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
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
September 2022
Categories |