FSCS 4: Perspective

Alafia River State Park is my off-road riding home away from home. I'm a Tampa native, so coming back to race is a highlight of this series.


Racing and riding at Alafia always brings back memories when signage, a paved parking lot and a bike wash station didn't exist.


The first time out here I encountered a gopher tortoise nearly the size of a treasure chest and a pack of wild boars carving some singletrack. I also remember getting lost and barely finding my way back to my truck before sundown.


I've never raced particularly well here. This is a difficult course with your heart rate at 130 beats per minute, let alone at 160. And every year the course is changed to keep you on your toes, which if you're not careful, will have you on your back. (More on this later.)


Anyway, I didn't have a great race Sunday. I was the last rider in my class to finish, but I did have a better start and overall raced better than in Gainesville. I still feel like I'm in way over my head and have to fight the mental battle not to quit. I had several riders from other classes pass me and that really gets me down.


Until I saw something else that left an impression.


Coming out of a very tricky section known as Rabbit Ears and feeling awful, I noticed a man in a wheelchair watching the race. Soon after, I stopped thinking about my pain and mentally took my butt out of the saddle and put it in that wheelchair.


Perspective.


Here I am upset at how slow I'm riding and I'm forgetting something more important.


How lucky I am.


I'm free to ride. To push the limits. To have full use of my body. To do the things some people can only dream of. Yeah, even to finish last. It's not that I felt sorry for the guy; he's out here on a wonderful day, surely being entertained by some crazies tear-assin' through the woods.


It's just ... damn, be thankful for what you have and can do.


"You better take a fool's advice, take care of your own. One day they're here; the next day they're gone. ...'' -- New York Minute, Don Henley.


Feeling better about my predicament on the final lap of three, all that good feeling came to an end with an endo and landing on my back. I keep a multi-tool in my middle jersey pocket and I landed on that denting me good at the waistline. Took me a few minutes to recover -- and another rider passed me -- but I managed to finish the race.


Perspective. At least I'm able to ride. At least I'm able to roll up to the starting line. At least I'm able to experience the good, bad and the painful.

FSCS 3: Blank!

It's October and the weather's slowly getting less oppressive, which means it's great to be on the bike. On Sunday, the weather was glorious for the third race of the Florida State Championship Series in Gainesville.


Then my 40-plus Expert race began and thoughts quickly went from glorious to gory.


Here's what went right:


















Here's what went wrong: Let's see, should said list be done alphabetically or order of importance? Never mind. I won't bore you.


If I was a horse, I'd been shot. I quit after three laps, completely broken by the demanding Hailes Trails. My poor effort has made me realize whatever I'm doing in training isn't adequately preparing me for the stresses of these races. I'm not sure if my volume and/or intensity is too low. Am I in such poor race shape that I need to give this more time to come around? I know I'm not overtrained. I go into all my breakthrough workouts fresh and ready to ride hard. This has been a problem in the past; on non-racing weeks, I ride four days a week, averaging 10 1/2 hours/160-175 miles.


But when the races begin, the pace feels over my head, incendiary. I have to cut my effort to avoid blowing up.


I've trained consistently since April, never missing a single workout because of sickness. My Functional Threshold Power is at an all-time high (245 watts). I'm lean (134 pounds).


But when I get on my mountain bike, I turn into Jelly. I'm likely not riding enough off-road (violating the specificity training principal) but that wouldn't completely explain my inability to compete to stay out of last place.


It's time to reflect and re-evaluate. At least the weather's turning and it's pleasant to be on the bike. Even if that bike isn't going very fast.


Addendum: On Friday, Joe Friel tweeted a line that I and others should remember when things aren't going as planned:


"Good or bad, you are not your last race. Let it go.''

FSCS 2: Forward momentum

If progress can be measured in meeting little goals along the path to a quest, then you can say I'm finally on the right course.


I finished 14th out of 16 in the 28-mile second race of the Florida State Championship Series in Fernandina Beach on Sunday. While that pedestrian placing would make only a mother proud, I did accomplish a few things:


Nobody from classes starting behind me caught me.


I passed a few riders from other classes, including one from mine. Break out the champagne, hookers and call Moe Greene. The party's startin'.


My splits improved slightly from the last race: 31:46, 33:09, 33:33, 34:93--132.81.


The last time I raced at Fort Clinch Park about a year ago, I DNF'd (actually, quit) after two miserable laps and everyone from my class leaving me for dead in the woods. This year, with super dry trail conditions looking more suited for beach volleyball or a large litter-box expo, I rode a lot more like a racer. I had more of a high gear and pushed through the pain easier, especially on the final two laps.


I still have a long way to go, but a long time to get there.


Next up is Gainesville this weekend, and a trail that, mile for mile, might be the toughest in the state. I only hope I can continue to improve and have a good time along the way.

FSCS 1: Starting over

When the main goal heading into a cross-country race is to simply finish, you know you have low expectations.


I had low expectations Sunday in Tallahassee at Tom Brown Park in the opening of the Florida State Championship Series.


Rising to the "challenge,'' I finished my four laps in the 40+ Expert Class. It was the first Expert race I've finished in nearly two years. That's a lot of DNFs and frustration.

Let's be serious. With the training I've done since April, I had other goals.


Compete.


Don't embarrass myself.


Didn't and did.


I finished 16th out of 21, a staggering 23-plus minutes behind the winner who could've in that time, according to one website:


Cleaned the oven.


Walked the dog.


Did a "quickie'' cleaning job on the bathroom.


Found a new recipe to try.


Another website proclaimed: How to Discover Your Life Purpose in About 20 Minutes.


Quickie cleaning job on the bathroom aside, finding your life's purpose would seem to be a worthwhile way to spend that time.


I was passed by so many riders from other classes that started two, four, six and eight minutes after mine that I felt like a hemorrhaging swimmer dog-paddling in a shark tank. With each pass and attempt to catch the wheel, a bit of ego was ripped away, leaving me red with embarrassment.


I heard "on your left'' so many times I thought I was picking up MSNBC on my heart-rate monitor. It was one of those races where you know very early you don't have the legs. I was constantly trying to find the right gear to get into rhythm. By the middle of the first lap, my legs felt like glass. My lap times point out someone who's not in race shape: 31:73, 33:67, 37:00, 37:17--139.57. Nearly 2 1/2 hours to ride 27.2 miles? Let's see, in 2 1/2 hours you could've ...


At least I'm finished. I mean, I finished.


There was a time in 2006 when I did compete in this class and never embarrassed myself. Then, because of training mistakes and lack of focus, I went from racer to recreation cyclist. I put in too many junk road miles at the expense of intensity needed to compete. And before I knew it, I went from shark to bait fish.


I think my training plan for this year is solid. I am getting in more intensity. I am allowing for more recovery. I'm less of a slave to mileage and hours. But, if this latest race proved anything, besides the fact I'm in way over my head right now, it's that I'm starting over. And unless the subject is history, nobody wants to go back to the beginning.


I'm hoping with much-needed race time in the next month, I can regain what's been lost. If not, maybe I'll take some time to try a new recipe.

The key to success

Joe Friel's latest blog post How to Recover reveals the key to training -- and getting faster -- and should not be ignored:


http://www.joefrielsblog.com/

Striking a balance

There's yin and yang, black and white, cats and dogs and on and off.


The world is about balance. So should your life as a cyclist.


Competitive cycling can turn into an obsession. Quickly. I'm not sure what feeds it more: success or failure. When things are rolling, many get too excited and start riding and training more. When things aren't, many get too worried and start riding and training more.


The key is moderation. It really is. What helps are hobbies. If you don't have many other interests, developing one can help your cycling in the long run.


Playing guitar is the perfect yang to my cycling yin. Maybe it's the rhythm thing. When you're out on your bike, either in training or racing, having a good day, you're definitely in a rhythm. Things are flowing, just like when you're hitting the note playing guitar. It's zen-like.


But if your hobby is rock collecting, it's all good. Because you're thinking about rock collecting at those times and not cycling or your fitness or your numbers.


Time away makes the heart grow fonder. Sometimes, a little physical or mental diversion from the bike can make your fitness grow stronger and your cycling more fulfilling.

Why do you ride?

For the competition? The exercise? To escape? To commute?


All of the above?


For me, it's always been a moving target. When I began cycling as a teenager in the '70s, it was all about BMX racing, hanging out at the local bike shop and trying to win Florida Bicycle Motocross Association medals.


I didn't win many. But after watching On Any Sunday and being mesmerized by the opening bicycle scene, BMX was the thing. At least until I could talk my parents into a dirt bike.


Then I began "jumping,'' which my buddies and I called it then, now called "freestyle'' or "vert'' among the X Games generation; my crew was way ahead of the curve. That's when I found something I was really good at on two wheels. It was all about showing off. I generally soared the highest, furthest and with more style than most, all from dirt jumps we meticulously built with Army shovels and a little mud. And we never wore helmets or had second thoughts about trying just about anything while in the air.


Jimi put it best. "Freedom, that's what I want now. Freedom, that's what I need now.''


But after tweaking one too many goose necks, forks and wheels -- but never my body -- and discovering girls, alcohol and Van Halen, I retired, never to give a serious thought to owning or riding another bicycle until my early 20s.


Along with a good friend and fellow BMXer, we decided to buy beach cruisers in the early '80s to turn cycling into a more grounded, leisurely activity, complete with pub stops. That is, on the few occasions we weren't drinking while pedaling.


From Tampa, where we lived, we'd dress in our swim trunks and ride our cruisers, equipped with mini-coolers fitted to our handlebars, over the Gandy Bridge to the pink Don Cesar beach resort on St. Petersburg Beach. Round trip: a little more than 50 miles. Beers consumed: at least 12 apiece. Even then, I knew the importance of proper hydration.


How we made it back alive from more than 20 trips I'll never know.


It's now 1999. Christmas Day, to be exact. My cruiser is rusting in the garage and Charmain and I have been living in South Florida for six months. I step on the bathroom scale and receive a yuletide wake-up call.


One-hundred and sixty-six pounds.


166?


75.5 kilos?


Hanging on my 5-foot-4 frame?


In January, I began a lifestyle change. I watched what I ate and started jogging and lifting weights again. By mid year, I had dropped about 20 pounds. Jogging was getting boring and I felt myself slipping from my new healthy state of mind.


Fortunately, I saw an ad in Sports Illustrated about a giveaway for a Specialized Enduro mountain bike, sort of a grown-up BMX bike, I thought.


Well, I didn't win the Enduro, but Charmain gave me a Specialized Hard Rock mountain bike that Christmas. I was a mountain biker, soon to buy a helmet, clipless pedals and Ned Overend's book Mountain Bike Like a Champion. Most importantly, never to become fat again.


Talk about lifestyle changes, I even quit drinking.


So why do you ride?

Taking a bite out of the dog days

On Saturday, I completed maybe my single best week of training. The 11 1/12-hour 175-mile microcycle included an hour kundalini yoga workout, the rest cycling.


Following a transition week after ORAMM, I began the Build I mesocycle with two sessions of lactate tolerance intervals (3 sets of 4 30 seconds on -- 350+ watts -- 15 off, separated by five minutes recovery between sets). These really develop race fitness for fast starts, bridging gaps and finding that "extra'' gear.


For the first time in more than a month, I rode at Markham Park (16 miles). That place, sitting on the edge of the Everglades, normally is a graveyard for me during the dog days. On Wednesday afternoon though, I had my strongest August ride out there ever. I felt powerful and had a low RPE. I averaged nearly 11 mph. Normally, I'm at about 10 mph at this time of the year.


And then on Saturday, I did the group ride with the Memorial Hospital gang. It was another ferocious ride, but I managed to hang, get in some good pulls and basically hammer for 2 1/2 hours and 53 miles. I tacked on 24 miles before and 23 after to complete a 5 1/2-hour 100-mile workout and actually had a little left in the tank. Normally, I'm as dead as Dillinger.


Add it up, and I definitely received a fitness boost from completing ORAMM. The trick is building on it so I can raise my game higher in time for the start of the Florida State Championship Series beginning in just about a month in Tallahassee.

Doing hard time at ORAMM

In the course of seven-plus hours, covering 63 miles in the woods of western North Carolina on Sunday July 25 during the Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell, I experienced:

1. The feeling I was making a prison escape as I left the last trail in the 60th mile.

2. Butterflies mocking me as they danced uphill, dropping me like an express elevator headed to the basement.

3. Hugging a tree in the middle of a narrow ridge line in Heartbreak Ridge to keep from tumbling down the mountain.

4. Actually finishing ORAMM.

5. A naked cowgirl dancing across a mountain peak.

Eight days after this epic adventure in self-mutilation -- I hesitate to call it a race -- I'm now certain only No. 5 was a figment of my imagination.

Yes, ORAMM was all that and a helluva lot more. It was 400 cyclists dumped into the woods with only 276 coming out the other end.

The other 124?

Maybe the bears got some of 'em. Maybe the heat. And a few are at the bottom of Heartbreak Ridge, which I thought should've been named Heartattack Ridge. Never been so happy to get out of an area since I left the local DMV last year after getting my license renewed.

I didn't ride any of these trails beforehand. Had I, I would've questioned my sanity for doing them at "race pace.'' My only off-road experience in western North Carolina was Bent Creek, which is like a stroll on a beach cruiser to Starbucks compared to this ORAMM course bathed in mid-90s heat.

Or as someone smartly summed up: When you're climbing, you wish you were descending; when you're descending, you wish you were climbing.

So true.

Crossing the line in officially 7 hours, 39 minutes and 11 seconds for 13th out of 73 finishers in the 40-49 class (75th overall) was an achievement for me, an ORAMM rookie, that I won't soon forget. This was as much a mental test as a physical one. And while I can measure the physical strain with calories burned (nearly 5,000), average speed (a pedestrian 8.8 mph), average heart rate (146 bpm) and one cramp in my left leg that felt like a stiletto being plunged repeatedly, what was going on in my head was harder to analyze.

For example, the 9-mile climb up Curtis Creek Road.

This broke a lot of riders. It nearly broke me. I was warned about this beast. Still, I began the climb in my big ring, feeling great, mimicking the numerous butterflies about. That lasted about 4 miles.

Twice I got off my bike and said, basically, "This place has beaten me. I'm cooked. Mommy?! Mommy?!''

Twice I somehow got back on my bike -- barely steadying myself to get going again -- and promising I'd surrender at the rest stop at the top of the climb. Meanwhile, I saw a few riders simply turn around and ride down the climb, succumbing to the torture.

At the time, I was so envious. How nice that looked to glide downhill, to no longer suffer. After all, misery certainly loves company.

Oh, how I couldn't wait to pull the plug.

And then I reached the rest stop. I was thirsty as hell and mixed a bottle of half water, half cola. Just like that, I was jolted out of my malaise. At that point, quitting wasn't an option; it was a cop out. What the hell, I'll keep going, I thought. Only about 30 more miles of jagged trails, endless climbs and numerous switchbacks to navigate.

Whoever said cola is poison hasn't attempted ORAMM. A miracle drug poured into a can and wrapped in global marketing campaign designed to hook us at a young age on high fructose corn syrup. And something to completely avoid the other 364 days of the year.

Then it was on to Black Mountain, Heartattack Ridge, Mill Creek Road, a nearly 4-mile gravel climb that felt like the sun was just above me -- taunting me -- Kitsuma Part II, where on the first time through I went over the bars trying to clear a large downed tree that had no place in the middle of singletrack.

That kicked you out to more gravel roads and finally a hilly paved road that we took at the beginning of the race. This was the final 3 miles. When my knobbies began to buzz like angry bees, the sting of ORAMM began to fade, as did my disappointment of not meeting my goal of breaking seven hours. I was free. It was basically over, and I survived with barely a scratch on my body. I felt like a combination of Billy Hayes running out of that prison in Midnight Express and Andy Dufresne emerging from the prison sewer pipe in Shawshank Redemption. And like Hayes walking fast and then sprinting down the road, I shifted up to my big ring and blasted down another road, never looking back to consider how close I came to turning around on Curtis Creek.

A few twists and turns and I neared the finish line to enthusiastic applause from well-wishers lining the last 50 feet to the line, including my wife Charmain, whom I'm sure was just thankful I found my way back to civilization with all four limbs apparently functioning at least well enough to ride a bike. Honey, I can't express how happy I was to see you and how understanding you've been with my crazy training for this undertaking.

I would be remiss not to give a debt of gratitude to all the volunteers at the rest stops. These people were great and invaluable, especially at one when I realized I lost the top of my empty bottle from my jersey pocket. A volunteer found another. At one of the last rest stops, I was briefly complaining to one as I refilled my bottles, lamenting how slow I was riding and how bad I was suffering. He smiled and said, "Yeah, but no more than a quarter of the field has come by this rest stop.'' I can't tell you how much better that made me feel. He could've been fibbing to make me feel better, but looking over the results, I think he was 100 percent accurate.

So, was finishing ORAMM like escaping from a Turkish prison or crawling through 500 yards of prison sewage to reach freedom?

No. Of course not.

But I swear, at the time, it sure felt like it was.

http://www.blueridgeadventures.net/oramm/

The ORAMM challenge

I'm returning to western North Carolina next week for vacation, but unlike previous visits, this time I'm going to do some racing.


I'm entered to compete in the Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell (ORAMM), a 63-mile endurance challenge that includes 11,000 feet of climbing on July 25. It's a race I became aware of a couple years ago and it intrigued me because of its endless climbing and dangerous descents.


Or, as it says on the ORAMM website: "Do not underestimate the extreme difficulty and danger of this event.'' The toothy course profile above seems to bear that out, don't you think?


Ridin' or hidin'? I'm ridin'.


Racing in this event also forced me to start training much earlier than usual. The Florida State Series begins in September, so I normally begin my training in late May. This year, I began on April 2, in order to peak for ORAMM. Because I wasn't able to race much last season, but did maintain decent Base fitness, I didn't need to take a complete break off the bike. So I hit the ground running in April and feel strong and light (134 pounds), especially for so early in my season.


The key component to my training for ORAMM has been riding a lot at Vista View Park in Davie. This use to be a dump, and its elevation -- by South Florida standards -- is ideal to work on climbing. Although not long, the climbs, especially on the South face, can build force skills. Hitting this 1 1/2-mile loop at full speed is also a terrific anaerobic workout, especially if you shift up after cresting.


I began modestly there at endurance pace, riding for an hour, then 90 minutes, then two hours and eventually building to 2 1/2 hours, which is about 25 miles (17 laps). First couple times at that distance, I was completely spent, dismounting unsteadily, head on the tailgate of my truck, tongue wagging. With no shade out there, if the heat and humidity don't nail you, the steeps will.


In past three weeks, I've added a second ride at Vista View, this one a 1 1/2-hour anaerobic test. I do one warm-up lap on the double-track, then a full lap as fast as I can up all the climbs. Lap times have been anywhere from 6:38 to 7:38. Basically, it's an off-road time trial that I repeat four times with an easy double-track lap in between. This is wicked hard.


In between, I've done endurance road rides and a fast group road ride that leaves from Memorial Hospital Miramar. This Saturday group ride, led by a few real hammerheads who attack repeatedly, is a serious challenge for me just to hang on. But I've done well recently, when I've made it the meat and potatoes of a weekly 100-mile epic.


I've done all I can to be ready for ORAMM. I'm going into it with a goal of finishing under 7 hours. It's time to climb like a goat and descend like an anvil.