Mountain Man Olympic Race Report

I always debate doing Mountain Man because it’s HARD. This would be my thirteenth one, so I knew better. Did I really want to swim in a lake at 7,000 feet? Climb the hills on the bike and the run? All with a lack of oxygen? But it the summer had been sizzling hot and miserable and the race would be a distraction in a cool place. Plus it would be a reason to train in the ninety degrees at dawn weather, which it seemed pointless otherwise.

So I swam in bath water temperature pools and lakes, sweated on the bike and run and came home to collapse in a dehydrated state of semi-heat exhaustion. This summer exceeded itself in pure crapitude. Even normal thriving trees and Saguaros were dying in the excessive heat.

I regularly do things like this to myself. Normal people think I am nuts. You rode or ran in this heat? It was uncomfortable, but bearable up to about 93 degrees, depending on the humidity.

 The hassle of driving to Flagstaff did give me pause. The day before the race, I drove up on I-17, which was more clogged than usual on a summer weekend when Phoenicians are desperately trying to escape the heat. Parts of the road were under construction, which was a perpetual endeavor. The drive took thirty minutes more than normal.

 I always hate pre-race, getting hyped up and wondering what will go wrong and what essential thing will be  forgotten. I didn’t sleep very well. The hotel is close to a busy street and it was noisy. I used the fan feature to drown out the noise, but didn’t get much rest.

I got up at 3:50 race morning, packed up my stuff, forgetting a pillow and drove in the dark to the lake. It was warmer than usual, in the 60's. One year the car windows were fogged up, a baffling condition to clear up. Another time it was foggy, which delayed the swim.

The swim was always tricky for me. To get out of breath and hyperventilate, was difficult to impossible to recover from. Usually, my chest gets tight and I have to go slow and rest a lot to avoid panic. This seems to go on forever, but I always finish. 

We had a rolling start and I seeded in the back. It started and ended at the ramp by transition. The swim went clockwise south instead of going north. The lake looked like it had more water in it than in the past, but also more weeds and was fairly calm. I didn’t panic, but found it hard not to stop and rest often, especially in the beginning. I swam by people freaking out and had to avoid a back-stroker most of the swim. It got better the second half, but not by much. I resorted to inhaling deeper to suck in more air, but it was hard to get enough oxygen. The water temperature was stated as 68 degrees and was 70 degrees by my watch. It wasn’t as warm as in years past, though not by much. It took 50 minutes, but seemed longer. It’s always a relief to get on land.

My fifteen year old bike had been giving me problems two weeks before. The hub on my expensive wheel had given out and it wasn’t shifting well. The bike held up on the hills and the chain rubbed the gears sometimes, but was much better than before it was fixed. I didn’t hear any tire squeals from brake rubbing on the downhills. I admired the wildflowers on the side of the road, though they didn’t seem as lush as other years.  Sunflowers, Indian Paint Brush, some pink flowers and scarlet penstemon dotted the roadside. Goldfinches sang in the fields of sunflowers and crows screeched in the pine trees. 

Off the bike, my legs felt clumsy and stiff. Running was painful, but I pushed myself anyway, though not fast. My body felt miserable, but my mental state was okay. The goal was to be faster than the last time here. I had given up beating myself up for not conquering this course with the hills and altitude. I argued with myself to move my feet faster.  The cracks in the road didn’t trip me.

Moving up the long, steep hill, white blossoms from the bushes growing on the hillside smelled fragrant. This was a unique experience on the run. Finally, the top of the hill and a half mile of dirt trail. The lake road at the bottom looked far away.

Running downhill was a relief, except for feet snaring road cracks. Too bad it wasn’t all like that to the finish line. A mile to go, a truck was blocking the way. Thankfully it backed away. With a tank in back, it looked like a septic tank emptier. Almost foiled by a outhouse shit collector. Weird.

The end didn’t come soon enough. Random people cheered, but not anyone that I knew. In the past, I would bemoan lack of support, but the finish line was all that I cared about. That and stopping the pain. I finished twenty minutes faster in total time than the last time in 2021.

Since only three people in my age group showed up, I was third and got one of the tree stump awards. Of course we had to nag the awards announcer because he didn’t have the results yet. Not everyone can finish in two and half hours.

As hard as this race was, it was a nice distraction. I always get sucked into the “can I really do this?” trap. Olympic races don’t seem like a given anymore. I used to worry about how fast I could go, and now lingering doubts in my abilities makes finishing is a goal in itself. It’s fun to find out that I CAN do it. 

 

Mountain Man Olympic Triathlon Race Report

In the hellhole otherwise known as Phoenix, by the time August has come around, life has lost its meaning and existence takes too much effort. I signed up for this Flagstaff triathlon race to get out of Phoenix and to break up the unbearableness of summer. I needed a reason to get off my ass and train in ninety degree heat. The distraction would keep me from thinking dark thoughts about what life would be like without air conditioning in humid, hundred plus degree temperature.

I had done this race eight times, so I knew the suffering that was involved. At 7,000 feet, the body lacked oxygen. More effort was required to move; and the movement was slower. The hills that would have been merely rolling at sea level became the Swiss Alps at altitude. It’s still arid and just being outside sucks the moisture out of my body. But the pine trees, lake, sunflowers and mountains were nice scenery and a change from rocks, dust and cacti.

I chose the Olympic length because the half iron distance was unfathomable. Nobody but the crazy, fast people or clueless did it. Running the half marathon run alone along the road while seeing everyone drive by, who had already finished, would suck. Running up and down a steep hill, then running another seven miles would be torture. Also, who the hell would want to swim another five hundred yards in the brown sludge of Lake Mary? And bike 56 miles? The Olympic was enough pain for one day.

I drove up to Flagstaff, turning onto Lake Mary Road. Near the race site, I  passed by a bunch of people looking at deer or elk. This amused me because I was sure the animals had no clue why they were being gawked at. They probably thought why are all these weird humans looking at me?

Just as I got the packet pickup location, a large black cloud appeared. Then it started pouring and lightning flashed. It was wiser to stay in the car until the prospect of electrocution and getting drenched was over with.

I like Flagstaff, but it is a pain to drive in with the hordes of tourists. I got dinner, then walked around and sat at Heritage Square for a while. There weren’t musicians playing yet, but people were hanging around and games were set up for children. I like the vibe of this town, like an Arizona hippie version of San Francisco in the sixties. Even the homeless are laid back. One dude tried to sell me a beach cruiser. He had just cleaned the bike and seemed relatively mentally stable. As if I had room in my Corolla for two bikes.

I got back to the hotel and did race prep. I hated stressing about a race. I had to get up at 3:30, so I was worried about getting everything ready. Plus I was concerned about my emotionally needy cat being alone. She expected to be waited on and no one was there. She was probably crying piteously. I realized I had forgotten to bring my race belt, which is something I had never forgot before. This was disturbing. What was wrong with my mind?

I went to bed, but kept waking up every hour. A distant train blew its horn. The A.C. made weird noises. The room was warm even with it on. Sleep does not come easily and altitude makes it worse. I must need actual oxygen.

At zero dark thirty, I got ready and stepped outside. The car didn’t have dew on it, which was a good sign, because I wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.  Dew is an alien substance in the desert. I packed everything up and drove to the race site. When I got near the lake, the road had foggy patches. Some of them were quite dense, which made the road hard to see. It made me nervous. Go away fog, I don’t need you. I had to look for a parking spot in the dark and mist. I found the one I was looking for even though it was  half a mile away. I couldn’t deal with the whole dark and not seeing and parking thing.

 The sky lightened, revealing that Lake Mary had dense fog on it. I really didn’t want to swim in it, wandering aimlessly, with no idea where to go. I have visions of the Lake Tahoe swim, where the buoys were obscured by fog in the 32 degree air.

They made us go down to the dock at the scheduled time, then wait forty-five minutes. This was a first for me–a fog delay for an Arizona race. The long line of mist parallel to the shore slowly retreated. Hurry up, already!

I was supposed to start at 6:35, but didn’t begin until 7:20. At least by then we could see the buoys. I walked down the ramp and stepped through the muck to get to deeper water. The horn sounded and I swam cautiously. The possibility of a panic attack is always present, so I never rush when I start. Hyperventilating in the middle of a high altitude lake is best avoided because it is particularly unpleasant. I staved off breathlessness, but felt uncomfortable at times and stopped to rest occasionally.

Once in a while the smell of diesel gasoline and sewage was in the brown water. I tried to keep a steady pace. The water was fairly smooth but the surface in the last fifty yards was choppy. What a relief it was to get out. The swim took me 43:50. This was a little better time than two years ago. At least the swimming time didn’t change much over the years unlike the bike and run, which had gone to crap.

I had failed to take into account the location of the toilets when I set up my bike, so I had to run a little farther to use one. I really had to pee, unlike everyone else who had already urinated in the lake. The toilets were always inconveniently located outside of transition, which wasted more time.

On the ride start, I was extra hungry, since the to wait to swim was so long. The weather felt cool until the hill climbs. With the sun out, it was hot. The bike was hard work just to go slow. It always seems like it should be easier than it really is, leading to a feeling of inadequacy. Why can’t I go faster? The hills didn’t look all that steep until they were ridden. Once in a while a chickadee or goldfinches would call out. I liked to answer them. I didn’t know if they answered back, but it kept my mind off the pain. The scenery was pretty with the pine trees, blue sky and puffy white clouds, mountains and lakes. Not as many wildflowers were blooming, though, due to lack of rain. 

On my last eight miles, I saw the first and second place male go by for the half iron. That was rather humbling, since it is twice the distance that I was doing. I passed three people, so at least I wasn’t dead last. This ride was painful by now and I wanted it to be over with so I could do an even more painful run. Bike time was 1:42.

By the time of the run, when everyone else was done, it was heating up and I was tired and thirsty. My water was lukewarm, and I craved ice to cool it down. The first 1.5 mile always appear to be downhill, but it never feels that way. My legs were tired after the bike. I stopped to walk. 

The bottom of the hill was usually the low point of the run, physically and mentally. A whole mile of terrible awaits. Could I really do this? I had this thought, though I had done this race eight times before. Despair is not logical. I told myself I was out of shape and fat, but forged ahead slowly without further walking. Better to get it over with. The hill was evil. 

I took a salt tablet and a gel because sometimes it made me feel less like the walking dead. 

After a mile plus of the steep grade, I got to the top. Just before a dirt track, usually was an aid station, but not today. My water was running low, and I worried about running out. It was located at the turn around. Lovely ice, the magic elixir! 

I felt much better and moved faster down the hill. The road that I just had ran up and the lake were far below. At the bottom and more level ground, I didn’t worry about how slow my time was because, in the past, beating myself up just made me unhappy. Running was enough self-flagellation. I sped up. The finish line was a welcome sight. Total time was 80 minutes.

I felt like I had just raced a four hour sprint. I went as hard as I could, but slowly, like moving through molasses. Output didn’t translate to speed. The wonders of high altitude exertion. I didn’t place in my age group, but didn’t care. Total time was 3:58, so at least I broke four hours.

I could bemoan that I was almost last in a difficult race like this one, and I usually do, but I would have quit this sport long ago if I worried about how much I sucked. I decided it was pointless to feel bad about it. It was fun to be physically challenged and persist despite discomfort and the annoying voice in my head that tells me that I am not good enough, am too slow, can’t breath, should give up, should swim back to shore and walk the hill. It just needs to shut the hell up.

Besides, suffering in cool Flagstaff was preferable to frying in Phoenix.

Mountain Man Olympic Race Report

Every year, I do the Mountain Man Olympic triathlon in Flagstaff. The memory of how painful it is always forgotten, only to be realized again when it is too late. The cool weather, tall pines and mountains enticed me. Fields of sunflowers lined the lake. This year, puffy cumulus cotton ball clouds mesmerized me, since they rarely appear in Phoenix, other than the monsoon.

Race morning always had an obscenely early start. The day had a particularly inauspicious incident at 3:30 a.m. when the  toilet got clogged. And of course, I had to poop a second time. I felt bad leaving a poop filled toilet, but what could I do? This cheap hotel has a front desk manager that sleeps by his post. He would not have appreciated being woken up to be told about the toilet at an awful hour. The poor maid would have a sight when she got to the room. I was in a hurry anyway, and had to pack due to their ungenerous check out time of 11 a.m.

The morning was colder  than usual for Flagstaff. I was used to eighty-eight degree mornings in the Phoenix hell hole. The car thermometer read forty-five at one point, but mostly fifty. This race was on the road, so racers have to find a spot to park off the pavement in soft dirt that wouldn’t require extraction by a tow truck. Luckily, I found a spot.

Lake Mary

I struggled into my wetsuit and got in the sludgy brown Lake Mary. At least it was warm seventy-one degree dirt water. The air was colder, so I decided just to stay in it until my wave started. I swam to warm up and tried to avoid cutting my feet on the treacherous shore rocks.

The buoys were arranged differently from previous races. More of them were placed so I could see them, which was a novelty. The previous race owner only had a bare minimum of buoys that he spaced as far apart as possible. Distance was an approximate measurement, plus or minus a hundred yards. A swimmer needed binoculars to see the last turn buoy. The new owner had visible buoys and had an accurately measured distance. 

I always dreaded this swim, since it was hard to breathe and swim at the same time at 7,000 feet altitude. The swim could be terrifying with the prospect of hyperventilating due to lack of oxygen. Strangely, this time didn’t feel as terrible as usual. Instead of fighting off panic the whole time, I just disliked it and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. I stopped less and didn’t feel as tired. The water was smooth with little wind. Being dazed when emerging, I couldn’t run up the ramp quickly, though. The time was two minutes faster than last year. Strangely, people were still in the lake. Could there really be worse swimmers than I?

I ran into an empty transition, then to the port-a-potty. How much can one pee, anyway? I started the bike still cold from the swim. My feet were numb for quite a while. My objective was to try to beat last year’s time, but I had no illusion of speed on the hilly course. Altitude will always win. The route went past the lake and to the hills. My heart rate monitor didn’t work because the watch strap had broken and couldn’t be replaced in time. I just tried to go hard or what felt as hard. Judging from the pain in my legs, the effort was sufficient. The hills didn’t seem too steep, but I didn’t go up them very fast. Lots of nice wildflowers along with the numerous sunflowers were on the side of the road. Occasionally, I would see some tiny blue ones. Oh look, pretty! Puffy clouds contrasted with the deep blue sky. Sometimes, a goldfinch would warble and I would try to answer back. Anything to distract from the discomfort.

I was thirsty most of the time. I tried to keep up with nutrition, despite not being very hungry. The sun was hot when climbing hills, but the shade felt cool.

On the way back, I wasn’t sure if last year’s time could be beaten. The hills were fun to descend. Two miles to go after ninety minutes of riding. Maybe? Final time was a little better than last year’s. 

I negotiated the traffic of people who had already finished in transition and were drinking beer. Screw you all. At the start of the run, my legs felt dead. This point in the race was always awful. The road was fairly flat and seemed like it should go faster, but it didn’t. 

At the bottom of  the dreaded Hill, I notice that they had the magic elixir, Coke. Maybe not a good choice for a strenuous climb, but Coke can revive the dead. My gut was a little backed up and I had side stitches. The Hill was a nasty, steep 1.5 mile climb. I ran up the entire hill when walking was highly tempting. This involved a bargain with myself. Go this far and I can walk. But I never did because it was just more time to be miserable. Running up that hill hurt. At the top was a dirt trail to the turn around. It was flatter, but not easier. 

Running down was fun, because it was halfway fast and I could see the poor saps still running up. All too soon the black hole of the last two miles awaited; the worst part of the race. Instead of being cranky and miserable, I had long ago learned to toss away my expectations and just try to survive. Still, I was tired and wanted to be done. Usually mile four of a 10k is difficult, but this race was especially so. My heart rate felt like 160's. Total time was  thirty seconds better than last year. A small victory.

When I finished, they were giving out awards already. Not being very hungry, I waited around, since my age group is so small that I often place. When they finally got to my age bracket, they said they didn’t have any finishers, so I had to point out that error. The guy corrected and gave my first place because no one else was in my age group. This seemed to happen often in races. The old and slow get forgotten. At least he cared and was a little embarrassed.

Total overall time was 3:50:18. My first reaction was meh, but it was four minutes better than last year.

I went to get a beer and a hot dog, but the hot dogs had all been eaten. Curse you fast people! Quit eating all the food! Luckily, my tri club people had food. The light beer, which was still available, had a good flavor. I needed something more than cookies and fruit after a brutal race. 

It was hot when I slogged back to the car. This is the fourth leg of triathlon–dragging all my crap back to the car. The bike, bike helmet, a heavy bag with a wetsuit, and bike shoes all have to be moved from transition to my car a quarter mile away. I always fantasize about having to sherpa to help, preferably a cute one, but no one ever materializes. 

The prize when no one else shows up
your age group

This race doesn’t get any easier as I get older. I used to do it faster, but those days are gone. More effort yields the same or less speed. Puffy clouds and sunflowers don’t make my legs hurt any less. But who doesn’t need strenuous activity with less oxygen?

Pain? What pain?