The Apple Duathlon

My roaming spirit was overdue for a road trip. So with great satisfaction I drove more than eight hundred miles to Sartell, MN last Friday to compete in the Apple Duathlon. This is despite the fact that I have been getting treatment and therapy for that misplaced hip for the last three weeks. Recent training had not gone perfectly, but it had gone well enough (doc's permission!) to warrant a race trip. And I had bones to pick with the Apple.

The plan was simple. I would break up and extend the drive by stopping several times to stretch the legs and manipulate the hips. That is precisely what I did, stopping several times to eat, drink, and be merry . . . wait, no, that was . . . Yes! That is what I did!

After a Panera lunch break I stopped in Davenport, IA to imbibe in the traditional pre-race stout at the Front Street Brewery. I managed to limit myself to one well-crafted Bucktown Stout. The choice seemed appropriate considering brewery's location along the Mississippi in an area deemed Bucktown before prohibition.

Then, an hour later while passing through Iowa City, I called a favorite student who is now seeking a PhD at UI. Due to his nearly constant brew parties, Burke has become a knowledgable brewer in a few short years. Aware of our shared love for unique brews, Burke directed me to meet him at the nearby Backpocket Brewery in Coralville. That caused my first of what seems like thousands of U-turns on the trip.

Master Brewer on the prowl.

I matched a cheeseless veggie/chicken pizza and a Penny Whistle Wiezen with Burke's usual witty and clever tale about his dead crocodile research. At one point it occurred to me that Burke is the Crocodile Bone Hunter. I left the Backpocket satiated with nutrition and croc knowledge - and with another six-pack of Burke's brews. On to Minnesota!

At least that was the plan. First, though, I came upon stopped traffic on I-380. That allowed me to make another U-turn through the median and to take in a full tour of wonderful Waterloo, IA.  Another seated hour was added to the journey north. Enough said.

It was 11:58 when the ct200h rolled into the Saint Cloud Fairfield Inn amidst a raging storm that I had driven through for more than an hour. I was so tense that my forearms ached, I felt fatigue to a level of constant yawning, my arse/hip flexers were extremely tight, cranky, and yet I was still giddy with excitement about being able to get up and race the Apple a few hours later.

Why was I giddy? Easy - because I wasn't sick! I first raced the Apple Du in 2000. That year I showed up not knowing I had contracted a virus from my son. I ran well to open the race, but began throwing up seven miles into the bike ride. It took me two ugly days to get back home. In 2009 I raced the Apple with mucus in my lungs after contracting an infection from my other son. I struggled again and placed third in the 45-49 AG to qualify for the ITU Du Worlds where I showed up healthy and placed second in the AG. Yes, I was giddy because I finally reached Sartell without an illness.

Back to bones, which seem to be a theme here. That hip dislocation did not qualify as an illness. It had derailed me during the Indy Mini, but I had seen steady improvement with therapy. I arrived in Sartell hoping that it would allow me to race hard.

The problem was tightness. The gluteal and piriformis muscles, along with the IT band, were in a battle to keep the hip in location during the Mini. All of these tissues then became extremely tight and sore in the days after that half marathon. I took time off and then shortened all training during the three weeks between races. I also went to all of my appointments and made certain to follow through with all of the assigned therapy. Competing against a tough field of athletes hoping to toe the line for ITU Du Worlds in Ottawa seemed like a good test of my recovery. The wincing faces in the doc's office when I told them I'd be driving all day were followed by strict orders to "attempt" to stay loose. That proved to be impossible.

Men fifty and over started in the last wave with the teams under a cloudy sky and in strong winds. It was a chilly 52F. The inclusion of the teams meant that a big crowd of old man duathletes started out with a bunch of younger guys who would not have to bike. Good! I thought that would propel me to good run splits. It didn't.

I watched helplessly as another older duathlete ran away from me. He put 20 seconds on me in the first four minutes and I couldn't do anything about it. I hit the first mile in 6:08 and my Polar RCX5 revealed that my heart rate was not even in my tempo zone. Everything in my midsection was tight. I was moving slower than my typical half marathon pace, yet my legs were moving as fast as those muscles would allow.  It simply wasn't fast enough!

After a pathetic T1 (due to an experiment with cycling shoes) I powered up the hill onto the bike leg. Again, I was tight, but my cadence and power were not too far from the level I had reached while riding in the Senior Games six days earlier when I clocked 13:54 (26.8 mph) for a 10K. I hoped this would allow me to catch the Mystery Man up as I plowed through the field of earlier waves on cracked and extremely bumpy roadways.

The 15-25 mph wind blew from the right rear early on. I knew that I needed to have something left for the upwind last eight miles, so I stayed just below what I felt I could handle. During the longest climb of the day Minnesotan and Evansville native Todd caught and passed me. The "51" on his calf reminded me that he was in my AG. Damn! Against my better judgement, I clicked up a gear. I did not let him get more than 20 seconds ahead of me because I guessed that I could make that up on the second run. Then I began to wonder where Mystery Man was and why Relay Guy, who fell from Todd's wheel on the climb, was trying to ride "with" me?

Eventually, the course turned into the ferocious wind when the course started to follow along the shore of the tiny Mississippi. That wind had been moving us all over the previous cracked road, so there was some added comfort in riding directly into the gale on a smoother service. I was glad that I had my carefree/go fast Ricky Bobby attitude.

By then I had become frustrated by Relay Guy and the crew of riders, now seven strong, who had formed a tight peloton.  I tried to pass a couple of times, but I wasn't about to pull another group into T2. I gave that up back in 1995. So, I dropped a gear and sat legal (3-5 bike lengths) off the back of the group that caught Todd and the Mystery Man in the closing miles of the ride.

The top three guys in the 50-54 AG entered T2 within seconds of each other. I, again, had a horrible transition and came out last. Mystery Man was going up the hill with Todd on his heels. I was about 20 seconds down. REALLY?!! I thought. I have too much experience to be giving up that much terrain in transitions.

I caught Todd at the top of the hill and asked him if he knew Mystery Man. He did not, but he urged me on to catch him. I gained on the guy until we made our first turn on the rectangular circuit. Then he began to gradually pull away. Again, I saw what were, for me, unacceptable mile splits. I just couldn't get my legs to turn over.

Mystery Man was still in the chute when I came in. I was staggered to learn that he was Andy. I had not raced against him in years. I had never beaten him. Within minutes the two of us were chatting with Todd, Derek, and others who have formed a loose band of aging athletes that have competed against each other at races all over the country during the last two decades. That shared time and those exchanged words were what I've always coveted most about racing far from home.

Interesting events happened after the race. First, Andy said that he only entered a week before the race. He had been thinking about worlds and wanted to qualify. He saw my name on the list and saw it change from 45-49 to 50-54 and knew he would be challenged.

Then, while I was waiting for the awards, I stood behind a crowd trying to see the results posted on a window. The group was discussing how tough the 50-54 AG had been (6th, 8th, and 14th OA). One man touched the results under my name and said "he was ranked number one in 45-49 last year!  I was, of course, listed as second in the AG. I chimed in "Yeah, he came here to win and got his ass kicked!" Someone asked "Do you know him?" I smiled and replied "Yeah, I'm him!" They all laughed.

Being able to test myself against awesome talent was icing on the cake. Though my performance was not what I am capable of, it gave me hope leading into worlds. I will get the hip issue under control and race better there. Getting beaten, outrun and out-transitioned, has kindled my fire and focused my efforts. It is going to be a fun summer!

What follows are more of the photos I took throughout the four day weekend. I visited several locals and had an outright great time! The afternoon and evening after the race were spent in romantic Stillwater, a Saint Croix River town, which is home to exceptional wineries, a microbrewery, and a peaceful view of Wisconsin hillsides across the river. I also stopped over in Madison, WI on the journey south to spend an night in downtown Chicago.

Click and enjoy!  Shane

Saint Croix Vineyards in Stillwater, MN

Andy, Derek, and I after the Apple.

Massive Transformer above the Lego
store in the  Mall of America.

Another great microbrewery in St. Paul.

Catching some Z's with Mr. Schulz's main man
and his best friend.

Ever lose your head from time to time?

They also fly the Canadian flag up north.

This guy seemed angry about a poor transition.

Todd, me, and Andy reminiscing.

A post-race catnap in an apple tree seemed appropriate.

Scenic and romantic Stillwater, MN at sunset.

Memorial Day Chicago Lakeshore Trail run amidst
the wind and clouds.

Millennium Park

Eye of "The Bean" at Millennium Park.

See you soon along some diverging pathway. 

Riding the Runway

After several passes on my certified downtown calibration course, I loaded up Hope and drove north on a gorgeous afternoon. This was last Wednesday. I met Barb from the Evansville YMCA and Nate from the Dress Regional Airport at Tri-State Aero in order to accurately measure the 5K on the Runway course. 

First, though, came a discussion about where the start/finish area would be staged. While great care should always be taken when considering the start and finish lines of a race, there were extra considerations for this event because the airport was not going to shut down. Planes would need to be staged at Tri-State Aero on race morning. Planes would be landing just before and after the run. And there was always the chance that an emergency landing might occur during the event. The discussion resulted in a need to measure two separate courses having two different start/finish lines. The final course choice would be decided during a meeting already scheduled for the following morning.

We were trying to make a common start and finish line. That meant that I had to pick a random spot, ride the loop, and then see where the finish would be in relation to the start. From there I had to split the difference to create another "line" before riding again to test the adjustment. A third pass would then take place in order to test for repeatability and set mile markers. It is USATF protocol that the longest of the two measurements be used as the race day course.

With Barb in shotgun, Nate, a fellow Purdue alumnus, talked to someone on a radio before he led the way for me in white Crown Victoria. I'm not sure what would have happened to me if Nate had not made the call or if that cliche of a car had not been there with its spinning blue lights. I wondered, as I pedaled along, if there were men with guns ready to take out threats. I wondered if a guy in spandex on a bike would even qualify as a threat. I doubted both, but I was glad Nate was there.

Graffiti artist on a getaway rocket.

I was also glad that Nate was not thinking about tangents while he drove. By making wide turns, he allowed me to see the markers that I needed to in order to properly ride the shortest route by connecting one tangent after another on that winding course. This was especially important as I made the kilometer-long crossing of the main runway. 

That was a looooong tangent!

Earlier in the day I had consulted googlemaps.com to study the airport using the course map that Barb had given me. I realized immediately that I would need a visual marker on the far end of the runway in oder to cut that long tangent. I chose the last of the broad white lines marking the end of the runway. On Wednesday afternoon, when I first turned onto the runway I was pleasantly pleased that Nate was off to my right and that I could very clearly make out that white line.

It was, at times, difficult to muster up the fortitude to stay on the shortest path. Take, for example, the time I was on the long arc at the north end of the course and an airport service truck played chicken with me. Or the time I rode straight at the backhoe that seemed to want my line - I finally and firmly pointed him out of my way seconds before our would-be collision. Or the time that a 747 attempted to land on my line . . . yes, I know, a bird that big in Eville is too unrealistic to even consider (sorry Nate).

Admittedly, riding on the runway created an adrenaline rush that caused me to ride hard up the slight incline into the wind. On the first two passes I registered speeds in excess of 28 mph. My not quite fit legs still pushed hard on the pedals on the last three loops, but the speeds were not as high. I was high, though, as I experienced some Ricky Bobby time on an airport runway.

We covered both courses multiple times, but Nate felt certain that the original route would be used for the race, so I only rode the other course twice. The precision of the USATF measuring method has never been more surprising than what it was on that course.

That precision came even on the fourth pass when I encountered several hundred meters of some slimy mud near the finish. Movement of heavy construction equipment on the perimeter road had left lots of dirt on the roadway. Just before I arrived there on the fourth pass a truck sprayed water on that dirt, creating the slimy mud. Hope and I were, within seconds, covered in the cold and foul tasting grime. And I struggled to control the bike. It was FUN!!!

That last line was a boldfaced lie . . .

Since there is no printable data from the measuring device, I decided to include in this post some of the data from my final pass of the route that was used for the actual race. Curiosity and a need to record my riding caused me to wear my Polar RC3 GPS for each loop. I was a bit surprised at how accurate and precise it was despite the way gps units always cut corners. The final measurements for both courses were 3.12 miles, which is not too far from the 3.1069 miles for a 5000-meter course.

All GPS units measure point-to-point between signal recordings - in straight lines. This is clearly not as accurate as the calibrated counter on a bicycle wheel. Note: I did NOT ride through the grass . . .

I've measured many courses for Barb. She has always asked me, as a competitor, what I thought of the courses. I told her that I liked this one, but I smiled when I told her that people would complain that it was too long. I've seen enough races to know that most people simply don't run good tangents, so they run too far. And nowadays, with gps units strapped to so many wrists, people are always complaining about courses being wrong. Even the courses measured to USATF certification standards like this one. I guessed that a typical runner might register 3.25 to 3.30 miles for the 5K on the Runway I had just measured to about 15 feet accuracy.

And that is exactly what happened on race morning :)

The field of 442 runners and walkers corralled and ready to run.

2013 Indy Mini Replay

This spring has mirrored last spring in very few ways for me. Last spring I was fit, but not as fast or as strong as I am now. Last spring the days were often warm and sometimes hot and muggy while winter has lingered long enough to cause me to greet the sun in long sleeves and tights at the closing of April. Both of those situations are, of course desirable.

The major difference for me this year has been minimal cycling. Because of the fact that I had no early season duathlon races on the calendar, I did not feel a need to be out there hammering on the bike. And the desire to ride was greatly minimized by my inability to get comfortable on the bike. That said, the Ricky Bobby bug hit me in early April and I have been out there consistently riding in 35-50 degree weather, multiple thunderstorms, and constantly brisk winds for a month. But I was never comfortable and tinkered with my position and a constantly swiveling seat all month.

One week out from the Indy Mini I cruised through a relatively quick hour-plus run and quickly jumped onto the bike for a fast hour long ride. After the ride I noticed that the seat had swiveled down again for the first time in two weeks. A lot!  Within two hours my left hip, left gluteal muscles, and left lower back were extremely tight and aching. The next morning I abandoned the idea of running due to the tightness. I also tabled the option of not running the Mini - my goal spring race.

By Thursday morning I knew I would run around the Speedway. The hip and arse had loosened up nicely. I found myself holding back during my last run.

A meandering journey up the new, speedy, and isolated I-69 was fun since it included not only a buffalo burger and pre-race brew at Bloomington's Upland Brewery, but also a visit to the beautiful Oliver Winery. No tastings for me, just a resupply and gander at the well kept green space of winery property.

Not all rooms in the Marriott Courtyard look over the start line.

When the race started I ran a relaxed first mile in 5:52 and, sensing that all was well, I then picked it up to run low 5:40s. My goal was to average under 5:50 per mile. That was what I had trained for.

Just after the four mile mark, though, I heard and felt an audible pop while making a hard left turn. There was immediate discomfort, but it wasn't awfully painful. My left foot was pointing out almost 45 degrees. Several muscles were soon sending out distress signals and began tightening up. In an effort to "make it right again" I began making inside/outside fanning motions with the left knee, one of which created another audible pop. Things were better, but not normal.

These guys may now be the new norm at these big events. (See the race winner?)

This popping and leg swinging occurred several more times. Unfortunately, the tight muscles instantly shortened my stride and slowed me to 6:05-6:18 pace. That was certainly frustrating. I pondered quitting several times, but a leg swing would make it feel a little better and I would continue down the road. I decided that a single sharp pain would be enough to stop. That never occurred.

My finishing time of 1:19:32 was about three minutes slower than I intended to run. Those who know we well know that I always predict my time (and those of people I coach) within seconds. A glance at the Polar HR data reveals that I only "raced" for about three miles. The average HR of 166 and max HR of 171 were both well under my normal 174ish ave and 181ish max for a half marathon.

As I write this report several days later I know things are not back to normal. I felt the hip a little while I rode my bike on the local airport tarmac last night. It took more than a mile for my hip and arse to loosen up during a 5K training run (20 min) this morning.  There is an upcoming appointment with a respected and accomplished pair of hands that are controlled by a great mind. Hopefully, he can help me get that region under control.

Almost there and not intending to be passed again.

Meanwhile, I am bummed about not being able to run hard, but I am not distraught. There is SO much more to life than running. Just as I have more than a thousand times before, I will just focus on the other aspects of life while I patiently wait for normalcy to return.

And there is much to do as I plan and prepare (rest up!) for another action packed summer in the western high country.     Shane