ARE YOU NUMBER 558?" yelled the guy with the megaphone at the front of the crowd as forty people turned to look at me. It was 9:03 AM, and I was running just a tad late for the 8:45 AM check-in to my starting corral. I gave a thumbs up and then put my head down in shame and pretended to tie my already-tied shoes. "EVERYBODY CLAP FOR 558, HE FINALLY MADE IT".
My morning was not going entirely to plan. Thanks to a huge plate of D'Atri's spaghetti and an empty bottle of TUMS that I thought was full when I packed it, I didn't get much sleep the night before. My alarm went off at 6:15 and apparently I hit the snooze button twice because I rolled over and it was 6:45. I jumped in the shower, carried a load of stuff to the car, pounded down an omelet and some waffles, filled my bottles and my Camelback, then went back up to the room to get my bike and my wife. She was doing the swim-leg of the triathlon as part of a three person team and she was pretty nervous about it. It would be only her second ever non-pool race and the lake was too warm for wetsuits. Whenever one of us is nervous or upset, the other automatically seems to get really calm. It's a system that has worked well for us in the past.
"We have plenty of time, relax and eat your yogurt. No rush."
We made the two minute drive from the lodge to the starting area only to find the parking lot full of vehicles. Luckily, my CONSOL teammates were already there and had saved us a spot near the front. As I started to unload equipment, I heard the race director start into the pre-race briefing. "I thought that was supposed to start at 8:45?" I said to Joe. "Nope, 8:15" came his reply. Katrina ran off to catch the briefing, while I half listened from the parking lot as I went over my mental checklist. "Helmet. Gloves. Shoes. Other Shoes. Gu. Other Gu. Other other Gu..." I dumped everything into a crate and started pushing my bike toward the transition area.
"EVERYBODY CLAP FOR 558, HE FINALLY MADE IT, 3 MINUTES TO GO". By the time I found a space for my bike, got my leg number, watched the wife warm up and made it back to my starting area, the EX2 race promoters were looking for me. Safety protocol dictates that they check in each and every racer as they enter the starting corral. I was the last person to check in, and I think they were about to scratch me from the starting list. That would have sucked. I put on my sunglasses, did a couple meaningless stretches, and found a spot behind two fast looking dudes just as Mr. Megaphone was counting down, "30 seconds...3,2,1...GOOOO!"
As always, half the field sprinted away like they were racing Usain Bolt, and by God, this time they were going to beat him. I settled into my 9:00 minute pace and tried to relax. Instantaneously and completely, my glasses fogged up. I had forgotten to spray them down before the start. Great. I was about to cover 22.5 miles of nasty, rocky ground at the fastest speed I could possibly maintain, on foot and on a bike, surrounded by hundreds of other people of varying skill levels trying to do it just a little faster than me, all the while with 20:100 vision. Great. Just great. The glasses came off and I fell in behind a fuzzy looking guy in a fuzzy looking green jersey and started up the fuzzy trail.
The first three miles went by about like I expected. I caught the sprinters at the base of the first climb and politely said "on your left" about a dozen times before I crested Evitts Revenge for the first of what would be four trips in the next three hours. The downhill back to the transition area was just as treacherous as I remembered. I literally swung from tree to tree down some of the steepest sections, then climbed hand over hand back up to the pavement that led back to the bikes. I was shooting for 30:00, I entered the transition area in 29:45. So far so good. Now onto the bike. My plan was to let the sprinters go, catch them at the base of Evitts Revenge, climb hard, cruise the flats, and flow the downhills. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I like bikes. I especially like riding bikes at Rocky Gap. The course sets up perfectly for my hardtail 29'er and my style of riding. I like the long climbs and the flowy singletrack at the bottom and my Superfly handles all the medium size chunks on the one technical descent with ease. There are several short, steep sections that beg to be attacked and the really tight singletrack is kept to a minimum. I have raced this course a number of times, both solo and as part of a team, and have never failed to stand on the podium at the end of the day. Granted, it’s a big podium as they recognize the top five riders/teams, but sticking around to hear your name called is definitely cooler than leaving early to beat the traffic.
The course didn't worry me. The only thing I was nervous about was the other racers. These multisport events draw a real mix of people. You get everybody from the hardcore, titanium and leather-looking XTERRA athletes down to the first-timer that borrowed the neighbor kids' Huffy and needs to be home by 4:30 because he's hosting the fantasy football draft this year. Nothing against first-timers, everybody is new to the sport at some point, you just have to be ready for people moving at different speeds and standing in weird spots on the course.
For example, the middle of the 6” trail, halfway down the steepest, fastest, and most technical section of the course. I came upon a guy standing beside his bike, completely blocking the only definitely safe route through the boulders. "On your, uh, uh, uh..." I yelled as I tried to decide upon which side of this man I would like to die. "...Left!" I yelled as I swerved into the rocks and then back onto the trail in front of him. I somehow made it through the rubble in one piece. I passed a few more folks on the way to the bottom before popping out onto the pavement. My relief at surviving the descent was short-lived though. I rounded a curve in the road at high speed, right on the wheel of another rider, when I saw the course marshal waving us to the right, directly into a closed gate. Park employees were rushing up to unlock it, but they definitely were not going to beat me there. There was a small gap between the gate post and the guardrail; I trusted the dude in front of me to make it and I followed him on through.
Around the lake, through the beach area and nearly into the home stretch when the last bit of excitement for the lap occurred. I had to swerve to avoid a mountainous woman standing in the last curve. She may not have felt the impact had we collided, but my race would probably have been over. I rolled into the transition area where my brother was waiting with some great advice. “Go faster!” he yelled from the spectator area. I need to remind him not to shout out those pearls of wisdom, lest my competition catch onto my strategy. I grabbed another bottle of Elixir, wiped my face and headed back out for lap #2.
As is usually the case, lap number two felt faster than the first one. It seems that by the 1 hour mark of these races, your body usually stops fighting your mind and they both agree “to hell with it, let him do whatever he wants, we’re tired of trying to save us.” You stop getting signals from your lungs and legs and everything kind of mellows out. The course had cleared a bit and all the gates were open. I climbed Evitts Revenge for the third time and heard some shouts of encouragement from the racers who had decided to push their bikes up the hill. Out the rocky ridge, down the descent, around the lake and back into the transition area. I wanted to do the entire bike leg in less than 90 minutes and I had put up two sub-45 minute laps. Still on schedule, I changed shoes, dropped my helmet and gloves and stumbled out to start the five-mile death march.
In these events, each racer on the course gets a number marked on their calf. The number indicates your division and tells you who you are actually competing against. I don’t have any delusions about capturing an overall win, so I try to watch for people in my age group. While there may be 350 people on the course at any given time, I only need to beat about 15 of them; the ones with “30D” on their leg. “30” for the 30-39 age group and “D” for duathlon. Without my glasses on I couldn’t be certain if any “30D” racers had passed me as I started the last leg of the race, but I didn’t think any got by me on the bike and I felt that if I could just hold my position that I should be at least in the top 5 at the end. My plan worked great for about three minutes until the first guy went around me. Sure enough, “30D” in big black numbers that even I could read. Damnit. I tried to speed up to stay with him, but my mind and body both just then decided to start speaking to me again. “HA, right, go get him Tiger! Feel that? Bet you’re listening to us now! How about you just chill out and let us drive for a bit, mmmm’kay?” The guy looked fresh as a daisy and there was no way I was going to catch him. Throwing rocks is generally frowned upon, so I could do nothing as he pulled away up the hill.
The miserable miles went by slowly as I alternated running and walking. I double fisted water and Gatorade at all of the aid stations and even came to a complete stop at the top of Evitt’s Revenge. I don’t know Evitt and I definitely don’t know what I did to deserve his revenge, but whatever it was, I apologize. Down the rocky slope, back up the other side, up the rock wall and back out onto the pavement for the last half mile of the day. I ran strong into the finish area, bolstered by a big “WOOOOOOOO” from my CONSOL stable mates as I covered the last hundred yards before grabbing a water and collapsing in the shade.
Last year my time was 3:05:46; I cut it down to 3:00:24 this year. Not quite my sub-3 hour goal but I will take it. Two of the guys in my age group ended up finishing 1-2 in the overall; no wonder I never saw them. I managed to finish fifth, barely preserving the CONSOL Energy streak of podium finishes. Katrina swam strong and came out of the water in the top half of the relay division. Jonny rode incredibly well and passed four other riders in his class during the bike leg. Dave suffered through the run at about the same time as me and finished strong. All in all it was a good day with no injuries and a new piece of hardware for the CER trophy case.
Results to the race can be found here.
Photos from the race promotor's photography service (when uploaded) can be found here. (they make great gifts by the way, hint, hint)
Below are more photos from the XTERRA taken by CER Team's unsung groupies:
Dave and Jonny
Jonny making CER look good
Jason hammering it out!
Jason gettin' the run done!
You heard the man...podium!
Keepin' the dream alive!
Jonny, Dave, and Katrina
We made the two minute drive from the lodge to the starting area only to find the parking lot full of vehicles. Luckily, my CONSOL teammates were already there and had saved us a spot near the front. As I started to unload equipment, I heard the race director start into the pre-race briefing. "I thought that was supposed to start at 8:45?" I said to Joe. "Nope, 8:15" came his reply. Katrina ran off to catch the briefing, while I half listened from the parking lot as I went over my mental checklist. "Helmet. Gloves. Shoes. Other Shoes. Gu. Other Gu. Other other Gu..." I dumped everything into a crate and started pushing my bike toward the transition area.
"EVERYBODY CLAP FOR 558, HE FINALLY MADE IT, 3 MINUTES TO GO". By the time I found a space for my bike, got my leg number, watched the wife warm up and made it back to my starting area, the EX2 race promoters were looking for me. Safety protocol dictates that they check in each and every racer as they enter the starting corral. I was the last person to check in, and I think they were about to scratch me from the starting list. That would have sucked. I put on my sunglasses, did a couple meaningless stretches, and found a spot behind two fast looking dudes just as Mr. Megaphone was counting down, "30 seconds...3,2,1...GOOOO!"
As always, half the field sprinted away like they were racing Usain Bolt, and by God, this time they were going to beat him. I settled into my 9:00 minute pace and tried to relax. Instantaneously and completely, my glasses fogged up. I had forgotten to spray them down before the start. Great. I was about to cover 22.5 miles of nasty, rocky ground at the fastest speed I could possibly maintain, on foot and on a bike, surrounded by hundreds of other people of varying skill levels trying to do it just a little faster than me, all the while with 20:100 vision. Great. Just great. The glasses came off and I fell in behind a fuzzy looking guy in a fuzzy looking green jersey and started up the fuzzy trail.
The first three miles went by about like I expected. I caught the sprinters at the base of the first climb and politely said "on your left" about a dozen times before I crested Evitts Revenge for the first of what would be four trips in the next three hours. The downhill back to the transition area was just as treacherous as I remembered. I literally swung from tree to tree down some of the steepest sections, then climbed hand over hand back up to the pavement that led back to the bikes. I was shooting for 30:00, I entered the transition area in 29:45. So far so good. Now onto the bike. My plan was to let the sprinters go, catch them at the base of Evitts Revenge, climb hard, cruise the flats, and flow the downhills. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I like bikes. I especially like riding bikes at Rocky Gap. The course sets up perfectly for my hardtail 29'er and my style of riding. I like the long climbs and the flowy singletrack at the bottom and my Superfly handles all the medium size chunks on the one technical descent with ease. There are several short, steep sections that beg to be attacked and the really tight singletrack is kept to a minimum. I have raced this course a number of times, both solo and as part of a team, and have never failed to stand on the podium at the end of the day. Granted, it’s a big podium as they recognize the top five riders/teams, but sticking around to hear your name called is definitely cooler than leaving early to beat the traffic.
The course didn't worry me. The only thing I was nervous about was the other racers. These multisport events draw a real mix of people. You get everybody from the hardcore, titanium and leather-looking XTERRA athletes down to the first-timer that borrowed the neighbor kids' Huffy and needs to be home by 4:30 because he's hosting the fantasy football draft this year. Nothing against first-timers, everybody is new to the sport at some point, you just have to be ready for people moving at different speeds and standing in weird spots on the course.
For example, the middle of the 6” trail, halfway down the steepest, fastest, and most technical section of the course. I came upon a guy standing beside his bike, completely blocking the only definitely safe route through the boulders. "On your, uh, uh, uh..." I yelled as I tried to decide upon which side of this man I would like to die. "...Left!" I yelled as I swerved into the rocks and then back onto the trail in front of him. I somehow made it through the rubble in one piece. I passed a few more folks on the way to the bottom before popping out onto the pavement. My relief at surviving the descent was short-lived though. I rounded a curve in the road at high speed, right on the wheel of another rider, when I saw the course marshal waving us to the right, directly into a closed gate. Park employees were rushing up to unlock it, but they definitely were not going to beat me there. There was a small gap between the gate post and the guardrail; I trusted the dude in front of me to make it and I followed him on through.
Around the lake, through the beach area and nearly into the home stretch when the last bit of excitement for the lap occurred. I had to swerve to avoid a mountainous woman standing in the last curve. She may not have felt the impact had we collided, but my race would probably have been over. I rolled into the transition area where my brother was waiting with some great advice. “Go faster!” he yelled from the spectator area. I need to remind him not to shout out those pearls of wisdom, lest my competition catch onto my strategy. I grabbed another bottle of Elixir, wiped my face and headed back out for lap #2.
As is usually the case, lap number two felt faster than the first one. It seems that by the 1 hour mark of these races, your body usually stops fighting your mind and they both agree “to hell with it, let him do whatever he wants, we’re tired of trying to save us.” You stop getting signals from your lungs and legs and everything kind of mellows out. The course had cleared a bit and all the gates were open. I climbed Evitts Revenge for the third time and heard some shouts of encouragement from the racers who had decided to push their bikes up the hill. Out the rocky ridge, down the descent, around the lake and back into the transition area. I wanted to do the entire bike leg in less than 90 minutes and I had put up two sub-45 minute laps. Still on schedule, I changed shoes, dropped my helmet and gloves and stumbled out to start the five-mile death march.
In these events, each racer on the course gets a number marked on their calf. The number indicates your division and tells you who you are actually competing against. I don’t have any delusions about capturing an overall win, so I try to watch for people in my age group. While there may be 350 people on the course at any given time, I only need to beat about 15 of them; the ones with “30D” on their leg. “30” for the 30-39 age group and “D” for duathlon. Without my glasses on I couldn’t be certain if any “30D” racers had passed me as I started the last leg of the race, but I didn’t think any got by me on the bike and I felt that if I could just hold my position that I should be at least in the top 5 at the end. My plan worked great for about three minutes until the first guy went around me. Sure enough, “30D” in big black numbers that even I could read. Damnit. I tried to speed up to stay with him, but my mind and body both just then decided to start speaking to me again. “HA, right, go get him Tiger! Feel that? Bet you’re listening to us now! How about you just chill out and let us drive for a bit, mmmm’kay?” The guy looked fresh as a daisy and there was no way I was going to catch him. Throwing rocks is generally frowned upon, so I could do nothing as he pulled away up the hill.
The miserable miles went by slowly as I alternated running and walking. I double fisted water and Gatorade at all of the aid stations and even came to a complete stop at the top of Evitt’s Revenge. I don’t know Evitt and I definitely don’t know what I did to deserve his revenge, but whatever it was, I apologize. Down the rocky slope, back up the other side, up the rock wall and back out onto the pavement for the last half mile of the day. I ran strong into the finish area, bolstered by a big “WOOOOOOOO” from my CONSOL stable mates as I covered the last hundred yards before grabbing a water and collapsing in the shade.
Last year my time was 3:05:46; I cut it down to 3:00:24 this year. Not quite my sub-3 hour goal but I will take it. Two of the guys in my age group ended up finishing 1-2 in the overall; no wonder I never saw them. I managed to finish fifth, barely preserving the CONSOL Energy streak of podium finishes. Katrina swam strong and came out of the water in the top half of the relay division. Jonny rode incredibly well and passed four other riders in his class during the bike leg. Dave suffered through the run at about the same time as me and finished strong. All in all it was a good day with no injuries and a new piece of hardware for the CER trophy case.
Results to the race can be found here.
Photos from the race promotor's photography service (when uploaded) can be found here. (they make great gifts by the way, hint, hint)
Below are more photos from the XTERRA taken by CER Team's unsung groupies:
Dave and Jonny
Jonny making CER look good
Jason hammering it out!
Jason gettin' the run done!
You heard the man...podium!
Keepin' the dream alive!
Jonny, Dave, and Katrina
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