Gloucester Fishman's Tri

GFT = Gloucester Fisherman’s Triathlon The trip began with the obligatory pre-race load of the van, bike, 2 sets of wheels, pre-made dog food for our two Leonbergers, food for us, Elizabeth and myself, and all the implements of destruction. From there, we had a strict deadline of 4:00 pm at the Mavic US headquarters in Haverhill, MA. Mavic has been terrific to me and is allowing me to use a set of the Carbone Ultimates for Du WC’s in Edinburgh on September 5th. Ahh, 1100g’s of carbon tubular sweetness. Alas, five hours later, and after a quagmire of other metal coffins all jockying for the same spot on the 495, we arrived at Mavic at 3:55 pm on Friday afternoon. I forewent the whiz I had needed to take for the last hour and ran in to grab the wheels before the doors were locked for the weekend. After answering the call of nature, and holding the handles of two wheel bags, all was good in the world. Two days prior, Elizabeth had dragged me though her own version of a torture session that included 38 minutes worth of Motor-pacing at froth-mouth intensities. These sessions often remind me of my youth, and my family’s harness racing business. I would gape in awe at the amount of “lather” on the animals after hard training and/or racing efforts. This is how my mouth feels after these sessions. Needless to say, on Friday my legs were still torched, so, needless to say, I was feeling a little grumpy. And with the killer field Janda and the GFT boys had amassed, torched was not a good place to be if one wanted to be in the mix. At 5:45 pm we rolled into Seaside Cycle to say hello to the boys. For those of you who don’t know, Bumpus (shop owner), wretchedly destroyed his leg in a snow-boarding accident this winter, as a result he is as jolly as ever but has now taken to shambling around the shop as an old peg-leg pirate. I heard his parrot is on order and he is just waiting for the exotic pet paperwork to come through. It was great to see Phil again as well. Phil is a former conti pro who has decided to get back down to his fighin’ weight and dabble in racing again. All I can say is…look out! As this guy is strong, and is starting to again attain the gaunt, haunted look of a cyclist getting ready to tear some legs off. On Saturday morning I met the Ricci-Munn brothers, Janda and Corey, to ride the course and test Janda’s fitness out on a brisk post ride T run. Many of you know Janda, however what many of you don’t know is that his brother, Corey, is one hell of a strong cyclist. He would later go on to etch himself into the GFT books by chalking up the fastest bike split on Sunday, on a road bike! Let me tell you, the setting for the GFT is remarkable. A harbor swim, that Janda assures me was to far in the bay for Great Whites (Riiight), a well laid out technical bike course, and a rather hilly 5k two loop run through the heart of old downtown Gloucester w/ a couple of thousand screaming fans. The race finishes with a downhill closed road section smack in the middle of where the farmers market was 24 hours before. Race day: Overcast threatening skies gave way to a quick morning shower as many of the athletes were setting up in transition. Many of the race organizers were finishing a tunnel-vision inspiring trip on the all night train, but nonetheless greeted us with morning smiles and comments of goodwill, what did they put in that coffee? I set-up my implements of destruction, on with the wetsuit, a kiss to my wife, and with the rest of the 800 competing athletes, I shambled down to the bay for the swim start. In a category 2 rapid torrent of white water we were off and swimming, quickly around the grease-poll, across the harbor and in 8 min (6 for the leaders, argh) I was back on land and sprinting into transition to get on my Specialized Transition and give chase to the majority of the elite field. I’m from a running background, thus the feeling of awe at how fast some of the athletes (men and women) can swim, and the “oh, god…wait up” feeling I inevitably get, is pretty much normal for me at this point. Onto the bike, I put my head down, get as aero as possible, and try to put out the power and get myself back to within striking distance of the podium for the run. The 11.5 mile bike meant, ride as hard as you possibly can for 25 min, then get off your bike throw on your racing flats and run 5k as hard as you possible can. I can dig that. Rolling into transition I finished my bottle of CeraSport, popped a Honey Stinger, threw on my Saucony flats and was off and giving chase in 8th place, 4 min back from the leaders. On my way out of transition I saw an old buddy, fellow U Maine alum, former employer, and New England USATF president, Steve Viatones. I had just enough time to say…“Heeyy Steve” and I was on the gas. There is a term in running that many of us used to evoke (in my previous athletic life as a runner) when you went Really Hard. The term is “going to teeth”. For those of you that don’t know what I mean simply watch or Google image the finish of any middle-long distance track race. In the finish-line shot you will see exactly what I am talking about as almost every chasing athlete will be employing a death-sneer in which one’s gums attempt to run and hide behind one’s teeth. The result is a lot of teeth in the photo, hence, “going to teeth”. I felt myself going to teeth on the last lap of the run, by then I had run myself into 5th and had the tall form and red kit of uber-biker, Dean Phillips, in my sight. I caught Dean on the hill and was able to see veteran stud Andrew Noble on the long straightaway to the finish, and he was coming back slowly. I lifted the pace again to chase down Andy and with 300m to go moved into 3rd clocking a fastest-of -the-day 14:32 run split. Ethan Brown destroyed the field en route to his 2nd GFT victory. The 2010 GFT was a terrific event, extremely well organized, incredible fan support, and beautiful venue. It’s probably best for you to put it on your next’s year race calendar right now.

Sweet Pain Alabama

Race report 1: Powerman Alabama aka USA Duathlon Championships aka ITU SC Duathlon Qualifier This season’s issue of Powerman Alabama may have been a lot of things, but true to all great PM events one thing it was not… EASY on the legs. Perhaps it was the early season race effort and/or lack of man hours on the bike, but man, I was sore from that “experience” for the better part of a week. With its third course in three years PM AL relocated from the urban commando racing of 09 to the serene, picturesque, and leg mashing course of Oak Mountain State Park. Undoubtedly the deepest field ever assembled for Alabama, this season’s event boasted just shy of 30 elite Duathletes. Leading the way was Belgium’s LC World Champion Joerie VanSteelant and the returning 08 and 09 Champ David Thompson. And with 4 automatic qualifying spots up for grabs for Du Worlds the racing went hard from the gun. The first 10k run was a blitzkrieg event as Adams State grad, Dereck Yorek, led the first run through in just over 31 mins, a smoking time on the perpetually hilly course. Knowing the 60k bike was going to be my crux, I chose a much more subtle start to my season and ran a very controlled 32:11 into the transition.The 60k bike featured a three loop course and was riddled with punchy little 30-60 second climbs. Typically this riding style suits me well, at 6’0” and 144 lbs, power to weight is much more often than not on my side. As I got into the bike I was soon passed by Matt Russell and David Thompson, who both had excellent days. After the first lap I was just finding my rhythm and beginning to put out the prescribed watts when I began received the itchy warning signs of; twitches at the plate, cramps on deck. Hence I commenced to cut the power to the engine room by about 20%, chug some CeraSport, and focus on getting to the last run. As I quickly found out the tough course and fast opening run was reeking carnage on others athletes in the field, soon I caught two of the early leaders, Yorek and Josh Merrick who were both looking a little hazy on the bike. I rolled into T2 feeling less than chipper in 6th place overall and 4th American. Basically I just had to hold the rivets together for an auto qualifier and a trip to Endinburgh. The last run starts w/ a 500m hill, thus was a deathmarch , as I was about a millisecond away from a cramp. To my surprise at about 2 miles I started to feel almost good and even started to have thoughts of possibly catching some sorry lost soul out on the race course. Final place 5th overall (4th American), final run time of around 35.53 min, the slowest, fastest run of the day. When the soreness goes away…I can’t wait to race again. Next stop Duathlon Nationals Offroad Expert race 04/23, then Mooseman 70.3. A big thanks to our new team Seaside Tri, and to Seaside Cycle for hooking me up w/ a sweet Specialized Transition TT rig.

The Men behind the Man

In one’s everlasting quest for cycling, running, and swimming (if there is such a thing) nirvana, one must consider the many aspects of these independent worlds. I race bikes and I run and I try to keep from drowning myself in the pool. I also like to think that when all of these components coalesce into one entity; ie Triathlon…well I do them at a relatively high level. Not an Eddy Merckx high level, not yet ha; hence the “relatively high”. At this very moment perhaps more of a Chris Horner level. To attain a high level many things must fall into place. Let’s face it; triathlon is an industry of products. I don’t care how many watts you push, you are not going to win against the big boys on a Vintage 1985 Huffy ten speed and a Dave Mirra BMX helmet. Unless we are talking about the Team 7-11 Huffy, but everyone in the know knows these rigs were actually a “re-badged” Serotta. Built up in Saratoga, NY by the big man himself; Ben Serotta. Bottom line is: “You got’s to have sponsors boy!”. First off I need to thank my new team USProTri, and proprietor Ryan Bates. Thanks for bringing me on board this season. Ryan has totally mainlined us to some of the best gear out there. I love the Jamis TT rig and the Xenith SL; holy smokes, for those of you who can’t afford a BMW M3, start training and hop on a Xenith SL, it’s the next best thing. I can’t wait to race for the boys this season. http://www.usprotri.com/ Next I would like to roll out the thank you train for Paul and Mark at Precision Bicycles in West Winfield, NY. The shop is a magic portal to cycling goodness. A real live old school bikeshop; the best aspect is, they don’t sell Trek! (I mean no disrespect to my buddies here in town who are a Trek dealer). Paul is wonderful mix of bike guru and motorhead mayhem. A gravel voiced former mechanic and machinist by trade now he immerses himself understanding the world of cycling, this bodes extremely for everyone who visit’s the Precision. Paul has been instrumental in getting the fledgling Hartwick Cycling/Tri team up and running, If we need it Precision seems to have it. Carbon up the wazoo or killer nos vintage ritchey parts for that “steel is real” roadie. The shop possesses everything a first-rate bike shop needs from 8 different road cassette options hanging on the wall to at least 30 various length stems, 20 headsets 1” included, to demo saddles; the shop even has a set of Vittoria Tubby’s hanging on the wall. That my friends…is gospel. http://precision-bicycle.com/ Also, I must give super props to Marty and Dean at Fitwerx2. Recently I schlepped my new Jamis TT from Oneonta, NY to Peabody, MA for a bike fit. For those of you who don’t know Dean Phillips; besides biggest sandbagger out there (he TT’s at 50kph even when he is “not fit”), he is a Fort Knox wealth of knowledge. Although we worked for a minimum of 2 hours to get the most out of my 145lbs 6’ frame, within ten minutes he had me 100% more comfortable and significantly more slippery through the air then I have ever been on a bike. Often during my fitting I was left wondering, “…am I special or is he this meticulous and brilliant with everyone”? Unfortunately I’m not special (well…maybe to my wife and mom) Dean is one of those gifted people who is very excellent at what he does. Take Forest Whittaker’s character in Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog; the Way of the Samurai for example. Methodical and meticulous. He is also the foremost authority on how to race properly while maintaining a healthy relationship with your wife and three boys. Like I said “he’s the man”! http://www.fitwerx.com/ I can’t exclude my man Chris Tomaselli. That’s code for crazy guy whose too young to have his shock of white hair, who goes really fast on ski’s, not so fast uphill on bikes, makes a killer spaghetti sauce, and has almost as twisted sense of humor as myself. I love him. One more…for now. This one goes out to Janda Ricci Munn, the 2nd biggest sandbagger I know. He also happens to be the guy with the less than desirer able jobs of coaching my skinny ass. Janda’s knowledge of the sport of cycling and triathlon is vast. As most of you know; I am a coach myself therefore it is imperative that I be difficult to coach. Janda has certainly been there. Check out www.jandariccimunn.com/. Over and out… Cheers, Tread

Snowshoe racing is fun!

Snowshoe racing is fun! OK, so snowshoe racing may be one of the most difficult racing disciplines I have undertaken but very…very fun. Fun because one is blazing along in the crisp winter air throwing up an albino rooster tail of fine powder and screaming down a 40 percent grade with a 90 degree turn at the bottom, all the time convincing yourself, “you’re on snow, it won’t hurt when you fall”! Ah…a moment of pure blissful disillusionment. Like being a 3 year old again, before you recognized the equation; fall = damage. In truth; the whole race course is your older waiting to whitewash you when you let your guard down to see if the School bus is coming. Difficult because well…when your running through snow it’s hard, and when you step there’s no guarantee that your foot will be where intuition lays it. Terra firma my ass, running over a parfait is more like it. At times I like to drift into a world where I’m running through the silky white sand beaches of the Caribbean. Often the Pixes lyrics on autoplayback in my brain, “I was swimming in the Caribbean…with your feet in the air and your head on the ground. Try this trick, and spin it. But your head will collapse but there’s nothing in it- and you’ll ask yourself; Where is my mind”. Check your head at the door folks, we are doing a snowshoe race. Where you run as hard as you can and 85% of your energy is dissipated horizontally and vertically as thousands of little snowflakes (no two exactly alike I must add) play the steamroller game over each other. Last weekend I did my third snowshoe race. The Empire State Games Championships 5k in Lake Placid. I didn’t fall once. I ran hard, hard enough that my stomach was shambled for the rest of the afternoon and I had a smile on my face well into the evening.

Chicken in the bathroom

OK, it’s 4:00 am and the moon reflects off the snow as you trudge to the bathroom to relieve yourself. The legs that rolled through a steady 15 miler coiling and uncoiling with almost effortless-unconsciousness just hours before now threaten to teeter and tumble at the slightest disturbance. My equilibrium has always had a way of taking a hike at the times when my body is rather disgruntled at being awake. Then again it could be that my first step is usually on the jumbo-size dog bed and/or slumbering 170 lbs dog that sleeps next to the bed. Yes, next to the bed. He slept sleep on the bed with Elizabeth and me until it was discovered that I was unable to keep from rolling into the crater in the middle of the bed, for which he is responsible. Picture a 170 lbs bowling ball lying in the middle of the bed for 8-10 hours a day. Bottom line is...Charlie's a mattress killer! Perhaps we should get a sleep number bed. -It is when I get to the bathroom and right before I turn on the light that I am reminded of the chicken living in our bathroom. Chicken's have this wonderful way of cooing as they sleep. First they slowly breathe in, and then as they breathe out they produce a gentle fairytale soothing coo. It’s lovely. Acorn II is a miniature; a chicken of the feather-footed Bantam variety. He stands about 8 inches at the comb and is a prefect little feather-footed rooster complete with his miniature cock-a-doodle-do. The females produce there own miniature eggs. My wife loves Bantam’s because, “they are the sweetest and make the best mothers, and the roosters all get along.” …there so you know the criteria by which we choose our chickens; hardly substance farming. It is easy in winter to feel that you are the only organism that feels cold, especially when you are out on a 3 hour training ride in 6 layers and a frosty beard and the deer (we have astounding numbers of deer in Oneonta) don’t even own a sweater. How do they get by without wool? -As it turns out Acorn II (I actually call him Egg) got in an altercation with some of his normally friendly neighbors, got pecked at, and at some point must have run through his water dish. The result was severely frostbitten little feathered feet. The end product being a high class all expenses stay upstairs penthouse bathroom. He spent his first night in the shower and has subsequently been given run of the bathroom. He has become quite a little fixture in our room of rest. One now always has someone to talk to when you are doing your business; Charlie has someone to sniff every morning, and the cats (two of them former barn cats) have something to watch during the long winter days. We are hoping that within the next couple of weeks Acorn II can return to general population. Until them as I move from the porcelain throne to put on my cycling bib’s it’s, “Good morning Egg….uh…Acorn III”

Gotta love up-state New York

Oneonta New York …truth be told I love it here. I love it here even when outside the temperature is 4 and the windchill is -12. Even when the boogers freeze to the inside of your nostrils and you can actually, with pinpoint accuracy sense precisely where your mitten ends and your jacket cuff begins. This line so finite and thus definite that one may feel as though they are passing their arm through 1mm thick viscous ice wall, or a 1mm thick wall of lava. It’s that cold…you can’t even tell the difference. Ah, but the sun is bright and the snow porcelain white. One is left with the feeling that everything including the rocks are sleeping, dead, or cryogenically suspended. Your footsteps thump a rhythm and the snow exudes the acoustics of Styrofoam. This is solitude.