08.28.2011 | 11:42 pm
Greetings all. It is I, the real Fat Cyclist. Okay, actually it’s just me, a fat cyclist. Fatty’s letting me housesit for him while he’s in France riding with Andy FREAKING Hampsten.
Some of you around here know me. Well, as much as anyone can know a total stranger who they don’t know at all, but only communicate with via the backblog – that’s what the kewl kids call the comments section – of a popular blog. Oh, and “kewl” is the way the kids spell “cool.”
Because the kids are idiots.
But I digress.
Since I’m your host for the next couple of weeks, and since my single goal is having only alienated and bored no more than 60% of Fatty’s readership while here, I thought I’d better open with a Get To Know You post. It’s what my industry calls a “Meet and greet.”
Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself
I’m a man with little wealth and no taste. My name’s Paul Guyot, and in the interest of full disclosure… I only started cycling in January of 2010. Yep, that’s right. I’m a newbie. A rook. And a Clydesdale to boot. I have not ascended and descended mountainous mountains like Fatty and Dug and Kenny and many of you have. I have not – and more importantly, cannot – do things like Leadville or 24hr races or any of that.
I don’t know this guy, or this guy, or even this guy.
I’m just a chubby dude who used to be much more chubby before I traded in late night love affairs with fried food for morning rides and Honey Stinger products. After years of physical and nutritional apathy, my brother – a cycling coach for Carmichael Training Systems – gave me a road bike for Christmas, and changed my life. I went from being addicted to laziness and crinkle cut chips, to being addicted to suffering and Gu gels.
In a year, I dropped over thirty pounds, but more importantly saved my life. To inspire those of you who are just now dipping your toe into the Cycling is Life pool, let me share this:
On October 9th, 2009, I had a complete physical. After looking at the results of my blood work and everything else, my doctor proclaimed me “Pre-Diabetic.” He informed me that if I did not lose a significant amount of weight, and start eating better, I would be diabetic within a few months and have to go on medication.
On December 2nd, 2010, after my first year of cycling, I went to the same doctor and had another complete physical… I won’t bore you with all the numbers, but they were significantly better. So much so, that my doctor said in one year of cycling and eating better, I had reduced my risk of cardiovascular disease by nearly 25%, and my risk for diabetes by over 50%. I still have a long way to go to become Leadville Fit, but I’m on my way and I’m loving the journey.
This year I upgraded from my Christmas gift bike to a Trek Project One, and while I am in no way worthy of the bike – either physically or ability-wise – I love it. Like, love it in a bordering on creepy way. I keep it inside my house because I feel it is too good for the garage. I find myself looking at it a lot. Like, late at night when I’m sitting in the brown leather chair I’m in right now, watching Apple TV (God, but I love my Apple TV), or writing (as I am right this very moment), and I will just look over and stare at the P1. And then I usually smile. And imagine being out on a ride somewhere, suffering up a climb, or surpassing 50mph on a descent.
Then I stare at the bike some more and think how cool it looks. And that thought leads me to thinking about how cool I must look when I’m out riding it, and that’s when my world implodes. Because I imagine uber-fit, Rapha-clad hipsters rolling by me on their steel Vikings thinking, “Look at that carbon-loving dufus too lazy to use down tube shifters.”
Or is it doofus?
That leads me to walk to my balcony, stare out at Manhattan and say, “Who am I?”
Then I remind myself that isn’t Manhattan, it’s just a suburb of St. Louis, and I should really remove WALL STREET from my Netflix queue.
But I digress.
A lot of my inspiration early on came from Fatty and this blog. It also led me to Livestrong which I supported lightly and ignorantly until this year when, in one those fusilli of fate things, my family and I unfortunately needed the help and services of Livestrong. They were amazing and I will support them heavily the rest of my life. Which leads me to this…
Donate To My Livestrong Challenge Austin Page and Win a New Trek Livestrong Bike
I’m riding the Livestrong Challenge 90+ miles ride in October and Trek has graciously agreed to give away a bike to one lucky winner. But if we raise $10,000 Trek will give away TWO of these completely awesome bikes!
As in all of Fatty’s giveaways, you will receive one chance for every $5 you donate. Winners will be chosen by Fatty using his nifty Random.org thingy.
Donate here for a chance to win a cool bike, and to just be a cool person.
So that’s the abridged version of me. Insert yawn here.
I love cycling, to the point that I have now fallen in love with the suffering. I love Livestrong. I love Fatty, but you know, in a real manly way, like when those cool MMA guys hug each other with that forearm-to-chest slap-the-back hug type of way.
In the days to come I will be discussing a myriad of topics, some (hopefully) even bike related. Okay, most. If there’s anything of particular interest to you that you’d like me to discuss on this blog, drop a comment to let me know. Remember, with Fatty gone, we can do WHATEVER we want!
Just don’t break anything.
Comments (52)
08.26.2011 | 7:00 am
A Note from Fatty about Today’s Post: Cole Chlouber is a good friend of mine and a guy I feel like I’m fairly similar to. We both chased the sub-9 buckle at Leadville, both went the single-speed route for years, then both finally got the Sub-9-hour time we were seeking. So when I heard he was going to do the foot version of this race, I wanted to hear the story of how it went. I figure you will like it too.
First Try
Sixteen years ago as a 21-year-old know-it-all I took Leadville on, or rather, the Leadville Trail 100 ate me up and spit me out!
Under-trained and unmotivated for the challenge, I set off to run the Leadville Trail 100 aside my father, and hero, Ken Chlouber. I awoke to run the epic mountain course only to find rain on race day. And did it rain, for 12 hours.
Young and anxious, I was out too fast (for my ability) and by Winfield I was done and way too close to the cutoff. My father looked at me, pressed his fingers to his lips and said he’d see me at the finish line — a line I was not prepared to reach.
Time Passes
Over the years, I became fairly good at the Leadville Trail 100 MTB Race but the fact that I had started this journey and not put an end to it had plagued my soul year after year, for sixteen years.
It is funny that my father claims we “forget the pain,” but for me it seemed to be something I remembered well. It haunted me and the haunting was only growing stronger.
The goal always seemed so far that I always considered it unreachable. I had started to prepare a year or so back but quickly went back to the comfort of the bike race, a challenge I always knew was within me and had only challenged me in that I knew I could be faster.
The problem was that year after year as I’ve heard my father give his motivational, hair-raising speeches only to know in my own mind I was cowering from a challenge I knew one day I would have to put an end to. “Dig deep.” “Make friends with pain and you’ll never be alone.” “You are better than you think you are and can do more than you think you can.”
Wow, how these words echo through me over the years, how silently I have been haunted by my own father’s creation while hiding behind my bike, and for me, a safe challenge. My father is my greatest inspiration, strongest encouragement and biggest hero, but I also never felt I could fill this challenge, I never felt I could measure up to his creation that I had mistakenly started and never felt I could put end to.
Decision
While we all believe in the greatness of our parents, mine are truly the most amazing people I know. Just about a year and a half ago I had found myself depressed with work, stalled out in my athletics and craving change to feel alive. I decided it was my time to “Dig Deep” and I started to correct all that haunted my spirit.
I needed to change everything that was safe in my life, I needed to shake life up and leave safety behind…for the first time. I went home and told my fiancée I wanted to leave a ten year career of corporate charitable giving and was going to apply for a position with Life Time Fitness.
Oh yeah, and I told her we were going to trade Colorado for Minnesota.
She’s my biggest support, but even she was nervous about how far my mind was taking me from the safety that I had created around us.
Being who she is, she was more than supportive of my wacky idea, and off we went in search of a life I had to resurrect for my well-being. While the career change went well (I had injected myself into a career with Life Time Fitness, supportive of athletics and a less dormant life), I still hid behind the bike to keep some form of safety.
As the year grew I felt alive, I felt the passion of the run eating away at me and it was time to fully embrace what truly living meant to me. And on some levels, it meant failure could be reality but not trying was not being alive.
So, not to bore poor Elden’s audience, it is time to get on with my review of a second attempt of my Leadvillle Trail 100.
Preparing
Enough is enough., it is May 31st 2011. I’d bought new running shoes days before and it was time to strap them on, relearn the art of running and find inspiration to create the success I craved. My first run was 16.4 miles. I was reading anything I could. Born to Run by Chris McDougall, and Running on Empty by Marshall Ulrich.
I read many other books but having a history with these authors, they rang the most true with what my goals where. As the year grew I got to speak with Marshall a bit and the Leadville Trail 100 Doc and Leadman, Dr. John Hill. There were many others I picked the brains of along the way but I used these individuals to tailor my plan to run 100 miles in less than three months.
I kept interest by trying new shoes to keep running fun and wrote reviews about the shoes. I ran a marathon distance on the weekends and ran five to eight mile runs during the week at a higher tempo pace. I felt I wasn’t giving myself the proper time to prepare but knew I had a good base from the bike and knew I could wait no longer, so my journey was underway.
Natashia, my fiancée, had given me the green light to tackle my dreams, my father and the above-mentioned individuals gave me the bare essentials for success and my Dad gave me the heart to know this was the window of chance I had to follow. And that path is the one I went down.
Second Start
August 20th was here and I was sprung awake by my father opening the door and telling me it was time to make my way to the start of the Leadville Trail 100.
Surprisingly, I felt a peace over me after living through days of anxiety in preparation for this very day. I was able to eat a good breakfast and it was out the door for the start line. It was 4:00am on a pleasant morning and the gun went off.
Almost surreal, I moved down the trail, leaving Leadville and was mechanical and asleep on my feet for the first fourth of the race. This advice was crucial and offered up by my father. As I ran around Turquoise Lake in the dark I listened as others were chatty. I knew this was not the thing to do so I never engaged conversation myself.
As the sun came up I was on Sugarloaf and finding the Rocky Mountain beauty I had traded for the Midwest.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Coming down Powerline I ran within myself and kept the pace reserved, something that had been my demise sixteen years earlier. The beauty made me miss having Natashia at my side but she was with me in spirit and that also helped harness feeling a need to be aggressive with my pace.
As I came to Fish Hatchery I came onto the flat roads that would be a challenge. Still mechanical with thought, I was taking 200 calories an hour with GU (which I managed to do the entire race) and just the right amount of fluids.
Looking up one could tell it would be another perfect weather day. This was a great sight as the day before and after were not so rewarding. The road section was nearing an end as I was passing Treeline in good form but realizing I was now over the mileage of my longest run. The nerves started to worry but I quickly revisited the calm thought process I would need for success.
Big Test
I was now on the trail section and lost in the beauty that surrounded me. Before I knew it I was entering Twin Lakes and readying myself for where I’d fell apart so many years ago, I was prepared to hit Hope Pass.
Off I went, through the river crossing, across the prairie and up the base of Hope Pass. Then reality hit. My feet grew tired, doubt started to fill my mind and the climb was much more demanding than I’d remembered.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other. I was not as fast on the assent as I had wanted to be and felt sluggish. I felt like it was all getting ready to implode, once again, on Hope Pass. My mind was just calm enough to help me up towards the tree line of the pass.
Zoom, here comes Ryan the South African, then it was Dylan the Aspen runner, than another after another. For some reason this lifted my spirits and I regained composure as I started down the Winfield side of Hope.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Before I knew it, the first crossing of Hope was over and I settled in to tackle the two miles of road that lie between myself and Winfield.
Forty(ish) minutes later I hit Winfield and Dr. Hill was there, along with my family, to keep my spirits high.
Elation and Despair
Scared of the distance ahead, it was time to cross Hope Pass the second time. I was entering a new place as I’d never made this point in the race. My father was amazed at my speed but I was feeling nauseous and the nerves were starting to get to me.
And then it happened. About a half mile up Hope I came to life, and off I roared up the pass, nothing would hold me back! I pushed hard as I summated Hope in possibly my best time ever. Running fast, but still within myself, I came off Hope and back into Twin surprising my family and all there watching in support.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Picking up my pacer, Jennifer, we left Twin Lakes and I was feeling pain. Pain like I’d never felt before. Oh no! I’d done it, I went too fast and was scared to death I wouldn’t recover from the damage I’d done.
Jennifer kept me calm and we were walking the climbs at a brisk pace, even with my nausea and mental damage I’d created. We hit the single track headed for Treeline and bam, it all came back to me once again. What’s going on? I felt as if I had not run a step and off we went into a decent run.
And then bam, we hit the road to Treeline and I was back to my bad place. Jennifer kept the encouragement high, telling me my pace was fine and I’d banked enough time to “walk in.”
Walk in? What a horrible thought!
We had over thirty five plus miles to go and the amount of time it would take to walk in was a miserable thought at best.
Treeline and Powerline
Somehow we managed to run/walk and hit Treeline. My family and a fresh pacer — my High School best friend Jonathan — were all there, waiting on me. Jonathan’s family and other family friends were also there but I didn’t realize this until about five miles later. Was I really that out of it? Absolutely.
Jonathan and I now hit the dreaded paved roads towards Fish Hatchery but he kept me going. Before I knew it the hatchery had come and gone. Wow, I am now realizing we are seventy six miles into this thing, I may have a shot!
Better yet, we were hitting Powerline and I was actually anticipating this would be my good section, as this time, I didn’t have to push a bike up the stupid pass!
Boy was I wrong.
Powerline was eating me alive, much worse than Hope had, a marathon before.
Out of It
Knowing I chose Jonathan as a pacer due to his ability to motivate me beyond what most can, we soon summited Sugarloaf and were moving down toward the Hagerman Road. I was feeling very out of it at this point and that may be how we had gotten off the horrible night’s climb.
Into the trees we went headed for May Queen and it was hard to follow the trail. Tunnel vision was upon me and I was stumbling, yet managed to stay on my feet.
As we hit May Queen I was haggard and the blisters I had felt from mile seventy were starting to get to me. We made it into May Queen and my family was there in support. I was beat and broken but pushed onto the Turquoise Lake trail, ready to get this thing done!
I had thirteen miles left, how long could it take? These words proved to be my famous last words. I stumbled, fell, cried, whined, yelled…Nothing was helping and this quickly proved to be my slowest section.
Hours later we found my family, but I had thought we were at the end of the lake. We were not. We were at the boat ramp and still had mileage to cover before ending this miserable, darkened, rocky trail.
At this point I was crushed but my knowledge to pick Jonathan for the section proved right. Once again, Jonathan drug my spirit through the space and time and we hit the road once again.
I hated the road but it was much more pleasant than dealing with the trail through the night.
The Finish
Soon we were at the final three miles of the Boulevard. I was crushed and broken, the blisters were burning, my legs wanted to snap…but, this was going to happen! Jonathan pushed and pushed as he knew where we were onto a great time. Glad he did, I had no idea we were on planet earth!
The last three miles were a big struggle but we had done it.
We had hit the pavement of the streets of Leadville and cresting our final hill.
At last!
An end to what had started sixteen years earlier, there was the finish line and we charged in, crossing the line with my family.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
This was an end to the one thing in life I had quit and it felt surreal. We crossed the line in twenty five hours and eight minutes.
The award ceremony was a blur and before I knew it I was back in the arms of my Natashia and home in Minnesota.
I cannot thank everyone enough for their dedication to me and my goal. This story nowhere nears the thanks I need to give to those I have and have not mentioned in my success.
I hope you have enjoyed my ramblings and I hope I have inspired all of you to chase the true meaning of being alive.
Comments (35)
08.21.2011 | 10:58 pm
What a week! Blake breaking his collar bone one week before the Leadville 100 MTN bike race, deciding to surgically fix it and being scheduled the day we are to be traveling to Leadville. What is a mom to do? These were the problems facing me the week leading up to the race.
Wednesday morning, Blake went to the surgeon and they decided to plate his collarbone. When could they do the surgery? Well, why not the next day (Thursday)?
What?
Elden and I were leaving for Leadville later that afternoon! Blake has always been fiercely independent and assured me he would be OK; I could plan on leaving as scheduled. My brother, Scott, who was planning on crewing for Blake during the race, volunteered to “crew” Blake during his surgery instead.
So I made a few phone calls. I had already talked to the surgeon; I knew Blake was in good hands. I also talked to my coworkers at the hospital; they assured me they would act as surrogate parents while Blake was in the hospital. He was going to get royal treatment, probably better than he would get if I were taking care of him: Years of being a nurse have made me a little calloused around the edges when taking care of people — you’d better be hemorrhaging if you want my sympathy!
As we drove to Leadville Thursday, I made many phone calls to Blake while he waited for his surgery. Since I work with anesthesia, I was even able to talk to his anesthesiologist. I asked him to take a few pictures of Blake while he was asleep. He said he would be happy to, if Blake agreed.
Afterward, the surgeon called and assured me that all went well. He had plated the three fragments of Blake’s broken collarbone back together. Hopefully, Blake would have full range of motion in 2-3 weeks. He would just have to endure some pain over the next few days.
Poor Blake was soon going to learn the meaning of real pain!
In Leadville, Before the Race
Thursday and Friday, Elden and I enjoyed the festivities and traditions leading up to the race. We rode the last three miles of the race — the dreaded “Boulevard” — but for some reason it didn’t seem that hard. My breathing — which is usually fast and furious on this climb — seemed to be a little more relaxed this year. The climb didn’t seem to be to strenuous. Could this possibly be a good omen?
Friday, a group of us rode around Turquoise Lake. What a spectacular ride. The sky was azure blue, with no clouds. The lake was beautiful and the temperature perfect: upper 70’s and breezy. The company wasn’t half bad either. Elden and I commented how we should come back to Leadville for a vacation sometime when we’re not racing. Even though we were having fun, there is always a feeling of anxiety when you know the race you have been training for more than six months is only hours away.
Starting Line
We woke at 4:30 after having a pretty good sleep, thanks to the little white pill called Ambien. We dressed and went out to position our bikes in our respective corrals.
I placed mine at the front of the 10-11:00-hour finishers. Jilene placed hers at the back of the 9-hour finishers. We thought it would be fun to try and start together.
As you may remember, Jilene is my hero. She is fast! She is a fast runner and biker. I have never been able to keep up with her. She kept telling me that I was riding stronger than I had ever ridden and that she would be lucky to hang with me. I thought that sounded absurd, but I didn’t mind having someone to wait at the starting line with. I think this is the most nerve-wracking time, waiting for the gun to fire. It’s nice having a friend by your side to alleviate some of it.
I asked Jilene about her sunglasses. She was wearing them and the sun hadn’t even come out. She said they didn’t stay in her helmet like mine did, so she always just wore them. Within the next 30 minutes, I would be wishing I had just put them on at the start line…and it wasn’t because of the sun!
Beginning of the Race
At 6:30 the gun fired and we took off. Jilene zipped ahead of me immediately! I wasn’t too surprised. I’m always a little nervous on the descent. Too many people thinking they must rally for the front in the first 10 minutes of a 12-hour race!
As we turned off the pavement I breathed a huge sigh of relief….and breathed in a huge lungful of dust!
I couldn’t believe the dust storm that had formed from a few hundred bikers hitting a very dry, dusty trail. In the past years, it has always rained in the days leading up to the race making the trail nice and compact. We usually are dodging large puddles of rainwater. This year it had been completely dry and the trail demonstrated that.
I’m such a nervous Nelly. I’m always worried I’m gonna wreck. As we ascended St. Kevins, I didn’t dare take my hands off the handlebars to get my sunglasses off my helmet. So I was frantically blinking, trying to moisten my eyes so I wouldn’t lose a contact!
This year the climb seemed easy to me. I would pass people when there was a gap. I also found that if I rode up the far sides of the road and let people know I was coming, I was able to keep up a good pace during the climb.
Before I knew it, I was rounding the huge switchback, which signifies the end of the hardest part of the climb up St. Kevins. I couldn’t believe we were already there.
And guess who I could see not to far ahead of me? Jilene! What a great carrot. I was hoping I might catch her soon. At this point of the climb, riders seem to start spreading out and the dreaded dust had settled. It wasn’t long before I was pulling up along side Jilene, giving a yell of encouragement to my BFF.
And then I was passing her!
Passing Jilene so early in the race? What was up with that?
As we pulled through the Carter Summit aid station and entered the paved descent, Jilene came whizzing by me. So much for me being faster!
Getting to the Pipeline Aid Station
We had been climbing for about an hour and I thought I would take the time and eat. We were on a smooth descent, so I carefully removed my hand from the handlebars, got my sunglasses on and pulled a Honey Stingers Waffle from my Bentos Box.
Maybe you are wondering what a Bentos Box is. I love my Bentos Box. My friend who is an Ironman triathlon geek introduced me to it. It is a little box with a Velcro cover. It’s velcroed on to your bike frame below the head set. It makes getting to your food supply easy. You don’t have to reach around to your back pocket and try to find your food. For us Nervous Nellies, it’s a great invention.
When I looked up, I was headed right for the apex of a sharp turn! I frantically grabbed for my brake and was able to roll through the turn. Phew! I wondered if I was on the same corner where Elden almost met his demise in 2009. If the road had been wet, I may not have made the corner. My thoughts went to Elden. I was sure hoping things were going smoothly for him!
After I finished my first waffle, I thought to myself, I should eat another! No reason to not fuel myself. I find at the first part of a long day of riding, it is far easier to eat. Food tastes better and goes down easier. So I ate another Waffle and had a few Honey Stinger chews. No reason to not be properly fueled for the next climb up Sugarloaf.
As I rounded the bend and started down the dirt road that leads to the next climb, I caught Jilene again. I tried to ride along side her and talk, but that didn’t last long. There was really only one good line in the road; the rest was washboard. So eventually I pulled ahead.
The climb up Sugarloaf went quick. I felt strong and arrived at the top sooner then I had expected. I then started the descent down the Powerline.
Ugh! The longest descent of my life!
There is only one good line down and I am hogging it. If anyone wants to pass, they have to go kamikaze down the rutted out side of the trail. Still, I don’t think I held too many people up…but, if I held you up, I’m sorry (but you should have been faster on the climb).
When I reached the bottom of the descent, I gave a happy whoop for joy that I had made it down alive!
And then an amazing thing happened: the rider immediately behind me thanked me for leading him down. I guess I don’t always piss people off with my cautious descending!
As we came out on to the paved road to take us to the first real aid station, Jilene came whizzing past me again! This time she was in a group of riders. They were moving fast and quickly forming a train to carry themselves through the paved section. I knew it would be to my advantage to ride as hard and fast as I could to catch them, but I just couldn’t. Their pace was fast and I didn’t want to blow up.
Then, just when I thought it was hopeless, another train of riders passed me. This time I was ready. I matched their speed and worked my way in.
It wasn’t long before we had hooked up to Jilene’s train. I was the caboose of a 15-man (and two women!) train. There was some rotation going on at the very front, but it never reached back to me. I think Jilene even might have had a turn pulling. I was in the best train position possible!
I sat back and let them pull me to the Pipeline Aid Station. As we pulled off the dirt road, I pulled up alongside the train, thanked them all for pulling their caboose to the aid station and then passed them! They were probably not thinking kind thoughts toward the Caboose. Maybe that should be my new nickname: “The Caboose.”
On to Twin Lakes
As I passed through Pipeline aid station, I looked at my Garmin. It read 2:16:11. Prior to starting the race, I had written my goal split times on a piece of duct tape and stuck it to my bike frame. Before now, my fastest time to this aid station (2009, the year I finished in 10:10) had been 2:27:57.
I was almost 12 minutes ahead.
photo by Zazoosh
Honestly, I was a little worried. Last year I had ridden fast to the first aid station and then fell apart on Columbine. Would I have a repeat performance?
I knew it was important to continue to eat, so I slowed down and pulled out some more Honey Stinger Chews. Guess who passed me again? Jilene. “That’s OK,” I thought. At least I’m staying with her. Eventually I caught up to her and I got to follow her down the singletrack.
When It ended, I pulled up along side of her. We both looked at each other. My thought as I looked at her was “Wow, is her face dirty.” As I was thinking it, Jilene said, “Wow, is your face dirty.” I burst into laughter and explained to her that was exactly what I was thinking about her face!
We talked for a bit. I asked her how her nutrition was doing. She said thanks for the reminder and reached into her box for some food. While she was eating, I pulled ahead and whizzed into the Twin Lakes Aid station in a time of 3:11:36.
I was now fourteen minutes ahead of my best time.
photo by Kellene
Twin Lakes Aid Station
I was immediately greeted by Kellene and Kasey. Kasey filled up my Camelback and bottles, got me my sandwich, Mountain Dew, chocolate milk, and salt-and-vinegar potato chips.
Resting at aid stations is were Elden and I differ in our racing. The first few years I raced Leadville, I rushed through the Aid stations, I hardly ate and had a miserable second half of the race. Once I started actually stopping at the aid stations, eating real food and thanking my crew for their kindness and support, my races improved. Not only in time, but also in enjoyment. I may lose a few minutes in stopping, but quite possibly I make up that time in feeling better and riding faster.
photo by Kellene
Kellene just kept asking me if she could wipe off my face! I kept reassuring her that it was okay, it would just get dirty again. I must really be a mess, if Jilene and Kellene were obsessing over how dirty I am!
As I was eating, I decided to deviate from my routine. I asked Kellene if we had an extra can of chicken and stars soup, We did and I downed it. I had been feeling leg cramps threatening and I wanted to make sure that I didn’t start seizing up. All my Honey Stingers food is sweet and delicious, but I wasn’t sure of the sodium content in them.
Jilene arrived a few minutes after me.
Photo by Kellene
Jilene usually doesn’t stop at aid stations, but thought she would give her friend’s way a shot! Kellene kept offering to wash face Jilene’s face too! Jilene quickly decided she had had enough sitting and headed out first.
I finished my can of soup, replaced my camelbak, thanked my crew for their awesome assistance and headed out after her.
photo by Kellene
The Columbine Climb
It wasn’t long before I caught up to Jilene; I wished her well and forged on. I felt great, invincible almost!
Elden had reminded me that the first mile up toward Columbine Mine is steep, and to not be frustrated. I heeded his advice, shifted down, turned on my iPod shuffle and continued to power up the climb. I passed a ton of people. I’m sure it’s a bit demoralizing for some men to be passed by a girl on a hard climb…too bad, so sad.
The bonk and the cramps that I was so worried about did not materialize. When I hit the part where people are dismounting and walking their bikes, my legs told me they were strong and we powered by them.
Eventually people in their oxygen-deprived minds think they are the only ones on the trail and decide they need the whole trail to walk up and I eventually got stuck behind one and dismounted.
It was about this time that I saw a flash of orange go by me. Who was that? I yelled, “Kenny, Elden whoever you are …. Way to go!” Whoever it was..he was riding strong and was definitely under the nine hour mark. [Note from Fatty: It was me.]
I have never ridden as far up the trail as I did this time. I was lucky to have found a strong rider to follow. We blazed our way up Columbine. If there was a possibility of riding, he was on it and I followed.
Eventually, he ran out of steam, but I still felt great. The legs were threatening still to cramp up, but hadn’t seized. When I was walking, I walked fast. If there was a gap in traffic, I surged past people.
I hit the aid station in 4:58:04! “Amazing,” I thought to myself. I was now over 26 minutes faster than my best! I grabbed 2 cups of Coke and headed back out.
I was on the lookout for Jilene. I had just started to think that she must have passed me at the aid station while I was having a Coke break when I saw her tassels and bows. She was pushing her bike in what everyone at Leadville knows as the death march up Columbine. She was accompanied by hundreds of other bikers lining the trail up to Columbine Mine. I asked her why she was walking her bike, as I descended past her!
Elden dreads the descent down Columbine more than the descent down Powerline. I feel different. In the descent down columbine I feel in control. I think I probably descend Columbine slower.
Is Leadville Easy?
But as I descended, I was amazed at the number of people coming up the mountain. It was one continuous line of bike-walkers. I was surprised to see so many people walking on the “rideable” part of the climb. These people must not have realized what they were getting themselves into when they signed up for this race. I could tell a large portion of these people would not be making the Twin Lakes return cutoff and finishing this race.
Elden and I get angry when people comment that “Oh, Leadville’s the mountain bike race that’s like a road bike race on dirt.” So many people talk like Leadville is not a hard race, but nobody who has raced it talks that way. I think that once you have raced this beast, you come away with respect for it. I’m sure that the approximately 450 riders (out of 1600 starters) that did not finish this year’s race in under twelve hours will most certainly not be downgrading its toughness!
Now I will get off my soap box and return to the story at hand.
Back to the Pipeline Aid Station
On the way back down, I continued to eat Honey Stinger Waffles and Chews. I was still feeling fantastic. I breathed another sigh of relief as I pulled into the Twin Lake aid station! I arrived in 5:40:48, 26 minutes faster than my best time.
Kasey and Kellene treated me like royalty and handed me everything I needed. I downed another can of chicken and stars soup and Kellene tried to clean my face again. They happily informed me that Elden was doing terrific and was actually ahead of Kenny. Poor Kenny had a few mechanical problems with his bike, but had fixed them and was forging ahead. I was given a huge supersonic push by John Mecham (Jilene’s husband) as I left Twin Lakes aid station.
The trip back to Pipeline aid station was uneventful. I kept eating my Waffles and Chews and feeling great. I arrived at Pipeline in 6:49:22, 28 minutes ahead of schedule!
Home Stretch
I downed two cups of Coke and took some time to visit the Honey bucket. I love my Twin Six bib shorts . . . except when I have to completely disrobe to use the bathroom!
As I left the Pipeline aid station, I was met by a brutal headwind and absolutely no one around to draft. It’s funny how a race can become so broken up and riders distributed across a 100-mile course that at one point I couldn’t see another rider ahead of me! I decided to take this time, catch my breath, continue to eat and enjoy the smooth pavement under my wheels.
The Powerline ascent was just about upon me!
As I approached the dreaded climb, I thought to myself… “How long is this climb? Is it eight miles, like Columbine?” I had discussed distance with Elden the day before, but now I could not for the life of me remember how long it was! I think that is what oxygen deprivation does to you!
As I pushed my bike, I gratefully accepted the water that the spectators would pour over me. Bless you wonderful people! The day was really heating up and the sweat was rolling off of me.
When I hit the first false summit and was able to get back on my bike, I’m proud to say I never got off. I turned it on and the legs responded. Sure, I wasn’t going very fast, but I continued to pass walkers/bike pushers. Most would sigh words of encouragement through gasps for breath. A few riders would hook on to my wheel for a bit, but eventually I would outride them.
I was feeling like I really am The Hammer. I think I will take that name back, Elden!
The only thing that was demoralizing to me was that I thought I still had five miles to climb. Could I keep this up?
Then something wonderful happened! I summited the climb and started to descend. The climb was not eight miles; it was less than 4!
I cruised down Sugarloaf and, yes, I kept eating. The Waffles and Chews were not tasting as good as they had once, but I forced them down.
I hit the paved climb up the backside of St. Kevins, feeling great. Some wonderful spectators doused me with ice-cold water and gave me a supersonic push as I began the climb!
I can throw down the “hammer” on paved climbs, and that is exactly what I did! I passed a woman with a “high” number on her bib. As I passed her, I asked her if this was her first time at Leadville. She said it was! Amazing! Her first try and she was gonna break 10 hours. It’s taken me 7 tries and 12 years of biking to get to this point!
As I rolled through the Carter Summit aid station, I grabbed two cups of Coke, drank them fast, and took off. I was happy that woman was doing so well on her first try, but I didn’t want her to pass me while I was having a Coke break!
Finish Line
My final descent down St Kevins went smoothly. While I was coming down I started getting emotional. I had less than ten miles left of the 2011 Leadville 100. I was going to finish and I was going to finish strong and fast.
My thoughts turned to Racer and how he had made my bike run without any problems and I wanted to give him a huge hug! Thanks Racer!
Then I thought of Blake. It’s not always fair when life throws a curve ball at you. And I wanted to give him a hug! I love you Blake! Next year will be your year.
I thought of Elden and how grateful I was to him for taking me into his life and making me happier than I have ever been. I was also hoping he was celebrating a sub-nine-hour victory. I love you Elden!
As my misty eyes were cleaning the dirt out of my eyes, I looked up and was sucked into deep sand! I started to drift to the far left of the trail and in so doing I about ran a rider that was coming up quickly behind me off the road! He yelled at me big time! As if I meant to run him off the road! That quickly ruined the moment and I returned to the race at hand.
The little burst of adrenaline carried me up the boulevard and to the finish line!
At the finish line I was greeted by a 9:39 on the clock and a huge hug from Elden.
I think he was holding off on the kiss until my face was a little cleaner!
The icing on the cake was finding out that Elden had crushed the 9 hour mark! 8:18 absolutely incredible!
Comments (68)
08.17.2011 | 7:00 am
A Note from Fatty: This is Part 3 of my 2011 Leadville 100 Race Report. You can read Part 1 here, and Part 2 here.
I was stopped, straddling the top tube of my bike at the 90-mile aid station. I was drinking a Coke one friendly volunteer had just handed me, while another volunteer poured water over my head and down my back.
I had another Coke, and thought back to something LifeTime Fitness Owner Bahram Akradi had said at the pre-race meeting the day before: that, starting next year, aid stations would not have any foods with preservatives or food colorings.
Which, I guess, means I could say goodbye to the aid-station-provided Coke I was drinking. And goodbye to the chips everyone eats at the aid stations. And goodbye to the M&Ms everyone eats at the aid stations.
I have to admit, though: getting rid of these aid station staples is a really good idea. Except for the “good” part, I mean.
I had a third cup of Coke. Delicious.
I had not peed since I had left my hotel room more than eight hours ago, and had no urge to pee now. It’s entirely possible that I was a little bit dehydrated.
I Believe This Is Going to Happen
I looked at my GPS. 7:30 had come and gone since the start of this race. Traditionally, when I reach this 90-mile aid station, I’m just about one hour from the finish line. Ahead of me I had a little bit of climbing, a good-sized descent, and then two or so final miles of climbing before I got to the finish.
I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. In the absence of a crash or monster mechanical, I was going to finish this race in under nine hours.
In fact, it was starting to look like I was going to get to the finish line in 8:30.
I got down St. Kevins — the last descent of the day — without trouble. People had talked about how this jeep road had been graded recently, but it didn’t feel much different to me going up earlier in the day, nor descending at the end of the race.
The ruts were gone. That’s about the only real change.
As I finished the descent, a woman I remembered passing earlier in the day — remembered her because she was wearing a Honey Stinger jersey and I had yelled “Honey Stinger Rules!” at her — caught up with me: Sari Anderson, champion endurance athlete and mom.
“I’m so frustrated,” she said. “I crashed yesterday and now I’m having a really bad day on the bike.”
Why do people keep telling me, as they ride alongside me, easily matching my speed on my best-ever-by-a-huge-margin day, that my absolute cycling apex is their worst day on a bike ever?
Don’t these people know how fragile my ego is?
Sari leads a small group (including me) across the railroad track that signals you’re almost done with the race. Photo courtesy Ian Anderson.
We stayed together, riding and talking as we approached the Boulevard, the two-or-so mile wide dirt road climb that blindsides pretty much everyone the first time they race the Leadville 100.
The End of a Fifteen Year Pursuit
Since I was feeling good and Sari’s with the Honey Stinger people, I figured I’d do her a favor and pull her up the Boulevard.
I gave it everything, no longer talking. I was breathing too hard, and had started repeating my personal cadence mantra to myself. “Up. Up. Up. Up.”
I say this to remind myself of two things:
- To use an upstroke and not be such a pedal masher.
- To go uphill.
It’s a very easy-to-remember mantra, and you’re welcome to use it, too.
I pulled Sari all the way to the top of the Boulevard. No, wait. I thought I was pulling her up the Boulevard. When I looked back at the top, it turns out I had given a free ride to someone else, who passed and shot ahead without even saying “thanks.”
Hmph.
I saw the red carpet, leading to the finish line. In the absence of a lightning strike, I was about to dispatch a 15-year bugaboo.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Well, that’s quite a smile, isn’t it? I’m sure it was just for a second, though.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Okay, I suppose it’s possible I didn’t stop grinning for the whole rest of the day. It’s possible, in fact, that I am still grinning right now.
I was feeling good. Feeling surreal. Feeling like I was Ferris Buehler.
8:18:01. Eight hours, eighteen minutes. Well ahead of that nine hour hobgoblin that has been living under my bed for the past fifteen years.
I gave Merilee — who has been race director as long as the race has existed and has always been at the finish line to give finishers their medals — a big hug and told her, “Fifteenth time is the charm, I guess.”
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I then took off my helmet, at which point a careful observer might notice that the trail I had been on all day was just a smidgen dusty.
photo courtesy Ian Anderson
Then, as a responsible social media celebrity, I took a self-portrait with my phone and tweeted my accomplishment to the universe.
My quest for a sub-9 Leadville was — finally — at an end.
And you know what was some pretty fine icing on the cake? The fact that by doing so, I had just become the proud owner of a Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper 29er:
Don’t worry. Once I get it cleaned up, it’ll look just as pretty as ever.
I might leave that 555 on it for a while, though
Afterward
Before long, friends and family started crossing the finish line. In fact, my friend Nick — of the once and future Team Fatty for 24 Hours of Moab — finished four minutes ahead of me. Amazingly, he spent the entire day between three and eight minutes ahead of me; we saw each other only as he exited the Columbine Mine aid station and I was riding toward it.
Then The IT Guy’s boss, Dave, finished, just a few minutes behind me.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Like me, Dave has been chasing this sub-9 finish time for years. And like me, he got it this year, with time to spare. Unlike me, he brought a tank of Nitrogen to Leadville, to fill his tires. Which just goes to show, it’s totally possible to be more obsessed with this race than I am.
Kenny came in at 8:42. And that’s after dealing with a mechanical that would have ended my race (although I could argue that I don’t have mechanicals like that because I have the foresight to have an incredible mechanic — Racer — go over my bike with a fine-toothed comb before races).
My friend Bry celebrated turning 50 this year by doing the Leadville 100 on a singlespeed.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
How hardcore is that?
And The Hammer? Well, I’ve been telling her lately that I no longer hold back at all when she and I ride together. So is it any surprise she finished her race in 9:39, knocking 31 minutes off her previous personal best?
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
How that happened is her story to tell (later this week I hope), but I will tell you this: we were – still are – just incredibly happy for each other.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
And the next day, to cap it all off, I’d get this:
That thing’s 5.5″ wide by 4″ tall, by the way.
What Next?
So here’s the thing. The Hammer has now finished the Leadville 100 seven times. She wants to get her 1000 mile belt buckle. Which means we’re going back at least three more times.
But I’ve got a new quandary. Instead of thinking — as I have every year since I’ve started this race — “My objective will be to finish in under nine hours,” I need a new carrot.
Should I race with gears again and see if I can be faster? Aim for 8:10, maybe?
Or should I try the singlespeed again? See if I can finish in under nine hours without the help of gears?
Or should I make it my personal mission to get the IT Guy across the finish line in under twelve hours?
Or — and The Hammer and I have talked about this before, but until last night we never gave it much thought — should The Hammer and I invest in a tandem mountain bike and see how we do racing that way?
I’d be interested in your thoughts on this matter.
Post-Race Miscellany
There’s a lot about this race that doesn’t really fit into a story. Here are a few things knocking around in my head, in the order they occur to me:
- This is not Rocky’s race: I mentioned in part 1 of this story that my brother-in-law Rocky entered this race. Well, a bad case of the barfs ended the race early for him. Some people are not meant to do endurance events. Rocky is the template for such people.
- Quantify my experience: If you’d like to geek out to my GPS data from the race, you can find it here. My Garmin apparently always thinks it’s about 700 feet lower than it actually is, which really makes me want to take it to sea level.
- Ridiculous speculation: If I had gotten this year’s finish time the first year I did this race (1997), I would have taken 15th place overall. In contrast, now an 8:18 got me 115th place. I think this may be because more people attend this race now.
- Sweatshirts after all. Last week I vented my spleen about how angry it made me that there would be no personalized sweatshirts this year. Well, during the awards ceremony the race director surprised us by announcing there would be the personalized sweatshirts after all. Huzzah! I take full credit for this reversal, by the way.
- Zazoosh did a great job. You’ve probably noticed that throughout this story, I’ve been putting up pictures provided to me by the official photographer of the event, Zazoosh. The thing is, I didn’t get any special treatment during this event, photography-wise. Zazoosh took great photos at key places on the course of everyone. Zazoosh did a great job at the Ogden Marathon, and they did a great job at Leadville. If I were to put on an event, you can bet they’d be who I reach out to. If you’d like to see photos Zazoosh took of folks, just click here and enter their race number. Like Kenny (55), Tyson Apostol (236), The Hammer (933), Tinker Juarez (16), or me (55). Or Todd Wells (3), if that’s your kind of thing.
- I am remarkably inconsistent. To demonstrate how far I’ve come and how amazingly inconsistent I’ve been in terms of improvement, check out my finish times for previous years:
So. It was a long time coming, but there it was. A day where everything that could go right, did go right. And everything that could go wrong, didn’t.
Proof that, once in a while, the planets align and — if you’re ready for it — you can have the race of your life.
Comments (107)
08.16.2011 | 9:00 am
A Note from Fatty: This is Part 2 of my 2011 Leadville 100 Race Report. You can read Part 1 here.
Last year, my best section of the race was, without question, the Columbine Climb; I did this section in 1:31. This year, I held back a little, resolved not to worry about being as fast to the top. Instead, I’d hold something in reserve so that I wouldn’t implode for the second half of the race.
But my climbing technique doesn’t really work that way. I’ve been climbing with a singlespeed long enough that I can’t help but get into a standing position for hard, sustained climbs. So I passed people.
And kept passing them.
The difference was, this year I had gears. And, I’ve got to say, some beautifully-shifting gears. Huge kudos needs to be given out, again and again, to Shimano for their incredible XTR drivetrain. It worked flawlessly, under any effort, the entire ride.
I tell you, Shimano is the Acura of cycling components. And that’s coming from a guy who loves Acura.
Anyway, I rode at a pace I thought would leave something in the tank. More importantly, I did something that was, quite possibly, the smartest thing I’ve ever done during all my years of racing:
I ate.
I didn’t want to eat. On this section, I never want to eat. Food sounds awful.
But I ate. Every half hour, a gel. It was the best I could do, and it was enough. Instead of feeling empty as I neared the turnaround, I reached it feeling strong and ready to keep going.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I hit the Columbine Mine turnaround at 4:12. While I was trying to hold back a little during the climb, I had just done it a minute faster than last year.
By my rule of thumb math — that my finish time is always close to exactly double my turnaround time — I was headed for an 8:24 finish.
If I didn’t crash. If I could avoid bonking. If I didn’t have a mechanical.
I asked for cantaloupe. They had none. My head spun around a couple of times, and then said a couple of orange wedges would have to do.
And they did just fine.
My favorite part of the Columbine Mine section of the ride — both the way up and the way down — is that I can look for friends (and family!).
Just a few minutes into the descent, I saw Kenny. “Kenny!” I yelled, which is about as smart as I get when I’m at that altitude.
“Tell Heather my bike’s busted and I need my tools!” Kenny yelled back, which wasn’t as friendly a greeting as I had hoped for. But what it lacked in encouragement, it more than made up for in information density.
It also posed a little bit of a problem.
See, we had agreed before the race that in the unlikely event that I was faster than Kenny to the Twin Lakes Dam aid station on the way back down from Columbine, Heather would leave food behind for Kenny and would rush to the Pipeline aid station in order to help me.
Except now Kenny needed Heather to stay behind.
Brilliantly, on the way down, I conceived a new plan: I would ask my crew to give me a bunch of extra food to stuff into my jersey, and then they wouldn’t need to crew for me at the final aid station; I’d be all set.
It is awesome being so smart, I can assure you.
Getting to the Hard Part
On the descent down Columbine, I followed my “take it easy” rule, and as a result some guys who were slower than me on the climbs had to either bear with me on the descents or take their chances. By the time I hit the second half of the descent, everyone who wanted by, had gotten by.
I kept looking for The Hammer. I didn’t see her. Then, as I was watching a tricky line, I heard her call out my name. I yelled her name back.
Which would be the sole interaction we had for the entirety of the race. The Leadville 100 is no time for jibber-jabber.
I rolled into the Twin Lakes aid station for the second time.
photo courtesy of my sister Kellene
Now I was 4:50 into the race. I was beginning to believe it: as long as something didn’t go horribly, terribly wrong, I was going to finish the Leadville 100 in under nine hours.
I told Heather about Kenny’s quandary, and on the spot everyone made a new plan, which I did not pay any attention to, because I was way too busy drinking chicken and stars soup.
Seriously, if you’re ever in an endurance race, have some very salty soup during at a checkpoint. The salt — both the taste and the sodium — will taste like a little ladle-ful of heaven.
As I left, they let me know: someone would meet me at the Pipeline Aid station.
I took along plenty of food, just in case I got there before them (this happens to racers in the Leadville 100 very often), and then John — Jilene’s husband and crew — gave me a push.
Now that I think about it, though, “push” is an inadequate term for what John does. John accelerates you at whiplash-inducing speeds, creating a little sonic boom.
To tell the truth, after John’s push, I just coasted the remaining 40 miles of the race.
OK, where was I?
Oh yes, the fifteen miles (miles 60 – 75) from Twin Lakes to the Pipeline aid station.
I usually have a horrible time on this stretch. It’s where my reluctance to eat during the Columbine climb comes and bites me in the butt. This time, though, my self-disciplined approach to eating now paid dividends: I still had energy.
I tried, in fact, to form trains twice on this section. Both times I rode my passengers off my wheel.
So I kept eating. Every half hour, about 160 calories or so. And I never got sick; I never bonked. By never getting even a little bit behind on my eating, I never got to the point where it was difficult — or impossible — to catch up on my eating.
Imagine that: if you do what you’ve always known is the right thing to do, even when it doesn’t sound good, you don’t bonk. Or even fade. You can, essentially, have a perfect race day.
At least one time in your life, anyways.
Very Nearly at the Hard Part
I got to the Pipeline aid station. 5:50 had gone by. I took a moment (which makes it sound like I pulled over, sat down and put my chin in my hands and stared at the sky, but actually I just thought while I was pedaling) to think about the fact that I had always hoped to someday get to this final aid station six hours into the race. And here I was with ten minutes of cushion.
It was all coming together. Now I just needed to not crash during the next 78 miles or so. Or discombobulate. Or have a mechanical.
Nobody was at the aid station. No big deal, I had expected this. I just rolled on through.
At this point — the flat section between the Pipeline and the Powerline climb, a couple of guys caught my wheel. Amazingly, I have a picture of our little train.
photo courtesy of Ian Anderson
Pay special attention to the guy right behind me. He factors into the story in a minute.
I pulled them for a while, then the tall guy (in second place in the photo) took a turn, riding me off the back wheel.
That’s OK, I thought. We were pretty much to the Powerline. At which point pacelines become meaningless, as your world becomes a bottomless well of pain.
The Hard Part
Just before the big Powerline climb – the hardest 3.3 miles I know of, the crux of the whole race – my niece Lyndsey and Heather met me at the side of the trail. We swapped bottles and I took off, no longer having to worry about running out of water for the rest of the race.
Spectators, realizing this is the hardest part of the race — the part of the race the rest of the race softens you up for — had situated themselves along the climb to cheer riders on, and, in a couple places, do a little bit more.
For example, during the nasty hike-a-bike section that starts this climb, people alongside the trail offered cups of Coke and water. I was so grateful — the day had become hot — that I got a little choked up thanking them.
I drank some Coke and asked them to pour the water over my head.
A mile later, a man had rigged a contraption onto his back that allowed him to run alongside racers and spray us with a fine mist of water.
Heaven. Pure heaven.
Then I caught up with the guy who had pulled so strongly I snapped off the end of the train. He asked when the race would turn downhill permanently.
“Never,” I replied, truthfully, between ragged breaths. “We climb for another two-ish miles, descend, then climb on pavement for three miles, then descend, then finish the race with a two-mile climb.”
“You have just broken my heart and crushed my spirit,” the guy said.
Those were his exact words.
I decided that anyone who could yank a one-liner like that out of his butt while doing a climb like this was someone I wanted to ride with.
We rode together, him behind me, and he explained he had joined the race specifically to help former Leadville Trail 100 champ Bryson Perry, who had hopes for a high-placing finish. But the effort of hanging with the fast guys for the first part of the race had been too much, and he had just had a bad day.
Something nagged at me as he talked. I recognized his voice, but I couldn’t place it.
“Your bad day is my best day ever,” I said. “I’ve never been this fast before.”
“Bryson’s a great guy, though,” I said. “Really likeable.”
“I’m really likeable too,” the guy said.
“Yes, you are. I like you, for example,” I affirmed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“A lot of people call me Fatty.”
“I’m Tyson.”
“Good to meet you, Tyson,” I said.
We got to the top of Powerline, and Tyson rode on, much faster than I was on the downhill.
Only then did I realize why I recognized his voice. I had just hauled Tyson Apostol of Survivor fame up the Powerline. Just imagine how excited he’ll be when he discovers that he rode with a beloved, award-winning internet cycling celebrity!
I hope he doesn’t bother me too often with autograph requests.
I dropped down Sugarloaf, then started the St. Kevins road climb. At the bottom of this climb, my friend Bry’s wife and their kids were running alongside racers, pouring water onto our backs.
So wonderful.
I knew that when I got to the top of this climb, I’d have about one hour left ’til I reached the finish line.
I got there at 7:30.
Was it really possible? Was I about to do this race not only in under nine hours, but half an hour faster than nine hours?
“You’re not there yet,” I reminded myself, speaking aloud.
Just to make sure I listened.
[Click here to continue to Part 3 of the 2011 Leadville Race Report]
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