12 Nov 2016
Race Day: Saturday, October 15, 2016 – 8am
I neglected writing about this race for a long time. It was a bad race. I’ve never fallen apart as badly as Wild Duluth 2016. I was undertrained and figured I could wing it. If you don’t put in the miles and race-specific intensity, you cannot wing it.
I did one two-hour run a week before the race, which was my tune-up. I’d been running pretty consistently, but low volume, since the big thru-hike. Three miles per day and one two-hour run. The only reason I signed up is because I thought I could potentially squeak out a win. I mean, I had extreme volume on my legs from a month prior with hiking 50k per day nine days in a row, but that is slow walking, and I was hoping to run over twice as fast for this race. I scoped out the start list and my game plan was to start really easy, hopefully be in the front pack at least, and then race my own race and hold on.
Race morning went off without a hitch. Mountain Dew, check. Cereal, check. Deuce deuce, check. The day was shaping up to be pretty warm. Overcast but in the 60’s. I was feeling good and ready to rip. Talking to other competitors that I recognized, it seemed like everyone was questionable about what sort of shape they were in. But that’s what everyone always says…
I moseyed around and then the hoard started to congregate towards the start line at Fond du Lac park on the outskirts of Duluth. A few words and “GO!”, we were off. I took off absurdly fast for some reason, and my buddy David Dickey stuck right on my shoulder. That’d be a great race, if we could feed off of each other’s energy and push the pace up front. There were a few guys up front with us, but I was in the lead in the very runnable mountain bike trail through Mission Creek. An older guy zipped in front of us about two miles in, apologizing and citing he though he had to go to the bathroom.
I was feeling good through my first five-mile split in the 45-minute range. Right on track… David fell back after the first aid station and I was by myself. A familiar competitor, Ryan Braun, was back behind me somewhere. I saw him on a few switchbacks, and knew that he was pretty fit. He finished shortly behind me at Voyageur 50 Mile and had finished second at Wild Duluth 50k several times. Perhaps this was his year. By the way, I wondered where that other guy was? Maybe we passed him squatting in the woods.
I felt like I was racing well–not too aggressive but not falling behind–until Braun passed me like I was standing still. I considered chasing him but he was out of sight in no time. Dang. I was passed another time, now in fourth place, coming through the second aid station and heading towards Ely’s Peak. Not where I want to be, but I just told myself to race my own race and it will sort itself out.
Photo credit: Julie Ward
I pounded it up through Ely’s, and started passing 100k’ers going the other way. That is always a good boost, and I felt good. It was definitely getting warm, though, in a muggy and sticky way. Otherwise, I felt pretty decent coming into mile 10. My next 5-mile split was almost exactly 10 minutes slower. But it’s harder running. I told myself to stick that pace.
I held my own through Spirit Mountain, and once I passed the last 100k stragglers, I felt lonesome out by myself. Nobody else near me, just hanging out in fourth place. Climbing out of Spirit, I felt the urge to walk. I dismissed the thought and just shuffled my way up the hill. The early onset of fatigue and low-volume training was starting to surface. By the time I got to Cody Street, it was really tough to maintain a reasonable pace. My split from mile 15-20 was just shy of one hour. To win, I knew I’d need under 4:45, and that equates to less than 50 minutes per 5 miles for sure. An hour was way too slow and I did not foresee a second wind. I wasn’t walking a whole ton, but my running pace was noticeably slowing. From here, the derailment was swift, but the remainder of the race was long. Very long, painful and drawn out.
Photo Credit: Julie Ward
Like a ton of bricks, my motivation and energy levels plummeted and I was dead meat. I got passed a few times through Brewer Park after the Highland Getchell aid station. I was really going slow by now, and knew my next split would be over an hour. A slow and painful death, but now was the time that I realized what was happening and my mental state came into play. I knew I wasn’t trained to run fast enough, I was dead meat. Piece of crap. Whatever, it’s still fun, I thought. Just jog it out.
Through the tunnel under Haines Road, I could barely run. I wasn’t that sore, it’s just the terrible feeling of not being able to turn my legs over fast enough. Slowwww. I was passed a few more times into Piedmont, once by a woman who was holding her hand cockeyed. She mentioned how she fell a bunch and thinks she tweaked a nerve or something. Ouch. Then she fell again right in front of me. I couldn’t even hang on to this woman… I got chicked. She got back up and ran past me with the speed of a track star–out of sight in no time. I didn’t even know what place I was in at this point, but was nearing five hours through Lincoln Park. After the last aid station, it’s all easy, I thought.
Photo Credit: Julie Ward
I took my time at the Duluth Running Co. aid station, and expressed my woes to the familiar faces handing out drinks and snacks. I took off jogging across Piedmont Avenue at a comically slow trot, but picked it up. I told myself to finish somewhat strong… the pain will all be over soon enough. I didn’t feel too beat up, but just had no step, like a car stuck in first gear. It took forever to get to Enger Tower, and I got passed there too. Worse than getting passed repeatedly is that I couldn’t hang on to anyone. They’d pass me with ease and run out of sight in a flash. Am I really going that slow?
I finally got to Enger and then just leaned forward for the straight downhill bomb towards Bayfront Park and the finish line. This was the easy part, finally. Just don’t get passed anymore, I thought. I had nice form coming across I-35, and peeked behind my shoulder just to make sure I didn’t have to bring the pain on some fools behind me. Nobody there, luckily. A short jaunt and I was within striking distance of that stinking finish line after a long, long morning.
Photo Credit: Mike Wheeler
My watch was well past 5 hours, and it looked like I’d be just about an hour slower than my winning time from 2014. Piece of crap, but what do I expect? I finished and sat right down on the ground.
Photo Credit: Mike Wheeler
Photo Credit: Mike Wheeler
Shoes: Mizuno Hayate size 11
07 Aug 2016
Race Day: Saturday, August 7, 2016 – 8:30am
I went in to Brewhouse Tri with big expectations. I had the expectation to win. It’s easy to say you have no expectations, but this was not the case. It’s easy to say you have no expectations when there is no reason that you should have them, such as not swimming and signing up for a triathlon, which involves swimming. Or letting my tri bike literally get dusty from no use, when the race involves riding a tri bike. Nevertheless, I went out to Brewhouse with the goal to win. Time was irrelevant.
This was my sixth time racing the Brewhouse Sprint, and I was competing for my fifth win. The caveat was my severe lack of specific training. This seems to be a common theme lately, but seemed to play out OK with Voyageur just one week prior. I hadn’t swam a stroke or sat on my tri bike, for all intents and purposes, for nearly 11 months. I knew I had good run fitness, and I knew I had decent biking fitness from biking to work every day. Is 6 miles a day enough? I rarely push it… my commute is at a very leisurely pace. How far back on the swim will I be? I had some major questions on how the day would pan out.
The morning drive to beautiful Island Lake outside of Duluth confirmed my notions that the day would be ideal for a triathlon. I got to the transition area and saw plenty of familiar faces to who I had to explain being off the grid and spending my time hiking. It was good to be back schmoozing with the awesome triathlon community in Duluth.
The bike warmup was on point, and I didn’t spend too much time running. I had a pre-race Mountain Dew and was ready to rock. My transition area seemed so much more compact and easy than I remember. A testament to the backpacker ‘less is more’ mentality? Perhaps. I suited up in my wetsuit and did a few strokes. They felt fine, but even a minute was enough to feel the tension and soreness in my shoulders. Not good.
I found myself antsy for the race to begin. Before long, Matt Evans came out of nowhere to instruct us on what buoys to turn at and to come back to. In a flash, the goggles went on and the 10-second countdown began. “GO!” and the hectic start commenced. Nothing like a triathlon start… Hands, feet, faces, bodies everywhere.
I felt fine right away, but definitely noticed my lack of swim fitness. I was used to pulling away from people at the drop of a hat, er, swim cap, and now people were swimming away from me. I tried to get on someone’s feet, but it was only for a short while. The first buoy wasn’t too terribly far off, and I felt good rounding the first and second markers. My shoulders were burning and they felt like wet noodles dragging through the water, but I was halfway done and still swimming as strong as a non-training fool like me could go. I took it all the way in until my fingers scraped on the bottom of the lake floor.
I knew I had some ground to make up while I was in T2. Not to belittle my fellow athletes, but I was not used to being down off the swim. My transition was hasty, it took me a bit to get my shoes set, but then I took off hard on the bicycle.
The Brewhouse bike course is fast. I cranked right out of the gate and got up to speed quickly, passing a few people in the process. I was gaining on others quickly and passed them like they were stopped with a kickstand up. I peeked at my watch to get a reading of 30MPH, and I knew I was on the right track. I figured that I could hold a decent run pace regardless of how hard I push on the bike. At that moment, I knew to achieve my goal, I’d have to put it all on the line on the bike. And so I cranked away. Every person I passed, I looked ahead to hopefully catch the lead motorcycle. The legs were feeling fine, but I was breathing really heavily. No time to catch my breath, I thought. A few more people, and I saw the leaders near the one turn on the course. He was just a few minutes ahead of me, so I made the 180-degree turn and had my sights focused to that motorcycle like a track dog to the fake rabbit.
The next few people were slower to pass. It took a while to reel them in, and it was a slow pass. I was happy to get past my tri buddy Lee Brown, because I knew he’d be a contender. He’s had a few second-place finishes at the race and I knew he was hungry for a local win with his new tri bike. A minute later, I caught the leader, with time to pad until T2. I made an effort to put more time on my fellow competitors, and hopped off my bike in a hurry, sprinting for my running shoes.
The second transition was speedy, and I was off. I wondered how my legs would feel without doing a single brick workout on the year, and they felt like jelly. The feeling of running in a triathlon is pretty terrible. It’s like you have a parachute on, or ankle weights. You just can’t get that speedy pickup. I was breathing heavy out of the gate, and took a peek behind my shoulder to gauge how this guy was running. He was close. I figured I’d be able to pick up a little speed once my legs get used to the switch-up, but three miles isn’t much real estate. In that case, I tried to focus on my cadence.
By the turnaround, I couldn’t see anyone. By the time I had a clear view behind me, back on County Road 4, there was nobody in sight and I knew I had it. I picked up my pace for good measure, and just because I could, and my notions were confirmed as the athletes going the other way told me it was mine. They popped us into the woods, and I was cruising on by on a wooden bridge. Sweet. The last half mile was on a trail, and you could just smell the Northwoods pines. The sound of the crushed gravel underfoot made it a treat for the senses.
I held up my five fingers on the finishing chute, and brought it in a few seconds past an hour, far off of the course record. To my surprise, Lee Brown came waltzing in before I could bat an eye. I somehow held him off with a big bike, giving me five wins for this race. The Brewhouse Sprint Tri is a spectacular event.
Pace: 1:40/100 yd
Shoes: Mizuno Hitogami size 11
Bike: Specialized Transition
Wheels: Profile Design 78