rickey here. just finished throwing back five pounds of pasta and double that in magic hat #9. matt erholtz has put back only half that for the record.
i raced both carpenter and joseph gray two weeks ago and was able to see a similar drive. they both have a fire that isn't so much fuled by a desire to win but rather on the hatred of losing (and by losing i mean second or beyond). joe came in third at mt. washington. from the finish of that race to the finish of today's race at mt. cranmore in new hampshire (serving as the national mtn. running championships, world championship selection race and north american, central american championships) i knew that he was going to be the man to beat. when he told me that he ran a speed workout on tuesday, while the rest of us were tapering, i knew it for sure.
the two lap course was an improvement from the one that paul kirsch put together a couple years ago... which is to say less masochistic and more competitive.
the field started off at a decent pace, many of the leaders dropping off after a couple kilometers. by the top of the first of two laps all the usual suspects were present. simon g., eric blake, joe gray, shiloh mielke, myself, zac freudenburg and matt byrne. joe led the downhill followed by zac, simon and myself. shiloh displayed the downhill running skills that earned him a top 30 spot at the world trophy two years ago in switzerland by passing me and several others. i can say, without hesitation, that he is the fastest runner on any tretcherous downhill that i have ever seen.
going into the second lap i was able to reel in shiloh, simon and matt but not zack or joe. joe had the race won by this point and i was concentrating on a top-three spot that would secure a spot on the u.s. mtn. running team for the world championships in italy on september 6th. i wanted to put as much distance on shiloh as possible as i knew that the gap between us would only shrink from the top to the finish - it was only a matter of turning it into gap large enough that he wouldn't be able to close it in time. matt and i ran the descent together for sometime before he pulled away.
i was able to maintain my fourth place position through the finish (winning a watch for finishing closest to my bib number - 5), missing a secure spot on the team to matt byrne by 4 seconds. overall, i was pleased with how the race played out. i felt a little flat going in to the race, i think as a result of the amount of racing i've been doing in the past month and the heavy training i was doing before that. i was especially surprised and pleased with the results of both zac f. and matt b. as they were the fifth and sixth men on the team last year in switzerland. closet trainers.
the fourth and fifth members will be selected at the Cheyenne Canon Mountain Race in Colorado Springs on july 26th. the sixth spot will be selected by team managers with input from the team itself. whether i get selected for that spot or not i will either be in italy to cheer the team on or to race. either way it's gonna be a good time.
great event!! i hope to put up some photos of the event in the next week.
we need more race reports from the women!
for more reports check out:
http://ddmountainrunr.blogspot.com/
http://www.usmrt.com/
http://www.whitemountainmilers.com/cranmore/
http://brandyerholtz.blogspot.com
and... and... props to the western states organizers for up-to-the-minute updates. congrats to anita ortiz!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
"there is only one hill"
There is no race that I've run that can compare to Mount Washington. 7.6 miles with nearly 5000 vertical feet of elevation gain. The brutality of it lies entirely in consistency since the race director, Bob Teschek, is entirely right: "there is only one hill". Colorado offers roads with steeper climbs and more net gain but nothing that compares to a steady %11.5 grade for nearly 8 miles.
That's only the mountain. The competition has traditionally drawn one of the most elite crowds in American Mountain Running. Top finishers over the years have included world champions Jonathan Wyatt, Jay Johnson, Anna Pichrtova and other notables: Dave Dunham, Matt Carpenter, Daniel Kihara, Derek Froude... the list goes on. This year the list was no less notable: 2 time winner - Eric Blake, 3 time winner - Simon Gutierrez, Joe Gray (who beat me two weeks ago in the Teva Mtn. Games 10k), all-American and fellow Aspen native - Jon Severy, US Mtn. Running Team member - Matt Byrne... the list goes on.
The race started off per usual - with Simon well off in front. Severy tried to psyche out the field by cracking jokes and foaming at the pits. I took the lead from Gutierrez after the first mile and one mile past that, only Eric Blake and myself remained at the front. The two times that I've run this race before, I've watched Eric pull away from myself and the rest of the field around mile five. Listening to his breath, I knew that I would have to pull away from him early on. By the third mile I put a lead on Blake. The clouds provided an interesting element that I've not dealt with before in this race. You could not see much further than 100 feet ahead or behind, turning the race into more of mind game than I've ever had to deal with. I could never really be sure how far ahead of Blake I remained. The plus side of this coin was, of course, that Blake never really knew how far ahead I was.
I ran through the half way mark in 28:55 which put me on track for a sub-hour finish... just barely. My left Achilles started to flare up slightly which, though it never slowed me down, added immensely to the mental aspect of the race. I was constantly thinking that it might seize up completely and I'd have to deal with a poor finish, or worse - DNF. The problem remained at bay as I focused completely on holding my form.
By mile six the course finally made it's way above the blanket of clouds and I doubt there was anybody in the race in so much pain that they couldn't appreciate the view. You really did feel like you were in an airplane. With only a 1/2 mile to go, I knew that I had the race won. I eased up on my pace slightly, not thinking about the time. With 150 meters to go a friend from the side line yelled "20 seconds!!". I had forgotten about the 60 minute time bonus. Sprinting up the 22% final grade, I watched as the clock ticked 59:53 54 55 56. I crossed the finish line with two seconds to spare, to become the fifth man, second American to ever break the 60 minute barrier.
video finish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWkqm-qLMP8
photos: (AP Photo/Gil Talbot), Dave Dunham
Coming up on Sunday I will be competing against much of the same field (and then some) at the Cranmore Hill Climb/USA & NACAC Mountain Running Championships in North Conway, NH. After that... EUROPE!!!
That's only the mountain. The competition has traditionally drawn one of the most elite crowds in American Mountain Running. Top finishers over the years have included world champions Jonathan Wyatt, Jay Johnson, Anna Pichrtova and other notables: Dave Dunham, Matt Carpenter, Daniel Kihara, Derek Froude... the list goes on. This year the list was no less notable: 2 time winner - Eric Blake, 3 time winner - Simon Gutierrez, Joe Gray (who beat me two weeks ago in the Teva Mtn. Games 10k), all-American and fellow Aspen native - Jon Severy, US Mtn. Running Team member - Matt Byrne... the list goes on.
The race started off per usual - with Simon well off in front. Severy tried to psyche out the field by cracking jokes and foaming at the pits. I took the lead from Gutierrez after the first mile and one mile past that, only Eric Blake and myself remained at the front. The two times that I've run this race before, I've watched Eric pull away from myself and the rest of the field around mile five. Listening to his breath, I knew that I would have to pull away from him early on. By the third mile I put a lead on Blake. The clouds provided an interesting element that I've not dealt with before in this race. You could not see much further than 100 feet ahead or behind, turning the race into more of mind game than I've ever had to deal with. I could never really be sure how far ahead of Blake I remained. The plus side of this coin was, of course, that Blake never really knew how far ahead I was.I ran through the half way mark in 28:55 which put me on track for a sub-hour finish... just barely. My left Achilles started to flare up slightly which, though it never slowed me down, added immensely to the mental aspect of the race. I was constantly thinking that it might seize up completely and I'd have to deal with a poor finish, or worse - DNF. The problem remained at bay as I focused completely on holding my form.
By mile six the course finally made it's way above the blanket of clouds and I doubt there was anybody in the race in so much pain that they couldn't appreciate the view. You really did feel like you were in an airplane. With only a 1/2 mile to go, I knew that I had the race won. I eased up on my pace slightly, not thinking about the time. With 150 meters to go a friend from the side line yelled "20 seconds!!". I had forgotten about the 60 minute time bonus. Sprinting up the 22% final grade, I watched as the clock ticked 59:53 54 55 56. I crossed the finish line with two seconds to spare, to become the fifth man, second American to ever break the 60 minute barrier.
1 1/129 Rickey Gates 28 M Boulder CO 2 59:58 7:54
2 2/129 Eric Blake 30 M New Britain CT BAA 1 1:01:19 8:04
3 3/129 Joseph Gray 25 M Lakewood WA TEAM INO 3 1:02:35 8:15
4 4/129 Matthew Byrne 34 M Scranton PA 5 1:02:45 8:16
5 1/93 Simon Gutierrez 43 M Alamosa CO TEVA / S 4 1:04:16 8:28
6 5/129 Jonathan Severy 27 M Winooski VT NYAC 15 1:05:09 8:35
7 6/129 Tommy Manning 33 M Colorado Spring CO NMC 38 1:05:47 8:40
8 1/81 Jason Bryant 36 M Elkin NC LA SPORT 16 1:06:13 8:43
9 7/129 Matthew Russell 26 M Boulder CO CMS 25 1:06:19 8:44
10 2/93 Francis Burdett 44 M Worcester MA CMS 142 1:06:39 8:47
******* TOP 10 WOMEN OVERALL *******
Place Div Name Ag S City St Team Race# Time Pace
===== === ========================= == = =============== == ======== ===== ======= =====
1 1 Brandy Erholtz 31 F Bailey CO W1 1:10:53 9:20
2 1 Tara Cardi 40 F East Greenwich RI NARRA W8 1:19:52 10:31
3 2 Jennifer Campbell 26 F Newmarket NH CRC W72 1:20:58 10:40
4 3 Alison Bryant 30 F Elkin NC W2 1:22:08 10:49
5 2 Lisa Goldsmith 44 F Nederland CO LA SPORT W133 1:24:58 11:11
6 4 Abby Mahoney 31 F Holyoke MA CMS W29 1:25:05 11:12
7 1 Cathy Pearce 46 F Chelmsford MA WHIRL W5 1:26:29 11:23
8 1 Tara Breed 38 F Englewood CO W17 1:27:33 11:32
9 1 Donna Smyers 51 F Adamant VT CVR W27 1:28:01 11:35
10 2 Suzy West 46 F Putney VT CSU W14 1:28:34 11:40
video finish: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWkqm-qLMP8
photos: (AP Photo/Gil Talbot), Dave Dunham
Coming up on Sunday I will be competing against much of the same field (and then some) at the Cranmore Hill Climb/USA & NACAC Mountain Running Championships in North Conway, NH. After that... EUROPE!!!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Marathon
I understand fulfilling the curiosity of running a marathon once. I'll never understand running a marathon a second time.
I wasn't able to pass up the invitation to run a marathon in Chianti. Free room, meals and entry for a race that weaves its way through the rolling hills of Tuscany. On the Wednesday before the race, sick in bed, being fed potions by Ben's grandmother (bless her), I though maybe I shouldn't. By friday evening I was better. Twelve hours later I was feeling fine only fifteen kilometers (marathon: 42k) into the race (everybody feels good, fifteen k in) and by 30 I was wondering if I'd finish. By 35k I started using tactics that I never though I'd appreciate: "Come on Rickey. You can do it. Just seven more k to go. Come on. It's not so bad. Come on Rickey," as opposed to the normal violent and obsene approach that I usually employ. At 37k I saw the kilometer marker "37 kilometers." "Come on Rickey. 5k to go. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k." If you've run a marathon, you'd understand this. After a kilometer passed I saw another kilometer marker ahead. When it came within my bleary-eyed grasp: "37 kilometers"... that's when I wanted to cry. "37 kilometers" (think four-year-old whining and crying) "but you just said 37 kilometers. i can't run five more kilometers." the tears welled up and almost fell.... Luckly I found out it was a typo. "39 kilometers." I just barely held off the two runners behind me, battling what sincerely felt like broken femurs, dislocated hips and crushed feet, for third place.
Really the race was wonderful. At one point I was headed down a dirt road with an olive grove off to my right, a vineard off to my left and the many towers of Sienna up ahead, mixed amongs the layers of hills that Tuscany is so well known for. Up above - a blue Tuscan sky and a recently waning moon. Later on, a mile long corridor of cypris trees (33k into the race... how dreadful to see first, second, fourth and fifth before and behind me). Hunters in their German camoflauge with their spaniels, gun shots, cobblestones, red soil and "dai, dai, dai!!")
Since I was unable to walk today, I biked the fifty-five miles from Sienna(ish) to Florence. Thinking that my past 24 hours called for a bed rather than a thermarest, I've decided to stay in a hostel for the first time this summer... no comment.
No more running for the trip. Little biking. Ben and I plan on meeting up in Paris, then traveling on to Spain and maybe Morroco. I've sent in my absentee ballot and will return to the States mid-November.
I wasn't able to pass up the invitation to run a marathon in Chianti. Free room, meals and entry for a race that weaves its way through the rolling hills of Tuscany. On the Wednesday before the race, sick in bed, being fed potions by Ben's grandmother (bless her), I though maybe I shouldn't. By friday evening I was better. Twelve hours later I was feeling fine only fifteen kilometers (marathon: 42k) into the race (everybody feels good, fifteen k in) and by 30 I was wondering if I'd finish. By 35k I started using tactics that I never though I'd appreciate: "Come on Rickey. You can do it. Just seven more k to go. Come on. It's not so bad. Come on Rickey," as opposed to the normal violent and obsene approach that I usually employ. At 37k I saw the kilometer marker "37 kilometers." "Come on Rickey. 5k to go. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k. Just 5k." If you've run a marathon, you'd understand this. After a kilometer passed I saw another kilometer marker ahead. When it came within my bleary-eyed grasp: "37 kilometers"... that's when I wanted to cry. "37 kilometers" (think four-year-old whining and crying) "but you just said 37 kilometers. i can't run five more kilometers." the tears welled up and almost fell.... Luckly I found out it was a typo. "39 kilometers." I just barely held off the two runners behind me, battling what sincerely felt like broken femurs, dislocated hips and crushed feet, for third place.
Really the race was wonderful. At one point I was headed down a dirt road with an olive grove off to my right, a vineard off to my left and the many towers of Sienna up ahead, mixed amongs the layers of hills that Tuscany is so well known for. Up above - a blue Tuscan sky and a recently waning moon. Later on, a mile long corridor of cypris trees (33k into the race... how dreadful to see first, second, fourth and fifth before and behind me). Hunters in their German camoflauge with their spaniels, gun shots, cobblestones, red soil and "dai, dai, dai!!")
Since I was unable to walk today, I biked the fifty-five miles from Sienna(ish) to Florence. Thinking that my past 24 hours called for a bed rather than a thermarest, I've decided to stay in a hostel for the first time this summer... no comment.
No more running for the trip. Little biking. Ben and I plan on meeting up in Paris, then traveling on to Spain and maybe Morroco. I've sent in my absentee ballot and will return to the States mid-November.
Croatia
I didn't turn away a free ride from the race director from Lublijana to Croatia. My first night was spent just outside the city of Riyeka, on a presipice, ten feet from the crashing waves. In the morning I rode to the island of Krk (yeah, Croatians don't feel the same need for vowels as the rest of us). Getting advice from two people on how to get a ferry to the next island, I chose the wrong one and ended up back tracking 20 miles in the dusk, leading me to another campsite, again, ten feet from the crashing waves. In the morning I biked from sea level to nearly 5,000 feet, through the fall colors, limestone and oaktrees (there were none on the islands since the Venitians took them to build Venice).
I biked and camped for the next two nights in the mountains. Things I learned - just because a lumberjack sees you coming, doesn't mean that he won't fall a tree directly in your path, seconds in front of you. And, sausage can be eaten for breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner and dessert.
Split - beautiful. Met a 89 year-old man with a stronger grip than me (that doesn't say much). He told me about biking through Italy after the second world war for three years and six days. Our meeting ended with me loosing an arm wrestling match.
I caught the boat from Split to Ancona, Italy overnight. I cooked pasta on the outskirts of town at 9am at the edge of a roundabout: best breakfast ever. It took two days to ride to the small, hill-top town of Casperia where my friend Ben's uncle owns an appartment. My instructions on how to get to the appartment were "go up the hill, veer left, number 24." In response, my instructions on where to find me: "arriving sunday afternoon. i'll be in the plaza drinking beer." I won. Ben found me around sunset on sunday with a pint in my hand, talking Spitalian to a young couple from Rome and their Venezuelan friend.
I biked and camped for the next two nights in the mountains. Things I learned - just because a lumberjack sees you coming, doesn't mean that he won't fall a tree directly in your path, seconds in front of you. And, sausage can be eaten for breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner and dessert.
Split - beautiful. Met a 89 year-old man with a stronger grip than me (that doesn't say much). He told me about biking through Italy after the second world war for three years and six days. Our meeting ended with me loosing an arm wrestling match.
I caught the boat from Split to Ancona, Italy overnight. I cooked pasta on the outskirts of town at 9am at the edge of a roundabout: best breakfast ever. It took two days to ride to the small, hill-top town of Casperia where my friend Ben's uncle owns an appartment. My instructions on how to get to the appartment were "go up the hill, veer left, number 24." In response, my instructions on where to find me: "arriving sunday afternoon. i'll be in the plaza drinking beer." I won. Ben found me around sunset on sunday with a pint in my hand, talking Spitalian to a young couple from Rome and their Venezuelan friend.
Kaputt
It would appear as though I used every last ounce of energy at the world trophy.
I arrived in Bergen, Germany amidst the cold rain, fall colors, Oktoberfest and fleet of runners hoping to improve upon a World Trophy result that I was already proud of. The race director, Bibi, not knowing exactly which hotel to put me up in, decided last minute on the Gasthause Bibihoff... his own house, that is. Four star, four diamond with his wife, Rosie's cooking and his daughter Barbara's translating.
A test run of the course led me to believe that the race would go well, if not great.
A small canon started the race off forcing us to run immediately through a large cloud of burnt black powder. My legs felt heavy as they often do at the begining of a race. And they continued to feel so for the duration of the race. I finished 14th.One place worse than in the World Trophy and what would equate to five minutes further back. An accordian played a sad, sad song as I crossed the finish line.
Bibi asked why I was biking around from race to race. "for training?" he asked. jokingly, I pulled the inside of my pockets out revealing nothing more than lint and a couple ibuprofine and said "not for training. for no money." he found this hilarious and gave me 20 euro for pizza and two beers.
Following the pizza and two beers (and a grappa bought by an old Bavarian - Casper) I wandered back to Bibi's house. As I was entering, Rosie, on her way out, grabbed me and dragged me the two blocks to the ski shed at the base of the ski mountain. At about the time I thought I should protest, she opened the door to reveal a mini-Oktoberfest. Bibi, the accordian player and eight other blond-haired, blue-eyed locals sitting around, drinking beer, eating sausage, having a grand ol' time. A small herd of deer heads decorated the walls above us while a stuffed crow watched harmoniously over us on a case of beer stacked seven levels high.
In the morning, at the flee market on the outskirts of town, I found a two point deer skeleton to keep me company for the remainder of my journey. Like all of my decapitated animal friends - York is his name. He sits on the front of the bike, ensuring a sure, quick and gruesome death should I crash in that direction.
The ride from Bavaria to Slovenia was incredible. Fall colors and perfect weather. Camping at the edge of alfalfa fields and Lake Bled (how romantic). Eating lots of musli and yogurt, and chasing it with Austrian fire water decorated with grizzled Austrian backwoodsmen etc.
The Slovenian race revealed much of the same, but due to the wretched amount of downhill, I finished 13th rather than 14th. Lucky for me it was a Grand Prix finale... (The Grand Prix is an organized group of mountain races in Europe where you earn points for your finishing places - 100 for first, 90 for second etc. This race, being the grand finale, earned more points). Due to the drop off of competitors after fifth place, my thirteenth place finish combined with my third place finish at Telfes, Austria earned me a thirteenth place finish in the overall Grand Prix. 13th place, twice in one day... how luck am I!
I arrived in Bergen, Germany amidst the cold rain, fall colors, Oktoberfest and fleet of runners hoping to improve upon a World Trophy result that I was already proud of. The race director, Bibi, not knowing exactly which hotel to put me up in, decided last minute on the Gasthause Bibihoff... his own house, that is. Four star, four diamond with his wife, Rosie's cooking and his daughter Barbara's translating.
A test run of the course led me to believe that the race would go well, if not great.
A small canon started the race off forcing us to run immediately through a large cloud of burnt black powder. My legs felt heavy as they often do at the begining of a race. And they continued to feel so for the duration of the race. I finished 14th.One place worse than in the World Trophy and what would equate to five minutes further back. An accordian played a sad, sad song as I crossed the finish line.
Bibi asked why I was biking around from race to race. "for training?" he asked. jokingly, I pulled the inside of my pockets out revealing nothing more than lint and a couple ibuprofine and said "not for training. for no money." he found this hilarious and gave me 20 euro for pizza and two beers.
Following the pizza and two beers (and a grappa bought by an old Bavarian - Casper) I wandered back to Bibi's house. As I was entering, Rosie, on her way out, grabbed me and dragged me the two blocks to the ski shed at the base of the ski mountain. At about the time I thought I should protest, she opened the door to reveal a mini-Oktoberfest. Bibi, the accordian player and eight other blond-haired, blue-eyed locals sitting around, drinking beer, eating sausage, having a grand ol' time. A small herd of deer heads decorated the walls above us while a stuffed crow watched harmoniously over us on a case of beer stacked seven levels high.
In the morning, at the flee market on the outskirts of town, I found a two point deer skeleton to keep me company for the remainder of my journey. Like all of my decapitated animal friends - York is his name. He sits on the front of the bike, ensuring a sure, quick and gruesome death should I crash in that direction.
The ride from Bavaria to Slovenia was incredible. Fall colors and perfect weather. Camping at the edge of alfalfa fields and Lake Bled (how romantic). Eating lots of musli and yogurt, and chasing it with Austrian fire water decorated with grizzled Austrian backwoodsmen etc.
The Slovenian race revealed much of the same, but due to the wretched amount of downhill, I finished 13th rather than 14th. Lucky for me it was a Grand Prix finale... (The Grand Prix is an organized group of mountain races in Europe where you earn points for your finishing places - 100 for first, 90 for second etc. This race, being the grand finale, earned more points). Due to the drop off of competitors after fifth place, my thirteenth place finish combined with my third place finish at Telfes, Austria earned me a thirteenth place finish in the overall Grand Prix. 13th place, twice in one day... how luck am I!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I doubt that anybody checks this anymore since I've, stopped adding posts, so I'll just write to myself for a few paragraphs....
I made the trip from Norway back to Italy where I raced the very next week. I came in 9th at Susa which is nothing to complain about by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly not where I was only a few weeks earlier while competing in Austria and Slovenia. I raced as hard as my body would allow which really didn't even leave me tired following the race. Symptom - Past the Peak. It happens to all of us if we push ourselves long enough. You race well. You race well again.
You begin to feel indistructible and then the next week, you start to slip. Maybe it was just a bad race. Then the following week the same, but worse. Susa was the third week in a row of slipping back. Feeling like I was loosing fitness even though my training was the same, my diet was the same, etc.. I had the same feeling last year. My solution was to slow everything down since I thought that my body was exhausted and simply needed a rest. When that didn't work, I complained to my friend Martin, who has been at this much longer than I have. He told me that I had it opposite. When the going gets tough, you have to pick up the miles.
So that's what I did. I refrained from biking from race to race. I took the train to Geneva and have been basing myself from here for the past month. My good friend Jess (who rode Rocinante back from South America to the States for me) left his door open to me to come and go at will. For three weeks I ran morning and night (something I have never bothered doing). Where my normal weeks consist of maybe 50-65
miles, I up-ed the distance to 90-ish. My initial worry was that my body would not be able to cope with the new work load, just a couple days in, I found that my summer of biking, training and racing has only increased its risiliance. I trained in Chamonix for a little while - running up to many of the beautiful lookouts that the valley has to offer. After training in Chamonix I traveled the short distance into Switzerland for ten days. I competed in a 'cheese race' near where the world trophy was held the week before the race. I came in third overall which did not earn me any cheese at all even though I wanted and deserved a wheel all to myself (placing in the overall group eliminated me from my age group - where the big cheese is won). I instead got sausage and a loaf of bread that had the consistancy of dark matter. From there, I traveled the short distance to Crans-Montana where the World Tro
phy was being held only a few days later. Since I arrived a few days before the free lodging was available, I camped at the edge of town and made the best of my time by reading, pacing, contemplating watches and swiming in the beautiful lakes. The rest of the American team finally arrived and we set off to preview the course.
The general consensus was that there was too much flat and not enough dirt for it to be considered a 'mountain course' but my thoughts on the matter were that everybody has to run the same course. Just like the weather - people want good weather, or rain, cloud cover, mud, sun, wind. In the end, everybody has to run the same course and you just compete against eachother and the elements together.
Come race day, the discussion of the lack of vertical or the amount of pavement to be found on the World Trophy course was lost amidst the steal grey drisle, the gasping for air, the perfectly planted rows of pinot noir bulging for the harvest and the ever-present thwoping of the helicopter blades just overhead. Still early enough in the race, the unbroken stream of runners worked its way up the mountain side -red, green, white, yellow, blue, black- jersies from thirty-nine countries. With the strongest men's team ever represented by the United States, I found myself in the top fifth of the field within meters of all five of my teammates. I knew we had a strong team before the trophy - my qualifying time up Mount Washington which earned me a 25th place finish in Turkey would have placed me behind all five of my teammates this year (and then some).
Simon lead the pack for the first couple kilometers. Eric Blake took over from there, then Joe Gray and then myself. I was most happy to see our fifth and sixth men, Matt Byrne and Zack Freudenberg so close. In the past, our team has fallen off at the third and fourth man. Joe and I stuck close together for much of the middle section of the course where, true enough, the terrain was reminiscent more of a road/cross country course than a mountain race. I fed off of Joe, knowing that his recent track background would keep his legs moving faster than mine were accostomed to. When the climbing started up again, I took the lead for the American men and the spectators off the side informed me of my 13th place position.
Half way.
The pain was more intense than any other race I've run. I've felt that bad before within meters of the finish, but not 30 minutes from the finish. I stayed focused and tried to think of nothing other than the runners in front of me. The leaders of the race were within view only minutes earlier which told me that I was either making a big mistake and would eventually blow up or that the extra miles had indeed paid off. Again, I found myself battling with the Cani Morti from Italy. The Hirsuit Mufloni. The well-thatched pelt of Marco Gaiardo. We'd gone at it twice already this year. His season is as long as mine and I know that he must be just as tired. For half an hour I focused on his shoes trotting along one foot infront of me. I watched an Engish runner pass us and two minutes later come sailing back. One of the three runners from Uganda also came flying back (the first was stunted by the very first hill). I would not pass the Cani Morti because I could not. I was asking so much more of my body just to be near him.
I crossed the line in 12th place - 2:17 seconds behind the winning time of Jonathon Wyatt. Within moments Joe was behind me, then Eric, then Simon, Zack and Matt.
Simon looked dissapointed from his 25th place finish, but when an official came out of the timing van by the finish line and held three fingers in the air, indicating our third place finish, he was all smiles.
It has meant so much to me to medal for the US. To 'lead' the team is a completly different feeling - one I can't claim to have ever felt before. For the past several years, running has been about me and only me. I don't mean this as a form of ego (though I don't deny that aspect of it), but rather that it is something that exhists more in my mind than anywhere else. It has taken me places that I never thought I'd go. I. Me. I. Me. Never Us. But then it was Us and I knew that it was good.
Anna Pichrtova was kind enough to transport a six liter bottle of champagne 1/2 way across Europe for me to the sight of the World Trophy. Two months ago, something inside me told me that there would be a good reason for sharing it. It was consumed by the American in half the time that it took to run the race.
I took this past weekend off from running and traveled to London wonderful friend Bri instead. She gets the blue ribbon for Americans guiding Americans around London. This coming weekend
I'll face many of the same top guys in Bavaria, and again in Slovenia the week after. I'll be riding my bike again - getting from race to race and then hopefully a trip down the coast of Croatia.
I made the trip from Norway back to Italy where I raced the very next week. I came in 9th at Susa which is nothing to complain about by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly not where I was only a few weeks earlier while competing in Austria and Slovenia. I raced as hard as my body would allow which really didn't even leave me tired following the race. Symptom - Past the Peak. It happens to all of us if we push ourselves long enough. You race well. You race well again.
You begin to feel indistructible and then the next week, you start to slip. Maybe it was just a bad race. Then the following week the same, but worse. Susa was the third week in a row of slipping back. Feeling like I was loosing fitness even though my training was the same, my diet was the same, etc.. I had the same feeling last year. My solution was to slow everything down since I thought that my body was exhausted and simply needed a rest. When that didn't work, I complained to my friend Martin, who has been at this much longer than I have. He told me that I had it opposite. When the going gets tough, you have to pick up the miles.So that's what I did. I refrained from biking from race to race. I took the train to Geneva and have been basing myself from here for the past month. My good friend Jess (who rode Rocinante back from South America to the States for me) left his door open to me to come and go at will. For three weeks I ran morning and night (something I have never bothered doing). Where my normal weeks consist of maybe 50-65
miles, I up-ed the distance to 90-ish. My initial worry was that my body would not be able to cope with the new work load, just a couple days in, I found that my summer of biking, training and racing has only increased its risiliance. I trained in Chamonix for a little while - running up to many of the beautiful lookouts that the valley has to offer. After training in Chamonix I traveled the short distance into Switzerland for ten days. I competed in a 'cheese race' near where the world trophy was held the week before the race. I came in third overall which did not earn me any cheese at all even though I wanted and deserved a wheel all to myself (placing in the overall group eliminated me from my age group - where the big cheese is won). I instead got sausage and a loaf of bread that had the consistancy of dark matter. From there, I traveled the short distance to Crans-Montana where the World Tro
phy was being held only a few days later. Since I arrived a few days before the free lodging was available, I camped at the edge of town and made the best of my time by reading, pacing, contemplating watches and swiming in the beautiful lakes. The rest of the American team finally arrived and we set off to preview the course.The general consensus was that there was too much flat and not enough dirt for it to be considered a 'mountain course' but my thoughts on the matter were that everybody has to run the same course. Just like the weather - people want good weather, or rain, cloud cover, mud, sun, wind. In the end, everybody has to run the same course and you just compete against eachother and the elements together.
Come race day, the discussion of the lack of vertical or the amount of pavement to be found on the World Trophy course was lost amidst the steal grey drisle, the gasping for air, the perfectly planted rows of pinot noir bulging for the harvest and the ever-present thwoping of the helicopter blades just overhead. Still early enough in the race, the unbroken stream of runners worked its way up the mountain side -red, green, white, yellow, blue, black- jersies from thirty-nine countries. With the strongest men's team ever represented by the United States, I found myself in the top fifth of the field within meters of all five of my teammates. I knew we had a strong team before the trophy - my qualifying time up Mount Washington which earned me a 25th place finish in Turkey would have placed me behind all five of my teammates this year (and then some).
Simon lead the pack for the first couple kilometers. Eric Blake took over from there, then Joe Gray and then myself. I was most happy to see our fifth and sixth men, Matt Byrne and Zack Freudenberg so close. In the past, our team has fallen off at the third and fourth man. Joe and I stuck close together for much of the middle section of the course where, true enough, the terrain was reminiscent more of a road/cross country course than a mountain race. I fed off of Joe, knowing that his recent track background would keep his legs moving faster than mine were accostomed to. When the climbing started up again, I took the lead for the American men and the spectators off the side informed me of my 13th place position.
Half way.
The pain was more intense than any other race I've run. I've felt that bad before within meters of the finish, but not 30 minutes from the finish. I stayed focused and tried to think of nothing other than the runners in front of me. The leaders of the race were within view only minutes earlier which told me that I was either making a big mistake and would eventually blow up or that the extra miles had indeed paid off. Again, I found myself battling with the Cani Morti from Italy. The Hirsuit Mufloni. The well-thatched pelt of Marco Gaiardo. We'd gone at it twice already this year. His season is as long as mine and I know that he must be just as tired. For half an hour I focused on his shoes trotting along one foot infront of me. I watched an Engish runner pass us and two minutes later come sailing back. One of the three runners from Uganda also came flying back (the first was stunted by the very first hill). I would not pass the Cani Morti because I could not. I was asking so much more of my body just to be near him.
I crossed the line in 12th place - 2:17 seconds behind the winning time of Jonathon Wyatt. Within moments Joe was behind me, then Eric, then Simon, Zack and Matt.
Simon looked dissapointed from his 25th place finish, but when an official came out of the timing van by the finish line and held three fingers in the air, indicating our third place finish, he was all smiles.It has meant so much to me to medal for the US. To 'lead' the team is a completly different feeling - one I can't claim to have ever felt before. For the past several years, running has been about me and only me. I don't mean this as a form of ego (though I don't deny that aspect of it), but rather that it is something that exhists more in my mind than anywhere else. It has taken me places that I never thought I'd go. I. Me. I. Me. Never Us. But then it was Us and I knew that it was good.
Anna Pichrtova was kind enough to transport a six liter bottle of champagne 1/2 way across Europe for me to the sight of the World Trophy. Two months ago, something inside me told me that there would be a good reason for sharing it. It was consumed by the American in half the time that it took to run the race.
I took this past weekend off from running and traveled to London wonderful friend Bri instead. She gets the blue ribbon for Americans guiding Americans around London. This coming weekend
I'll face many of the same top guys in Bavaria, and again in Slovenia the week after. I'll be riding my bike again - getting from race to race and then hopefully a trip down the coast of Croatia.
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