08.19.2014 | 1:04 pm
I had just crossed the turnaround point of the Leadville 100 and — just a few minutes later, before the course turned downhill in earnest — I had come across The Hammer, riding with Rebecca Rusch immediately behind her and with a big smile on her face.
She knew how well she was doing. She had to know.
Maybe I should wait, I thought. I could just wait here for like five minutes, tops, and then we could do the rest of the race together.
It was tempting. So tempting. I’ve never ridden The Leadville 100 with anyone. Sure, I’ll occasionally meet up with another rider and we’ll work together for a while, but it happens a lot less often than you might think, considering there are close to 2000 racers on the course.
But I have never raced with people I know (OK, I have once, but that was so long ago it’s like I was a totally different person).
I kept riding. In fact, I redoubled my efforts and took some risks, trying to get down off the mountain as fast as I possibly could.
I had my reasons.
Why I Didn’t Want The Hammer to Catch Me
The worst thing I could have done to The Hammer this year is ride with her. She had a shot at getting in under nine hours, and all I would have done is ruined those chances.
And in the process, she would have ruined mine, too.
You see, on the flats, there’s no way I could have kept up with her — using her fast SRAM XX1 1×11 drivetrain — as I pedaled all spun-out on my singlespeed. Even if I tried to draft the whole time. It’s just not possible.
Similarly, while The Hammer is a fast climber, I’m…well, I’m a little bit faster.
So if we’d have ridden together, we would have eliminated each others’ advantages.
And that would have made Reba mad.
You don’t want to see The Queen of Pain when she’s mad. (Actually, I’ve never seen Reba when she’s mad. I have seen her when she’s focused, though, and that’s close enough.)
Besides, it wasn’t my job to help or work with The Hammer. And if I’d tried, I’d simply have gotten in the way, given The Hammer a comfortable, reassuring person to tell her, “It’s OK to back off; you’ve done enough.”
For this race, The Hammer and The Queen were a team. This was going to be their victory or their defeat.
My job would be to cheer them on. From afar.
Oh, and also it was my job to get myself across the finish line, ASAP.
I Do Some Math
So with that dilemma mentally resolved, I now had a new puzzle to consider:
When was I going to next see The Hammer?
Of course, it was possible I wouldn’t see her until the finish line, if I stayed in front for the rest of the race. But that seemed unlikely. There was a 20-mile flat section coming up after this descent, and then another few flat miles toward the end of the race.
That seemed like easily enough flat for The Hammer and The Queen of Pain to catch and pass me.
But it wasn’t all flat between Columbine and the finish line. Far from it. The question was, would they put enough distance between us on the flats that I’d be unable to catch them on the climbs?
My expectation was that I’d see them at least twice: once as they passed me between Twin Lakes and Pipeline, and again as I passed them climbing toward Carter Summit. After that, I figured I’d stay ahead for the rest of the race.
And in the end, I pictured that we’d finish so close together that when I finished, I’d just wait right in the finish line area for three or four minutes ’til they crossed together.
Of course, that is not how it worked out in the end. I sometimes wonder why I even bother making predictions; I don’t think I have ever once been right.
Ode to Root Beer 
I am always so relieved when I get to the bottom of the Columbine Mine descent. The hairpin turns wig me out. The racers zipping by me wig me out. The racers weaving their way up in the opposite direction — some of them not clearheaded due to exhaustion and altitude — wig me out.
But I got to the bottom. Intact. Happy. With forty-two miles left in the course, there was nothing left for me to fear in the race. The climbs ahead were hard, and the descents were fast, but there wasn’t anything left that scared me.
Plus, there were a few things that were distinctly going my way.
First, my biggest concern of the whole race — that my feet would hurt so badly that I’d be forced to quit — had turned out to be a non-issue. The Giro Codes I was wearing, in spite of this being my first ride of any real distance with them, fit comfortably. The shoe repair place had done a good job of stretching out the spot where my bunion is.
It felt so good to ride without my feet protesting.
The second thing I was loving is the new Gu flavor: Root Beer.
You know those little barrel-shaped root beer-flavored candies you used to eat when you were a kid? That’s exactly what this new Gu flavor is like.
During the race, I was grabbing Gus randomly — whichever one happened to be tucked under my shorts — but I was always excited when I happened to get a Root Beer Gu.
Yes, you read that right. I was sixty miles into a race, and was happy to be eating a gel.
Seriously, these are that good.
Honestly, I don’t know what has happened at Gu recently, but they have stepped up their gel game, both in terms of effectiveness (Gu Roctane works better than anything else) and flavor (Salted Caramel, Salted Watermelon, Root Beer, Cherry-Lime, Island Nectar, Pineapple, Vanilla-Orange).
Between Gu and Carborocket 333, My energy level never crashed during this race, and I never dealt with any stomach issues. Not once. Going hard the entire race.
Simple. Tasty. Convenient. Effective. I’ve hit my endurance cycling nutrition happy place.
Before the Big Climb
I get to the Twin Lakes Dam, and within moments — less than a minute — I have had my bottles swapped, my wrappers exchanged for new Gu packets, and I’ve slammed down some chicken and stars soup.
My sister Kellene tells me, “Lisa and Reba were only three minutes behind you the first time through.”
“Yeah, that’s about how far back they were at the top of Columbine,” I replied. “They’ll be here in just a couple minutes, I’m sure!”
And I am gone again. The days when I spent several minutes at the aid station are gone forever, I think.
Or at least until the next time I come to Leadville 30 pounds overweight. Which could be next year, the way I’ve been eating this past week.
But anyway.
I ride up the short paved climb that comes right after the aid station. I stand and can feel the cramps lurking somewhere close. Somewhere real close.
But they aren’t here quite yet.
I step up my effort, thinking two things.
- The Hammer and Reba are bound to catch me somewhere on this 20-mile stretch before the Powerline climb. But I’d like it to be later, rather than sooner.
- I used to have such a hard time with this little road climb. For years and years, I took a good long rest the second time through the Twin Lakes Dam aid station, eating some sandwich, drinking some water. Just long enough to let my legs stiffen up and my heart rate to drop. Then I’d get out of the aid station and hit this climb and it would flatten me. Now I get to this climb still warmed up and without a sandwich sitting like a rock in my gut…and this little climb is so much easier to ride.
I go hard, working to be as fast as I can be, in spite of my singlespeededness. People pass me anyway — the same people I passed as I went up Columbine. I don’t hold this against them, but I do start thinking. I think, “Next year, I don’t want to be passed here. Next year, I’m racing with gears.”
Then I realize: this is the first time I have ever started planning my next racing of the Leadville 100…during the racing of the current Leadville 100.
I need help.
I find a rare tree off the side of the road — I am a private man — and take care of things which need taking care of.
As I swing my leg back over my bike, it occurs to me: i no longer know where I stand vis-à-vis The Hammer and The Queen of Pain. They could have passed me whilst I was having my moment of privacy. In fact, I think, it would be very surprising if they didn’t.
Furthermore, that guy with the singlespeed I passed on Columbine. If he’s faster on downhills (and let’s face it: who isn’t?), he could have just passed me.
I ride harder, considering the fact that this race is so tight that my pee break may well have put me permanently behind The Hammer and knocked me off the singlespeed podium.
Confusion and Terror
When you’re racing, it’s amazing how fast your attention changes. How quickly you forget things.
One moment, my entire mind was occupied with the question of whether my wife was now racing ahead of me, or behind me.
The next moment I came tearing into the Pipeline aid station:
Photo taken by Linda Guerrette. Used with permission.
Among all the excitement and noise and people, I completely forgot all about that question; the only important thing now was to find my crew.
Which I did, without difficulty. They were standing off the the left side of the trail, about fifty feet before the official aid station tables and timing mat, waving frantically at me.
I pulled over and we began the ritual of trading out food and drink one last time. They took care of everything while I drank the entirety of a chicken and stars soup. I figured that with a big climb coming up and the problems I’d been having with cramps, the extra sodium I was taking on board was well worth the time it took to drink.
This would have been a perfect time to ask a simple question. A simple question that had been the central focus of my existence five minutes ago. A question along the lines of, “Has Lisa come through yet?”
I did not ask that question. Nope. Didn’t even occur to me.
Instead I finished up, thanked my crew for being so awesome, and told them that I’d see them in the finish line in just under three hours.
I clipped in, stood up, and got up to speed.
And then my head spun around at what I saw.
The Hammer. Stopped. At the aid station. Talking with one of the race officials. Without Reba anywhere in sight.
Baffled, scared of what this must mean, and utterly out of my head from the storm of conflicting messages going through my brain, I pulled off the trail and locked up my brakes so I could stop and talk to The Hammer. So I could find out what she was doing there, and figure out what was going on.
I shouted out the first thing that came to mind:
“Hey!”
PS: This seems like a good place to pick up tomorrow.
Comments (21)
08.13.2014 | 12:46 pm
Fzzzzzzzz.
Zzzzzrrooosssh.
Ssschrizzzz.
The above three paragraphs are my best attempts (my favorite is the third) at describing the sound I was hearing, more or less constantly, within one minute of the 2014 Leadville Trail 100 start.
That sound, for your information, was the sound of people passing me. By the hundreds.
And there was nothing I could do about it. When you’re going steeply downhill on pavement on a singlespeed MTB, you’re going to get passed. Lots.
Lots and lots.
But you know what? It’s not that big of a deal. You expect it. Accept it, even. Welcome it, saying to yourself, “Well, I knew this would happen, and I made this equipment choice knowing this would happen.” And so you’re fine with being passed on paved downhills. And on flats of any sort.
Except you’re not fine with it. Not really. Not if you’re racing. Not if you’re me.
Oh my, this introduction took a turn for the dark. Let’s back up a bit to the really fun, nice, positive part. Which is, honestly, most of the story here.
And then I’ll blindside you at the end of the post with the part of me crashing hard onto my side.
Obstacles and Near-Disaster
Starting the Leadville 100 is an amazing experience for most mountain bikers, because very few mountain bikers have ever started a group ride containing upwards of 2000 people.
And each and every one of those people has either heard or figured out the advice to “get up front to get out of danger.”
Which is definitely good advice. Unfortunately, it’s not advice everyone can heed.
But everyone can sure try. Which they do.
And at the beginning of this year’s Leadville 100, all those people trying to get up front were surprised — about 100 yards into the race — to find that the entire right half of the road had been cordoned off.
The announcer had explained that this was the case before the race began, and I had cleverly moved over to the left side of the starting area.
But still: you’ve got around 2000 people all wanting to get to the front of the line, and suddenly all 2000 of those people also want to be on one side of the road.
It’s not a great situation.
Fortunately for me, only around 200 people had passed me by ten seconds into the race (I’m exaggerating; really only 175 had passed me), so it wasn’t too bad of a mess when all of a sudden everyone in front of me essentially came to a stop.
I braked hard, skidded a little with my rear tire and didn’t hit the guy in front of me. I mentally flinched, expecting that the guy behind me wouldn’t be so lucky and would take me out.
Nope. He missed me. Everything was OK.
I Am Not The Star Here
With this little push through the hourglass complete, I was able to start riding in earnest again, people zipping by me constantly. Meanwhile I considered choices I had made leading up to this moment.
“I’ll see a lot of you guys again when we start climbing,” I said to myself, by way of self-consolation.
Mostly, it worked. And no small number of people remarked on the sexiness of my new Ibis Tranny 29, outfitted with the belt drive.
Then I saw this:
Photo borrowed with permission from Linda Guerrette’s blog post, “Delivering the Goods.”
Yep, as near as I could tell, a complete stranger had erected a sign wishing Rebecca and my wife good luck in finishing the race in under nine hours.
Hey. I thought I’m supposed to be the famous one in the family.
A Farewell to The Hammer and The Queen
As I zoomed down, going very fast but also being constantly passed by people with a mechanical advantage over me, I wondered how long it would be ’til I was passed by The Hammer and the Queen of Pain
But I didn’t have to wonder very long.
The Hammer passed me first. “I love you, baby!” she yelled as she flew by. Which is a huge improvement over what she had said the last time she passed me while racing.
Then Rebecca Rusch — right behind The Hammer — flashed by. “Hi Reba,” I said.
“Hey Buddy,” she said back.
Buddy?
When did I become “Buddy?”
Now The Race Begins for Really and Truly
Here’s a cycling-related axiom I just made up but am pretty darned sure is actually correct: Your perceived effort has no correlation to how fast you’re going. Which is to say, the days I’ve felt like crap — like there is no power or pop or jam or juice in my legs at all — are some of the times I’ve gone the fastest. And some of the times I’ve really felt great are the times I’ve missed PRs by a lot.
Which I guess is my explanation for why, in this case, even though I hadn’t been able to pedal, and had been passed constantly, I managed to get down the pavement onto the dirt, then to the base of the first climb, faster than I ever have before — including in 2011, when I rode with gears.
Also, what was my problem in 2010? I was nine minutes slower getting to the base of the first climb? Really? How was that even possible? (I just checked my race report from that year; it gives no clue as to why I was so much slower)
Just before the left turn that signals that you’re about to go uphill in a very big way for the next mile or so, took a slug of Lemonade Carborocket 333 (awesome new flavor) and sucked down a root beer-flavored Gu (awesome new flavor).
I took a moment to reflect on the fact that energy food and drink (Honey Stinger Waffles! Awesome Gu flavors! Grape and Lemonade Carborocket 333!) has become so much better than it used to be (remember apple-flavored Cytomax, anyone? [shudder]).
Oh brave new world!
I began to climb, and that meant I began to pass people. Left and right, using the tried-and-true practice of being a nonstop, friendly chatterbox. (“Hey there racer, looking good. I’m looking for a line to pass, help me out when you can.”)
Then I saw Reba. And Lisa. Climbing together, The Queen of Pain letting The Hammer set the pace.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is The Hammer and the Queeeeeen Uuuuuvvvv Paaaaaaaaaaaiin!” I shouted, in my very best Dave Towle impression. Which, admittedly, is never very good, and is especially not that great when I’m riding my bike at race pace, uphill, at 10,500 feet.
Still, credit for trying, right?
“I love you baby,” The Hammer said as I went by, which pretty much made my day.
And this time, Reba remembered to call me by my name: “Fatty.” (“Buddy.” Sheesh. I’m still not sure what’s up with that.)
The climbing was hard, but my Ibis Tranny 29 felt great — I’ve never felt at home and right on a bike so quickly before. And the belt drive feels…well, it’s hard to describe, but “instant” might be an OK word for it. You put your foot down and feel like all your power is going straight to the wheel. And so smoothly too.
Things End Badly
It’s always astonishing to me to look back and see that the St Kevens climb to the left turn signifying you’re about to get a break is only 1.1 miles. It’s not a long distance. But by the time you get there, the race has thinned out a bit and you’re unlikely to have to fight a crowd again for the rest of the day.
I hit a relatively flat place, sucked down another gel, and kept going.
The trail was rolling along now, and I was feeling great. The day was mild, the trail — thanks to a lot of rain earlier in the month, followed by occasional showers and warm temperatures the preceding week — was as perfect as could be.
I wen past the place where Merilee — one of the founders of the race — traditionally stands. “I love you Merilee!” I shouted.
Then I hit the next quick downhill, which intersects a different trail, making for a downhill left turn across an erosion rut.
I easily popped my front wheel across the rut and made my turn at speed.
Which, as you no doubt expect, is when I crashed. Good and hard.
Which seems like a good place to pick up the next installment of the story.
Comments (32)
08.12.2014 | 1:53 pm
Things were going wrong. So very, very wrong. By which I mean that things were going far too right, which felt wrong.
I should probably start over and explain.
My mistrust of this year’s Leadville 100 started with the weather. As usual, I checked the Weather.com app incessantly, starting ten days before the race began.
The forecast varied, but often looked a lot like this:
No, that can’t be right. It’s too…nice. It didn’t freak me out enough. Sure, that 10% chance would eventually climb to a 40% chance, but even then it said the rain wouldn’t happen ’til the afternoon.
Something was bound to give.
Thanks to the Hammer’s co-workers saying they’d cover for her for an extra couple days, along with my job that lets me work anywhere there’s phone service and reasonable internet access, we went to Leadville a full week before the race, for three very important purposes:
- To go to Rebecca Rusch’s racing clinics
- To make some additional red blood cells
- To give The Hammer and The Queen of Pain some time to strategize their race.
As soon as we got to Leadville — 9am on Saturday — we unpacked our bikes and rode to the top of Columbine.
It’s astonishing how much easier that climb is when you haven’t preceded it by going 43 miles at race pace.
We took pictures, and smiled, and admired the scenery, and took an adorable picture of the two of us.
The weather for the ride was perfect. Maybe too perfect.
When we got back to the truck after the ride and I took off my shoes, I realized something: they didn’t hurt. At all. The Giro Codes my friend Yuri recommended were doing the trick.
I didn’t know for sure that I’d be good for a full day of racing, but this was a good sign.
I don’t trust good signs. There were too many good signs.
More Disturbing Omens
Because The Hammer and I had come out to Leadville earlier than planned, we were having to be a little bit improvisational with where we stayed the first night.
Rebecca took us under her wing, letting us sleep on her couch. And use her internet access. And take pictures of her using her leg compression recovery thingies.
We went grocery shopping with her:
And lest you think that we just bought little dried bananas, we also bought caramel gelato, all three of us working from the same pint container.
I refrained from using my superpower of deferring ice cream headaches and consuming ice cream at quadruple the rate of most humans.
Because, you know. Guests.
By the way, you should know that The Hammer and I have cooked egg whites and avocados for The Queen of Pain.
OK, we might have left the yolks in, and added a bunch of cheese. And onions and mushrooms. And wrapped the whole mess into tortillas.
I was now on my guard. This “Queen of Pain” was being far too nice.
Something was bound to go horribly wrong. And soon.
But things were going right. Weirdly, strangely wonderfully right.
Like, when I did a Q&A session with Rebecca onstage at the Tabor Opera House, everything went fine.
Afterward, on Twitter, Robyn Stoddard did note a startling similarity between the above photo and this one:
Disaster, Narrowly Averted
We continued riding with Rebecca, going to her clinics, and becoming more and more impressed with her as a teacher and mentor — something we hadn’t known before.
The Hammer began to think that maybe she could do this race in under nine hours.
And then — big mistake here — she went to Strava. And started looking at her best times and my best times and how much faster she’d have to go to beat her previous best.
She didn’t think she could do it.
And then she had an epiphany: she should stop worrying about it. And stop looking at Strava. And go as hard and fast as she could with Reba’s help, and let the finish time sort itself out.
It was a good decision.
A Place of Our Own
After a night on Reba’s couch and a couple nights at the Super 8, we got to move into the house — formerly a bed and breakfast — we had rented for the rest of the trip.
It had eight or nine bedrooms, all of which we had filled with friends, family, and our own enormous amount of stuff.
The Hammer and I were done with any pre-race rides of any distance. But we did take a ride on the beautiful Mineral Belt Trail bike path, as well as a detour into what I think is the most beautiful, peaceful cemetery I’ve ever seen.
The Leadville Hebrew Cemetery is so restful. We walked around and admired how nicely kept, yet still natural, this place looked.
A moment of peace before the anxiety of the race came back upon us, full-bore.
I took a picture of this, Brian Vaughan’s (CEO of Gu), race nutrition and pace plan.
I then compared it with the race plan I had created for my crew (I made three near-identical sheets like this, one for each time I would meet my crew):
I felt like perhaps I could have done more.
We went and registered, where Reba was signing a book for Rage Against the Machine’s Tim Commerford.
Yes, we really did just happen to be there when he was getting his book signed.
And we spent a ton of time hanging out with Dave and Amy Thompson, who I have upgraded from “Friends of Fatty” to “Friends of Everyone in the Universe.”
They’re just that awesome.
Outfits
Race day approached. On Friday, my friends Jilene Mecham and Bry Christensen — who were going to be doing this race for their tenth time — decorated their bikes and helmets.
I kind of think Bry didn’t like his helmet adornment as much as Jilene did.
As for myself, on the morning of the race I borrowed a big puffy woolen jacket The Hammer had bought at Savers for $2.00, so it could be left at the side of the starting line without too much concern.
You might think it’s easy for me to be this handsome, but really I have to work at it very hard.
Then I did a few minutes of day-job work, which made me sad. I’ve never been so caught up and under pressure with a day-job that I felt I had to work the day of a race.
Am I growing up or something? That’s alarming!
We rode our bikes the two blocks to the starting line and found — to our astonishment — that it was not a terrible, crowded mess. Apparently getting there 45 minutes before the race starts is a good idea.
I found another guy standing around in my corral and made a deal with him: if he’d watch my bike while I went and use the bathroom, I’d do the same for him.
This worked great. Almost too great?
I then stood at the start line, my GPS ready to go, eating a couple Honey Stinger Waffles. The ginger snap flavor is the best.
There. 200 calories, right before the race starts. Good.
I looked forward to the front of the starting line. Really, I was only twenty feet back. I was happy I had earned this spot in this corral by being fast the previous year. I deserved to be where I was.
I checked my brakes. They felt fine. I strummed my Gates Carbon Belt drive. it was nice and taut.
What had I forgotten? Everything had gone too perfect.
There was the countdown. The gunshot. The race was beginning.
In my universe, something leading up to everything always goes wrong. It may not be big, but there’s always something.
But not this time. Everything had gone well in the prep for this event. This big race that I think about pretty much every day of the year, even after I’d been here seventeen times.
And now it was time to ride.
Comments (30)
08.11.2014 | 11:05 am
I have so much to say about the 2014 Leadville 100. So much.
But right now, I’ve got some real-life stuff that needs to take priority, mostly like getting caught up with work, and getting the twins off to Camp Kesem.
So for today, let me just tell you a few quick things, to give you a hint of what you’ll be hearing about soon.
- This was the best Leadville 100 experience I have ever had. And the same thing goes for The Hammer.
- The Hammer’s story is bigger and better than mine. As she and I drove home from Leadville yesterday (a seven hour drive), I sat in the passenger seat and took notes on my computer while she told me her story. The bullet-list outline is five pages long. No exaggeration, and no joke. I’m so excited for her to write it up.
- My story is not half bad either. And I’ll begin it in tomorrow’s post.
- We are going to Rebecca’s Private Idaho. And you should too. And we should hang out the night before. Or the night after. Or during the ride. Or all of the above.
And I’m happy to announce that I’ll be including a lot of incredible photography in all of the parts of this story, courtesy of the amazing Linda Guerrette.
In fact, I’ll close today with a shot she took as I screamed (literally) my way down the Powerline, which is at this moment my favorite picture of me of all time.
Comments (21)
08.8.2014 | 10:05 am
Thank you to everyone who donated to The Hammer’s World Bicycle Relief fundraiser in order to get a copy of Rusch to Glory. We had Reba come over to the house we’re renting here in Leadville the day the books arrived to show off a copy:
And then we put her to work signing them:
That’s Amy Thompson and The Hammer, telling Reba who’s next, stuffing envelopes, and otherwise being efficient.
I’m happy to say that every one who bought a book as part of Lisa’s fundraiser now has their book in the mail (as of yesterday morning), and should have a Leadville postage mark. Let me know when they start arriving!
Then, yesterday evening, I joined Rebecca on stage to do a Q&A with her about her book:
Photo by the very talented Linda Guerrette
I was nervous as could be beforehand (as was Reba), but once we started talking we just went on and on, chatting for about half an hour. I think there’ll be video of this online at some point; I’ll be sure to link to it.
And now, it’s time for me to focus on my race.
Which is tomorrow.
All About Me
I’m going to keep this short (as short as I can, anyway, which may not be that easy because…well…I’m me.). Because I’m nervous. Freaked out. Amped up. Wigging.
But here are the things I am thinking about.
First and foremost, I’m relieved, because I think I’ve got a good workable solution for my shoe problem: The Giro Code. Here they are:
Yuri Hauswald (a good friend as well as a pro singlespeed mountain biker) pointed me toward these shoes, saying they work great for him and his wide feet. Knowing that he rides the same way I do and trusting his depth of knowledge, I rush-ordered a pair, then took them to a shoe repair store and had them strategically stretched where I have the bunion on my left foot.
No more pain.
Now, I haven’t been on any super-long rides with these shoes, but I think they’re going to do the trick. And just in case, I will have another pair of mountain bike shoes — which are kinda old and busted, but generally don’t hurt too bad — I can swap to mid-race.
But I have high hopes that won’t be necessary.
The Ibis Tranny 29
I have to admit, I’m nervous to race on a bike I haven’t ridden for very long (my Ibis Tranny 29), using a drivetrain — the Gates Carbon Drive belt that is new to me.
But here’s the thing: I am in love with this bike. I love the way the Ibis feels, the way I feel on it. I love how direct and smooth the drivetrain feels. And I love that — especially with all the rain and puddles and grit on the course — that I don’t have to worry about lubing a chain or keeping the crud off it. For this course, I like that a lot.
Me
I have high hopes of finishing in under nine hours again. If I do, it will be my fourth sub-nine-hour finish, and my third sub-nine-hour finish on a single speed.
I have no expectations of podiuming. If I’m on a podium at the end of the race, it’s because nobody faster showed up, and there are a lot of people here who are faster than I am.
But — and this is weird for me — I’m a lot less interested in my race than I am in The Hammer’s. The fact that she’s racing with Rebecca Rusch and has a chance at a sub-9 finish is incredible. I am so proud of how fast Lisa has become and what a competitive person she is.
And I am so excited to hear their story.
Here are the two of them, showing off their game face:
Photo by Linda Guerrette
I’m going to give Rebecca a 9.5/10 for her game face. The Hammer gets a 2. And I’m being generous with that 2.
And of course after that shot, the whole “game face” thing went out the window for both of them:
Photo by Linda Guerrette
This is one of my all-time favorite pictures of The Hammer.
Watch Us
I’m pretty sure there’s going to be live updating on the Leadville Trail 100 site, so be sure to watch for us; I’m racer 176 and Lisa is racer 382.
And you’ll also want to watch the awesome Live View feed (more and more cameras are going to be coming online today. Currently I’m watching the Twin Lakes one, and the audio for it is “Eye of the Tiger.” Yeehaw.)
Shout for me as you see me go by, OK?
I’ll post our finish times as soon as I can, and will now ask for your wishes of good luck for The Hammer (and her domestique, The Queen of Pain) and me. And I’ll leave you with one last awesome photo taken by Linda Guerrette during yesterday’s group ride up the Boulevard:
Comments (43)
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