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| Having more fun in Deer Valley. Photo: Ale DiLullo/Cannondale |
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| Knee pads, a first for me. |
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Road to the Trail
The Competing Interests of Mileage and Flow
Goals and objectives. We all have them and we need them to improve, but what is the value of repeating the same goal and objective? This thought occurred to me as I was coming down one of the best trails I've ridden in some time, Nail Driver and Deer Crest at the Deer Valley Resort in Park City, Utah. I've been lucky enough to spend the past few days at the Silver Baron Lodge riding bikes and checking out some of the newest cycling gear. Known as Press Camp, it's three days of morning meetings, afternoon rides and great dinners. Yes, it's hard work, and I appreciate your sympathy. Back to goals and objectives, it occurred to me that for many years I've been chasing roughly the same athletic goals and objectives, and I think there are many that do the same. For me, it was chasing distance and climbing. With a history in long distance triathlon (14 IM's in 5 years) I got into a mindset that the farther I went the better. Even when I stepped away from triathlon, that mentality followed me. How far could I ride, run or paddle, how far back did those trails go, how epic is it? My goals were still distance oriented, I'd only changed my mode of transport. I'd get back from a mountain or road ride and look at my total miles and elevation like a slave to the metrics. I'd check the surf and if was decent, I'd still convince myself to stay in the harbor to paddle for more miles. I was what I now refer to as Mileage Man. On occasion I would bust out of the rut and have a blast, vowing every time not to get sucked back into my mileage mindset. Each time failed, but now, now I think I've had a breakthrough.
Here at Deer Valley I was presented with the opportunity to take a chair lift up, ride awesome trails with some of the best bikes, I took it. I took it mostly because my legs were thrashed from my three races in three weekends (all distance oriented). I was doing the unthinkable, descending more than I climbed and in essence not "earning my turns" as they say in the ski world. But I had FUN. Not just some fun, but FUN. I was pushed to ride better, more technically and more aggressively than I have in the past. Having a BMX background (riding from ages 6 to 9), some of it came back. Now by no means was I "killing or shredding it", but I was feeling a sense of flow and rhythm that I'd only fleetingly experienced in the past few years.
So what I couldn't figure out is why is that though I love that sense of flow and rhythm, in any sport, do I continually default to Mileage Man? For me I think it's two things: familiarity and ease of use. Familiarity is like a rut, you do it on auto pilot. Your brain knows what it's in for and simply moves you in that direction. Ease of use means that it is easier to get out your door on a road bike or run and cover as many miles as you can than it is to load bikes/skis/boards, drive to the trail/resort/beach, hope the conditions are good and have fun. Surfing and skiing are especially condition dependent. I would bet that this year, skiing had a lot less "stoke" to it than last year. But what I'm coming around to is the fact that there is a different payoff to taking on those logistics, and different goals and objectives to be had.
Mileage Man can quantify his activities and create specific goals. Miles and elevation are recordable so you can look back at your GPS device and say, "I paddled this many miles" or "I climbed this many feet of elevation". These are clear metrics to measure against. Mileage Man can impress others with his Strave KOM's (google Strava if you don't know what it is) and weekly training logs. For Flow Man, (trail riding/skiing,surfing/sup'ing, etc) it's more "fun" based. You can't quantify how much fun you had and if you had more fun than the last time you rode that trail. Flow Man can say "that was sick" or "I'm stoked!" and it ends there. He won't pull up a file that measures his stoke to show you how much more stoked he was than the last time he rode that trail. His goal is for that moment only. Now there are some specific goals for Flow Man. Things like nailing a particular part of the trail, landing a jump on skis or cutting a bigger hack on a wave, but again, there are no watches or GPS units to record data. Plus, the specific goal is folded into the overall goal of achieving more flow. That said, I have been in such depleted states that I experience a flow due to sheer exhaustion and delirium. When I was racing a 24 hour ski race two year ago I was so tired that when the sun was coming up and shining through the aspen trees, I thought "this is what Peyote must be like". I've also been lucky to have days when from the start my pedal stroke or run stride was perfect and fluid. So, it's a different type of flow in endurance events, but is more fleeting, and rarely the goal.
So with each run I let Flow Man come out more. I just rode the bike downhill as fun as I could. Not fast, fun. My only thought was, "how fun can I ride this trail?" I cautiously caught some air when I felt safe, drove into corners that I felt confident in and pushed myself in way that rewarded flow, not necessarily speed, but rhythm and flow. At times I felt super confident and other times I was reminded that the majority of my riding has been on the road.
Last night I watched a kid was almost three years old whip around a pump track on a strider bike (kids bike with no pedals). His father is a pro freeride mountain biker and built the track in his backyard for training This kid was pushing his bike up and down the jumps and through the turns, all with a big smile on his face. He has already felt FLOW, it is now and will forever be a part of him. It was inspiring to watch this little kid just get out there for fun. He doesn't know what GPS is, how many feet of elevation he gained or what his speed was, but he had the most fun of anyone out there.
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| Deer Valley trails and an awesome bike |
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| Mileage Man, not having what most would call "fun". Photo: C. Johnson |
Mileage Man can quantify his activities and create specific goals. Miles and elevation are recordable so you can look back at your GPS device and say, "I paddled this many miles" or "I climbed this many feet of elevation". These are clear metrics to measure against. Mileage Man can impress others with his Strave KOM's (google Strava if you don't know what it is) and weekly training logs. For Flow Man, (trail riding/skiing,surfing/sup'ing, etc) it's more "fun" based. You can't quantify how much fun you had and if you had more fun than the last time you rode that trail. Flow Man can say "that was sick" or "I'm stoked!" and it ends there. He won't pull up a file that measures his stoke to show you how much more stoked he was than the last time he rode that trail. His goal is for that moment only. Now there are some specific goals for Flow Man. Things like nailing a particular part of the trail, landing a jump on skis or cutting a bigger hack on a wave, but again, there are no watches or GPS units to record data. Plus, the specific goal is folded into the overall goal of achieving more flow. That said, I have been in such depleted states that I experience a flow due to sheer exhaustion and delirium. When I was racing a 24 hour ski race two year ago I was so tired that when the sun was coming up and shining through the aspen trees, I thought "this is what Peyote must be like". I've also been lucky to have days when from the start my pedal stroke or run stride was perfect and fluid. So, it's a different type of flow in endurance events, but is more fleeting, and rarely the goal.
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| Flow Man, having fun, workin' it, workin' it. Photo: Ale DiLullo/Cannondale |
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| Milo and his dad feeling the flow on the pump track |
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Three Weekends, Three Races
I didn't plan it out to be like this, but the last three weeks has seen me racing either my mountain bike or SUP board. I would rather have had them spaced out, but being that there are so few events to choose from in both sports, I couldn't pass them up.
So it began with an early AM drive up to Big Bear for the US Cup 50 mile MTB race. I wasn't sure how this would go since I hadn't done a whole lot of specific training for it. Still, I felt like I could turn in a decent result.
Early on, as in the first mile, I knew things were not good. My legs felt tired and out of sync, my back hurt and my glute was on fire. After living at sea level for just over a year and racing at 7,000 ft. I was introduced to what altitude really feels like. It hurts by the way. None of this points to a strong race day, and I suffered big time. I'm not used to being reduced to just thinking about finishing, but that's what it came down to. Surprisingly, I found motivation in that and enjoyed the new challenge I had set for myself.
But all the motivation in the world couldn't prevent me from cramping. From knee to inner thigh, both legs were seizing in a way I've never felt. It wasn't enough to keep me from pedaling, and it did subside at times, but added to my misery. While I didn't come around physically, mentally I put out a good effort and finished satisfied. More often than not in this situation I would be disappointed and focus on how bad I raced. However, this time I was able to focus on what I did well and how I had done the best with what I had for the day. The result sheet wasn't what I wanted, but I was still happy. After countless endurance events I'm still learning and improving!
The next weekend was more of an adventure into a sport I am completely new to- SUP racing. I've really come to love SUP'ing through the harbor and surfing, and I wanted to see what racing is like. The event was 5.5 miles (I passed on the 1.5 mile race) in a two triangle loop. Since my board is more of an all-arounder and not a racing board, the guys at C4 Waterman let me borrow their stability/racing board, the Switchblade. I had a few days on it to get used to it, but I needed all my skills for the race. The wind and swell combined to create quite a bit of cross-chop, something I have NO experience in. I spent most of the race just trying to stay upright, something I did for the most part. It felt like I was on a mechanical bull more than an SUP board. If you've ever seen a newborn deer stand up and take it's first steps, that's what I looked like- wobbly, unbalanced, uncoordinated and shaky. Instantly I was at the back of the pack and like last weekend when I focused on my effort rather than placing, I had to re-evaluate why I was out in the water.
Right about that time I saw a fin pop up about 50 yards ahead of me. A dolphin was headed straight towards me. Instantly my thoughts turned to how amazing it was to be in the waters with such a graceful animal. I couldn't help but think of the sharp contrast. Here were 100 humans, the supposed pinnacle of evolution, bobbing around on boards while this animal displayed a grace and form that we will never know. The next swell nearly knocked me off my board, so I focused back on my own task, though I relaxed a bit and smiled more.
With my shoulders ablaze I kept at the best I could, trying to find a rhythm. It never came, but I had fun, especially catching a small wave on the way in. In the end I wasn't last, but close to it, and I didn't really care. Tacos and a beer with Courtney afterwards was better than any podium, so I still won in the end.
The last race had me back at Big Bear for another 50 mile MTB race. This time it was the State Champs so the competition was on. After another early morning drive to Big Bear I sufficiently caffeinated myself with coffee and chocolate covered espresso beans, warmed up and hit the start line ready to roll hard.
Unlike my last attempt I was feeling good from the gun. Not so good that I tried to keep up with any pros, but I was in the lead group as we climbed the fire road. Some sandy singletrack offered tight turns, blind corners, rocks and arm-cutting fauna. I let faster, more skilled riders get by, knowing it's easier to follow someone than to lead. The only problem was that I soon lost my guide and was back to my own fumbling. The singletrack opened up to a fire road, but strewn with rocks and ruts, it was no simple descent. I skittered down, getting passed along the way by some riders I had left behind on the way up. Even when the rocks and ruts gave way to sand I felt I was losing time. Frustration set in as I struggled through the sandy corners. Each corner was a new event, with me taking bad lines and grabbing way too much brake. I don't mind slow technical riding, but I get a bit too freaked out when the speeds get higher. To add to my troubles, I encountered a few Jeep and FJ Cruisers coming up the road. Most were on their side of the road, but a few were dangerously to their left. Sketchy.
Finally we were back climbing up, and I was back in my zone. The pedals were turning well and then we hit more singletrack.
This section was fun, if being scared you might fall off a cliff is fun. The trail cut into the mountain so on your left was the side of the mountain and on the right was nothing. Take a bad line, bars clip the side, get bounced off line and you were headed for a steep drop. To add to this there were more than a few tight left turns that threatened to topple me over the side. There were more than a few occasions where I wanted to walk, but momentum and guys right behind me forced me to keep rolling. There was one occasion where I had to get off. When I see CAUTION signs I know that is meant for me. Walking the trail I had to pick my bike up and hold it over the abyss to my right. It wasn't all terrifying though, there were several swoopy sections on flat terrain as well. I let two riders go by me, both much faster descenders and one was the woman who would go on to win. She was a true daredevil and a great rider to follow.
The single track gave way to a paved road before the final aid station. I refueled for what I knew was to be the hardest part of the course, the climb up Radford Rd. It was only a fire road, but nearly five and half miles of eight to ten percent grade with no let up, no shade and nowhere to hide meant we would all suffer. This was the hardest five miles I've ever ridden. From the start I was in the granny gear; if I went slower I would literally stop and fall over. I kept looking at my legs and visualizing them turning over, a kind of instant mental messaging. While I still felt relatively OK,(no cramps or major bonks) it was the sheer unyielding grade that ground us down. I saw riders ahead of me walking. Part of me took that as a sign to let myself walk, the other said "no way". I willed myself from turn to turn, dangling each as a carrot to get to. Ultimately I made it up without having to walk, something I will always be proud of.
At the top of Radford was one last aid station so I topped off with water and set out for the final miles. At this point I thought we had about seven or eight miles to go. I took off down the fire road, relishing the descent. I passed a bystander who yelled the phrase I never believe when I hear, "It's all downhill from here!" I've heard that before and always refuse to believe it. We turned down some singletrack that was part of the previous race and that's when it hit me. Cramps. As in both legs, quads and hamstrings. Pedaling was OK, but because the trail was steep, dusty and narrow pedaling wasn't exactly easy. When I stood on the pedals both legs would seize and when I went to pedal again they protested mightily. I continued this awkward chain down the trail, switching between the difficulty of pedaling through technical sections and the pain of having my legs cramp. I soon realized that I only had a mile or so to go. Looking at my GPS watch it read 42 miles. I kept bombing down and crossed the line with it reading 43 miles. Initially I thought I had missed a section or cut the course accidentally, but the riders that were behind me on Radford also trickled in. It turns out the course was short "a few" miles and was measured at 44 miles. How can you cut 6 miles from the course and call it good?
But I wasn't in any mood to complain, I was spent.
I ended up placing 2nd in the 30-39 Cat 1 category and 2nd overall for the amateurs, a result that surprised me and redeemed my poor showing weeks earlier. I was too spent to enjoy the post-race tacos and instead had 3 Cokes and a fruit smoothie.
Thankfully there are no races on the schedule for a few weeks and I won't be roped into anything. The legs are shot, but the mind is more so. Each effort takes a serious ability to simply suffer, and to do that requires more brain power than physical power in most cases. I'm in need of a mental recharge so it's R&R for me.
So it began with an early AM drive up to Big Bear for the US Cup 50 mile MTB race. I wasn't sure how this would go since I hadn't done a whole lot of specific training for it. Still, I felt like I could turn in a decent result.Early on, as in the first mile, I knew things were not good. My legs felt tired and out of sync, my back hurt and my glute was on fire. After living at sea level for just over a year and racing at 7,000 ft. I was introduced to what altitude really feels like. It hurts by the way. None of this points to a strong race day, and I suffered big time. I'm not used to being reduced to just thinking about finishing, but that's what it came down to. Surprisingly, I found motivation in that and enjoyed the new challenge I had set for myself.
But all the motivation in the world couldn't prevent me from cramping. From knee to inner thigh, both legs were seizing in a way I've never felt. It wasn't enough to keep me from pedaling, and it did subside at times, but added to my misery. While I didn't come around physically, mentally I put out a good effort and finished satisfied. More often than not in this situation I would be disappointed and focus on how bad I raced. However, this time I was able to focus on what I did well and how I had done the best with what I had for the day. The result sheet wasn't what I wanted, but I was still happy. After countless endurance events I'm still learning and improving!
Right about that time I saw a fin pop up about 50 yards ahead of me. A dolphin was headed straight towards me. Instantly my thoughts turned to how amazing it was to be in the waters with such a graceful animal. I couldn't help but think of the sharp contrast. Here were 100 humans, the supposed pinnacle of evolution, bobbing around on boards while this animal displayed a grace and form that we will never know. The next swell nearly knocked me off my board, so I focused back on my own task, though I relaxed a bit and smiled more.
With my shoulders ablaze I kept at the best I could, trying to find a rhythm. It never came, but I had fun, especially catching a small wave on the way in. In the end I wasn't last, but close to it, and I didn't really care. Tacos and a beer with Courtney afterwards was better than any podium, so I still won in the end.
The last race had me back at Big Bear for another 50 mile MTB race. This time it was the State Champs so the competition was on. After another early morning drive to Big Bear I sufficiently caffeinated myself with coffee and chocolate covered espresso beans, warmed up and hit the start line ready to roll hard.
Unlike my last attempt I was feeling good from the gun. Not so good that I tried to keep up with any pros, but I was in the lead group as we climbed the fire road. Some sandy singletrack offered tight turns, blind corners, rocks and arm-cutting fauna. I let faster, more skilled riders get by, knowing it's easier to follow someone than to lead. The only problem was that I soon lost my guide and was back to my own fumbling. The singletrack opened up to a fire road, but strewn with rocks and ruts, it was no simple descent. I skittered down, getting passed along the way by some riders I had left behind on the way up. Even when the rocks and ruts gave way to sand I felt I was losing time. Frustration set in as I struggled through the sandy corners. Each corner was a new event, with me taking bad lines and grabbing way too much brake. I don't mind slow technical riding, but I get a bit too freaked out when the speeds get higher. To add to my troubles, I encountered a few Jeep and FJ Cruisers coming up the road. Most were on their side of the road, but a few were dangerously to their left. Sketchy.
Finally we were back climbing up, and I was back in my zone. The pedals were turning well and then we hit more singletrack.
This section was fun, if being scared you might fall off a cliff is fun. The trail cut into the mountain so on your left was the side of the mountain and on the right was nothing. Take a bad line, bars clip the side, get bounced off line and you were headed for a steep drop. To add to this there were more than a few tight left turns that threatened to topple me over the side. There were more than a few occasions where I wanted to walk, but momentum and guys right behind me forced me to keep rolling. There was one occasion where I had to get off. When I see CAUTION signs I know that is meant for me. Walking the trail I had to pick my bike up and hold it over the abyss to my right. It wasn't all terrifying though, there were several swoopy sections on flat terrain as well. I let two riders go by me, both much faster descenders and one was the woman who would go on to win. She was a true daredevil and a great rider to follow.
The single track gave way to a paved road before the final aid station. I refueled for what I knew was to be the hardest part of the course, the climb up Radford Rd. It was only a fire road, but nearly five and half miles of eight to ten percent grade with no let up, no shade and nowhere to hide meant we would all suffer. This was the hardest five miles I've ever ridden. From the start I was in the granny gear; if I went slower I would literally stop and fall over. I kept looking at my legs and visualizing them turning over, a kind of instant mental messaging. While I still felt relatively OK,(no cramps or major bonks) it was the sheer unyielding grade that ground us down. I saw riders ahead of me walking. Part of me took that as a sign to let myself walk, the other said "no way". I willed myself from turn to turn, dangling each as a carrot to get to. Ultimately I made it up without having to walk, something I will always be proud of.
At the top of Radford was one last aid station so I topped off with water and set out for the final miles. At this point I thought we had about seven or eight miles to go. I took off down the fire road, relishing the descent. I passed a bystander who yelled the phrase I never believe when I hear, "It's all downhill from here!" I've heard that before and always refuse to believe it. We turned down some singletrack that was part of the previous race and that's when it hit me. Cramps. As in both legs, quads and hamstrings. Pedaling was OK, but because the trail was steep, dusty and narrow pedaling wasn't exactly easy. When I stood on the pedals both legs would seize and when I went to pedal again they protested mightily. I continued this awkward chain down the trail, switching between the difficulty of pedaling through technical sections and the pain of having my legs cramp. I soon realized that I only had a mile or so to go. Looking at my GPS watch it read 42 miles. I kept bombing down and crossed the line with it reading 43 miles. Initially I thought I had missed a section or cut the course accidentally, but the riders that were behind me on Radford also trickled in. It turns out the course was short "a few" miles and was measured at 44 miles. How can you cut 6 miles from the course and call it good?
But I wasn't in any mood to complain, I was spent.
I ended up placing 2nd in the 30-39 Cat 1 category and 2nd overall for the amateurs, a result that surprised me and redeemed my poor showing weeks earlier. I was too spent to enjoy the post-race tacos and instead had 3 Cokes and a fruit smoothie.
Thankfully there are no races on the schedule for a few weeks and I won't be roped into anything. The legs are shot, but the mind is more so. Each effort takes a serious ability to simply suffer, and to do that requires more brain power than physical power in most cases. I'm in need of a mental recharge so it's R&R for me.
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