The First Rule of Mountain Bike Racing

About mid-week last week I was perusing the TMBRA site as I so often do, and was suddenly reminded that the "Miles of DisComfort" Marathon race was happening that weekend. I thought "why not?" I was feeling almost fully recovered from my battle with the flu. The next morning I quickly sent out a short "who's going?" message to the world by way of email, twitter and facebook (ahhh, the 21st century!). By Thursday evening I had everything lined up and was ready for "DisComfort!" Oh, if only I'd known how true that name would hold!

At 6:00 AM, Derek, our newest Team Bicycle Sport Shop teammate picked me up, and we drove the hour and a half to Comfort. I registered, and felt a bit silly as I bought a "one day license" due to my lack of diligence in renewing my USA Cycling license. I slowly suited up, and, in the spirit of the weekend, executed a very relaxed 1o minute warm-up.

As we gridded up I was happy to see that we had a nice strong field, with such Texas heavy-hitters as Bryan Fawley, Tristan Uhl, David Haines, Jorge Muñoz and Wiley Mosley, among others. With 30 seconds to go before the start, I hacked up one last big mouthful of phlegm. Tristan next to me grinned and said: "After these four hours you'll either be all better... or in the hospital."

The gun went off, and after a few minutes of jockeying around, we each settled into our own respective paces. Tristan's pace... well let's just say he waisted very little time in "checking out." No one would see him again until he stood at the finish line, in his street clothes, cheering us in. He won by that much.

My tempo ended up slotting me into no-mans-land, minutes behind a small group at the front, and minutes in front of any chasers. I would end up spending the remaining 4 hours and 5 minutes of the race completely solo. This was only one of the components that made it mentally one of the toughest races I've ever done.

Lonely, lonely riding. But still having fun at this point.

For the first 3 laps or so, (around 40 miles) I kept the Bryan Fawley, Jorge Muñoz, David Haines group at about 2 minutes. Seeing them in the distance several times per lap helped motivate me to keep my nose to the grindstone.

Bored and not putting in the best performance of my life, I decided I needed to do something quasi productive, and styled it up a bit off the Hospital Hill drop.

Around the 2 hour mark I started to notice some tenderness coming from the "under-carriage" area. The course was much rougher than I'd remembered, and riding it on a 26" hardtail was taking its tole. A less than robust chamois was not helping the matter.

About halfway through the third loop, 2 1/2 hours into the race, I felt the first twitch in my quadriceps muscles. My heart sunk. Not once have I made it through a marathon race without cramping, but I usually don't start having problems until a half hour or so from the finish. At this point in the race, I had an hour and a half to go. I focussed on being smooth on the climbs, and stepped back the pace just a hair. To try and make up the difference, I began attacking the descents much more aggressively.

Around this time I caught Wiley Mosley. Despite being a good friend of mine, when on the race course he is still a competitor. With that in mind, I kept my mouth shut about the fact that I was starting to cramp. Tactics can play quite a role in these longer races, especially when you know some of what your competitor is feeling.

Near the end of the third loop my quadriceps started cramping for real, periodically convulsing in hard, painful contractions. Knowing I had an hour plus of racing left, I shifted down into the very light 26 tooth chainring. I've found that by using a higher cadence I can often stave off cramping.

In the feed zone I loaded up with twice the amount of fuel I normally would for a lap, knowing it would help me wring one more hour out of my body. By this time the saddle sores had developed into something seriously painful, and I was forced to shift positions often. Unfortunately, this forced my legs to do more work as I stood. A vicious cycle ensued. No matter what I did, something was always yelling at me to "STOP HURTING US NOW!"

I tried not to think about the fact that I still had an hour of the toughest terrain in Texas to get my body and bike over, and just focussed on turning the pedals.

I downed three gels in the first five minutes of the loop, trying to stockpile calories, hoping to ward off the inevitable "total lock-up" just a bit longer. I had started to get that deep hunger in the bottom of my stomach, and thought about how much I was going to enjoy cramming my face with some heavy, unhealthy meaty thing once I crossed the finish line... you're never picky at the end of these races. As an indicator of how starved for calories I'd become, I literally turned around at one point on the course and went back a few yards to get some electrolyte blocks someone had dropped.

I found myself spinning in nearly the lightest gear I had, crawling uphill... still the legs cramping on and off. Finally at the top, on the "Mini Kelly Creek" ridge, the legs could have a bit of respite. Only now the brutal ledges and rocks victimized my hands and forearms. Blisters started to form on my palms, and my fingers cramped in lifeless fists around the handle bars. The descents became extremely nerve-wracking, as I held on for dear life, my hands completely drained of any strength.

My speed slowed and slowed as I played cat and mouse with the cramping of my legs. As soon as I'd feel them convulse I'd shift down a cog, and try altering my pedal stroke, using different muscles.

So focussed was I on this ballet of pain that I suddenly found myself face down in the trail. I still don't really know what happened, all of a sudden I just found myself slammed onto the ground. I lay for a few moments (it always feels like an eternity), and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Then I let out a loud "AAAARRRRGGGGG!" Maybe hoping a course marshal was around to offer sympathy and acknowledge my lonely misery. I finally forced my way up, only to have what felt like every muscle in my body ball up into an agonizing cramp. I quickly lay back down. I tried massaging my trashed legs, but my hands were far too weak and tired to do any good.

I eventually managed to get up, and retrieved my bike. I'll be perfectly honest: As I slung my leg back over the top tube and clipped in, I whimpered a little bit. My body was done, and yet I was telling it to go again.

As I got going, something felt funny, and I realized my stem and handle bars had slipped from their alignment with the wheel. Instead of being at a 90º, they were at about a 70º. I stopped and tried straightening them, but was unsuccessful.

Having more or less gathered myself physically after the fall, I took a moment and gathered myself mentally. I told myself to swallow my pride and just get the job done, even if I had to walk it in. Above all else I wanted to honor the first rule of mountain bike racing: Always finish. Always.

The last half hour of the race was a death march. The new angle to the handlebars made staying on the trail interesting at times.

But then finally, FINALLY, after 4 hours and 10 minutes of some of the greatest discomfort I've ever felt, I rolled across the finish line, and could relax.

After the race. Broken.

I ended up finishing in 6th place, and days behind winner Tristan Uhl. It was not a fast, pretty or fun 4 hours, but I think I gained physical, and even more so, mental strength. Our sport, among other things, is about suffering, and I had absolutely done that in spades.

And I wasn't the only one. As more and more riders exhausted and broken coasted across the finish line, it all started to come back to me: The feeling of pride and accomplishment. I wondered how much of the population could say they'd taken their body to the limit in such a way. We certainly could. Congratulations finishers of the 2011 "Miles of DisComfort" Marathon! Y'all have quite a bit to be proud of.

The "local" StarFlight team was out practicing in the area, and decided to drop by and watch some of the action.