Rockhopper Xterra Race Report

A Rocky Hell

Rockhopper Xterra Triathlon is a low key event on the north shore of Tempe Town Lake. The 1000 meter swim, the thirteen mile bike and the 3.5 mile trail run weren’t necessarily long, but they aren’t fast or easy, either. The terrain in Papago Park is hilly and bone-jarring.

I was nervous about this race because mountain biking always inspires a bit of fear. Will I crash or otherwise inflict bodily injury upon myself? My wounded knee hadn’t healed up for the past three weeks, because I kept crashing on it. Pain bred caution. I was slow, and cutoffs were also a concern. I met them last year, but it was tight. Last year’s journal entry mentioned how difficult the race was. I didn’t need the reminder.  Amnesia was bliss.

Am I too old for this stuff? It is exhausting and scary. The lack of any females in my age group sometimes makes me wonder if mountain biking and trail running is a good idea. But in a strange way it is fun.

Race day didn’t start out well. I was sitting in the car, ready to leave and wondered what did I forget? Too late I realized what it was.  I forgot my Camelbak. Camelbaks are not cool in road cycling, but it’s hard to drink from a bottle while mountain biking. Too much coordination was required to grab a bottle and stay upright. 

It also had my flat repair equipment in it. I hoped that the tire gods would be kind and not let me get a flat. Lately, I had been finding inch-long Cholla Cactus stickers in my tires. The desert is not a good place for tires. 

I also forgot my required USAT card for packet pick up, since I rarely do this on a race day. Luckily the race director let me off, since he knew me. I was impressed that he actually remembered my name. I must have done enough of his races to achieve notoriety.

Photo courtesy of Wannatri

The start of the race was in choppy water. This wasn’t an issue, since I had an old, beat up wetsuit that kept me from drowning. The seventy-five degree water temperature was almost chilly at first in my sleeveless wetsuit, but it felt warm later.  

The swim was crowded with swimmers doing only the 1000 and 2000 meter swim.  Undoubtedly, a few lapped me on the 2000 meter swim, since I was only doing the 1000 meter very slowly. Hazards like the dangerous breast stroker and over-enthusiastic fast swimmers had to be avoided. Breast-strokers can randomly kick me. Fast swimmers didn’t care if I was in their way and would swim over me if they can get away with it. They also churned up the water, adding the unpleasantness of being out in the murky lake. I was the last woman swimmer, but my time was better than last year. For once, the swim was the easiest part of the race.

The dreaded bike was next. Papago park is unforgiving terrain with loose rock and dirt that was difficult to climb and ascend. It wanted me to die. Pre-riding the course to practice was ineffective, because the right route was not obvious, despite doing the race last year. I managed to find some of it, but not all because the trails veer off in so many directions. 

The first loop I felt incompetent.  Frequently, I had almost made it up a hill when my wheel skidded on an errant rock. I cussed in frustration and had to jump off the bike when it lost traction, to avoid falling over. A particularly big hill was impossible for me to ascend. Climbing a steep hill isn’t worth it if I am bent over gasping for breath for five minutes, so I gave up. Walking was about as fast as riding anyway, but I hated it because it meant that the dirt and rocks won. I was tired from the swim and had to ride much harder to avoid the cut offs. The sun blazed hot. 

I was gingerly descending a demon rocky hill, trying not to kill myself, when a rider flew by me like it was nothing. Really? It must have been his bike that allowed him to do this. Amazing, but irritating. I didn’t know how the fast and fearless did it. For me, self-preservation took precedence when descending a sketchy steep hill. Other riders were having almost as much difficulty as I was. The course has mandatory dismounts–three per loop; two loops total. This involved awkwardly walking with metal cleated mountain biking shoes on loose gravel through a tunnel. Not fun. By the second loop, I had accepted that this course was very difficult and I just had to get through it. It wasn’t my fault; it was the trail’s fault. I had about ten minutes total of walking. At least I didn’t have the hotshots the last loop. The total time was about the same as last year. A little extra length was added because a pedestrian bridge has been taken out at the turn around.

I got into transition and no one stopped me, so I must have made the cut off. In my hurry,  I forgot to take off my helmet and didn’t notice for a half mile. I left it on the side of the trail to pick up on my way back and felt really stupid. This had never happened to me. Only the totally clueless do this. Why didn’t anyone say something like “idiot, take off your helmet!”

The temperature by then was eighty-four degrees. It was hot, but not unbearable. A breeze helped. I had no hat as usual, because of failing to take off my helmet. The run course was a little more doable than the bike course, but it was still a lot of climbing and descending rocky hills. A volunteer dude kept asking me what loop I was on. I appreciated his concern, but I was well within the cut off. Go to hell.  I had to run with my helmet in my hand the last mile. I hoped no one noticed. Total time was 3:05:43. 

I was first in my age group because I was the only one. This usually has to be pointed out to race directors, especially when awards are given out before I even start the run. They must not expect older athletes to show up, though usually every race I do has a seventy-year-old male that can crush the bike, but not run as well. 

Another race, another beer glass

Being the only one made me feel like a bit of a misfit. But even if I am not good at it, I still mountain bike and do Xterras. Incompetence never stopped me before.

Rockhopper Xterra Race Report

Three kinds of people sign up for an Xterra triathlon–the fast, the clueless and slow people like me. Fast people power through the terrain like it doesn’t exist. I have never figured out how they do this, but I suspect that their fancy bikes help. The clueless have no idea what they are in for, but soon find out that they made a bad decision. An Xterra can quickly become overwhelming, and require a lot of physical effort and skill. I wonder what a person doing a triathlon for the first time would think of his experience. Maybe “never again?” Slow people like me struggle to climb the hills and often fail, resulting in more of a walk/bike or a walk/run. I do these events anyway, despite my incompetence, because I like the challenge.

These races  are mostly populated by younger, male participants. The mean age for this race was 35-39. Only twenty-five percent were female. For some reason older females shy away. I was the only one above age of 53 and I felt like an oddball. Maybe they fear injury, that they aren’t strong enough or maybe they are just smart. I am an outlier. I have been riding badly in multisport mountain bike races for years. I am slower, more cautious and less skilled than most. If a section scares me, I don’t ride it. Bodily injury isn’t worth it.

Mountain biking is more mentally engaging than road biking, which can be excruciatingly boring. I  have to constantly look where I am going and pick the best line through obstacles to avoid smashing into rocks, running into cactus and running off the trail. Climbing up slopes requires leg strength, finesse and sudden bursts of leg turnover to avoid falling over when pedaling. Even arm muscles get a workout. It can be physically exhausting in a short amount of time.

Still, it’s fun when it isn’t terrifying. I prefer the trail hazards of horses, other people and sometimes snakes, to cars killing me or stoplights. The tires usually don’t flat because they are so rugged. The scenery is better. Most snakes leave me alone.

Papago Park isn’t my favorite place to ride. The trails are rocky, rutted from storm damage and poorly marked. I am spoiled by the smoother, engineered ones in North Scottsdale, McDowell Mountain Park and even the Phoenix Mountain Preserve. Papago Park is difficult to ride and even harder to figure out where to go in the spaghetti maze of random routes.

I stupidly signed up for the Rockhopper Xterra, anyway. Another “I couldn’t think of anything better to do” event. I hadn’t done this event since 2008, so maybe it would be an easier experience than in the past. It wasn’t.

The race had a 10 a.m. cut off for the bike. I was concerned about it, because my normal glacial pace on the swim and a mountain bike, I would be close to that time. I usually don’t have this issue, but maybe the race organizer had someplace better to be or they didn’t want to have to transport people who had keeled over in the rough terrain. Theoretically, October starts to cool down even in Phoenix, but the month had stubbornly clung to “hot” and “more hot.”

Race morning, I walked down the boat ramp and cautiously waded into the water. Sharp rocks await the unwary, then it drops off suddenly. My ratty, old sleeveless wetsuit kept me buoyant, so I wasn’t worried about drowning, unlike the last race. The water felt cold on my arms at first.

The horn sounded and everyone took off. No waves were needed because of the small amount of people. Open water swimmers, not doing the bike and run, started behind us. I expected to be lapped by some or all of them. They made the water more crowded. As I rounded the last turn buoy, I was shocked to find swimmers as slow as I was. This was a rare opportunity to draft off of them, which would make my efforts faster and easier. They were in my way, so I used them. The trick was not to run into them, because I couldn’t see past my elbow in the murky green water. An occasional bubble hinted at where they were.  I finished faster than I expected, which was good because I don’t like swimming and was short on time.

Staggering up the ramp, I got my bike gear on and debated going to the port-a-potty, which for once, was in transition. The urge was not that great, so I moved on to the bike course.

The bike course had a flat section that followed a canal, then crossed a bridge onto rocky hell. Right away, I fumbled the climbing and had to walk. I thought: I am not very good at this. The ride did not get much better the next three miles. Some hills I didn’t have enough power to get up. I was still tired from the swim and hadn’t recovered. Some I misjudged the best route and got stuck. Some had rutted, loose soil, and I couldn’t get enough traction to climb. Some sections were just too scary to ride like the sudden steep drop offs with loose, rocky dirt. I had trouble with my bike shoes. Sometimes, they were difficult to clip in when I had to I get back on the bike. Each of the two loops had three mandatory dismounts in addition to the hills I couldn’t ride. I almost tripped on a rock a few times walking the bike through the dark tunnel.

I began to despair of making the cut off, but all I could do is keep going. A portion near the three mile mark was flat, so I went as fast as I could to make up time.

Coming back on the first loop, I crashed on a technical section named “The Steps.” It consisted of evil, steep stone ledges in a wash that scared me. I thought to myself that I could get through this. I got down the ledges, landing hard, but climbing out, I couldn’t pedal hard enough to make it back up the wash and unceremoniously fell over. A volunteer asked me if I was alright. My leg was scraped and my butt hurt, but I was able to get up. I didn’t lose too much blood, just my dignity, since I had landed in the dirt.

I finished the first loop and hoped for a better outcome. It didn’t happen. I didn’t stumble as much and went faster, but I still couldn’t get up some of the steep hills.  The volunteers that had been stationed by the potential crash sites had left before I finished the second loop. I was on my own. My high heart rate was high and it was hot. I fought exhaustion. For some reason, I kept hopscotching the same guy. I  passed him on the climbs, then he  passed me on the flats. Did heI  know how old I was? He was probably 35-40 and not doing much better than I.

 At the finish of the second loop, someone called out that the cut off was in ten minutes. Miraculously, I could go on to the run.

The start of the run was hot–about 85 degrees. I just wanted to survive and make the cut offs. Only the canal portion was shaded. The trails were rocky, bleak and steep. The difficult ascents had to be climbed twice, plus constant up and downs. A young kid flew by me as I hobbled up. I hated his youth. My legs were fried by then. Tripping was a concern because it happens when I am tired, but I avoided falling. I passed an older man, about seventy and I wondered if he was on his first or second loop. At least he tried.  The last mercifully flat 1.3 miles were a lot faster.

Total time for the whole thing was 3:03:59, a little better than I expected. This was one of the hardest races I have done this year. I hadn’t expected much out of it, knowing the difficulty, but I had wanted to finish it.

Most people were leaving as I got done. As I picked up my gear, people told me to get a mug, since I was the only one in my age group. A man who had gotten one gave me his. He was the same one that I had seen on the run and was in the 70+ range. He was miffed that everyone had gone home, the race was packing up and awards had been given out already. I could relate to that. It’s basically most of my race experiences, especially Xterra. I didn’t really care, being wasted. The rest of the world might have finished early, but old, slow people can still do the damn thing too.