Xterra race report

Payton MacDonald
Trimax Xterra triathlon race report, R.B. Winter State Park, Mifflinburg, PA
Sunday, June 28, 2009
.5 mile swim, 11.5 mile mountain bike, 3.9 mile trail run

Swim: 14:00
T1: 1:45
Bike: 1:45:00
T2: 00:40
Run: 53:00
Total time: 3:01:00
(All times approximate, no chip used, some additional time getting from the swim to transition area is not recorded)

Pre race
A few months ago I was running in the woods and I realized that I enjoy trail running more than running on asphalt. The air is much better, especially in North Jersey, and the actual running is more interesting. A puddle, a log, some rocks, some smooth dirt, up hills, down hills, roots. Running on a trail is in many ways more like completing an obstacle course. You have to constantly be on your guard, eyes darting around, seeking the best course, but still looking ahead, evaluating the terrain, making choices. It’s often slower than running on asphalt, especially if the terrain is gnarly or there are steep hills, but no easier.

Even though there is some danger of twisting your ankle, my joints and legs always feel great after a trail run. I suspect this is because if you’re wearing minimal foot wear (sandals or lightweight trainers) your feet learn to feel the ground, seeking the best foot hold, stretching and grasping the terrain. I also suspect that when I’m deep in the woods and surrounded by life, literally breathing in life, I am more sensitive to my body and I listen to it better. It’s hard to feel too connected to your body when cars and buses are roaring by you on the street, belching fumes in your face and blaring their horns.

So I did a little research and found that people organize off-road triathlons, known as Xterra. There is even a governing organization, a world cup, and a magazine, all defining it as an established discipline. Some professional triathletes specialize in Xterra, others do both Xterra and regular tris. I found one about three hours from home, borrowed a mountain bike from the bike shop, reserved a bed and breakfast for me and Jessica, and started to train. Keith adjusted my training schedule a bit, adding some trail runs and giving me an exhausting day when I had to run up hills while carrying the mountain bike. Later, when actually completing the race, I would be grateful for that.

The night before the race Jessica and I enjoyed a fancy dinner and just had some time to unwind and relax. Before bed I consumed a Muscle Milk shake. Breakfast the next morning was French toast with no butter or syrup, and some coffee and water. For the race I just ate one gel tab at the beginning of the bike, but otherwise went through about half a water bottle with Cytomax mixed in.

Jessica and I walked much of the bike route the day before. I had read on the Xterra website that this was a challenging bike route, with miles of “rock gardens,” a genteel euphemism for some of the most hellish bike riding possible. That should have given me pause, especially as a beginner, but I felt confident that my experience on a mountain bike when I was a teenager would get me through it. Also, I figured years of skiing and snowboarding steep mogul slopes at Jackson Hole would help as well. Different sport, but similar reflexes and intensity.

The trail started off with some steep hills, but was otherwise comfortable enough. Soon, though, it narrowed considerably and became quite rocky. The rocks were only three or four inches high, but there were so many of them packed together—some loose, some firmly grounded, all slightly different heights— that finding a solid foot hold was nearly impossible. So much so that Jessica and I were having trouble just walking on it. At first I was cocky. I told her that it wasn’t much harder than the rides I’d been doing while training at the park near our home. But after a mile or so of ankle-wrenching rocks I lost my bluster. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I knew I could walk my bike for a lot of it, but that wasn’t easy either. After a few hours we cut off from the bike route so I didn’t see all of it. I relaxed into a pleasant evening with my wife, but those rock gardens never quite left my mind. I would find out the next day just how treacherous they were.

Swim
The swim portion of the race was set up as two quarter-mile loops, preceded by a short run on the sand. With only 57 people racing, there was only one wave. At this point in the season I’m comfortable with the swim and expected to do well. In fact, I ended up placing number 30. At not quite the half-way mark I was a little disappointed, but still not terrible. I think what got me was the temperature. Before we started they announced that the lake was 59 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s cold. For all the other tris I’ve done the water has been in the 70s or more. Of course I was wearing my wetsuit and I wore two swim caps, but the water still took my breath away. I didn’t really relax and find my groove until the second lap. But my sighting was much better. I worked hard on improving that in the last week and it really paid off. I found straight paths and didn’t waste energy zig zagging.

T1
I’ve been working on my transitions the last few weeks. This is one of the easiest ways to shave time off your race. With a little planning and a little practice, you can drop as much as a minute or two from your total time. One night last week I set a towel on the floor in the living room, with my running shoes and socks at the top of the towel. I opened up the socks to make them easier to put on, and I dusted them and the shoes with baby powder. Then I went in the kitchen and wet my feet in the sink, started a stop watch, and ran into the living room. I put my bike helmet on while drying my feet on the towel. Then I pulled the socks on, clicked into my bike shoes, pretended to grab my bike, and ran back into the kitchen. I practiced this several times and by the third time I had dropped over 20 seconds in time. My 18-month-old daughter thought this was quite funny. She kept pointing at me and giggling. Of course this didn’t account for the time to take off the wetsuit, but I’m planning on working on that in the next few weeks.

The practice paid off. I was in and out of T1 in 1:45 by Jessica’s stop watch. (The officials weren’t timing the transitions and there were no chips.) It was a huge improvement over the 2:31 the week before at Wyckoff. Without a chip there’s no way to really tell, but at the very least I felt much more confident about what I was doing it was fun and very much like moving around quickly between complicated percussion setups.

Bike
The bike portion of the race started fine, but soon enough the trail narrowed and the rock gardens emerged. In the context of a backyard, a garden of rocks could be beautiful. Elegant and serene, one can imagine passing many contemplative hours in a rock garden and in fact many monks do. But on a mountain bike on a narrow trail they are hell.

The first challenge is to figure out how fast to go. Slow speeds are actually more bone jarring. Greater speed allows you to bounce and roll over the rocks more smoothly, but the risk factor of falling also becomes exponentially greater as you go faster. One miscalculation on how high to lift your front tire or which line to take through a tangle of stones and you’re toast. I opted for the slower speed, but within 15 minutes my body was complaining. The first thing I noticed was how tired my hands were getting. I had to grasp the handlebars tightly so they didn’t jerk away from me, but without the regular shifting in pressure that goes with normal bike riding, my hands were soon screaming at me. Then it was my lower back. I knew this would happen from previous hard rides in earlier weeks, but 30 feet of rocks is a lot different than several miles. By adjusting my posture I was able to prevent injury, but it was still tough going. I might have been going too slow, but I wasn’t comfortable going faster, and to make matters worse my front forks did not have suspension. Beggers can’t be choosers and since I was borrowing the bike I didn’t really have any options, but I couldn’t help but noticing that every person who passed me had suspension on their front forks. They were also cursing, but in general glided over the rocks much better than I did. At least 20 people passed me early in the race.

After about 15 minutes of constant bumping and jerking the rocks got even worse and I was forced to dismount. I ended up carrying my bike for over a mile, as did most of the other athletes. This was tiring in different ways and really not much fun. At this point in the race I started to wonder if I would ever do an Xterra again. Barring some bad accident, I knew I would finish the race, but carrying my bike over rocks in the heat while getting eaten by swarms of mosquitos wasn’t particularly inspiring. Or was it? Writing this the next day I’m grateful for the opportunity to be humbled by the course. With the huge gains I’ve made as an athlete in the past six months from dedicated training with a qualified coach, I was starting to get a bit of swagger in my step. When I step out to run errands and see the rest of America, with huge guts and butts, waddling around, barely able to mount a flight of stairs, I shake my head and wonder how people could let themselves go like that. Don’t they care about themselves? With all our free time, getting in good physical condition is completely attainable, even for folks from poor neighborhoods. But there are levels and there are levels. I’m not 300 pounds, but I couldn’t fly over the rocks at this race. The elite athletes once again reminded me that this is an individual journey, and we each do our best. Compassion for ourselves and for others is paramount.

Eventually the rocks became more sparse and I was able to get back on my bike. But not for long. A 30-foot stretch of smooth trail would abruptly come to an end by a huge log on the path. I’d lift my bike over, get going again, and then a patch of impossible rocks would pop up. In some ways this was worse than the rock gardens as I felt like I couldn’t get any momentum going. But I plugged ahead. At one point I was crusing down a hill and I remember I started thinking about the swim. I knew already that I had come in 30 out of 57 athletes as Jessica had told me as I ran out of T1. I was mulling this over

when suddenly I was on the ground. It took me a second to realize what had happened. My front tire had hit a particularly big rock and I had flipped over the handlebars and crashed. My head had hit a rock and thank God I was wearing a helmet or I would have been in more serious trouble. I had landed mostly on my right side and my right elbow was bleeding everywhere. I felt a dull ache as I moved my leg and realized I had bruised my right thigh pretty badly. Fortunately there were no other bikers behind me at the moment, so I slowly got to my feet and collected myself.

Nothing was broken, on me or the bike, so that was good. My chain was off and there was a tangle of ferns in the rear derailler, but otherwise things were okay. The only thing that was really broken was my confidence. I took a few minutes to calm down and adjust my helmet. As I did, I meditated on the risks associated with doing triathlons.

Every year, a few people die competing in triathlons. Most of the deaths happen during the swim portion of the race, and mostly by people not wearing wetsuits who were not prepared for the race or were quite advanced in age. Sometimes people are killed while training, especially on the bike. The biggest danger is cars. I've met several people who’ve been hit. I met one woman who had even pulled off the road and was consulting a map when a pickup plowed into her, knocking her ten feet. It took her over six months to recover. Between drunk drivers, people gabbing on their cell phones, falling asleep, and just general traffic, biking can seem ludicrously dangerous. I’ve figured out ways to make it as safe as possible, riding routes with little traffic and wide shoulders early in the morning and mostly riding at a local park with virtually no traffic. Nonetheless, no matter how much I train and no matter how careful I am, there is always a risk that I will be seriously injured or killed while training or competing in triathlons.

After working for 24 years to develop my skills as a performer and composer and building a very successful career and after enjoying a wonderful 12 year marriage that has culminated in the bliss of fatherhood, is it really worth it? Is any amount of fitness or emotional development worth it? I have concluded that it is. The truth is that there are risks all around us. Statistically speaking, I am more likely to die in a car crash driving to work than I am competing in triathlons. Or, I may succumb to a terminal illness, a plane crash, an unknown allergy, murder, and God knows what else. True, not competing in triathlons reduces the risk of the swim or bike accident, but that would also seriously lower the quality of my life. As I've become more serious about the sport in the past few years, my life has improved in hundreds of ways. Although I feel pressure to take care of my daughter, I also feel it is important to provide her with a great role model. She is already her own distinct person, but there is no doubt that even at one years old she is modeling her behavior on what she sees around her. I want her to see a father who is active, courageous, and determined. I want her to see a father who takes calculated risks, and continues to grow and learn all the way to the grave. She will never reach her potential if I don't push the boundaries of my own potential.

So I dusted myself off, got back on the bike and kept going. After a few more difficult miles, things evened out and I emerged on a gravel road. The ride back to the transition area was smooth and uneventful.

T2
I racked my bike, unclipped my helmet, wrestled out of my bike shoes, whipped on my running shoes, and I was out of there in 40 seconds.

Run
I started strong and fast. My running technique has improved considerably this summer and I think I have finally found the proper footwear with lightweight running flats. As I've discussed in previous posts, my body seems to work better when my footwear more closely resembles that of barefoot running. Now that I've built some strength in my calf muscles, I can run further and stronger than ever before, with basically no discomfort.

Within the first mile I encountered an extremely steep hill. I was forced to walk, though that didn't make things much easier. By the time I made it to the top my heart rate was through the roof. The terrain was fairly manageable, however. When I caught my breath, I continued running. After some time the trail became more complicated and I had to slow down. Rocks and roots were pervasive, making it impossible to look ahead more than a few feet. This kind of running feels a bit like that drill that football players do when they are leaping through old tires that are laying flat on the ground. If you try to run normally you will twist your ankle or trip. You must shorten your stride and pick your line carefully. It's tiring, but adventurous.

At about the middle of the race there was a long slope down a paved road. In some ways the pavement was a nice break from the technical running, but I still find running down hills to be the most difficult. If I try to control my speed I end up with a jolting heel strike that is no good on my knees. If I let myself go I’m quickly running so fast that I feel out of control. Running down hills is one aspect of my running that needs more work; I haven't yet figured it out.

Towards the end I encountered one more hill. This one was much bigger than the first one, even steeper, and was made entirely of loose rocks. I looked up and actually said out loud “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I summoned the courage and began to climb. As I did, I was humbled once again, knowing that the elite athletes didn’t stop running when they hit this hill. After nearly 3 hours of intense physical effort, much of it near my lactate threshold, it seemed literally impossible to me to run up the hill. But others had done it. I pushed ahead as hard as I could.

Going down the hill on the other side was equally treacherous and slow, but I made it without incident and enjoyed the last portion of the run, which was flat and simple. One thing I remember quite distinctly was that in the last 10th of a mile as I emerged from the woods and looped around the lake where we did the swim, there were several fishermen sitting at the edge of the lake with their lines in the water. As I ran past them they each looked up at me. In my mind I was screaming “I JUST FINISHED MY FIRST XTERRA! I'VE BEEN EXERCISING INTENSELY FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT! I AM A FUCKING BADASS! I’M DIRTY! I’M EXHAUSTED! ISN’T THAT AMAZING!?!?” But it was clear that they thought I was either completely nuts, or they didn't care whatsoever. Some actually scowled and shook their heads.

The race had become its own world for me, a universe with its own laws, its own customs, and its own morality. By the end of the first loop of the swim I was in that world. The other athletes were competitors, but mostly they were family. We were pushing our own personal limits, struggling, with each gasping breath reaching for something that would bring us closer to something profound and real. But the rest of the world just carried on; oblivious to what we were doing. No one cared about the rock gardens or the hills on the run. No one cared.


Conclusion
Jessica was waiting for me at the finish line. She gave me a big kiss and hug and congratulated me. From start to finish, she was incredibly supportive and loving. Although triathlon seems like a solitary sport, in reality it's a team sport. Our families and friends do a lot for us, whether it's helping set up gear, making a sandwich, or just giving us the time and space to train. Jessica is a gifted athlete herself, so she understands why I do it. I'm a lucky guy.

One of the most gratifying moments of the day was shaking hands with a man who had just finished the race who was at least 70 years old (he was in the 70+ category). I know many people who are fatalistic about aging, whining about how getting older makes them weak and infirm and incapable of exercise. I hear all manner of excuses, from I don't have time, to not wanting to get germs at the local gym, to exercise is a waste of time, on and on. But this guy was at least 70 years old and it only took him 3 1/2 hours to finish the race. I found that incredibly inspiring. He looked great, his eyes were clear, he was articulate and energetic. That's how I hope to be when I’m in my 70s.

So, will I do another Xterra? Absolutely. I like being in the woods and I like the culture of the races. At least this one was much more laid back and organic than the road triathlons. No one seemed to take themselves too seriously. I wouldn’t say I like Xterra better than road races, they’re just different. Road races are very elegant and streamlined affairs, with their own beauty and logic.

In fact, I’ve registered for another Xterra at the end of August, out on Long Island. That one will be much easier than the one I just finished. For the next few years I’m going to look for Xterra races that have safer, less technical bike routes. Although I survived this race, it was really a little above my head. And I'm not going to worry too much about my times. I'm going to swim, bike, and run as best I can and feel thankful that I can breathe in that beautiful wooded air and have the inner strength to keep pushing myself.

race report Wyckoff NJ sprint tri

Payton MacDonald
Race Report

Wyckoff, NJ, Sprint Triathlon, June 20, 2009

0.5 mile swim, 15 mile bike, 5 mile run


Swim time 18:33
Swim pace 2:06
Place 277
T1 time 2:31
T1 place 213
Bike time 53:13
Bike mph ave. 19.2
Bike place 262
T2 time 2:27
T2 place 396
Run time 43:17
Run pace 8:39
Run place 491
Total time 2:00:01
Place 332 out of 744


Pre race
My goals for this race were modest. I wanted to improve my transition times, and finish somewhere in the middle of the pack by improving my run and bike times a bit.

I got up about 3:45 and for breakfast had a bowl of oatmeal, some fruit, tea, and juice. I got out of the house by 4:30 then drove to the race site and arrived at 5:15. The drive was beautiful, with clear roads and the sun coming up over the horizon. That part of Jersey is fairly wooded with rolling hills. I listened to Hindustani raga on the way there, which really focused my mind. The twists and turns of the melodic lines, teasing a resolution, but sustaining the tension, made me think of endurance racing and the way my mind dances around complete focus, often hitting it, but then sliding off in myriad directions. Complete focus is the goal, but very difficult to acheive and maintain. It is pure bliss when it happens, though. Music and athletics are more closely related than many people might think.

Swim
I ended up with a slower swim pace than my last race, which was disappointing, but I really had a hard time finding a path to swim. I ended up in the middle of the pack and it felt like I was in a school of fish running up a stream. Or a washing machine. I kept running into people, but no matter which way I turned I couldn’t find a smooth path. I stopped and started numerous times, which undoutedly slowed me down. Not until the last third of the swim did I finally find a groove. Next time I’m going to swim out to the side.

Transition 1
This went pretty well and I think at this point if I want to shave off more time I’m going to need start practicing with my shoes already mounted on the bike, and forgoing socks. I also need to practice getting my helmet on while riding the bike.

Bike
Good bike split. I cranked hard the whole time and did fine. Super Triathlon People (STP) passed me several times, but I also passed some other folks. I felt strong. My bike computer wasn’t working and I forgot my heart-rate monitor, so I was racing “naked,” with no sense of how I was doing by the numbers. In some ways that was really nice. I just listened to my body and enjoyed the wind and the air and thought about how lucky I am to be able to something like a triathlon. The night before the race Jessica and I watched Slumdog Millionaire, which is a brilliant movie, but very depressing. Since I’ve been to India twice, and the last time for almost four months, I’m well aware of the intensity of the poverty there, but it’s been a few years, and it’s easy to slip back into my privelidged life and forget. Slumdog Millionaire was a harsh reminder of how most of the world lives. There are many days when I feel that my career as a musician and my triathlon hobby is just a waste of time and money and energy. I wonder if I could be helping people in a more direct way. There is so much misery in the world. And it especially hurts to see that heaped on children, who really are innocent. I’m always able to rationalize my way out of that thinking, but maybe it’s just ennui.

Transition 2
Better than last race, but I’ve still got a ways to go. Since some of those guys are doing it under a minute, it can be done. The thing is that I ALWAYS have to pee at this transition and if I don’t then my run is uncomfortable.

Run
I cramped again, near the beginning and then at the end, but I didn’t worry about it too much. My run pace was still better than the last race, and I’m slowly but surely learning how to run. I’ve been doing a lot of research and experimenting with barefoot running and running in sandals or other footwear. I’ve come to the conclusion that running shoes cause me more pain than they prevent, but I don’t yet have the lower leg strength to not use them. So I used them today, but my knees felt sore afterwards. That never happens when I run in sandals. Hopefully in a month or so I can just use lightweigh trainers or sandals. I actually enjoyed myself for a few minutes in the middle of the run, which is an improvement for me.

Conclusion
Some good things:
1.) Finished in the top half, which is a PR for me
2.) transition times much improved
3.) run pace improved
4.) bike MPH improved

Needs more work
1.) transitions
2.) run
3.) finding a good way to negotiate crowded swimming field

feet

In the past month I read Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall, and followed that up with a lot of research about running. It seems that about every ten years I encounter something that literally changes my life. In my teens it was classical music and jazz, in my 20s it was Jessica and learning how to distinguish real food from processed garbage, in my 30s I am becoming an athlete, especially a triathlete. But I'm a terrible runner, though I like it and want to get better. I've also had a few injuries from running and I'm now learning why.

McDougall started his research for the book by asking this one question: "Why does my foot hurt?"

And then other questions came up: "Why do runners in rich, technologically advanced countries like the U.S. who wear expensive running shoes have so many injuries when runners in poor countries who run barefoot or in sandals do not?"

There are many answers to these questions, but scientific (and anecdotal) evidence now suggests that one of the biggest problems is running shoes. And the "better" (i.e., more expensive and sophisticated) the shoe, the more injuries. In short, the human foot is one of the most perfect appendages in the animal kingdom. Da Vinci considered it the most perfect part of the human body. Not only is the human foot perfectly constructed for running, but to shackle it with a shoe inhibits its natural mechanics and can result in a whole host of other problems with peoples' feet, ankles, knees, and hips.

It's more than that, of course. There are problems with running on pavement, not to mention the air quality in most cities or towns. And there are problems with running to a clock and trying to set records. Some anthropologists and evolutionists now think that our ability to run long distances--and in a coordinated fashion run animals to exhaustion--may have been what allowed us to pull ahead of the Neanderthals. (Most people think they preceded us, but in fact homo sapiens evolved around the same time as Neanderthals and it has been a mystery for some time why we won out considering how much stronger and smarter they were.) One thing is for sure, though: our ancestors weren't running races on asphalt while blasting music in their ears with an ipod. And they weren't worrying too much about pace. They were listening to their bodies, running with perfect form, and running barefoot, or in moccasins or sandals.

So I've been running barefoot, in sandals, or in 10$ canvas flats (like Converse All-Stars, but not high-tops) on trails and my form has improved, I'm having more fun, and much of my hip pain has disappeared. My mileage is still pretty low, so the real test will be over the next year as I gear up for a full Ironman, but the beginning signs have been very encouraging. I'm still worrying about pace as that's a very useful part of my training, but I'm getting better at letting my body dictate my workout rather than a clock.

I'm shocked at how stupid and greedy the shoe companies have been and how gullible we Americans have been, but I'm not surprised. No matter the discipline, Americans are obsessed with money and gadgets. And our urban/suburban lives have so strongly divorced us from the reality of our bodies and the natural world that we don't even know a ruse when it's on our own foot, or blasting out of stereo speakers.