Zen speed

There's a book called Zen Guitar that offers spiritual wisdom about playing but can be applied to all endeavors. A passage in this little book has always stuck with me.


Know the feeling of power held in reserve.


I wasn't playing guitar on Sunday. I was racing my bike in The Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell in North Carolina, but I rode to a powerful rhythm unlike my first race here two years ago. 


My time was 47 minutes better than in 2010 at 6 hours, 52 minutes, 9 seconds. I rode my bike up climbs where two years ago I walked; I went downhill faster and with more precision; I exhibited discipline to begin conservatively in order to finish aggressively; I never even entertained a thought about quitting. 


Finishing eighth out of 34 in the 50-plus age group and 105th out of 397 finishers is a result I'm proud of after initially being a little disappointed.


Looking at the results near the finish line, I felt a little like Ralphie in A Christmas Story when he gets his theme back, expecting an A-plus.


"C-plus? Oh, no. It can't be.''


Eighth place? Eighth place??


Of course, stripped down, ORAMM is about more than the results sheet. It's having the guts to tackle 63 miles and 11,000 feet of climbing without cracking. 


I did crack my frame, though. Maybe it happened on Heartbreak Ridge, a 5 1/2-mile trail also known as Dante's Inferno, where I suffered my only wreck after taking a log-over too fast. Like riding an angry bull, the bike bucked me over the horns and then gored my right forearm with its chainring when it charged me. It was quick, painless and was back in the saddle as quickly as I was thrown. I was smart enough to walk the final drop, also known as the ninth circle of hell.


Few escape ORAMM without sacrificing blood. Or equipment.


Two years ago, my personal hell was the 9-mile Curtis Creek climb. I died and somehow rose again all in the span of that never-ending gravel ascent. This time around?


Hello, beautiful.


I proportioned my effort well, suppressing the urge to begin in my big ring. Toward the end, I was feeling some tightness in my thighs but fortunately the climb was done and the rest stop was in sight. 


That might be the best damn rest stop of the whole race, which is more than halfway over at that point. It's a celebration of sorts.


Where I really celebrated, however, was coming out of Kitsuma II and hitting the asphalt for the 3-mile ride to the line. In addition to breaking seven hours, another goal was to ride Kitsuma the second time around without walking. Well, I didn't quite accomplish that -- I had to dismount for a short section of the steep climb in the middle -- but I cleaned the entire climb to the peak. Then I bombed that downhill like my hair was on fire. I completed the trail only two minutes slower (32 minutes) than in my training rides. 


As Petty and the Heartbreakers' Drivin' Down to Georgia played in my headphones when I passed the .05 mileage sign, I felt more alive than I have in a long time. To survive ORAMM is one thing. To flourish is another. 


I experienced the feeling of power held in reserve.

Ready or not

Some handle poisonous snakes.


Others walk on fire.


For the rest of us, there's ORAMM.


And it's Sunday. Like seeing how long you can hold your hand over a burner, ORAMM is a test of how much pain you can handle. For the very few who will fly up the mountains and careen down them, there will be many more who will enter the hurt locker for the better part of a day. 


Despite this fate, ORAMM sold out a long time ago with 500 riders from 27 states entered. That's a lot of rubber in the mountains. When push comes to shove, though, many will be reduced to using their bikes as walkers.    


I've been counting down the weeks until this event. I dream it won't be that painful, but as Greg Lemond once said, "It never gets easier: you just go faster.''


At my desk at work, I have a copy of the course profile displayed. I catch myself studying it, replaying moments from my first race two years ago and imagining it going much better this year. I always focus on the ascent on Curtis Creek. I consider myself a climber; I only weight 132 pounds, so going up is where I feel most comfortable. I've never met a climb I didn't like. Until Curtis Creek.


As I've detailed before, for all intents and purposes, I was beaten physically and mentally by this climb. What little self-esteem remaining was stripped on Kitsuma II. My whole focus this year is being better prepared for those two areas. I could lie and say, ''I know I'm ready. Time to kick ass.'' I mean, my markers for power, local course times, RPE and quality of rides indicate I'm in the best shape of my life. I know better. When I get to the halfway point on Curtis Creek, I'll know where I stand. Or fall. And then there's no turning back. I hope.


Despite some struggles in the 2010 race, I benefited from a lot of luck: I had a bad wreck early on and didn't suffer as much as a scratch on me or my bike; I finished about 20 minutes before a bad storm rumbled through; and somebody gave me water on Curtis Creek when I absolutely needed it and seriously thought about quitting before reaching that rest stop. 


Can't plan for luck. If it's bad, you're screwed, no matter how fit you are. In the end, I like to think of this as just one giant group ride among friends. No pressure. A lot of fun.


Yeah, right. The competitor in me, a demon I can't control, will rear its ugly head about 24 hours prior. "I need to break 7 hours this year or I'll be disappointed. I can't go out too fast, but if I feel great ...''


Ready or not, off I go into the wilds of western North Carolina, glad I'm not at my desk imaging what ORAMM will feel like.   

Base 3 Recap (Weeks 1-4)

PHOTO OF THE MONTH: TRYING TO GET MY CLIMBING LEGS.

What I did: Recovered from pushing myself a bit too hard the previous month. I rode only 7 1/2 hours and 132 miles the first week of Base 3. That snapped me out of my fatigue, but I reduced my volume the rest of the month to be safe. I still got in a good amount of threshold work with 2x20 intervals. Then at the end of the month, I tested my FTP and put up my highest ever wattage (246). Also started riding the rolling Vista View Park horse trails to get some climbing in to prep for ORAMM on July 22.


Total miles: 657.6


Total hours: 41.5


Weight: 132


FTP: 246


FTP/weight: 4.1


CP6: 283 watts


CTL: 83.2


Thoughts from the saddle: I was really concerned I buried myself deep with fatigue, but I shed it rather quickly and my fitness really improved afterward. I've started adding more protein to my diet to help with recovery and it seems to be working. It's caused me to add three pounds, but it might be the best three pounds I've ever gained. ... One early Saturday morning, I got a flat in Weston, probably less than a mile from SR 84 and the Everglades. I have never been swarmed with the amount and size of mosquitoes as I was then. I must have looked like a nut jumping around, slapping myself silly while trying to change the tube. Fortunately, it was still dark and nobody saw me, though they probably heard me cursing. Those suckers were biting at finishing-sprint-like wattage and popcorn-popping frequency. ... Been turning between 11-14 laps at Vista View, getting in between 1 1/2 to 2 hours climbing, 16 to 21 miles. It's a demanding workout, especially in the heat and humidity but it gets my legs ready for the 11,000 feet of climbing at ORAMM. ... Rode at Markham Park when I could avoid the rains and continued to keep it aerobic riding all the open trails.  

Climb, descend, repeat

With only one previous Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell in my legs, perhaps I'm not the most qualified to give advice on surviving/conquering this unique challenge.


However, that event two years ago left such an impression, along with a few deep emotional scars, that I still want to pass along 10 tips to "enjoying'' ORAMM on July 22. If you're racing or riding it, I think they'll be useful.


1) Our thing doesn't begin until you reach the nine-mile Curtis Creek climb. Repeat: The starting line might be in Old Fort, but the real beginning is almost 30 miles in. The climb hits you just before the halfway point, and you'll see riders u-turning and quitting before the summit. I damn near did. So, conserve energy currency early and often. The good news is, when you crest it, there's a rest stop and the knowledge you're more than halfway home.


2) That leads me to the official beginning of the race, which is on asphalt for the first seven or so miles. It's uphill some, nothing extreme, but it's easy to burn too many matches. I was told of the importance of getting near the front, and there's some truth to this. But I went above threshold for too long on Old 70, kind of like using your credit card during a last-minute online Christmas shopping craze: It's painless until the bill comes due.


3) Don't be afraid to be a coward. Some of the singletrack is ... how can I say this delicately ... challenging, featuring obstacles seemingly designed to snap your collarbone. And nothing ruins a race quite like hearing the crack of a bone. If it does not fit, you must acquit. Wrong rhyme. I mean, if it looks like it will bust your lip, you must unclip. Especially if you're from Florida. Like me.


4) When you're climbing, you'll wish you were descending. When you're descending, you'll wish you were climbing. Boy, oh boy, what a sage warning this was from a local rider I met in 2010. Climb aerobically and descend conservatively, and I guarantee you'll meet your race goals.


5) Hydrate well, but don't empty a well. Hyponatremia is a life-threatening condition that occurs when you take in too much fluid. In the process of the body eliminating the excess, dangerous amounts of sodium also are washed away. Find out what works for you in training -- flavors, amounts and frequency -- and duplicate it at ORAMM. Don't try anything new July 22. A new finish line salute is OK, though.


6) Carb up on Saturday but don't gorge yourself. Just eat a sensible and fairly balanced meal, but skip dessert and go easy on the salt. Unless you've done a hard pre-ride, and if you did you might as well not even show up the next day, you don't need extra calories. Do you really want to be carrying even one extra pound throughout 11,000 feet of climbing? And no crash dieting the week before or the week of. Actually, what you weigh right now should be your target race weight. Race day breakfast should be what you normally eat for a hard day in the saddle.


7) If you're on the verge of quitting but don't have blood gushing from an open wound or aren't puking from a concussion, hold on until the next rest stop. Chances are, after a short break, sometimes as short as a few minutes, cola or some food and a pep talk from one of the tremendous volunteers, you'll feel better and remount. That comes from personal experience at the Curtis Creek rest stop.


8) Handle the rolling gravel fireroads with utmost care. When you reach these wide-open stretches, it's natural and beneficial to let go of the brakes, catch some easy speed and recover. Stay focused and steer with your body and feather the brakes as necessary. If you go down, you'll feel like you've gotten a massage with a cheese grater. And you won't get a good night's sleep, either. 


9) Carry only the basic tools and supplies but do take some cash. You don't need to bring along an auxiliary bike shop in your Camelback and/or seatpack. I guess you could sell extra stuff along the route (at a stiff mark up, of course), but it's not necessary. Me? I run tubeless with Stan's, so the seatpack will have a multi-tool that features an 8mm allen for the cranks and chain tool; and spare Powerlink. I'll also have a Big Air canister. If I need something else to keep me going, it's probably going to be a major repair and my day's done. The money can be used to buy water from campers if you've lost your bottle or neglected to properly fill up at the last rest stop. Happened to me, but the woman I came across who had water generously gave me a bottle on Curtis Creek.

10) After hugging loved ones, seeking medical treatment and/or counseling and a cold beverage, you're ordered to go sit in the creek near the finish line. Like the scene from the beginning of Die Hard, when John McClane is told to "make fists with your toes'' after getting to your destination as a way to survive air travel, taking a soak will bring you back from the abyss. 

I'll leave you with this: Nobody who finishes our thing will exclaim, "Man, I could've gone even harder!'' Most, especially the majority who don't finish, will lament, "Man, I went out way too hard.''