hill we ran, past the two small waterfalls, and before we knew it, we were standing atop the MeatGrinder. A rocky, somehow steeper downhill than the first. On this, the first lap, it hurt to go down, in that way that burns when you are holding yourself back to keep gravity from taking over. Nick used his poles and I secretly wondered if I should have some, too. After about 5 minutes of laboring down the MeatGrinder, we came to the river, walked the 100ft flat section, and transitioned directly to the SoulCrusher: en equally steep incline away from the river. From there, we ran the endless switchbacks that would eventually dump us out into the field, that was just a 3 or 4 minute run back to the barn. When we arrived there, I checked my watch and wished I hadn't. Somewhere around or under 2 hours for the first loop. Stupid-fast. Unsustainable, ignorant, rookie-mistake fast. That would have been a great split for a 100 mile run. Not 500. We ran together again on the second lap, and toned it down to a still-too-fast 2:30ish. It felt much better. I hadn't expected to get 20 miles in before dark, so the catch 22 was that yes, we had gone too fast, but it was a nice mental boost to be at 30 miles before midnight on the first night! I needed to get in my own head and start figuring out what I was going to do for sleep, food, etc over the next 24 hours, so after that 2nd loop, as Nick, Jeff, and Steve were tending to feet, I fist-bumped Nick, transitioned quickly, and exited for a solo 3rd lap. First impression of the first night on the course was owls. Owls everywhere. They were so loud, and they did not give a damn if I was walking right under their tree. It was magical. The lap flew by, and I figured that as 11:30pm drew near, I was way ahead of schedule for 50 miles in 24 hours, and decided that the smart thing to do was to sleep. I slept long because I believed that toward the end of this thing, it might get ugly. If I had extra time to sleep, I might as well take it. I awoke around 3:30am to the sound of Nick and crew shuffling around in the barn around me. He left for his day, and then so did I. I saw him in 5 min increments. He would finish his laps, I would catch up while he prepped his feet and spent more time being a smart racer in between laps. I would leave with quick transitions and little foot prep and chill time between laps. This would ultimately be the downfall of my feet, but I was stupid, and sometimes, ignorance is bliss. The shitstorm of rain had begun, and we approached 70 miles in the first 24 hours... then a smoking fast 90 miles in under 30 hours. The shoes and socks were getting changed faster than they could dry. This was a problem. I went to bed knowing that when I woke up, I'd be putting on damp shoes and socks, and the weather was not clearing. So when I got up 4 hours later and looked at my feet and felt how sore my legs were, I contemplated quitting right then and there. Shit was only going to go downhill from here and the way I felt now, I couldn't imagine what another 400 miles would feel like. I forced myself onto the trail after a donut and coffee. It was still dark around 4am, but the sky was getting lighter. I looked up the trail and a headlight was looking back at me a few hundred yards away. The person would hike a few steps then look back. Who the hell? I made my way slowly on stiff legs to him, and he introduced himself as Josh. He was supposed to hike with Andy, but had ended up ditching Andy after waiting in his driveway for maybe 2 minutes past 4. This would be the subject of much banter when Andy finally caught up to us. They went back and forth with insult after insult. It was hysterical and necessary. My shitty mood changed quickly as Josh went on and on about how poorly the course was marked...something Andy happens to be very sensitive about. As we made our way past Middle Ravine, I noticed a peculiar looking rock on the trail. Shit, that wasn't a rock at all. Andy was nice enough to mule it back to the barn for me, and both were also nice enough to drop me off the back of their hiking date, leaving me to run by myself. Thanks guys! The rain was beginning to taper, but the trail was still soaking wet with huge puddles, so as I approached 130 miles in 48 hours, the routine was still shoe/sock changes after every lap. From soaking wet to damp shoes and socks. A couple more laps, and it was bedtime. As I settled into my tent in my pony stall for a short sleep with wet and blistered feet, I tried not to think about doing this every single day for the next 8 days. I woke up feeling good just a few hours later. It was Sunday. Today felt different. The weather was clearing and I was in good spirits. I knew that at some point my wife Nicole would be around, with her sister and brother-in-law. I could feel the swelling beginning in my feet from the days of pounding, and she was on the way with some sweet new shoes from Wal Mart. Wide ones. After 160 miles, Nicole and the gang were waiting for me, as they had planned on doing a lap. I threw on the size 12 Walmart specials. I also had a size 13, but hoped that I wouldn't need those for a while. They felt awesome. And as I walked through some puddles, realized that they weren't breathable enough to let much water in. Perfect! Poor-man's GoreTex. I was in a pretty low spot during most of the lap with them, and wasn't much in the mood for talking. I felt guilty, but no matter what, I could not pull myself out. As the end of the lap came close, I was surprised to see friends Myles and Deidre running towards us. I was blown away. So many friends, here in the middle of nowhere. It was the boost I needed to come out of the gutter. Pep in my step returned, and we ended up running most of the way back! 170 done. I would grind out one more lap solo after reluctantly departing from Myles, Deidre, Nicole, Danielle, and Dave... and then, a new era in my race would change everything. The Mark Jones Era. As I entered the barn after 180, Andy told me that tonight, Mark would be pacing me. We'd met when I was hanging at the Winter Death Race earlier this year. He was in the process of winning it at the time, so our conversation was brief. Our first lap was mostly small talk and pleasantries at first, and then more in depth as the night wore on. We were fast friends, and from then on, I had a crew chief. I had pizzas and burgers and dry socks waiting for me every few laps. He made sure I had a pacer for every night lap. It was amazing. I parked it for a brief sleep, but not before the nightly routine of foot care while stuffing my face, and woke up Monday morning bright and early. It was nice knowing that Lily was coming from NY to run a lap with me today. It was great morale as I climbed past 200 miles. We chatted ultras and discussed her Cayuga 50 that was coming up. It was great, and she ended up running 17 miles with me. Huge morale boost. When Lily left, I decided that tonight I was going to hit 250 if it killed me. A few laps solo, and 240 was in the books. I was kind of cooked but wanted 250 tonight. Luckily Mark must have had some inkling that this was going to happen, so he had arranged for a Party Lap. It was a who's who of awesomeness: Josh from the other morning, Mark, Sefra, and Matt the trail worker. Right off the bat, Josh had his phone out, playing every early 90s rap song from NWA's Straight Outta Compton to The Humpty Dance. It was fantastic. I went to bed that night feeling good about life. Pittsfield was rallying for me, an unknown dude, and for the first time during the entire race, I didn't feel alone in the fight against mileage. Tuesday, the tough day. Thursday was the start, and Friday through Monday was a holiday weekend, so there were people all over the place for the first few days. On this day, no one was around. Jess and Will were in process of pulling the plug on their races, and there just seemed to be low energy around the barn. I was anxious for wednesday, when the 200 milers would be showing up in prep for their thursday start. Fresh faces excited to race might help the aura around the barn, I figured. After coming back from 260, the biggest breakfast sandwich I had ever seen was waiting for me, thanks to Mark, who was waiting to see how things were going. I ate it graciously and took in what I came to call the Don Devaney Comedy hour. It was not just the racers getting loopy at this point...5 days in. Everyone had started feeling the effects of low sleep and high endorphins. Don was stoked and ready to go at 7am, half-naked and loud, hooting and hollering, hazing anyone in sight or earshot. We were in tears. I am laughing out loud as I type this. My feet were killing me, and I had long since moved into my size 13s...I think officially around mile 220, the day before. Stopping hurt, so I tried not to. I knew that now, everyday was a HUGE chunk of remaining mileage gone. It was mentally nice to know that staying on pace would mean a Saturday night finish...somewhere around midnight. I didn't want to finish that late, so that was something I'd need to address later on. I just didn't know how at this point. Anything could happen over the next few days. The trail was memorized. I started naming certain things. The Dinosaur Egg- a round white rock. The Owl- a large 200 pound rock that seemed to be staring at you as the crested the top of the SoulCrusher. The lap that would bring me to 300 was going rough. I was staggering and extremely tired as the clock hit midnight. Mark and I made our way up SoulCrusher and as we came up over the top, Mark said, "Dude, The Owl is gone." Had we walked past it? No. The Owl was definitely gone. But how? Seriously? Was this some mystery Pittsfield gargoyle shit? This was some mental fodder for a good day and a half. Where does a 200 pound rock just disappear to? I went to bed after 300 and some foot care, wondering about the Owl, and excited to see my buddy Nate tomorrow, who would be running the 200. I just wanted some fresh faces and the new energy that I knew the 200ers would bring. My feet were fucked at this point. I debated just letting them go for the rest of the race as I hauled myself out of bed at 3am, but decided 200 miles is a little too far for that. I did damage control on my two pinky toes, attended to the two blisters by my big toe, gauzed the abrasions on the top of my left foot, and taped all of my toes off that were rubbing against each other that were creating blisters in between. This is where I missed having a real crew, who would do this job for me while I ate. This multi-tasking probably seems easy, but it was incredibly mentally taxing for me at this point. I slogged 2 laps out, and was pleasantly surprised to see Nate Sanel waiting at the barn. It was such a boost to see him. A wear-tester for Skechers, he had hooked me up with 3 pairs for this race, and gave me a bunch of shit about my sweet Wal Mart Starters I was currently wearing. He hiked to the top of the mountain with me, and we shot the shit about my race, his race, and life in general. It was great. I ran down solo, and hit the barn for some pizza at mile 330. As odds would have it, my buddy Matt Harlow walked in! I had made it a point to not sit around the barn for extended time in between laps, so the chances of him finding me actually at the barn were incredibly slim! I was super amped to do a lap with him, even though that particular lap was a grind and I didn't feel good at all during it. He brought food and dry socks and a winter hat. He saved my day. As I look back, hands down, the only reason I finished this was because of the random acts of kindness from strangers and surprise visits from friends. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. I believe Margaret and I ran together for the lap that would be 350. We learned that we had a lot in common, discussing sustainable living, running, and crazy parasites stories. The night laps were never, ever easy, as the darkness just seems to suffocate and envelope you. It forces you to want to close your eyes. If Mark and Margaret hadn't arranged night pacers, I would have never been able to do those laps on my own. I climbed into bed not realizing that this night would be my last "real" sleep of 3 hours for the rest of the race, and things were about to get a little crazier. Thursday morning. Today was the start of the 200 and also the winding down of our event. Sure, we still had 3 days of 50s left to go, but in my head I was on autopilot. I was going to finish unless something stupid happened. This made me emotional all too often. I'm sure the sleep deprivation was taking its toll as well, but there were times where I'd just be hiking and crying for no reason at all. It wasn't the pain. It wasn't the thought of finishing. It was just me, crying. For no reason. "The Wake Up Lap", as Andy called the first lap after the "big" sleep, always sucked, so it was nice to come back to the barn for Thursday's edition of the Don Devaney Comedy hour. I told him about The Owl. He said that he saw it, and "took care of it". Mafia style, Don had gone on some gangster shit and made The Owl disappear. I guess a 200 pound rock on Spartan Mountain isn't exactly safe from getting shot-put off the side of the trail. Don was no longer funny, because now he was Don The Destroyer. Mystery solved. The Owl was not a gargoyle, and he would not be coming back to roost on the top of the SoulCrusher. Jess had pulled the plug on her race a few days ago, because of a nasty bout of cellulitis in her ankle..but her pacer Gary had flown in regardless. I was lucky to have him, as he did 20 or 30 miles with me on this day. At one point midday, I had no choice but to lay down in the castle at the top of the mountain for a 15 minute nap. I was sloppy and staggering and unable to keep my eyes open. I was grateful he was with me, and happy he was there to regulate my sleep. My night loop that would bring me to 400 was done with Dennis, a professional obstacle racer. He was a cool dude. Before the 500, I was quite ignorant. I thought obstacle course racing was just kind of a fun-time fad thing. So wrong. These people are serious athletes and a person can actually make money doing it. That lap was tough, but the eye-opening and interesting conversation got me through. My laps were slow that day, so it was about 1am by the time I had finished my feet and food routine. By this time, I got the feeling Nick and I were starting to jockey a little bit and make this a race. There was a good chance this was all in my head at this point as I really started feeling like I was going off the deep end a little bit, but I used it as motivation to not sleep as long as I wanted to. I wanted to avoid us racing for the most part, as I think the worst situation for us- and a good way for both of us to DNF- was to be on the same lap, pushing each other. My way of avoiding this situation was to make my move, and to do it tonight. I was in bed at 1am, and up at 3am to start my next day. I tried to imagine that those 2 hours were a full nights sleep. Mark and I decided that from here on out, I would run 2 laps, then sleep an hour. In theory this would give me 4 hours of sleep a day...or close...and keep me fresh mentally. It was now friday, and this ushered in the Stas era of the race. Stas was in town to crew for Michelle Roy, who had determined over the course of the week that she would go for 400. Some events over the beginning of the week had halted the chances of a 500 finish. Julie, another Michelle pacer, kind of had Michelle's needs all wrapped up, so Stas was more or less just hanging out. An avid runner, he hoped to get 50 miles in over the course of a couple days. I was solo, so he decided to run a bit with me after I banged out a lap by myself. I was really woozy. About a mile past the summit, I told him I couldn't go any further and that I needed to lay down. And lay down I did. Right in the middle of the trail, in a nice sunny spot. As I was passed out, Nate ran by, and then around me, after making sure with Stas that I was ok. Best 15 minutes ever. I felt like a new man after, and continued hammering for the rest of the day. As I finished the night with Margaret on the loop that would bring me to 450, we were trudging through the mud in Middle Ravine around 11:30. When we saw two headlights coming at us at a speed I had not seen in over a week. No one had been moving that fast around here at this race! Who could these speed demons be, flying in the opposite direction of the race course? None other than Myles and Jonah! I almost died. At an hour where my mood was in the absolute shitter, these two come out of nowhere at the most ungodly hour to pull me out of the gutter. It was fantastic. Morale was high, and the jokes dirty, and we made it back to the barn, where I felt guilty when I told them that I had to go to bed for an hour. After they'd only run with me for 30 mins, here I was, telling them that I had a sleep planned. The goal was to stick with the "Run 2 laps, sleep 1 Hour" plan. They were cool with it, and I was lucky they were there, because I turned my alarm off in my sleep. They let me chill for 10 mins longer than I planned before they came in to wake me up. I ate something and did the foot-prep thing. Myles and Jonah helped where they could. Here I was at 450, getting ready for the last day, and I decided that my feet could just fuck off. I figured they could handle one last day of pounding and misery. To be honest, I was sick of dealing with them, and I didn't want to look anymore...because I would be worried and thinking about it every step. I didn't want to plant any seeds of doubt on this final day. Nick had to DNF last year at 460, and I didn't think I could handle getting so close and not finishing. We were out the door around 1:30am and I was HURTING. What I didn't know was that I had just had my last sleep for the rest of the race. Had I known, my morale would have been worse. Jonah, Myles and I actually made ok time to the top, and as we approached the summit, we were surrounded by the loudest symphony of owls, from all sides of the trail. We actually just stopped and marveled for a few minutes, blown away by how many and how loud they were. 5 minutes later, we were at the top looking at a nice doe who was grazing. Even 453 miles in, at 2:30 in the morning, one could really appreciate the beauty of this place. The idea of having the 500 come down to a race was still in our heads as we made our way down the mountain. Typically, Nick had been getting out at 4am. If this was so, by the time we finished this lap, Nick would be 2 laps down to me, so when we finished the lap and saw that he had left at 2am, I had a small panicky moment. The last day or so, he had been doing faster laps than me, which meant he was only 1 lap down, with a whole day to make it up...and in my schedule there was 2 sleep breaks. He would almost certainly catch me. Nick is a competitor. You can see it in the way he prepares, and I can see it in his eyes, because I have the same blood. I wasn't as worried about who would win this thing as I was about him catching up to me, and then us going neck and neck, absolutely detonating and destroying ourselves and DNFing at mile 480. Our first-lap soiree proved that perhaps we weren't good to run together. If he caught up to me, I could see that writing on the wall. I did not want that to happen. The only way to avoid that situation was for me to stay ahead by not taking my sleep breaks that were scheduled every 20 miles. It was going to be a grunt, but I hoped that the pull of the finish line would keep me going. I hugged and thanked Jonah and Myles, who left after The WakeUp Lap, and Stas was back with me for what would be 460. I told him that I would not be sleeping for the rest of the event, and he thought that was a shitty idea. I didn't care. The other positive side to not sleeping meant a much earlier finishing time than 11 or 12 at night. I wanted to hang out with people and have a nice relaxing normal evening. We plugged a few laps out, and then it was noon. I killed some food and headed out on what would be 490. By this time, the other races had started and were in full effect. The 15 milers were doing their thing as I hiked up the mountain. Matt, the trail guru ran past in full hiking boots like he was gliding on air, and just a few minutes later, I was more than happy to hear a familiar voice say "IS THAT A KALE POLAND?" I turned around to see Sefra smiling and running toward me. I told her I didn't want to slow her down. She said she was doing the 15 miler so she could run with me. Awesome. We hiked to the top together, and I was moving SLOW. She ditched me after a photo op, because my lovely wife was waiting at the top to run down the mountain with me! The night before, I had 2 hours of sleep. I got one hour before running with Myles and Jonah this morning. I was starting to get weird as I made my way down with Nicole. I didn't say anything because I knew it wasn't real and she would've worried or forced me to sleep or something... but I was starting to see letters on rocks. I knew no one was taking the time to write on every rock. There weren't words, just random letters on almost every rock on the trail. I was hurting, and Nicole was maybe 100 feet up the trail. I watched her walk by two people who were standing there enjoying the waterfall, however when I got to the falls, no one was there. A half mile later, someone else, crouching in the woods, standing totally still. I realized that there was no life to this "person", and that it was just a mannequin. And then common sense hit me that there were no damned mannequins in these woods. I was hallucinating. We finished the lap and Nicole wanted to know if she should come for the last lap of 500. In my head this was going to be a fast lap. Somehow I figured I would run like a demon and no one would be able to keep up. Obviously, this was far from the truth here at almost 500, but I told her that no, I wanted to go solo. Everything was cool and relatively mentally clear as I made the final climb up the mountain, somehow passing some 50 milers, to their dismay. I did the usual power walk down the mountain, running where I could, knowing that each section I did was the last time I would ever have to. As I climbed the SoulCrusher, coming up from the river, the letters started showing up on rocks again. And then to my dismay, mannequins. If I looked off the trail, mannequins every time. I started to get a little freaked out and stared down at the trail on purpose because if I looked up, there was a new weird, lifeless human shape staring at me in broad daylight. Running switchback with my eyes glued downward, I was all of a sudden out at the field, just minutes away from a 500 mile finish. Nicole and my Mom and Aunt Ellen were waiting there, cameras at the ready. For a brief moment I didn't even think they were real because I was expecting the worst with my hallucinations. I didn't want to be rude as I ran with them, but I started running fast. I couldn't wait to sit down and get my shoes off. People were cheering, and I stopped 50 feet past the barn for a minute at what I thought was the finish line, and then was instructed to keep running to the actual finish line, where a smattering of people's crews and runners from other events had congregated. Andy was there with a big grin. I'd been crying on and off all day just thinking about the finish, and when I crossed the line and hugged him, I really couldn't hold it back. Never did I think of finishing a full day early, and certainly not at the same time as the other events. It was too good to be true, and without the support of total strangers that became friends, and friends that came from out of nowhere, I would not have survived this. Thank you, thank you! HONOR ROLL BELOW HONOR ROLL Mark Jones-I would have a DNF if left to my own devices. You organized my finish, straight up. You let me borrow the clothes off your back, literally, and I will never forget it. The food, the muling, the pacers. Thank you. It will be repaid. Margaret-The 2nd in command to Mark. The moral support. The food, and the conversation. I have made a new friend, and am very grateful for our time spent on the trail. You also do an amazing Andy impression. Andy- Obviously, this wouldn't have happened without a Race Director, but your levity around the barn and pushing us out every lap with a heartfelt "You guys are crushing this!" was exactly what we needed. Don- Owl Killer. The Destroyer. The Comedy Hour. The Hazer. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. You are a force all your own. Wind, Water, Fire, Earth, and Don. Nicole- My wife! You spent 10 days alone in our apartment because of my silly pursuit. You supported me during, before, and forever after this event. Thank you for letting me do what I love and understanding how much multi-day racing means to me. Dave and Danielle-You as in-laws also fall into the support of my lifestyle. Danielle, we are very different, but you really are one of the best possible things one could ask for in a sister in law. Unconditionally awesome. Dave, you are the man, and you know how I feel about you. Jess- You have unfinished business here. When I looked at the board after the first night, and saw only 20 miles done, I was concerned....and then you ripped off 3 60 miles days in a row! You are straight up nasty. Get over this ankle thing and keep grindin'! Jane Tew- Did my laundry twice or more! Brought me food, and cheered me on throughout. You are a beautiful person. Nick- You are the Terminator. Calculated. Unwavering. The pain does not matter. Rain, sleet, snow, tornado, you are going to get it done. I really hope we have the opportunity to not just race together, but to hang out away from racing. You and your wife are fantastic people. Jeff and Steve- The Terminator crew. Don't get it twisted, everyone. These guys are not just crew. They are amazing athletes. These guys hammered out 200 miles over 9 days. To be able to do that and then tend to Nick's needs is absolutely mind-boggling to me. And, they are two of the nicest guys I've met. My Parents-Support since day 1. From Lake Anna to Mexico, and everything before and after, what they have done for me cannot be repaid. Thank you, guys. Everyone in Lakes Region-Our lifestyles are so similar, and our passions are so intertwined. I am so lucky to be a part of such an awesome community of athletes....one where our group workouts can be 20-50 people strong. Your daily interactions and race experiences keep me motivated always. Family- Thank you to my family- the Polands, Wards, Bibeaus, and Dubreuils for the never-ending love and support! Lily- I am living vicariously through your new ultra passion. I love giving you advice and hearing about your experiences. You are going to be awesome! Michelle-I watch you every year, and see the mileage growing in this race. Thank you for the advice going into the 500, and just for being out there. You have great friends, and Bob is such an awesome guy! Bob-Ah, DOC! You are the man. Thank you for tending to my feet, and being just a superb presence around the barn. Myles- Dude. You gave me almost 2 weeks off during the busiest time of the year. You support my lifestyle probably in more ways than anyone else. If not for you, I'd be riding a 1993 bike with one gear, always. We push each other on training runs and rides. I see you more hours in the week than I see Nicole. Thanks for being a great employer and better friend. ------- The list is so long, and could go on forever. If you are in my life, you are a part of me that makes me wake up everyday and love the life I am in. There are no regrets and no what-ifs. I am living in my own dream, and you are the reason for it. Thank you. Kale I continue to learn at my relatively young age in a sport that caters to the older, more experienced athlete. To me, there is nothing better than going through the shitstorm that is multi day racing.
There were about 30 of us shivering in a pool that was much warmer than the 50-something degree air on a chilly Tampa morning. As we filed back into our lanes after the group photo, I had some mixed feelings about the 4.8 mile swim we were about to embark on. The last time I entered the Double Iron/Anvil distance, I was a beginner to this whole game, having entered but not finished a Triple. Here I was with a whole lot more racing(two triples, a double, a quintuple, and a deca) under my belt, but with almost no swim training. Our local pool had been closed for the last 6 weeks, and when you don't own a car, that makes for slim options. I was nervous, and when Steve had asked for my expected swim time, I told him to put me in the slowest lane. It turns out you can just nordic ski all winter and ignore swimming and not be completely horrendous. Expecting a 4 hour swim where every lap seemed worse than the next, I was pleasantly surprised to exit the water comfortably after 3 hours. Not fast or impressive, but not too shabby only having swum 5 or 6 times over the winter. I hopped on the bike after a couple minutes of getting my junk together(my crew hadn't yet arrived), and immediately decided I would go with the race plan I made back in January before I got sick for the entire month. I had missed a large chunk of vital overnight/big volume training and knew I probably wouldn't be able to go fast the entire way, but I really just wanted to see how mentally tough I was after finishing a Deca. I didn't much care about the fitness level- I wanted to see what my mind could take by going off the deep end early. The roads from the pool to the actual bike course were more like a mountain bike/orienteering ride, as it was all under construction. Picture a group of time trial bikes and dudes in aero helmets jumping curbs, and navigating soft sand sections. I got on the course and loaded up, knowing Sterlynn wouldn't be there for a good 2 hours. I was going to be solo for awhile, so I filled up with food and water and set about going off the deep end. The course was pan-flat and I rode angrily. There would be no coasting and no sitting upright for the entire 224 miles. Just ass to the saddle. The first half of the ride went by in a blink...somewhere around 5 hours. As the sun began to set my true colors began to show in more ways than one. Our harsh New Hampshire winter was going to play its card here in Tampa. My skin, despite wearing sunscreen, was charred. Also, my lack of long bike rides over this crazy winter started to show, as I began to really fade around mile 140. I pulled off the course and told Sterlynn that I "needed to get my shit together, because right now, it is not." Lap times were 4-6 minutes slower than earlier in the day. I ate everything in sight, but they never got better. Temperatures started dropping, from 80 degrees during the day to almost 40 by 10pm. I was shivering on the bike but wanted to grind it out because I only had 4 laps or so left. I was only able to go one more lap and had to stop, because I couldn't feel my hands and was shivering uncontrollably. Sitting down, Sterlynn put a sleeping bag over me and I wore a bunch of her clothes. Picture a New Englander getting hypothermia in Florida. Yeah, I couldn't either. Things were no better after 15 minutes, so I went in the tent with more clothes and just focused on getting myself back in the frame of mind for just 1 more hour of riding. In my head, 1 hour more of riding might as well have been 10 hours, but I got on anyway after 35-40 minutes of being a wuss and struggled through until about midnight, bundled up like the Michelin Man in ladies clothing. Getting off the bike, I tried to get a sense of urgency into my head because even though my bike was a couple hours slower than I hoped, if I put together a good run, I wouldn't be super far off from the slow end of my pre-sickness goal of 24-26 hours. I walked the first couple laps just to get my legs under me. At the time I was perplexed because there were only a couple of us on course. Where was everyone? Apparently the cold was wreaking havoc on everybody. No one goes to Florida and expects 40 degrees. Although I wanted a nice fast run, I decided to be smart and pace pretty evenly for each lap. I was twice-shy from the last double and even triple when I did a lot of running at the beginning and paid dearly for it in the last quarter of the run. We always expect to hurt badly, but to suffer and stagger through the last 15 or 20 miles in the heat is a different thing entirely. The night kind of flew by, and owls were hooting everywhere. Eerie but cool. Most laps, Sterlynn was out at the table, ready to hand me whatever I wanted, and sometimes forcing me to eat shit I didn't want to. Some laps I jealously looked into her car where she was reclined, sleeping. I was prepared for the pre-sunrise fuckery that seems to be hardwired into every endurance athlete. This means 4:00-6am, eyes barely open, staggering, tripping over your own feet, and falling asleep while standing. Sterlynn handed me a Red Bull somewhere around 5:30 or 6 and it actually did give me wings. The sun was coming through the trees. The morning was dead still, and the light from the sun just had that look to it. You knew it was going to be a hot one. I ran pretty much for the next 2 and half hours, just trying to get as much mileage as possible before the oven got turned on. At this time I knew how bad my burn was, and my history in the heat is not good at all. More than anything, I didn't fancy re-roasting my skin on the rotisserie that is loop-course racing. Around 9am things went south. The sun was up, it was hotter than hell, and I was ready to have this thing over with. I was pooched. This is where missing the night training caught up with me. It became "run to that tree, walk to the next, run to that post, walk to the next tree", and pretty much stayed that way. Every half mile, Steve had put out bins of ice and sponges, and every half mile, I doused myself to stay alert and cool. Eventually, I passed the sensor and the noise of "final lap" came from the speaker. I'd like to say at this point I ran like the wind to the finish, but it was more of the same. I wanted to go faster, shit, I wanted to run, but that didn't happen. I ran/walked to the turnaround, where I thanked the volunteers for cheering/jeering through the night, and then slapped high 5s, urging on the remaining competitors who would slug it out for hours to come. The last lap, you always go from hurting deeply and focusing only on that, to reflecting on the whole experience from training to the finish. It is generally an emotional lap. I hoped the Deca would not toughen up and jade me from this experience, and it did not. I wore my sunglasses because I didn't need anyone thinking I had feelings or anything. Sterlynn met me about 100 yards out from the finish, and we ran together through the line as the National Anthem played. A few photos, and the whole thing was over. 24 official finishes in the book. There is no question I would have DNF'd if Sterlynn wasn't there. I brought no warm clothes, and if she hadn't had a bunch of extra hoodies and pants, I would've quit on the bike. I know it. Massive public thanks to her and Donna/William Pruett for support before, during, and after the race. Additional thanks to MC Cycle and Sport, Al Indeck for the wheels, and Northern Physical Therapy in Presque Isle, Maine for their awesomeness. Props to Steve for a fantastic race once again, an extra thanks to him for slapping my sunburn at the awards ceremony, after I had just showed everyone how bad it was. It was great to see some old friends and make some new ones as well! Thanks for reading, and may 2014 be your year! KP light myself on fire
and burn down to the core a deep breath and then rebuild where necessary leaving excess to decompose on the ground next to the anthills and wet leaves and footprints from yesterday thoughts are tinder that renew daily and stack up in sloppy piles awaiting the next ignition -kp Just about 3 weeks from the Double today, and feeling pretty excited about this weekend's long training. It is hard to grasp that I will be skiing one day, and the next racing around a circuit in 80 degree weather.
I've been fighting this bronchial thing for what feels like forever, and don't think it'll go away until the taper beginning in about 10 days, when I can start getting some real rest. My lungs burn even as I write this. The body feels pretty good, but what I am especially excited about is where the head is at. What a change from this time last year! The hunger is there. I wake up everyday and am amped to train. Skiing, running, cycling, weights, and a little bit of swimming. Everything just feels... good. There's always a time when I know I'm ready to do one of these things, and that time is when I get on a bike and it feels like home. The discomfort just feels right. It becomes the norm. All I can think about is just being on course and being forced to live in the moment. I often spend so much time living in fast forward and going from one goal to the next, and the race slows me down to enjoy the journey. It's so humbling and I love it. Any time you start feeling like a badass, the race knocks you down a peg or 5. I stand by my theory that this is why most ultra-folk are fantastic people. We have all hurt deeply and learned to stay positive throughout. I believe you cannot go through something so physically and mentally traumatic and be a dick after. The only thing you can do is grin and bear it, and keep moving. Nice metaphor for life. I hope you all have a great day. Keep the fire burnin' and pedals turnin' ! kp |
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