Greatest day of my life.

Granted I have a terrible memory (which I once read about a study arguing that human males have developed an adaptive quality of having a poor memory for negative events, while human females are really good at remembering all memories. This seems to explain a lot, but I digress...), but today was the best day of my life. Being a “Los Alamos refugee,” I have taken the opportunity to make a pilgrimage to the Golden/Denver/Boulder, Colorado region. Where to begin...?

I have fallen in love and her name is Golden, Colorado. The USGS NEIC is located on the beautiful Colorado School of Mines campus. The NEIC is where all of the earthquake response and much of the earthquake research is conducted by the USGS. Arriving here, I was welcomed with open arms at the USGS, giving me a desk to work at and an open invitation to stay as long as I need. Beyond USGS, Golden is a small, quiet town. After work on Friday, we headed to the Golden City Brewery where it seemed like the entire town was enjoying a great beer and great company. I feel Dayton is my soul-mate, but Golden could be my girlfriend.

Back to today...Given the opportunity, I jumped at the chance of riding part of the epic Peak-to-Peak highway. This is a classic road bike ride and heralded by one "highly esteemed" journal as one of the best rides in America! This also included my first visit to Boulder. About a half mile into the ride I stopped to make sure I was heading in the right direction. While stopped two riders passed, saying “Hello.” I immediately recognized one as Cam Dye!! I never thought of myself as becoming star-struck, but I could not get over the fact that an athlete that I have read so much about in magazines had just casually rode past me. Heading in similar directions, I ended up following Cam and his unidentified partner for several miles. Don’t worry, I kept enough distance that it could have passed as “going in the same direction” and not “stalking.”

Following my Cam Dye encounter, the rest of the ride offered amazing scenery of riding within rocky, mountainous valleys, along a roaring mountain stream. Simply stunning. On top of that, the ride hosted a constant gradual climb for about 20miles straight! While completely spanking my feeble quads, the 10mile fast decent was equally enjoyed. The amazing thing was the number of bikers I saw. Honestly, I think I saw more bikers just today than I have seen in the past 10 years combined in Ohio and PA. And this was just a normal day here!! At first I found it odd that no other bikers really waved as you passed. But then I realized it is because you would be waving constantly. It would be like trying to wave to every car that you passed while driving. There are just that many! What is this place!?!?

Still unable to grasp the concept of bike nutrition (I mean the thought of simply drinking consistently is such a complex notion to me) I was in a serious hurt box when I finally returned to my car. Looking to return to the world of the living, I headed to Amente for some great coffee and sustenance. As I ate my way back from zombie-land while watching the Tour de France, I struggled with holding back a constant shit-eating grin.

Feeling like Mike again, I then strolled next store to Boulder Cycle Sport. There I was encountered by multiple employees who were more than willing to geek-out about talking bikes with me. Additionally, I got a chance to hold the Cervelo R5ca frame in my own hands!! This $9,999 frame, of which only several hundred where ever produced weighs a meager 700 grams!! That’s right, THE BIKE FRAME WEIGHTS LESS THAN 700 GRAMS!!! SIMPLY AMAZING!!

While the wonderful Boulder Cycle Sport shop specialized more in road/mtn cycling than multisport, I then took a little trip over to Colorado Multisport to check out a famous multisport bike shop. First, this is also where Retul Boulder is located, I cannot tell you how many pictures of pros I have seen getting refit in this shop. While there, I quickly struck up a conversation with one of the co-owners, Chuck. When you imagine geeking-out, this conversation redefines it. I learned so much talking to him. I saved countless hours of internet review/discussion searching by talking to him for a short while. Not only is he a great resource, but super friendly and thrilled to talk bikes. I will admit he was a little bit of a name dropper, but I’ll take it because he was dropping some serious names!! He works on the bikes of the who’s-who in triathlon. Name a top pro triathlete living in Boulder, he is his/her man! Most importantly, Crowie, my most respected and admired athlete of all time, “comes in and hangs out at the shop all the time”!!!! Whoa, further more, this guy is good friends with Crowie, heading over to Crowie’s house to watch the tour with him tonight!! Pinch me I’m dreaming. Like I said, I never thought I was one to get star-struck, but it is so crazy to have these amazing athletes become just normal people. I walked out of the store literally speechless. This had been an incomparable day and it was only 4PM!!

Finally, the day ended with a classic pig roast at a friend-of-a-friend. You might be saying, “OK, when did the amazing thing happen to you today?” But it wasn’t any one thing. Everything about today was awesome and the fact that it all occurred in one day and there were no downers about it is what makes today the greatest day of my life. It is a big statement, I know, but some days it just all works out. Booya!

Lubbock, I kind of hate you.

I knew I was undertrained going in my race in Lubbock, Texas, the Buffalo Springs 70.3 triathlon. I knew it was going to be hot. I even accepted it would likely be windy. And I will admit I may have said something like, “I can probably fake my way through it” in my head. What happened in Lubbock, Texas on June 26, 2011 is something that I kept thinking I was going to wake up from in a cold sweat by safe in my bed.

When I left my car that morning it was 82degrees out and the wind was already blowing. When I returned to my car after the race it was 110degrees and the wind was blowing harder. I’ll spare you the play-by-play, but basically I got destroyed on the bike. Imagine someone in a row boat in the rough ocean while speed boats keep flying by. Well, that is basically how I felt on the bike. The wind pretty much took all the energy and self-respect that I had, threw it out the window, drove over it, then backed up to drive over it again, then spit on it, then vultures ate it. Yea, it went that well! By the time I got to the run, my legs were completely cooked. I won’t say much about the “run,” because I loose a part of my soul every time in think about it. To say the least, “running” the one mile between aid station seemed like a monumental expedition.

But, I finished. I say that not out of satisfaction or any sense of accomplishment. Rather that is the single last thread of dignity that this race let me keep. Fortunately, other people suffered as well; I was amazed to see how many people were getting I.V.’s after the race. It actually kind of looked like the fun/cool thing to do, but seeing some people shaking uncontrollably, I didn’t feel like I was worthy. But considering the speedboats that past my little dingy on the bike and run, there aren’t any excuses to be made.

I would like to say I will never return to Lubbock. But there is a competitive part of me that wants to come back and be the hammer to Lubbock instead of the wood (“The ‘wood’? You mean the ‘nail’?” No, I mean the thing getting a nail slowly driven into it). This was definitely an experience that, despite much effort, I will never forget. My nightmares will never be the same.

Hot, Damn.

There are many things I have not experienced yet in life.Well, the list is too long to enumerate. But, one thing I can check off is fleeing from a raging forest fire, Check. Well, I don’t think that was on my list. As I drove into Santa Fe, on my way back from Lubbock, TX (which was so hot, it might as well have been on fire), I saw some massive nasty looking clouds. I was first happy to see it because it looked like a massive thunderstorm might finally bring some water. As I got close, I noticed the “cloud” had a really strange shape, kind of an arching structure, and it lookslike it was actually rooted in the mountains. Instead of a massive storm cloud, it was actually the smoke from a massive forest fire. As I drove I kept convincing myself it was not coming from Los Alamos. Unfortunately, the road disagreed. As I got up into town, I could actually see flames. The townwas not on fire, but fire was definitely close. The odd thing was that the wind direction was blowing all the smoke toward Santa Fe and away from Los Alamos. I couldn’t even smell smoke.

I woke up the next morning to a beeping from the smoke alarm. My first thought was, “The fire is here!” But the alarm wasn’t actually going off, the power was just out, causing the alarm to periodically beep. With still no evacuation in place, it became a waiting game. Around noon, the wind started to shift and the smoke started to roll in and some ash began falling. It wasn’t terrible, but annoying. You might think, “Oh, I love that campfire smell!” Yea, wellno. It is a great smell when you can take a step back and be out of it. Unfortunately, this experience has put the kaputs on my plan for a smoke scented/flavored toiletries/cologne. I thought it was a great idea, “Smoke’: Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” but while the slogan is golden, I no longer think thing scent is a winner.

So to make an already long story, shorter. I became a Los Alamos refugee Monday afternoon. I headeddown to a hotel in Santa Fe, thinking this might last a long as several days. I right this nearly a week later, and the latest headline in the paper was, “Breaking News: Return no imminent for Los Alamos residents.” No houses or really any lab property has burned, but the fire is pushing 100,000 acres, but keep in mind it reached nearly 40,000 acres in the first half-day. After finally getting bored of sitting around, I have now headed up to Golden/Denver/Boulder, Colorado. It is great to see green things, and not see smoke.
No more exciting stories, I’m just totally over forest fires. Although, I am hopeful conspiracy theorists can come up with some exciting stories for the “true” cause of the Los Alamos fire.

Hello, Greenville.

"...with an enormous abstract iron sculture attached to one side and beneath it sitting in a chair tipped back against the house surrounded by company is the living image of DeWeese himself with a can of beer in his hand, which waves to us. Right out of the old photographs." - Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenence)

It has been well over a decade since I read Pirsig’s metaphysical voyage, but every time I visit Gartzka I feel like I am visiting my DeWeese. I am not a super-genius that had his former life erased from his memory because he was essentially too smart to handle. And I don’t arrive on a motorcycle, but my visits usually focus around a bike (human-powered). Maybe it is because Rob did study under the real-life Bob DeWeese. But, really I think its because arriving at their house gives me the same feeling that Pirsig described. The amazing countryside is only complimented by incredible artistic creations casually and unassumingly sitting around. The larger-than-life artistic abilities of Rob and Kathie almost make them seem as though they should be out of a novel, but being at their home is as simple as sitting outside sipping a can of beer while listening to the little waterfall in the small stream out-back.

A ride with Rob was long over-due and a free weekend in Ohio was met with amazing summer-in-Ohio weather. With a foreboding race in Lubbock, Texas I felt a hot ride was in order, so why not being a long ride around 1PM? But, this was no simply bike ride. We were setting out on a voyage, a trip to the legendary Maid-Rite sandwich shop of Greenville, Ohio.

The conditions were nothing less than legendary. The amazing thing about riding around Rob is that the day can be completely calm everywhere else in Ohio, but it is pretty much guaranteed to be blowing around him; “the mountains of Ohio” as he calls it. As we began rolling, we also began cooking. The countryside around Rob consists of beautiful farmland. Trees are few along the rode and with the corn just inches tall, there was no protection from wind or sun. We spun into a headwind the entire way out. You might think, “a nice breeze had to cool things down.” Well, does a convection fan cool down an oven? While I play up the conditions to miserable, I loved every moment of it. There is something about riding through an oven that is invigorating; it makes me feel alive. Also, the thought of kicking back with cool drink post ride is certain heaven in mere several hours.

After many miles of pushing through a tough headwind, taking a short break in a cemetery for shade (made me worry how serious this break was), and questioning if it was a good idea to keep pushing through this heat, we passed the a sign welcoming us to Greenville. Like the treaty that was signed here, I immediately felt peace had been achieved. I was even warmly welcomed by the locals, “Get off the rode!!” As we rode past the bank, the sign read 98degrees. We both quietly nodded our heads in a way of saying, “Yup, that sounds about right.”

Rolling up to Maid-Rite was like taking a time machine back 60 years. The little brick building was adorned with a neon 1950s style sign and the outside was decorated with probably 60 years of chewing gum covering almost every brick. Stepping inside we caught everyone’s attention like we were travelers from the future, but I quickly remembered it was likely due to us dripping with sweat and sporting full spandex attire. The atmosphere inside was dichotomous. Every patron smiled in pleasure of the food before them; all the staff appeared bored and miserable. Rob asked the manager if we could bring our bikes inside (fearing the safety of our steeds sitting along and out of eyesight. The conversation went something like:

Rob: Would if be fine if we brought our bikes in but kept them out of the way?

Manager: Ah, well...I guess...I mean, well....Err....I guess....just for a little bit.Rob: Like for as long as it takes us to eat?

Manager: Umm...ahh...well...I don’t know....I guess....well....there is not a lot of room...ok....well....

Rob: We will leave them outside.

Maid-Rite sandwiches consist of crumbled ground meat on a bun with (or without) cheese. It is simple, but tastes so good! It is the kind of thing that you could eat 5 of them and feel great. The best part is the meat is cooked in a big vat with a worker just chopping it up constantly with a big spatula. It is not fine cuisine, but its the kind of thing that makes me love rural Ohio.

Despite the warm welcome into Greenville and the overly helpful and accommodating manager, everyone we met at Maid-Rite was as warm as the weather we just rode through. One gentleman was curious of our route and ended up drawing a map of a suggested route home for us. Several more obvious non-cyclists were really intrigued by our bikes and all the technology. It seemed like they had never seen a bike.

We rolled out of Greenville with full bellies, full bottles, and a full real Greenville experience. The ride home was uneventful, but a beautiful cruise through Ohio. We opened up our sails and let the wind blow us home (we coasted at 23mph, does that tell you how windy it was?).

The day ended with cold beers with Rob and Kathie outside listening to the little waterfall in the small stream out-back. That is my zen and the art of bicycle maintenance and definitely a storybook finish to a day.

Half of an Ironman, still just a normal man

Anybody that knows me knows that I may have a tendency to fall into routines rather easily. I am not exactly sure what makes people think this, perhaps it is because in the past I have periodically spent many months consuming the same meal for every breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner. Perhaps it is because I tend to have a schedule that consumes nearly every hour of the day, which I repeat week after week. Basically, all pretty normal and standard procedure. BUT, this past weekend I decided it might be a good weekend to change things up and do something a little different.

So, on Saturday I figured why not wake up at 4:15 AM, sit in a beachside bathroom for 3 hours, go for a swim, bike, then run all morning, then spend the rest of the day curled in a ball feeling like WWIII was in full swing inside my abdomen. Going to see a movie was the alternate plan for the day.

Ok, maybe this was not completely impulsive and there was a little premeditation to the plan, and my swim-bike-run may have actually been called the Steelhead 70.3 Half Ironman in Benton Harbor, Michigan (the plan sounded a lot more hip without all the official names, did it not?) I also may have been training for this day (I know, I sound a lot more boring now).

The day did start at 4:15. When my mom dropped me off at 5:15 (kind of like getting dropped off at school by your mom, but I got to bring my bike to this school) a steady sprinkle-rain began. For those unfamiliar with triathlon, you begin with a swim, then head into a “transition area” where you have your bike, bike equipment, and running equipment stored. After the swim you hop onto your bike, then head back into the transition area a second time to drop off your bike and get your running shoes on and head out for the final leg of the race, the run. The swim start was going off in “waves,” simply meaning groups of people were started instead of one single mass start of everyone. The pros started first at 7AM and I was “fortunate” enough to be in the second to last wave, starting at 8:42AM! Unfortunately, the transition area closed at 6:30, so I could not just roll over to the race at 8:30 and say, “Let’s do this!” I had to get there in the morning darkness, set up my bike and equipment then hang out for several hours. While that sounds awesome, what is not awesome is when it is raining all morning. But what is surprisingly awesome is hanging out in the bathroom for about 2.5 hours. Perhaps the whole “hanging out in the bathroom” deterred people from doing it, but we had a lot of room in there. I should note, there was a changing room half to the bathroom, so I was not giving people high fives as they left the john.

Around 8AM I headed down the beach for the start. This race hosted a point-to-point swim, which means you walk about 2k (1.2miles to be exact) down the beach, then swim in a straight shot back to the transition area. Not only was the water (Lake Michigan) incredibly clean and a comfortable 76degrees, but they also have you swim “down current” (a lake surprisingly has a noticeable current, I did not know that). This made for an awesomely fast swim, a great artificial confidence boost. The swim went well, I fortunately avoided the dreaded heel-to-my-face move (typically another person’s heel to your face. I guess it could be both your heel and your face, but you might be experiencing bigger problems in that situation). I hopped out of the water and headed up to the transition area with an awesome crowd enthusiastically cheering on the guy behind me (I think I might name my son "John Tom Mike Jim Tim Bob Guillermo," that way he has a pretty good chance of always being cheered by everyone in nearly every situation). Then, I was onto the bike.

There is not much exciting to say about the bike, except all the rules that I was nervous about accidentally breaking (drafting, blocking, passing too slowly, passing on the wrong side, not dropping back after being passed, etc) were pretty much immediately broken by everyone else. The greatest challenge on the bike was having to pee for about 2 of the 2.5 hours. Surprisingly, peeing while riding the bike is incredibly difficult. The last 20 miles I decided it was time to “take care of business” before I started my run. It was not a “stage-fright” thing, I was perfectly comfortable with the idea, I mean it was essentially water anyway. But all I was able to do was make myself feel like I had to go even worse. I did learn that I might achieve success while coasting, but the downhills were all too short and again all I did was get really close to success, then it was time to pedal again. Honestly, I respect professional cyclists so much now, the skill of peeing on the bike is a masterful technique. But, I digress…

Finally, I hopped off the bike, full bladder and all, and started the run. First 3-4 miles I was feeling great and amazed how well I was moving. Finally, I decided it was time to stop thinking about peeing and made a quick stop in the porta-potty, and was off again. The second half of the run I began to fade fast. My stomach began cramping. I was familiar with this treacherous dance. On one hand it was a ticking bomb, once stomach cramping began it would only get worse. If I pushed too hard, it would shut me down. I guess you might say, this was damage control mode. Despite a poor second half, I trucked across the finish line with a decent morning behind me. I even managed to show off a couple nice moves on the run: a spin move to avoid a volunteer, a spin move to grab a cup by a distracted volunteer, and a little shimmy-sidestep to avoid another volunteer.

Crossing the finish line I felt completely spent, so I knew it was a good effort. After chatting with a fellow competitor for a bit (I am so good at talking to strangers) I headed off to find my mom who was my awesome support crew for the weekend. As I got close to her, a reminder quickly hit me. It was my stomach saying, “Remember me? Now it is my turn.” From there, the next 10 hours quickly degraded into me being in terrible pain. I did the best I could to cope. While getting some post race food for my support crew (mom), I managed to avoid throwing up all over the spread of food. I could not pass up the opportunity to hit up Bell’s Brewery with the weak hope of feeling better. Unfortunately, a Two-Heated on home tap was beyond reality, I did manage to put on a happy face for a picture before returning to my curled up state. I have to say my mom was awesome for being my support crew and putting up with me being a big baby after the race…ok I was probably also a big baby the days leading up to the race as well. While I am certain it was not very exciting for her, the highlight of my weekend truly was having my own support crew cheering me on and sharing the experience with her!!

At the end of the day, I have to admit that I thought I would feel different after the race. Granted I did not expect to be in permanent fetal position post race, but I mean this metaphysically. I honestly thought it would change the way I looked at things, like there was some wisdom hidden within those 70.3 miles. Accordingly, there was a little bit of, “Is that all there is?” when I finished. Having chewed on it for a couple days, it seems foolish to think one mornings experience would make me feel different about the world. But, comparing myself today to myself before I started training for the event, that has been transformative. I think it is on par with waking up the next day after your wedding, looking at your new wife/husband and saying “Is that all there is to being married?” It is a ridiculous thing to say and think. So, I guess I would say Saturday was my graduation or my celebration for my transformative experience. I have learned a great deal about myself at those 8AM swim practices when I think drowning would definitely feel better than another set, or those early morning mile repeat sessions when I achieve dry-heaving on my second out of four repeats, or on my long runs when it is just me and my consciousness (yes, they are two different people, how else could I have all those conversations?) for several hours, and on the long rides where I have made friends, or, or, or, or all those other times. Becoming half of an ironman (or tinman as my bro calls it) really is about the process. It is funny, looking back on the weekend now, I wish I took more pictures of me with my mom and with inspiring people I met. Makes you realize how what you think is important can obscure what feels important later…WWIII in your abdomen also tends to obscure things. So it goes…

(On a side note: the half Ironman distances are: 1.2mile swim, 56mile bike, 13.1mile run, and a whole lot of fun!!)

(Pictures top to bottom: (1) Pre-race day swim photo shoot, drink it up ladies! (2) 5:30AM, bike racked, rain about to start (3) About to head out for the run, there's no smiling in triathlon! (4) Meters away from the finish, is that a smile or a grimace? (5) Bell's Brewery, is that a smile or a grimace?)

Lists.

"There are things that can be controlled and things that can't. Somewhere in the spaces between the two we fashion out art and our lives"
-Jim Bridwell

Unfortunately, this is an adventureless posting again. I know, I'm getting lame. But, I recently pulled out an old notepad and discovered a list I had made circa fall 2008. On a side note, I love making lists. But really, who doesn't? This list was appropriately titled, "Adventure List." As the title alludes, this list included many adventures I hope to accomplish.

I remember considering posting the list on this very blog at the time, but then opting out. I felt it might appear like I was trying to act all "hardcore" and "adventurous," when really I am just a normal man. The amazing thing is that over the last year and a half I actually accomplished the first thing on my list!

This got me to think, everyone should make adventure lists! These lists should be without limit. I'm not trying the preach, "You can accomplish anything you put your mind to" mentality. My motivation is more intimate. The great thing about routines is that they are comfortable and efficient. Adventures are neither of these, that is why they are called adventures. But the thing that separates us from computers is not our ability to keep a routine, it is our ability to do exactly not that -- adventures. Looking at pictures from Elizabeth and Casey's travels around Thailand and Myanmar, I always think: something that seemed so inconvenient to routine and expenses opened a world that from third party perseective simply looks magical.

So, here's my list. I hope you make your own and dream bigger than big. I also do not plan to cross anything off, rather just check how many times I've done it. Finally, remember stories that begin with, "Remember when we..." are much more interesting than, "This one time I..." So adventure with a loved one.

Adventure List

1. Ride 200-miles in a day
2. Do an Ironman
3. Race Ironman Kona
4. XC ski tour Yellowstone
5. XC ski / ice climb tour Yostemite
6. Climb a big wall
7. Climb El Cap
8. Run a 50-mile race
9. Do a multi-stage bike race
10. Learn to fly an ultra-light
11. See the Northern Lights
12. Ride from LA to San Fran
13. Go to Japan
14. Bike through Laos
15. Go to Mongolia
16. Bike from eastern Russia through Mongolia
17. Climb in Greenland
18. Ride the Leadville 100
19. Climb in Newfoundland
20. Fly fish the Two Hearted River
21. Go to Bell's Brewery
22. Ride a wood velodrome
23. Go on a bike tour with a close friend (to be honest, I just added this one today, but something I've thought about for a while)

I added some pretty pictures because if you are anything like me, you would just look at the pictures and opt out of reading any of my ramblings. (Pictures include: a normal summer night at Caesars Creek, Ohio (I love Ohio); Denali Park, Alaska; me and my "little" brother in Hatcher's Pass, Alaska).

“I got pooped on, but that was an awesome adventure!”

"There are things that can be controlled and things that can't. Somewhere in the spaces between the two we fashion out art and our lives"
-Jim Bridwell


I’m writing this sitting in the airport waiting for the final leg of my red-eye flight from San Francisco, arriving a little late after a TWO DAY DELAY! This delay has not only provided adequate time to finally write a blog posting, but also consider situations out of my control. I do not hesitate to admit that I’m a bit of a control freak with my life; I quickly feel trapped when I do not have an easy escape.

Granted when I was first told that it would be at least 2 days before I would have a chance of leaving, my first reaction was to punch the guy in the face. But I quickly reasoned that might not help the situation, and the counter would likely get in the way of a clean hit. While still recognizing the situation definitely sucked, I soon starting planning how to take advantage of two more days in San Fran. All this really hit me the next day when I finally had time for my first run in over two weeks. As I ran along the bay, watching an enormous suspension bridge rise out of the fog, I still wished I was home, but recognized this delay was not the destruction of my holiday.

Few things ever seem to go right, and that is life. I am not trying to get all feel good, let’s hold hands, and sing around the campfire. But I realize most of the things that I call “adventures,” are actually things going wrong. My epic Mount Wilson adventure = things gone wrong. The epic long day of climbing Mount Whitney = not the day we planned. The last 100 miles of the Fireweed race, the last 6 miles of every marathon = things not going right. In fact, there is a very thin line between “adventure” and life taking a poop on you. Coming from a control freak, I have learned the delineation between these two outcomes many times comes down to me; do I decide to smile and say, “bring it on!” or do I scowl and say “@$#@#!@!##%($*$#$(@#)!@$%!!!!!!”

This is where Jim Bridwell is spot on. I have learned the most about myself when things are going wrong. You can prepare under controlled conditions, but there is a reason that you do not take tests with all the answers right in front of you. Understanding that things will go wrong and this is the essence of the experience, all you can do is just embrace it. Now I go into marathons looking forward to the final 6 miles, because that when I really start to suffer. Without that suffering, it is just another run.

This fall I returned to the Columbus Marathon. I ran with the Boston qualifying pace group again, but this time I was not a newby to marathon or Boston. It was interesting to see the other runners who were in the same spot I was two years ago: first time marathoners with a dream goal of getting to Boston. Around mile 19, I pulled up next to one said runner. He mumbled, “I need to do something to wake myself back up.” Looking at him, I knew his goal of Boston would not be won this year and in this sense his race was over. The guy was clearly working way too hard by this point in the race and beginning to suffer too early as well. But the next 6 miles were ample time to remedy these challenges. I knew his race was over by the look on his face. I told him, “Smile, you are running your first marathon!” He just responded with a heavy, “Yea.” The problem was that this race was not simply his first marathon, it was the means to his second marathon, Boston. While I considered explaining all this to him, I reasoned he was suffering too much to have some random guy lecture him nearing mile 20 of a marathon.

It takes a unique personality to willingly suffer. This really hit me during my fantastic opportunity to run with my brother-in-law (BIL) in his first marathon. Fortunately, we chose an incredibly difficult trail marathon in December for this first race. As cramping and IT band pain hit him around mile 16, running for over 5 hours in pain seemed absurd. After seeing the look on his face after the finish line, it all made sense. Any challenge, be it 5k, 200-miles, or plane flight home can go completely wrong. There are too many variables out of our hands. But, what is in our hands and only our hands is the decision to throw in the towel and punch the airline attendant in the face or to roll with it. Even if we cross the finish line on our hands and knees, we can hold our chin up, smile, and say, “I got pooped on, but that was an awesome adventure!”

PS. Shortly after writing this posting, my final flight got canceled.

FIREWEED!!!

This story actually begins about a year ago. It was the middle of yet another awesome summer in Dayton and I had signed up for the Young's Dairy Charity Ride. This year, the ride left from Young's Dairy in Yellow Springs, Ohio and traveling along the fantastic backroads of Ohio made its way to Ohio Northern University. While there were several options, the main ride was a century ride up to ONU, stay there that night, then a 80mile ride back the next day. Having completed several centuries before, I was eager to try something new, see how far I could push myself. So the challenge I set was to ride up to ONU, then ride back in the same day! I honestly had no idea if I was fit enough to do it. Well, after 3hrs of feeling nautious and in some of the greatest pain I have ever been in, I discovered that I was not fit enough. As I laid in the grass at mile 160 of my adventure waiting to be picked up by my mom, I realized that my mistakes occured early in the race. While I was focused on keeping good pace so that I could get back before dark, I had under hydradetd and fueled. By the time I began the feel the effect it was too late. Driving home, I said to myself, "That was a great challenge that I didn't achieve, but I'm never doing it again." Like the time I said, "Never again" after my first marathon, I was soon wetting my lips for a repeat performance.

Saturday July 11, 2009, Anchorage, Alaska: The opportunity to achieve my double century had finally been realized, the Fireweed!! This event hosted 50, 100, and 200 mile races, and the crown jewel being a 400mile race. The 200mile race began at Sheep Mountain Lodge near Palmer, Alaska and finished in Valdez, Alaska. Ending the race in Valdez provided an extra challenge as it left me 300miles from Anchorage. I considered the adventure of taking a ferry the next day from Valdez to Whittier where I could then try to hitch a ride back to Anchorage. However, the thought of sleeping in my cycling clothes and then wearing them all next day on the ferry did not sound appealing. So, I added a team member to Team Mike Cleveland, and Sarah became the official team driver, dropping me off at the start and driving me home from Valdez.

When the race went off and within the first mile I observed a seam was tearing in my cycling shorts, my ass already felt sore, and my legs felt dead, I knew this would be a long day. At the first aid station I found a spread that included Clif Bars, big soft cookies, pb&j, fresh fruit, etc. I could only pull myself back on the bike and resist the urge of filling all my pockets with free food by knowing in 30miles I would find the same spread. My division (200-mile solo) only consisted on ~50 riders, so we quickly became spread out. It was extremely disheartening to be passed by so many people, but my goal was just to finish and I recognized for someone to sign up for a 200-mile race, they likely are a fairly avid rider, right? It provided me an excuse to feel better about myself at least. The solo aspect was fitting for this adventure, where drafting was prohibited and the only conversation was a short hello as one rider would rarely pass another.

Knowing last year's mistakes, I took my time as the aid stations, stuffing down food and chugging as much fluid as my bladder could hold. I once read an article about an Ironman athlete describing his training including "long rides" that were so long that it made the actual race distance of 112miles seem short. I began to appreciate that perspective when I hit mile 100 and thought, "Great, only 100 more!" Unfortunately, around this time is when my IT band decided it start tightening up.

The highlight of the second century had to be riding Thompson Pass. I had heard of this pass we had to make it over, but had not clue what it would involve. We began the climb around mile 150. It was not a very steep climb, the steepest part being around 7% (whatever that means, that is what I was told, but it doesn't really mean anything to me). Surprisingly the small chain ring felt better on my knee and I got a second wind as I moved up the pass at a glacial speed (10mpg). This may sound miserable, if it wasn't for the scenery. We worked up into a valley with mountains that still had snowpatches, beaufitul green, steep slopes, awesome waterfalls, and glaciers as we got closer to the summit. The greatest challenge was the headwind that met us at the base of the climb and stayed with us the rest of the ride. It wasn't horrible, but was definitely an added challenge when you just want to be done.

The last aid station of the race was at mile 162, only several miles from the summit. Behind this aid station was an incredible view of Worthington Glacier. After a long decent we followed a flat road along the final ~30miles into Valdez. This would have been extremely painful if it had not been one of the most beautiful stretches of road I have ever been on. We followed a roaring river that was gray in color from all the rock powder that glacial water transported. Up in the high valleys were glaciers spilling from cirques. Then the road wound into a narrow Keystone Canyon, which hosted massive vertical rock faces rising from the roaring river and several hundred foot waterfalls spewing out snow and glacial melt. In portions the canyon was as wide as the road and the river sandwiched between beaufitul vertical metamorphic rock slabs.

Despite the last hour feeling like it lasted days, at around ride time 11.25 hrs, I rolled into Valdez at a little before 8PM. Technically the ride was only 194miles, but at that time adding 6miles just seemed like a technicality. While this distance has stymied me a year before, I had finally done it!

Being driven back to Anchorage in the wee hours of the morning (thank you Sarah so so very much!) I felt very content with today's adventure. It wasn't the distance that mattered to me. I was pleased I was able to accomplish a goal that I legitimately did not know if I was capable. But most importantly, for over 11 hrs I was able to see what makes Alaska so amazing. The landscape was amazing, I had seen the smallest library you can imagine in the middle of nowhere, I had seen the end of the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline (which was extra cool since I had seen the start of the same pipeline just several days prior up at Prudhoe Bay, North Slope), and I got to ride my bike alongside a glacier!

To be epic or not to be epic, that is the question

When I came across the website for the Thursday Evening Epic Runs the first thing I thought was, "I'm doing that!!" But the second thing I thought, "Are these really epic runs?" I mean, that is a bold statement, "Epic." It is a word that I do not use lightly. So, I began to make a mental list of ways for a run to be "epic." This list included,
1. Be stalked by a grizzly, that then leads to a chase. After becoming cornered, I am forced to a grappling fight to the death, where I reluctantly, but honorably finish the bear.
2. Fall into a steep canyon, where I manage to break my fall by the rushing, ice cold river where I am then thrown off a waterfall. I save myself from being crushed on the rocks below by catching an over-hanging branch with one arm. While my wet hands nearly slip, I manage to throw myself to land.
3. After a fellow runner falls from a cliff, I perform emergency first aid, innate skills that I never knew I possessed, but the intense situation spontaneously developed.
4. Aliens.
(funny how most of my situations entailed me becoming a supernatural hero...no, I'm not narcissistic at all!).

Well, let's start with the description of the group:

The Epic Concept

The Thursday Evening Epic events are non-competitive, adventurous training runs HELD YEAR ROUND on and off trails in southcentral Alaska. Generally these events are of 2 to 4 hours duration. Participants are expected to be capable of surviving the difficult conditions present, which often include, but are not limited to, rugged terrain, nearly impenetrable vegetation, severe weather, uncertain routes.... Participants and leaders MUST BE SELF SUFFICIENT. If adversity happens, participants and leaders MUST BE COMMITTED TO SELF RESCUE.

Hmm, not a bad start for an epic run. But concepts can be very different from reality. What will the run actually be like? Here is the description of the run:

On Bird Flew

We will start on the Bird Ridge Trail but will quickly diverge on hobbit paths leading to the McHugh Falls environs. From there our route will proceed to a steep, prickly, rock scramble up to Bird Ridge. The route finishes via the Bird Ridge Trail. This is one of the classics in the Epic route lexicon.

OK, enough prelude, onto the actual run. As the description outlines, we began on the trail, but quickly cut off. This "hobbit path" consisted of what appeared to possibly be a game path at one time, but has since totally overgrown. Or, maybe hobbits are 2foot tall creatures, in which case, it was still overgrown. Soon we ran past what appeared to be fresh bear scat right in the middle of the "path." That's when I knew this would be interesting. We made our way over to a spot overlooking the falls down in a steep ravine (two of the runners went down to the pool and reported about 10 massive silvers (a type of salmon) hanging out, unable to make it up the falls, aka bear buffet). It was now time for up. Heading up to the ridge the path was very clear, go up. We started on soccer ball size rubble, this became thick wild roses (which are much more pretty when you don't have to run through them), then more rock rubble, then 3rd class rock climbing, then jungle-gymes of alder, then repeat. Finally, after over 2.5hrs, we broke above tree-line, then a relatively short, steep scramble to the ridge. The views were incredible!! The amazing part was that what took over 2.5 hrs to get up, took a mere 1/2 hr of constant, steep, thigh burning, knee crushing, pounding down the ridge line.

OK, OK, was it an epic run?!? Well, it wasn't much of a "run." We jogged through the valley in the beggining, ducking under branches and climbing through downed logs. But, once we started heading up, it was more of a fast hike. It was so steep and the rock so loose that travel was not fast. The downhill, well that was running (and my thighs are "loving" that today!). Ok, so it was a "run." Now for the major question. We were definitely in bear country, but no bears sited. I would say there was no trail, just a matter of knowing a direction and getting there as fast as you can. The uphill was, well steep. It was definitely an adventure finding the least ridiculous route up. It was awazing to turn around and everything think, "WOW!" Finally, the view from the ridge line was fantastic. I'm not going to split straws here. My life was never in danger, but I have never been on a "run" like that, so yea, I'd say it was epic. Can't wait until next Thursday's run!

Thursday Evening Epic Runs

EARTHQUAKE!!!!!!

Like a proud father, I experienced my first earthquake today!!!! It was a nice little 5.4, with an epicenter ~92km NNW of me. At first I thought a co-worker was moving something heavy around, thinking it was odd that he was not making any noise. Then the shaking became so great, that suddenly it hit me, "EARTHQUAKE!!!" I had a grin plastered to my face for the next several hours. I was so excited I could not concentrate on my work for most of the day. Being on the 6th floor helped in my ability to feel it. I hope to be ready next time so I can try to pick out the different wave arrivals.

As Kristin said, I have now lost my earthquake virginity; I never thought the first time could feel so good!

Ol' Man Wilson, you are a grumpy SOB

“Here it is,” I yelled over to Kevin, fatigue beginning to wear into more voice, and pointed to the “anchor” for our next rappel. This “anchor” consisted of two old nuts shallowly stuck into a crack. Considering some of our prior anchors included of a single nut or just a lassoed chock-stone, two nuts was practically “bomber.” As I looked down at my pointing hand, I saw it shaking in the glow of my headlamp. I guess I am more uncomfortable than I had thought. “Pull it together Mike!” I thought. Sure when this day started nearly 14 hours ago I had envisioned the adventure wrapping up right now at the car and my beloved package of Oreos. As I peered over the next ledge, looking into a black void without any sight of a boundary, much less bottom, it now seemed like the adventure was just beginning.

It was Spring break for me, and like any responsible individual shirking off the “real world” by hiding behind the ivory tower of university, I blew off actually getting work done and headed for Vegas. My trip to Vegas was slightly different those most, my final destination was actually about 20miles west of “the Strip,” out in the desert, Red Rocks Park. For the final day of our trip, we decided to climb a route called Inti Watana on Mt. Wilson (this was Kevin’s idea, for the record…). Inti Watana ended short of the summit, but we could link up with the top of another climb, Resolution Arete, and make the summit. Inti Watana is a 12 pitch climb, and the summit would add roughly 6 more pitches. While the first 12 would all be technical and steep, it sounded like the top of Resolution Arete included a couple technical moves and the rest was a scramble. Needless to say, we were looking at a long day. Jokingly, I told Kevin we could only do this if I had time to take a shower before my 6:50AM flight the next day. Done! Timing out the day, we figured 1.5hr approach, ½ hr to get set and start the first pitch, then ½ per pitch, give 2hrs buffer for the top of Resolution. We had a couple options for the descent. We could either do a series of rappels (yuck!) or something along the lines “walk down the water polished third gully to a rappel, then hike out of Oak Creek Canyon.” While the latter prescribed a 4.5hr trip down, we were fast hikers. It was a very generous timeline, but if we left the car at 6AM, I would be back to my beloved Oreos by around 8:30PM. Long day, but pretty doable, and again, we are fast hikers.

Nearly to the top of Inti Watana we were right on schedule, actually 15minutes early. What an amazing day it had been. Every one of the 12 pitches had been some of the most enjoyable climbing I had ever done. Even the tricky moves that I had feared would stifle me, had been tough but conceded smoothly to me. Then I had the thought that when you see it in a movie you think, “That was the most cliché foreshadowing statement!” Recalling some of our past “last day adventures,” this was turning into being uncharacteristically un-epic for us. But it did not matter, what a fantastic day we were having!!

The top of Resolution Arete (RA) was a stark contrast to Inti Watana. While not technically difficult, the moves were awkward, protection very poor, and rock crumbling. Kevin would commonly have 30+ foot run-outs, above a piece of protection stuck into crumbling rock. After I had a handhold break off in my hand, I knew this was not the place to trust protection catching any type of fall. Considering the quality of the rock, some of the “scrambles” seemed worthy of being roped up (looking down a several thousand foot drop off can be very convincing of the importance of a rope). To make a long story short, the top 6 pitches of RA became around 10 pitches for us. When we finally summited, the clock read 5:30PM, we were already an hour behind schedule.

The summit was fantastic. A great view of Vegas in the distance and blue skies blanketed us. I feared a similar experience as Whitney where the cold wind and temperatures would immediately chase us off the summit, but the top of Mt. Wilson was the most pleasant conditions we had experienced all week. After some pictures, high-fives, and the freedom of our feet from climbing shoes, we were on our way back down.

Immediately, the descent was not going well. After finding three cairns, the fourth played “hide-and-go-seek” with us, and the fifth played “I don’t exist” with us. But we decided on a gully the guidebook vaguely described. As the gully walls quickly steeped we were soon committed to our “third gully.” My only goal was to get through the rappel before dark; I am fine hiking in the dark, but a rappel in the dark sounded awkward. Soon we came to a 20-foot drop and a tree that had been rappelled off at least once in its long history. This short drop wasn’t exactly the rappel I had envisioned, but I’ll take it. Once we cleared that rappel another short drop met us. Ok, that last one was short, maybe a couple of these add up to the apparently singular rappel described in the book. After about 4 or 5 of these rappels, off increasingly sketchy anchors and working our way into a 4-foot wide slot canyon, I began to think we had simply found the wrong gully that some other poor fool had also found. I just hoped that the “poor fool” found a way out in this canyon that didn’t include climbing back up the gully to look for the correct gully.

Soon the sun was gone, our headlamps were out, and I was going through Oreo withdraw. Of all the climbing I had ever done, bailing off the route was never a problem. Within a couple hours I could easily be down on flat ground and off a mountain. Embraced by the vertical walls around me and thousand-feet of elevation below me, I began to feel trapped on this mountain. If the rope became stuck after a rappel, this could quickly turn into a very long night. But hope was in sight. I could see the narrow gully make a sharp turn and open up into Oak Creek Canyon. Maybe this is where the HIKE down begins. Those hopes faded as I reached that point and looked down over the ledge that into a world of complete black. I was soon rappelling into the black void having no clue what was below me. More importantly, I had no clue if the rope would reach the bottom. Maybe the other poor fool that chose this decent had used a double-rope. Those old cams above me had better hold! Squinting through the black I still hadn’t seen the bottom of the rappel by the time I saw the bottom of my rope.

When I was a couple feet from the end of the rope I found a couple cams stuck into a wet crack in front of me. Not only did I have to rappel of these ridiculous anchors, I now had to hang off them!!! Even though they didn’t move after I tugged on them, I still didn’t trust this anchor. So, before unclipping from the rope I jammed my foot and hand into the wet vertical crack. I don’t think I had put a pound of my weight on that anchor until Kevin got down there. After the next rappel I was off that wall and rappelling into back void number two. After a total of around 10 rappels Kevin and I were onto somewhat flat ground. The first thing we found, a cairn. While we hadn’t seen one in hours, this one assured us that this horrible series of rappels was actually correct! After several more hours of one-legged lunges stepping down boulders we were cruising across the desert. We reached the car at 11:30PM, 17.5hrs after we left it. A part of me wanted to suggest we hike around for another 30minutes so that we could make the trip a clean 18hrs, but looking at Kevin’s face I decided an even number was of little importance to him. I did get my shower that night, well early morning, and found my sleeping back by 1:30AM. If I learned anything out of this whole experience, it is this:
When flying out of Vegas, you need to arrive 45minutes before your flight. A 42minute early arrival translates to losing your seat.

It’s always a shock for me to return to my other life after returning form the latest adventure; the longer and more intense the adventure, the more of a transitional shock. Sitting in my dark office with my callused fingertips tapping the keyboard, I only need to look at the back of my cut-up hands to be reminded of my latest adventure. But in all truth, it will take far less than cuts on my hand to remind me of my latest adventure. It seems that every trip I make to Vegas ends in ways I never would expect.

While rappelling into a black void I had thought to myself, “This is the last “alpine” climb I am ever doing!” But similar to when I said the same thing after my first marathon, several hours later I was already looking forward to the next. I seek out these challenges because I am not certain if I can actually do them. It is not an adrenaline-junkie craving; it is a desire to push myself into unknown territory, forcing out my raw character to “figure it out.” I guess it is similar to someone meditating and reducing existence to the “singular;” these adventures strip myself to the character that defines, “Mike.” Sure I could do this through meditation in a dark room, but who would not want to find such simplicity 1,000 feet above the Nevada desert?!?! NOT ME!!

check out more pictures:

Red Rocks