long distance: October 2022

My default A2A plan:

Part 1: skate w/ Jessica for 38 miles.

Part 2: be an utility vehicle for 49-milers ‘til check point 4 or when Luke shows up.

Part 3: skate with Luke to Atlanta. Meet old and new friends.

_Preparation:

My foot race season ended in April. I intended to start long skates in July to prepare for February 24-hour solo in Miami, I would do just enough hills to get through A2A.

A chance encounter led to my acquiring puppy Yama. 10-week-old puppy was incompatible with high-volume training.

[He was 5.97 months old when I left home for A2A]

Between puppy, work, running, and aging, my training plan turned out unrealistic.

I skated little hill based on wheel completion count.

[2021 finished wheel]

[2022 finished wheel; motorcycle was sold during A2A]

Body weight control was the only aspect of prep that went well; Sonic still made me feel fat.

_the day before A2A

[renewed license arrived just in time; photos taken 12.3 years apart]

Flying Delta was more pleasant than American Airline, but I had to pay for upgrade to avoid checking in skates.

[my left neighbor had more leg room than my cheap middle seat]

[Herbinator, first Canadian sighting since COVID]

Dined at 3pm. Mellow Mushroom didn’t disappoint.

The opening ceremony was often an Olympian’s event highlight. That’s how I felt about A2A packet pickup: friends, organizers, and my skate heroes. I soaked in newcomers’ enthusiasm.

Without A2A, my sports life would’ve taken a different path.

_part 1: race

I stood at start having no confidence holding Jessica pace.

I moved to the left, so others wouldn’t have to get around me. I latched onto Jessica and Lenny at first turn.

I told Lenny I didn’t have the legs for that wattage. He kept the pace civil, despite the lead pack seemed only spitting distance away (world record = 25.81 meters).

I led the chase pack through a red light on a long descent when a cop decided to pull us over as gravity sped us up. I wondered whether 4 of us would fit in the cop’s backseat; I supposed there were worse things than sitting on Herb’s laps. I turned into a parking lot and was surprised no one was behind. I waited—this would be the first time I reached Dacula missing 49-mile start.

“Let’s go, Johnny. We’ll wait.” Lenny rolled passed the lot entrance.

I jumped the curb, ran on grass, and chased Lenny down at 28 mph while he took zero stroke.

We were 7 strong: Lenny, Jessica, Herb, Mario, Aaron, and an energetic Jen 秋雁. Mario looked closest to Super Mario among my Mario friends.

Herb was the first to drop, consequence of inactivity from knee surgery. I heard Jen flirting with her red line; she fell off the train. I didn’t notice when Mario disappeared. Aaron’s pulls felt too long; I silently accepted his gift.

Prior to the race, Jessica voiced concerns about frame positioning and edge control; I looked for but observed no symptom. Suddenly, she tripped; her rear wheel flew toward my nose. She regained balance before I could react. I developed appreciation for having a backup nostril.

I was among friends doing something I loved. Sky was big and beautiful; wind reasonable. During Hurricane Ian, I was unsure if I’d see Florida skaters. I looked forward to skate w/ Luke like the old days.

I was disappointed missing the 49-mile start.

I urged myself to stay in the present.

4 of us made mile-38 Dacula without further drama.

After annual hug from Valerie, I added weight to my pockets: phone, Allen wrench, Gu blocks, and bottled water. I ate bananas and chatted with 2nd place Brian Geisel.

18-yo Graeme Holland arrived 26 minutes ago when I was in a different zip code. I expected to see Luke & Naomi; instead, Jen rolled through, looking less lively than an hour ago.

_part 2: water boy

I caught up to Jen and offered to carry her nutrition before check point 4, intending to pace her to find her second wind.

Earl & Thomas skated by as Jen stopped to water plants. 4 of us rolled together and caught a spent Aaron who stayed too long with Lenny and Jessica; we spat him out as Jen found her rhythm.

_part 3: mission

I decided to pace Jen through her first full A2A. For my first 87-mile in 2003, Branda Harris made it so all I had to do was to follow the pack. This was my opportunity to pay back.

[yellow arrows were extra clear this year—Thank you, Henry] Getting lost with Herb and Bob in 2008 was a fond memory I preferred not to repeat.

Staying in slipstream became challenging as Jen’s muscles fatigued. I didn’t force her. I adjusted my pace while listening to her cadence and breath, a little surprised her cussing was English only. I urged her to resist digging too deeply into reserve.

“Is this Silver Hill?” Jen asked hopefully.

“Not even close.” I crushed her hope as each climb felt more endless.

Jen reached into her bag of tricks: conscious breathing, mantras, self-talk. Earl and Thomas turned marginally less stoic.

_”all for one, all for one”

Earl and I discussed Jen’s fighting chance. I didn’t explain Jen’s accomplishments; Earl could form his own opinion about her grit. Earl offered to stay with us if I didn’t take stupid chances at intersections.

I lost focus and left Jen behind. I felt I fell asleep on the job as I waited at T-intersection.

“This ain’t about you. Keep your eyes on the goal.”

Legs turned Jell-O by Silver Hill. We went down separately. I missed Luke.

[slowest Silver Hill in memory].

I was ecstatic to see Jen stayed persistent on the long climb to check point 5. I urged her to get out of CP5 as she wanted to extend her stretching session.

“Stretching is less efficient than lowering wattage. Plenty of climbs left.” I was the bad news bearer.

I made Greg running back and forth to fetch us Gatorade from the cooler while denying Jen unnecessary comfort.

The short stop did wonders to Jen’s fast-twitch muscles—but only for few minutes.

“A2A is 70 miles of hope before 17 miles of reality.”

The remain climbs were short but numerous, fuel tanks low. The street crossing became frequent, zapping average speed. I was encouraged seeing Jen finding her 3rd wind.

Earl and I had incompatible street-crossing style; I backed off. Earl’s strides reminded me of Win Hughes: milking every drop out of slow twitch muscles. He adjusted the pace to keep everyone in; I was grateful for safety in number.

Jen grabbed a bottle of water at CP6. Soup-Nazi-like, I took it from her and made her drink CP5 Gatorade instead. There wasn’t enough time for both bottles to enter bloodstream. A2A was about weight and energy management while delaying gratification.

My legs were frustrated by unfamiliar final miles; my feet ached.

“How much discomfort does one need to endure before stumbling on happiness?”

Jen carried her fatigue well--consistent with her 24-hour race results. I denied her additional nutrition—keep it simple; hold the momentum; get it done. I desperately wanted her to succeed.

We passed long-hair Peter and was buoyant by his positivity.

Earl led us through final turns and intersections—I was happy not having to navigate. My quads lost responsiveness with each turn. Finish line eventually came.