The Mountain Today

Last week I broke out the shorts. They have been in the bottom dresser drawer, unused since the temps dropped to winter-like levels here in Sedona. While my Gunnison Valley roots make me scoff at the idea of "winter" temperatures in double digits on the plus side of zero, 10 degrees F is not warm. We have had a few cold snaps. I even broke out my snow-blowing down jacket, which I refused to wear last winter in a futile gesture to deny Sedona proper winter status. Cold is cold, but the Gunnison Valley gets a nod for depths of cold generally reserved for Alaska.

Deep winter cold, howling storms with four feet of visibility and sideways snowfall make me feel right. During the '11/'12 winter I didn't experience any of that. I didn't miss it as much as I thought I would because of the commitment I undertook at the Verde Valley School. A couple trips back to Crested Butte were met with Spring-like weather and anemic snowpack. This winter we have not returned to the Colorado high country, but we have delved into the Arizona high country by way of the Arizona Snowbowl resort. It is  a mom-and-pop operation, but it has respectable numbers in that it has more than 2300 feet of vertical and the Agassiz fixed-grip triple chair tops out at 11500 feet. The top of the resort offers very good glade skiing/riding on fairly steep terrain through a forest of mostly pine trees. The base of snow at the top of Agassiz was 72 inches yesterday. That is a fair bit deeper than Crested Butte has this year.

Spring break officially started for me at the end of the work day on Friday. I had worked all but one day in the prior three weeks. A storm blew in from the South West on Friday morning, early, and dropped snow all day and through Saturday. Katie gave me a hall pass for Saturday and I left early in the morning to to navigate I-17 to Flagstaff and up to the resort - stopping for a breakfast sandwich and Americano at Macy's.

Seventeen inches of new snow had fallen over the past 24 hours. I made first Chair for the first run. There is a nervousness/paranoia that goes with powder days for me. A greed to track the untouched blanked of snow. Glide off the lift, stuff the heel into the binding and pull the pant leg to the outside of the highback, ratchet the ladder straps and keep an eye on the people who rolled off the lift behind me. Sliding downhill before the last click of the ratchet to ensure first dibs.

The landscape of a snowstorm - trees blanketed with snow and degrees of white and gray - and the smoothness of the snow-covered terrain blend into a moving canvas. Dive into the deep snow with enough speed to get out before momentum can be denied. Which dance step? The side-to-side, up and down rhythm of some tight, controlled turns or the straight-line, compressed body into an explosive slash? Does the terrain and flora dictate the move or is it wide open and the choice of the rider? Dynamic flow.

While the trip North was for snowboarding in powder, most of the day is spent standing in lift lines and riding the lifts at Snowbowl. I had music playing from my iPhone and didn't do much socializing beyond surface chatter on the chairlift. There was a part of me that wanted to find a friend to share the experience with. The last powder day I had at Snowbowl, Katie and I got to take some runs together and I was positively giddy with excitement, happiness, and stoke. Yesterday the conditions were as good, but the sensations muted.

So I am coming to grips with winter in AZ. The community in Crested Butte, the culture of the lift line, and the history of living in the valley for twenty-plus years meant never riding alone unless one preferred it that way. Since the birth of my sons I have preferred it that way many times because all I wanted was to shred all-out in the finite time I had. Prior to the boys, there was almost never a time I would willingly rida alone if there were a local head to make laps with. Now I am a 40-something stranger at a new resort with a different culture. I could have reached out to some of the folks I was making synchronized laps with, but I didn't.

The mask keeping me warm also concealed my identity. I looked out through bug-eyed, tinted goggles at the crowded lift lines with music playing softly, setting a soundtrack to the day.

A cloud of wet mist hung across mid-mountain and flurries blew down from the sky all day. A blanket of winter storm lay over the mountain as the slow ascent brought the people to the top of the lift. I've been to the resort enough to know where some of the better steep lines are and kept poking around to find lines. Early morning lines brought runs with many untracked choices straight down the fall line. Billowing powder lofted back to the sky with the smack of the tail. Eye a line through the next section of trees and send the snow into an explosion - visibility gone - then find the line in minds eye and charge through the spray until it becomes a reality again.

Line after line of seeking the untouched blanket, then the untouched islands of fresh, then the softest looking piles that had been left unpacked and still holding some of the powder-soft quality. Lift line after lift ride into a line back down the mountain. In my powder-fiend mind I would plot lines on the lift ride up only to panic into a last minute route that had at least one stash close to the top. Fortunately, on a stormy pow day, there are often good stashes found all day. One becomes a little more risk averse as the day moves on - willing to bomb long and straight to have the speed to arch a turn on a billiard table-flat section of untouched that one has to navigate a quarter mile of chunder at mach-Louie to get to.

Curses heard only in my mind about the pain of burning legs echoed over the music. The Black Keys, Bad Religion, Metallica, Baroness, The Sword, and some other rocking bands set the tone, so the cursing fit right in with the soundtrack. Age and limited access have softened my mountain living-hardened body. But the flow is still there. I had to slow things down, stop more often, and take the cartwheels with a sense of humor. Each turn in the fresh or a line well chosen fed into the next. I could stop and catch a breath, have a look around, and get back to it.

Out of the trees and on to the trails near mid-mountain and the mist would stick to the outside of the goggles and immediately freeze. Brand new lenses be damned, I used my frozen gloves as a squeegee and powered on. There was a lot of groaning in the lines about goggles early on, but I think folks started to figure it out.

Paying for lift tickets is a hard pill to swallow after so many years getting them as part of my job. While a $55 lift pass is not such a horrible price for the services provided, it is still a good chunk of change when added to the fuel and food. It is a bit humbling. Add to the fact that there was pretty much no way I would ride from first chair until closing. So now I am a tourist paying the price. Grateful the family allowed for it.

I had some lunch and reloaded the lift. The soreness and fatigue were punctuated by the need to go deeper and take riskier lines for the soft slashes and much longer lines of packed snow to get to the riskier lines added up, too. Here I was sliding through the trees, down the side of a mountain in a snowstorm like I've done thousands of times with hundreds of friends and I wasn't hooting or hollering for any bros. I was just soaking in the soundtrack and thinking about my life today. A stash would manifest itself deep in a wooded section and I'd noodle my way through trying to stay on the softest stuff. A smirk would rub my skin against the soft, wet mask covering my face.

Maybe being covered in all the gear; outerwear, helmet, neck warmer pulled up to my nose, space-man goggles - maybe the exterior is still a young man living the dream of racing down a mountain in a storm. The thrill of the risk vs. reward mentality refined to every decision it takes to navigate down a mountain. The moment is everything. Looking for turns ahead is about all the departure from living now as one can free from the consciousness. When it all comes to a stop and the breath comes heavy, the music and pain comes to focus ones attention is still orbiting now. When the breath comes easier and the pain subsides, it is up to you to decide if you want to stray from the moment or dive into the next section and deliver faster-than-word decisions that keep you upright and between the trees instead of upside down and augured into a lodge pole.

The day ended the same way it began, alone in the car with a drive ahead of me. There were a lot of thoughts of friends and good times past throughout the day. Such is the way today. I get to the mountains, but it is a trip instead of a way of life. The thrill is still there, the flow is still there, the need to be in it is still there.

Time

It takes time to do all the things that need to be done. Sometimes I find myself saying there are not enough hours in the day, but that is silly. There are 24 hours each and every day. How do I manage those hours? Some days better than others. The list of to-dos is huge, but it is all part of this life-project. Do we need to get it all done? Today? Right now? I don't know the answer because it is in a state of flux. If it needed to be done right now it would already be done or I would be working on it.

My fingers are doing the modified hunt and peck from the seat of my office at the Verde Valley School in Sedona, AZ. Why? Aren't there other things I should be focused on? Maybe. But it came to me over the last week that I also need to be writing. It is critical, really. Time to get the rust off the wheel that turns abstract thought into workable ideas I can share in words. There are a lot of projects on my plate right now and all of them involve written communication.

Below I am posting a video project I worked on to draw attention to the Verde Valley School's contribution to the United Nations' Millennium Development Goals through an annual service project to the African country of Malawi. I made the video from media I got from the students and staff who went on the trip last June (2012). I am going to accompany the group in 2013 to document and create marketing material to promote the school and its collaborative service efforts.

I want to share the project with more folks, but I also want this to be on the post as a reminder that all of things that need to get done in a day really are one over many days and with the help of others. Some may get it done on their own, but I have always benefited greatly by working with others. Case in point: The X Games. I just finished the Aspen X Games - my fourteenth Winter X. It is a privilege and challenge I look forward to every year and something I constantly learn from. It has given me a new energy for tackling the things I want to do at VVS and also reminded me how fortunate I am.

The Move

The move was abrupt, no doubt. Uprooting the family from a place we all love very much and moving to a place we had only heard of was not in line with our collective character. We are creatures of habit. Or we were, but then we weren’t, and now we are again. The habits we have already formed have made being in Arizona easier. I work a lot and the boys are in pre-school two or three days a week. Katie has been running the household, taking care of the boys, trying to sell our home in Crested Butte, run a massage referral business, line up clients to work with when we get back to CB for Christmas, and nurse her sore shoulder.

Most of the pre-conceptions (if you can call them that) about how much time I was going to have to ride and all the vacation time I was going to have have been shattered. I don’t really mind because it has been an awakening of mind and spirit. We made a big jump on so many levels coming to the Verde Valley School. Diving into the Director of Technology role has been a complete emersion into not only technology, but the history of the school, the history of the networks, the people who built and maintain the networks and the people who are still involved, though their time at the Verde Valley School has passed.

This is a place where people work hard, long hours and are totally dedication to educating the children. The physical plant has a lot of “deferred maintenance” in Graham’s parlance. It is tired and the maintenance crew works hard to keep it running. The staff is tired from all the work. The kids work hard – I can’t believe how hard they work. And the kids are nice – to each other and to the staff. While I can’t say what kind of hijinks they are up to when no one is looking, there is a certain amount of trust and liberal philosophy that gives them room to do their thing.

The school has seen better days, business-wise. One of the major reasons I wanted to come was because I saw that the school was in flux. By coming when we did, I have a chance to make significant change at slightly less than glacial pace. I have a chance to influence direction more than I would if I came into a school that was fat and happy. I like that Graham has been open about the state of the business including sharing numbers with people and espousing the philosophy that he doesn’t want to ask people for money until we can show that the school is pulling itself up by the bootstraps. We are not in a Crested Butte Academy distress-situation, so there is a good sense of pressure to work to make things excellent without there being the feeling of impending doom – which I totally ignored in CB.

There are constant challenges here. We thought the boys would fall right into step with all the kids who live here on campus, but they are little kids and it became very evident that there would not be immediate love amongst the boys, especially. There is teaming up, jealousy, fighting, and all the things kids have to go through when they are new to a scene. Kai is very bossy, very physical, and pretty sensitive, too. Gus goes with the flow quite well, but is often caught up in Kai’s world. They are in the same pre-school class, so they spend a lot of time together. They have shown a great deal of love for each other and generally play well together. Most mornings the boys are up and playing before Katie and I are up. We love hearing them playing together while we lay in bed.

Crested Butte is a magical place and we miss the community there. Returning for Christmas is something we all look forward to. I fell lucky to have been there as long as I was. A realization about being here is that this is such an opportunity to grow and learn. I grew and learned a lot in Crested Butte, but leaving because the opportunity was greater elsewhere was such an awakening. Maybe we can get back to CB some day, but maybe we will go somewhere else. Or maybe we will stay here. The idea of being able to educate our kids in the kind of environment provided at VVS is so appealing.

For now we are in the groove in AZ and working hard to make everything work. The holidays are upon us and it is time to take a breath and see where we are and where we are going.

It's Personal/Bittersweet

I did receive a formal offer for the job at VVS. We are going to pack up the house, hopefully rent it, and make the move. The job starts on October 1. Damn. Bittersweet.

In the meantime, I wrote this story for www.crankcollective.com and wanted to share it. I like it a lot, but it didn't get a lot of love on the site.


Photo: John Chandler

Relationships with the bike are personal. While a bike might be an inanimate object, the circles of folks who influence what one does with a bike are not. Think about the interconnected relationship threads that have come through the bike. Family, friends, shops, terrain, personal head space, and history. From the early days on the tricycle or big wheel to the last ride you had, the circles of people, places, and time are all wrapped up in a strange and beautiful orbit.

It’s personal. On a recent ride on a local from-the-house ride, I knew I had a short window to ride, a storm was rolling across the valley, and I had familial obligations fast approaching. I knew my personal best time on the ride this year and thought casually about trying to beat it. As I rode out and approached the main climb, the storm was on an intercept course over my right shoulder. Deep clapping thunder boomed accompanied by the flash of lightning and tendrils of rain connecting Earth and sky.

Breath came in heavy measured volume as the drive train kept spinning and the bike rolled up the hillside over the jeep track that winded up into the forest. I kept hearing Phil Ligget in my mind talking about a rider I had watched earlier in the day on a breakaway during the USA Pro Cycling Challenge. He was talking about staying on top of the gear the rider was pushing, which the rider was struggling to do. I dug into the store of energy and strength stowed in my body and tried to stay on top of it, not wanting to let the esteemed commentator down.

Fear of lightning striking me down pushed the pace. Riding into the tree line assuaged my concerns a bit, but the rain started to come down as soon as the canopy covered me. The sound of drops hitting the leaves overhead mixed with the cool splash of water hitting my heated skin was calming.

To me, climbing at altitude is a blend of conditioning, ability to understand your threshold for pain, and mental focus to drive hard when it would be easiest to quit. Gravity, weather, and terrain pushed against the thoughts that drove me up. Breath came in and out, full bore, engine running at maximum RPM. This pushing, drawing the most from yourself is a part of the personalized nature of the ride. One does not need to climb like a pro roadie, just ride to create the connection a bike can offer and learn to push your limits.

The next ride I took after the local PR quest brought me to a couple new sections of trail on a six and a half hour ride into the high country. At one point I was a hundred and fifty feet behind Ridinfool, ripping a downhill that was new to both of us, and loving it. The singletrack was red dirt, tacky and perfect. I scanned ahead just in time to see Ridinfool drop over a steep section flanked by pine trees when a hawk flew off a nearby perch and glided over his head – totally unbeknownst to him. They both floated down the valley together. I saw the image and nearly exploded with stoke.

Some rides are like that. It is so much more than the number of miles and vertical – even more than the quality of the trails you are riding. It has more to do with the situation and the way the ride unfolds than the preparation and planning. Light and shadow and interaction with the natural elements fringe the ride with mystique.

Ridinfool and I were 25 miles into our ride when dark, foreboding, storm clouds, ubiquitous during afternoons in August in the Rocky Mountains, started thundering behind us. We peeled off Rosebud, had a snack and talked over the plan. Do we wait for this huge, dark cloud to pass or press on? Which way was it going, anyways? If we were angling this way and the storm was angling that way, we could put the hammer down and hope to skirt the beating the heart of that storm was sure to offer.

And so it was. As we pushed through the kind of terrain and personal challenges it takes to get through such a big ride, we dodged the first storm, and then a second as we contoured along the back side of Cement Mountain on Eccert Gulch. Some days a decision like that would mean pushing through a monsoon rain with lightning strikes and thunder shaking the air between cold, fat, drops of rain driving against you. Some days the chips fall in your favor.

Back on my local ride, solo, pushing hard for the top of the climb, I was sucking air as hard as I could, chest pounding, legs on fire but knowing the terrain well enough to know that I was going to top out and have a quick flat section to recover before the downhill would consume my focus. Red lined, on the verge of a storm, and approaching the apex of the climb on one of my favorite trails, I shifted into a harder gear to get a little bit more. Across the meadow that separates the climb from the descent, rain spit harder and the sky grew darker, but the light inside glowed so bright.

Rain can swamp a trail, turning it to sloppy mud, but it can also apply a perfect coating that a pair of knobbies tear into like a lion into pray. As the meadow gave way to the forest and singletrack twists downhill through the Aspen groves, the dirt became as perfect as it gets. Timing and flow between rider and trail, nature and geography all falling into place. Knowing no trail better than this one, riding it at 100 percent in a dynamic weather situation and a certain amount of motivation to go as hard as I can created one of those rides.

Sections of trail that had been loose with sand and corners that had kept me from the perfect carve were manicured and buffed with the right combination of summer traffic and rain. Being a bit of a spazz tends to send me out of nice turns into a total recovery effort when I change directions, but every once in a while things come together. Body position and aggression aligned to serve each corner, berm, drop, and twist of trail the right amount of English. Energy in equals energy out and pushing the bike through the flowing trail features reaped great reward.

As the trail opened up at the bottom, dumping out of the forest and back into meadow, the rain was starting to over-saturate the soil. Cold rain dropping onto hot skin as grit sprayed off the wheel and up my face and across my back. Part of my mind said to back off and just get home at a leisurely pace, but my animal core grinded even harder against the thoughts. Stand up and hammer the flats, carve the corners and attack the descents as aggressively as the conditions allow. No time to gloat, but it feels right.

Back on the dirt road following the singletrack the rain picked up and I settled into the rhythm of trying to push a big gear without wasting myself for the last climb and flats before home. Each ride presents itself in its own way. Perhaps it was the aggressive nature of the ride thus far, the harsh weather…I don’t know, but a couple cars came driving past me going fast. I felt indignant. How dare they! I gave the second car the bird in a fit of anger then put my head down and grinded even harder.

Then I got paranoid. What if that was some 250 pound meathead who’d been drinking whiskey all day and wanted nothing more than to pound on some bike geek before settling down to camp in the rain for the night. I dug a little deeper. Fear is also a good motivator. But that faded and I kept the hammer down. Time trial position, low and tight. I looked up at the base of the final climb and focused on the summit, put my head down and grinded, and when I looked up again the top was right in front of me. Stand up and hammer over the top and spit some of the grit out of my mouth before tucking back in to the TT position and as big a ring as I could push. The rain kept falling and the dirt kept spinning past.

Down the final descent I eyed a pickup coming from a subdivision on an intercept path with me. There was a stop sign the truck would heed if we were close. I pushed hard with my head down, one eye watching the truck – still looking to be a heat seeker heading towards its target. He has a stop sign. Hammer down. Closer and closer the trajectories converged. My mission couldn’t be unhinged by a careless driver, could it?

The driver slowed ever so slightly, but then drove past the stop sign without pretending to stop. As he came across the street toward me I adjusted my course for the shoulder and let out some kind of obscenity. Without letting up I held a line right on the edge of the road. The driver pulled past me and slowed down enough to say something out his back window. All I heard was the hiss of the water on the road being cut by my tires, the wind in my ears, and the engine of his truck.

Anger is a motivator. The road is not generally where a mountain biker finds his/her golden moments. Rain, pavement, a good ride, and the relationship of time and space brought out the fire in me and I put on the grimace and dug for more through a couple corners and the final straight to home. The physiological pain of acid buildup and the associated burn compounded with maximum oxygen intake and the intense mental focus it takes to push your limits all came to a boil as I drove the final piece of wet road to home.

Why bother? Nobody was watching, and only my wife and kids knew I was out riding. It is the relationship with the bike and knowing that it is a vehicle to feed your relationship with yourself, with nature, with those around you. Its not always wildflowers and tacky singletrack, but it always gives you the opportunity to experience life and living.

The Grass is Mas Verde

I've been pretty fortunate in this life. Got lots of Love, healthy family, and happiness. I've had some dream jobs that have afforded me a home and great adventure, but since 2008 there has been more struggle than I have ever known. That said, we have still managed to flourish as a family. A couple weeks ago I was given an informal offer to take a job at the Verde Valley School just outside Sedona, AZ.

Living in the Gunnison Valley has been a blessing. There is a deep sense of place for me here. At this point I have lived here for more than half of my life. It has textured my being. The thought of leaving was, at first, terrifying. But I have since become much more open to the idea. When Katie and I first started to discuss me taking the job at VVS, it was just for a year and she and the boys would stay in CB and we would take turns commuting back and forth. That was a heart-wrenching concept.



This week we took a road trip down to Sedona/Oak Creek to visit the school, meet with the staff and try to understand the big picture of what I would be doing there. We rented a car at the GUC airport and drove through - Montrose, Ridgeway, over the San Juans and past Cortez into Navajo Country. We crossed the desert with huge thunder heads criss-crossing our path. We saw mud slides cover the road and a thirsty desert covered in shimmering water. Crossing the desert to the mountains of Northern AZ and Flagstaff creates a sense of epicness. It is vast out there and inhabited by an impoverished nation of folks living in an array of trailer homes and makeshift dwelling not seen in most climes in North America.

We rolled into Sedona (Oak Creek, really) late on Sunday evening and spent the night in a hotel. When we awoke the next day and walked out the door into the bright daylight and warmth of the desert, we were greeted by the dichotomy of a strip mall-style main thoroughfare with the backdrop of a red and white desert coated with the rough and dry vegetation of the region. A lot to swallow for our little family. A quick drive out Verde Valley School Rd. via one of the many roundabouts and we were quickly off the beaten path and seeing the bigger picture of the landscape.



The school is at the end of the pavement and tucked up into the mountains. The whitewashed buildings and red roofs stark against the green of the pine trees and blue sky created a clear and cool vision of the school. Here it is, cozy in a dry rock nook in Northern AZ. A family of quail scampered across the dirt path as we pulled into the main offices.

We were greeted by Graham and went in for breakfast amongst a small sea of pink shirts that the Korean school kids wore on their last day of a summer ESL immersion program. We sat and caught up a little bit over the meal, trying to let our narrow visions of this scenario fill out into the space we now occupied. The concept of moving the family to this school was bouncing around my skull as we tried to ask the right questions, listen, and absorb as much as we could while trying to keep the kids from getting too wild.

During the tour we walked the main campus passing the dorms, classrooms, art rooms, labs, faculty homes and lots of cool landscapes and artwork. We went up to the chapel that has a big picture window framing Cathedral Rock. The school welcomes all races, religions, and nationalities as a part of their philosophy. The chapel is a fitting place, at the top of campus, to view the natural magnificence and reflect on the power of education, nature, faith, and all of the things that come with VVS.



I had meetings with the IT director, academic directors, and the dean of resident life/outdoor recreation director. My job would tie into all that they do. I won't go into specifics right now because I am waiting on a formal offer, but it is a job that is going to require a ton of work and will have a lot of positive effects on the school community. The idea of living on campus with my family is pretty exciting and we are also looking into getting Katie some work at the school. She is looking forward to taking some time off massage to rest her body and to get some more education under her belt - there are several schools nearby.

While the resort destination town is familiar to us, Crested Butte is still a singularly unique place. It would be an adjustment getting used to Sedona, but our feeling about the VVS campus is more comforting. The staff seem very cool and energetic. The school seems to be on an upswing and the possibilities with being involved at this point seem very interesting and the outcomes could help to set things up for the near future in a very positive light. There are politics, checks, and balances involved in the decision to make this move - and the need for a formal offer - but it is something we are excited about.

Wildflower

There were days when I was preparing for the Wildflower Triathlon that I would turn the corner onto Slate River Drive here in Crested Butte and imagine it to be the foot of Lynch Hill, the brutal descent that ends the run course, to the finish line. More often than not it was snowing or blowing hard, or both, during my preparation in the high mountains. As I was trying to suck in the cold mountain air and push through the rolling hill between the corner and home my mind was on the warm finish chute and the international flags blowing in the wind lining the final stretch of the Olympic distance course I would be taking on at Lake San Antonio in Central California. My first triathlon.

When I actually hit the foot of Lynch Hill during the race I was suffering. A mile of downhill at the end of the race might sound like sweet relief, but it is hard on the body after a race like the Wildflower. My friend Kurt was at the top of the hill shouting “Just let it go!” I had to let go of the pain in my IT bands and feet and try to bound using as much energy as the gravity and momentum would allow. I retreated into my head, blurred my visual focus, and tried to let it rip. Then I got passed by a dude with a 54 written on his calf (his age) that started the race ten minutes after me.

Blazing blue sky and a light breeze welcomed racers as we made our way down the boat ramp towards the swim start. Waves of competitors distinguished by different colored swim caps for each heat start moved down the ramp securing their wetsuits and making adjustments to their goggles while going through whatever each of us needed to in order to find the right mental space to launch from.

My brother-in-law, Jim, had made a last minute decision to come to the race. He is a seasoned triathlete who had not done much training through the spring, but still wanted to show up and kick my ass. He is competitive and I am more of an enjoy the race kind of guy, but this was a pretty fun challenge and Jim was not over-bearing about his desire to crush me. In fact, Jim and many of the people I was working with had given me great advice and encouragement leading up to the event.

Jim and I stood in the sunshine listening to the announcers and shuffling towards our starts. Jim gave me one last big smile and a high five then headed up to his start group. I’d been feeling some nagging aches and pains, concerns about the equipment I was borrowing, and my preparation over the prior couple days. Standing alone, surrounded by other middle aged men (am I already middle-aged? How could this be?!) in their wetsuits, I felt great. Really and truly great. Beautiful day, good health, friends and family around, and a race that had been months in the making for me.

The horn blew for the group before me and a row of volunteers – students from Cal Poly Tech – opened up and let my group down to the water’s edge. I waded in with my group to get wet, pee (sorry Kurt) and get used to the 62 degree water. We all came back to the boat ramp for our start horn. The hungry, eager racers toed the line, then there was a less defined space with bodies spread out before the group at the back of the wave that was full of folks who didn’t want to get their goggles kicked off or have to water wrestle for a clean line in the crowd. I stood in front of them. Swim cap and goggles on. Ready.

Bwaaaaaaaaaap! I trotted into Lake San Antonio and dove into the melee. Water was flying through the air with all the wagging arms and legs. I started to do the freestyle stroke with my head up, looking for a line through the flailing bodies. Over the arms and legs I saw the first buoy and remembered my plan to stay left of the pack to try and get some clean water to breath and swim in, since I am a unilateral, left-side breather. I made a couple quick moves and got a good line to the first mark.

The wetsuit I was using, a high-end Aquasphere tri suit, I’d only worn in the water once before was remarkable. Wearing this suit was akin to having a supersuit. Once in the water, the suit floated me right to the surface so all I had to do was propel myself forward. Piece of cake – except it was a 1.5-kilometer course. But I went after the task with vigor and found myself rounding the first mark with only about ten green caps from my group in front of me.

Settled into a good rhythm I started to pass the tail end of the group that started before mine. There had been starts going off since 9 AM with five minute intervals breaking them up. I could see the volunteers on stand up paddle boards and kayaks as I came up for breath and every so many strokes would crane my head up enough to spot the next buoy and make sure I wasn’t going to plow into anyone. I watched the bubbles as I exhaled float away through the green water. Sunlight sparkled on the waves.

The groove was good. I was (relatively) flying using the same amount of energy it would take to keep a solid training pace. I rounded the far end of the swim course and was getting giddy with the number of swimmers I was passing and how good I felt. I reminded myself to be steady and stay focused because there was a lot more racing to do.

The last buoy is on the end of a dock where the course bends left and then bee lines for the boat ramp exit. I swam my pace until I could see the concrete landing, found my footing and ran into transition one (T1). I heard my name from my left and looked over to see Alexis, a girl I coached snowboarding who was now attending Cal Poly. I smiled and kept running while trying to get the string dangling across my back to unzip the wetsuit.


As I entered the massive T1 area looking for my visual cues to find my row – left at the Avia tent and down to where someone had written Ed in chalk for the long course – I tried to remember all the advice about a quick, efficient transition. My transition zone was well organized as I’d left it. I stripped off the wetsuit, goggle and cap. Grabbed my jersey and put it on. Slipped on the socks that were in each of my shoes and then slipped the riding shoes on. I took a gulp from my water bottle, spritzed some sun screen, pulled the bike from the rack and started jogging to the Bike Out sign.

The bike, a Jamis Xenith T2, was another perk. I’ve been at the race for the past three years working as a videographer and editor and was able to borrow equipment from the folks I worked with. The bike is carbon fiber and equipped with all the high-end componentry that would give me every mechanical advantage possible. I pushed the lightweight bike out of T1 and started the 40 kilometer bike course, which starts out going straight up Lynch Hill – a beast of a 400 foot climb on a bike geared for time trialing.

Despite the climb, I was rolling past the riders in front of me at a steady clip. The climb came and went and I was on the much more manageable roads, still passing riders. In this race there is no drafting allowed so I would dip to the right and then arch around the riders I was passing on the left – careful not to pass the center line, a penalty worthy offense.

The road course takes racers through stunning rolling hills dotted with California Live Oak trees and fields of tall grass. This time of year everything is green and alive making the course glow. The aid stations are manned by enthusiastic co-eds handing out Gatorade or water and some energy food, too. The course is lined with riders grinding out the miles, some going out, some coming back. It is frenetic and orderly at the same time.

As the miles unfolded my steady march past the riders in front of me was not broken until a fast moving man with a 51 on his leg passed me. By the time I reached the turn around at mile 12.4 I had been passed once more, but felt very positively charged as I had been passing racers by the score. Felt like a shark in a school of bait-fish. The power was consistent and energy high on the return leg, so I kept pressing. I grabbed water from the aid stations and sipped at my recovery drink and took in a couple gels along the way to keep the tanks topped.

A couple more hammer heads passed me on the return trip, but I never stopped reeling in the competitors in front of me. It was uplifting and kept morale high. Knowing the run was coming and that I had done more running than swimming or biking to prepare (knowing it was my weakest link) gave me confidence, but I also knew that a lot of triathlon people come from running and that all the gains I’d made could be quickly lost if I didn’t have a solid run.

As the ride came to a close I tried to stand up in the pedals a bit to get some blood flowing to my back. Then it was back down Lynch Hill and into T2. I glided through the jump off zone and ran my bike back into transition. I hung the bike and did a quick strip down of bike gear and slid my running shoes on, slurped from the water bottle, spritzed on more screen, and ran out of T2 pulling a fresh shirt over my head.

The run essentially starts up a staircase and then contours along the shore. I heard my name again, this time it was a co-worker, Ann, whose husband I had just passed in T2. Again, good to hear friends out there. The legs were turning over well, and I was making ground against the runners, but clearly I was not seeing the advantage I had on the bike. The first two miles of the run are relatively flat and there was a light breeze coming off the lake.

Kurt was on the shore road taking pictures. “Just under two hours. Looking good, man!” I started to calculate distance and time – something I hadn’t done much of to that point and realized I might be able to beat the three hour mark that Kurt had set as a goal for me. I thought about Jim and what kind of a race he was having – still behind me. Mostly I just tried to keep a steady pace with solid output. I took on water and got sprayed down by volunteers through the aid stations and everything was working well.

Then the road turned and we were running uphill. And the cool breeze was gone. I felt some small pebbles that were wedged between my foot and sock at the ball of my feet. It was harder to run, harder to breathe, and my pace slowed. I kept running. Over and over throughout the lead up to the race I told people I’ll survive because I am stubborn. The weight of gravity and the heat of the day worked its way into my brain and begged me to walk. The shade of the trees stood still six inches from the side of the road in loose, off-camber sand.

Each footfall got me closer. Kurt rode nearby on his bike shouting encouragement. The climb was accentuated with the runners plodding along with an occasional real-deal runner loping past. I saw a couple more calf numbers from my class, but not enough to discourage me worse than the heat and incline. I pushed up through the course and the volunteers and spectators gave endless encouragement. It was uplifting, but not enough to put a spring in my stride.

The course climbed and climbed. Off the road onto a talc-covered dirt path it climbed some more. Then I heard “Last Hill” and found a little hope. Another aid station, some more water. I stopped for a split second to keep from choking while I drank, and ran on. Last hill was not true, but the next time I heard “Last Hill” it was. The course dumped back out at the top of Lynch Hill and Kurt, riding nearby, said “Just let it go.” Which I did as well as I could.

The finish chute is about 200 meters long, surrounded by pop fence and international flags waving in the breeze. There were spectators lining the whole thing cheering and smiling. I tried to kick into high gear from the foot of Lynch Hill to the chute, but my muscles threatened a cramp-strike if I did, so I found the line and toed it. I rounded into the chute and the vivid colors of spring, the flags, faces, and finish line came into focus. My transponder queued the announcer that I was coming and I fist-pumped when she said my name. The pain eased as the last meters whipped past and I crossed the line with a fist in the air. 2:37:38



Jim ended up beating me on time by less than a minute. As far as how things could have played out, I’ll take it. He’d competed on the course three times in the past, but got his personal best to take me out. I ended up 14th out of 142 in my age group. I could not have asked for a better day to race, more support from friends and family, or for my body to perform better than it did. Could I have made up less than a minute to get Jim? Maybe next time.

January

Tons of snow in these parts. Over 200 inches according to the resort. I believe it. Thats almost 17 feet. The snow banks bordering the driveway are towering and our porch is surrounded by a wall of white. I like winter when it is this intense. The boys tend to like to get their snow gear on only to go from point A to point B. They like being warm and toasty. That said they have braved the slopes at the resort and the sledding hill in town for a little outdoor adventure. They also like to get dragged around town on the sled. Kai likes to "fall" off the back and then have to chase the sled down and dive back in. Gus also enjoys this process. Katie and I try to get out for an XC ski (or splitboard mission) to enjoy the outdoors - that and maintaining the driveway and porch, which is a chore when it is snowing.

The big project I have been working on for the past several months has gone live. Check out WoodwardU to see the school that my new company, Slate River Group, has been instrumental in getting up and running. It has been a big, challenging undertaking filled with peaks and valleys. I am very grateful to be working with an organization like Woodward and to be developing such a great program that is a world away from the traditional classroom setting. It has been great to work on such a dynamic and forward-thinking project.

The Winter X Games are next week. I am going into my 12th Winter X. Unbelievable! It has been a lot of years working with some very amazing folks. I love being in the middle of such a chaotic scene with the most motivated, detail oriented professionals. Put the most amazing athletes from around the world at the center of a live television broadcast going out to more than 100 countries, add a heap of crazy fans, and swag and the recipe is pretty crazy. I like being in the mix. Listening to the director and television and broadcast crew in my headset while the live event feed blares to the crowd around me and interacting with my team on the ground is an electrifying experience. I am anxious to get back into the mix. It is a longer trip this year as the events start on Wednesday. Leaving the madness the boys create for one manufactured by ESPN.

Overall I am grateful for everything on my plate right now. Katie is super-busy with work and trying to squeeze in some dance classes and time with friends into her life when she is not being a great mom. We have a good relationship and she is very good at keeping me on task - which I need. The boys demand attention or we suffer the consequences. It is always a quest for balance. I look out the window and get to go out there and interact with this amazing setting. Inside the window is another amazing setting. There is a constant battle to stay focused on right now and trying not to let too much anxiety about the future take hold of me. Trying to stay focused.