2007 inaugural Houston Inline Marathon

It was a fun and relaxing weekend with a nice hotel.
Wish more skaters were there.
photos by Shelley Kautz:
http://www.kautzphoto.com/pegasus%20photo%20site/Houston07/Texas%20Flyer...
result:
http://www.premierraces.com/results.htm
My chip time wasn't in the result no doubt because I cross the finish line too many times.
Here's the log:
_The Objective
2007 was a great racing season. I completed my 3 big events: IMCDA, HHH, A2A. I debated on goal for Houston Inline Marathon while feeling fat and happy from Halloween sugar. I didn’t want the chaos of a marathon race. Other options include:
1. get pulled by the Texas Flyers train in pro pack. This would involve declaring Tonya as honorary man so she could skate with us.
2. race the half distance
3. focus on helping teammates to have a good marathon time
The pro pack plan was scraped due to travel issues and injuries. I didn’t want to sprint against 7 and 9-year-olds. I promised Scarlett I’d pull her. My conviction wavered when I saw the size of the half-marathon trophy. Fortunately the Zen Buddhist in me reminded me I don’t need to be attached to another chunk of molecules.
Danny decided to stay in pro division even without the team puller. I love the boy’s spirit.
_Open Division
The road surface didn’t look bad but skaters went down left and right near the start: I saw young Phil and recently injured Jerry on the ground. Not good. Scarlett and I took our time. I planned to go slow the first lap of the 6 laps. I wanted negative splits.
The supposedly flat course was more challenging than anticipated with 2 U turns and 4 climbs per lap. Scarlett and I held a steady pace and slowly pick up Young Phil, New Chris, Shelley, and other random skaters. Couple skaters offered to pull; none seemed steady enough to follow.
We saw Hillary happily cranking on the other side of the street. Spectators and pro skaters cheered us on. Nothing but good vibes in the air. Suddenly Scarlett lost balance and torn the race number off my thigh. Hopefully the number wouldn’t end up caught in someone’s skate. Then Hillary went down after potty break. The street’s feng-shui worked against the Flyers that morning. I talked to a less happy Hillary as she made her way back to the start.
_Pro Waves
The pros started while we’re still on the course. Teenagers with 3 lungs dictated the pace for pro men. Brenda fell near the start; Tonya waited for her. They ended up doing a 2-person time trial. Danny lost his pack and enthusiastically skated his first pro division race solo.
_Half lap to go.
A few skaters in our pack started to “attack.” One actually asked me when he should sprint if he wanted to beat the guy who just left the pack. I found myself coaching complete stranger seeking advice during the race so he could beat me. I didn’t care. I was here for a team skate, and my teammates were doing well. Our pace line cross the line around 1:43. No unnecessary risk, no crash. Mission accomplished.
_Active Spectator
Before start, the announcer said we could skate as many laps as we wanted. I didn’t know if she was joking, but this was a rare chance for me to watch the race from the course. I jumped on the pro pack behind some very tired skaters. I slowed down before the downhill under the bridge to see rest of the pro racers. Chris and Duane’s small chase pack barely held 20 mph. More scattered racers struggled hundred yards behind. How hard was the first lap!?
Rob Bell, Mr. this is my taper exercise before Ironman next week, threw a flyer with more than 3 laps to go opening a huge gap. He smiled and waved at me like he was just warming up for the race. I marvel at the distance between gifted athletes and rest of us.
Danny stopped to re-lace a boot. Tonya stopped to remove a piece of white stuff caught in wheels. Duane and Chris’ pack was down to 3 skaters. Races seldom go according to scripts. I accompanied Danny for a few miles and saw the lead pack strolling on the other side probably going at 15 mph, toying with the people they dropped earlier.
Pro women pace line was a pretty pink blur of 4 skaters. The 2 Powerslide girls sprinted at end of lap 5 as if it was end of race. The move separated Debbie Race and a local skater; neither was able to close the gap.
_Long Distance Time Trialist in the Making
Danny was on lap 5, tapping out steady progress while the pro pack barreled down toward the finish ready to swallow everything in sight. Danny hammered and avoided being lapped by seconds.

2007 A2A 38-mile race + 49-mile cool down skate

Duane and I signed up for the 38 mile event toward end of the season. We had fond memory of the smooth pavement, chain-towing puppy, missing road, and gator back from our 2003 Texas Flyer team skate. I had vague recollection of the last 49 miles: insufficient hills, rough pavement, and a lot of traffic-basically things I can find in north Texas.
My original plan was to keep Duane (aka the cardio animal) in contact with the lead pack until he finds his rhythm. Duane's mom passed away and had to cancel. My new goals became: 1. Skate hard. 2. Have fun.
Tom Welsh and I consolidated hotel reservations to keep me under budget. Tom knows way too much about boot making and equipment in general.
Only other A2A Texas Flyer this year was Danny who had all kinda car problem on the way to Georgia. H and wife Hillary came close to buy a car during the jouney.
_Expected slow start.
5 minutes into the race, the lead pack was oscillating between 18 and 23 mph. Only at A2A. I was a little star-struck in the same pack as the big names: Matzger, Arndt, Doucet, Gayle. Dan Burger wore a weird brace wrapping his left calf. After the initial set of turns, skaters started taking seemingly unnecessary chances fighting for position. Pace lines reshuffled so often it felt like a 26-mile advanced men race. Several skaters stood up and refused to be part of the chaos.
Each climb took me a little longer to recover. 20 minutes and 6.5 miles into the start, I evaluated my chances of keeping up with the big boys. I decided to shut it down and wait for the chase pack. Man, I wished I were in better shape to do this. I wished Duane were in that pack to represent us.
I didn't see anther soul for minutes ‘til a lone skater passed me stealthily. Did he want to A2A all by himself? A few minutes later, a Boston John came by and invited me in. He did the lion's share of the work; my job was to buy him recovery time and provide additional mass going downhill. I didn't see how 2 of us could fend off the big chase pack, but we skated so well together I decided just to enjoy the moment.
Mile 17, we finally got caught by the big chase pack with Brian McKenney's 80 mm wheels in it. It's good to see Brian out of retirement. The pack wasn't well organized: 2 of the skaters had big back kick and no one wanted to stay behind them. We also had a few sub-100 skaters unaccustomed to all the pushing. The long down hills made it impossible for anyone to get away. Couple skaters in the pack were panting hard after each climb. My heart rate was in zone 2 but legs were full of sour milk. Maybe they're smokers. I led the pack for a few pulls and reached 36 mph feeling the big push on my back. What a rush!
The 87 milers were supposed to wear number on the left while 38-miler on the right thigh. I didn't have much faith in this system. 2 miles to go. I still had no clear idea whom I was racing against other than Herb Gayle. Big Herb was probably already taking shower. 4 of us acted like 38 milers and looked each other. No one wanted to lead. An 87 miler laughed at us and volunteered to pull for a few minutes. 1 guy started taking the smaller circle against traffic. I followed but chickened out after the first blind curve. All the sudden he accelerated and had 10-second lead. The bastard studied the course like I was supposed to. I let him go and watched his lead grow. If I weren't fighting to win, I wasn't risking towing others to the lead. I kept track of the 2 shadows behind me while anticipating attacks from the big pack of supposedly 87-milers. I started going hard before last turn with no one to chase after.
_Long Cool Down Skate
The moment I crossed the line, I stopped caring about the result. I skated hard and felt good and tired. Off-season started now. I craved protein with salty fat. I wished there were an all-you-can-eat restaurant at finish line. I'd been hungry for 2 months.
The reality of 2.5 hr bus wait started to sink in. Hillary told me Danny should be in Dacula real soon. "Good. Did he pack any bacon?" I wanted to ask her.
9:55am.
The Atlanta bound bus would leave at 12:30p; it's probably 1-hour drive. 49 miles at 13 mph was <>
I made rules for my Georgian edition of Pegasus Sunday Morning Stroll: no drafting, no hammering, must have fun. Several small packs asked me to join in; only 1 skater begged when I politely declined to be part of the Collective. It had been a long time since I skated just to enjoy the scenery. I took my time rolling the hills among the trees. The sky contained just right number of clouds. I was surprised to see so many streets without "peachtree" as part of their names.
_Sunday Afternoon Stroll
Mile 55. Left frame came loose. I didn't pack that wrench. "Why did I buy carbon frames with weird size axle bolt!?" I decided to adopt the presidential foreign policy: "ignore the problem; it'll go away."
Miles 60. I was in a bush as the direct result of taking the hot weather advice when a smiling Christina skated by. She claimed to be suffering when walking the grass on a hill. We passed each other a few more times due to my failed attempts to rectify my frame issue. She eventually won the 52-mile race.
Climbing became difficult around mile 65. I had no leg left after Silver Hill. The pavements were as rough as I remembered but with more inclines. At some points I hopped on and off the curbs looking for smooth surface and prayed the mounting bolt would hold. But I was in no rush. I got good looks of the stores and buildings that were a big blur in 2003. I missed my team.
I highfived Eddy who skated toward the start. The pavement turned nice for the final miles. A few skaters passed me shouting encouraging words. I had no urge to chase. The park came into view. I heard cowbells. I heard Cindy announcing the finishers. She's so nice.
The big clock said 6 hour something. I don't remember.
Brian and Renee sat on grass, looking comfortable and well rested.
_Nice Day at the Park
I think a few people came to say hi, but hunger overtook me and I don't have clear recollection of the event right after crossing the line. I consuming sandwiches and sugar water. At least 2 of those guys warned my frame was making weird clicking sound.
_Flyer Sighting
Hillary, whom I saw through out the day, came over and said Danny was doing well at their last meeting. Another skater also told me my teammate was skating relaxed and confident.
Danny came in, arms swinging, looking great. His wife got the camera out just in time for a clear shot of the other side. Danny might have to skate the course again just for the photo. I was so proud and happy for our boy. 87 is a tough distance, especially considering his short preparation.
Many skaters remembered the 2003 TX Flyer team. A skater actually thanked me for the draft from 4 yrs ago.
3pm, still no sign of my skate bag. No shoes, no cell phone, no problem. The hotel was paid for and I had the ID to fly home. I was surprised how little it bothered me. I checked into the hotel Duane booked. It had an indoor lap pool with hot tub. This was the best day.
_Award Ceremony
Our Austin friend Richard Littrell relaxed on grass, looking much better than his 2003 finish. Shortly before the 6pm awards, the last skater completed his 10-hour adventure. I went over to congratulate him. He attempted to raise his right hand. I patted his back, admiring his determination.
My skate bag miraculously appeared with my shoes in it. It felt good to be out of skates. I talked to old friends and made new ones. Danny and Hillary were all smiles. The world was perfect.
The Toronto skaters dominated the day. Stream of familiar faces claimed their awards. Mostly I saw many tireless people devote a big part of their lives to make this event possible. I was grateful.

2007 Hotter n Hell 100

Inline Skating the Hotter'n Hell 100 Wichita Falls, Texas

Hotter'n Hell 100 is the biggest bike ride in Texas. To finish full distance, the rider needs to get to Hell's Gate at mile 60 before cut off.
In zone 2, I skate 14 mph on smooth pavement, 9 mph on rough, and 7 mph on the really rough with fresh legs. Mathematically, I need to average 12 mph to make the gate.
Below is my event report:

HHH 2007

Unfinished Business

In 2002 the Texas Flyers canceled the Hotter n Hell team trip due to long stretches of unskateable chip n seal. I fantasized skating the 100-mile route that weekend. 2005, Duane expressed his opinion that skate wheels would barely roll even on the smoother chip n seal. I ignored it because he banged his head against the pavement that day. Don volunteered to support on bike if I ever skate the full distance.

2007 was the 3^rd time I skated Hotter n Hell: Coyoted 50 miles in 2003; 100k with 100 mm wheels in 2006 averaging 12 mph not including long rest stops. Beating Hell’s Gate seemed impossible given the 40+ min it took to cross the start line. I abandoned the 102-mile skate idea and concentrated on triathlon. I obsessed skating HHH again after reading Karnases’ “Ultramarathon Man.”

Unprepared

I start skating in July this year and didn’t feel ready for the full distance. I decided this would be a recon for HHH 2008; I would go as far as I could to learn the route and my body. Based on last year’s experience, I didn’t have a realistic chance without practice skating rough road. I thought the day was likely to end after 80 miles and/or in SAG wagon. I budgeted for new frames and bigger wheels for 2008.

Got Around the Long Delay

The day didn’t start well. I crashed at mile 0 tripped over the same stupid 1-inch curb that got me in 2003. I began my skate 5 minutes and 1 block before the official start to avoid the normal 40-minute delay. The first 11 miles were spent in cyclists’ slipstreams before the chip n seal. I skated slow and skinny on the edge of the road watching thousands of bikes flew by. On the short stretches of the smooth pavement, I drafted behind bikes. “You miss the 25-mile turn, didn’t you?” I couldn’t tell if the guy was joking. “No, I’m only doing 10k.”

Long Day

The road surface turned very hairy after the 2^nd rest stop. Like last year, I pushed hard only to maintain 9 mph. Mile 23, Phil caught me on bike. I told him not to slow down; I didn’t wanting him to miss the adjustable gate time again.

Good surface appeared at mile 26. I hid behind cyclists, continuously upgrading to wider riders. Many was surprised a “blader” could keep up. We rolled into a residential area with black ice. I stayed with cyclists at 25 mph. Beating the gate seemed trivial at this speed. Maybe I overestimated the difficulty? That’s before the road turned rough again. I applied every trick I knew to hold the momentum: high cadence, hopping, short strokes, arm swing, toeing. It became clear I couldn’t power my way through all the chip n seal. I obeyed my heart rate monitor and tried to ignore the dropping speed.

I rolled into mile-54 rest stop at 11:40. I needed 18 mph to meet the noon deadline; unthinkable under the condition. 100-mile skate would wait ‘til 2008. I held 11 mph ‘til the dread Highway 44 at mile 58. My legs decided to quit fighting the incline. It was a small consolation finding cyclists also had difficulties. Imagine my surprise to learn the gate actually closed at 12:30pm! I skated through Hell’s Gate at 12:12pm, 8/25 2007.

The elation didn’t last long. I bonked and had 40 miles to go. I struggled on the endless chip n seal and helplessly watched the speed drop to single digit. Some cyclists finally believed I was serious about skating 100 miles. The smart-donkey comments turned into encouraging words.

Mile 74. One marathon to go. The hills seemed frequent and long. Funny I had no recollection of any hills from biking the route in 2005. My left leg gave out on the slanted road; I struggled to hold 8 mph pushing mostly from the right. Then sky darkened with lightning; the wind materialized in the wrong direction. GPS said 5.4 mph. I watched the heart rate approaching double digit and briefly considered running ‘til the road turn smoother or ‘til skate muscles wake up, but I’d never run barefoot carrying 10-lb load and wasn’t confident I could put the skates back on without a chair.

The SAG wagon made continuous trips between the finish and last of 100-miler. It circled me quicker and quicker like a vulture. I actively looked for reasons to get on the inviting flatbed: dehydration, dizziness, anything, but I felt exceedingly healthy except legs that refused to skate. With each pass the volunteers returned my thumbs up and drove on while I was in insufficient trouble.

Mile 89. Chip n seal ended. The body slowly adjusted to rolling again. I passed the spot where Duane’s Atmos went to the big helmet ranch in the sky. I settled into zone 2 at 17 mph. The cyclists cheered me on as I flew by the last rest stop along a downhill at mile 96; we passed each other repeatedly and felt like old friends.

Mile 98. The beer break. The locals who hosted this unofficial stop believed beer was an excellent hydration beverage for century rides. I had a good time with these exceedingly friendly people but moved on when an overly happy gentleman started the process of showing his tattoo.

It was well over 9 hours by the time I made the final turn. I expected an empty street with vendors packing booths but heard my name over the PA and found friends waiting when I crossed the finish line. It was beyond cool.

Post Race

One downside of such late finish was inability to meet with all the friends to swap stories. After posing for people who wanted photos with the crazy rollerblader, I sat down with Donna and Roger and learned about Duane’s awesomeness, Roger’s first century, Mike’s crash, Robert’s IV, and 25-mile skaters. Still think it would be way cool if Tanisha towed the baby trailer using her custom aero bike. Riders I met on the route invited me for beers next to their camper, followed by a big dinner with frozen margarita at Cheddar’s. Life was good.

I woke up next morning hungry and with sore feet but felt well enough to Wii with my hosts after donuts. Andrea, who recovered quicker from her 102-mile bike ride, knocked me out boxing.

Duane, you were right; 100 mm wheels don’t roll good on them roads.

#’s

• course length: 102 miles
• total time: 9:48
• wheels torn up: 3
• blisters broken: 1
• avg heart rate: 146
• energy burned: 6508 cal
• liquid consumed: 390 oz, including 20 oz of pickle juice
• gel: 9 packs
• fruit snack (60 cal): 5 packs
• misc food:
• 4 bananas,
• 1 Clif bar,
• 1 Clif block,
• 1 Powerbar,
• 4 salt capsules,
• 8 Sport Leg,
• 8 Gummy Vites
• goodies in the survival backpack:
• 5 sandwich bags, each with 1 salt tablet, 2 Sport Leg, 2 Gummy Vites, 1 Gu, 1 fruit snack
• 4 spare wheels with bearings and spacers
• 1 empty spare 20 oz Gatorade bottle w/ Accelerade powder
• 2 spare caps for Gatorade bottle
• skate tools
• cell phone
• sun block
• 2 zip loc bag for ice

2007 Ironman CDA: The Journey

I looked at the freshly opened gel pack: is it gonna make me puke or save me from meltdown? My lower back ached at mile 7. 19.2 miles go to. 

"This Ironman thing is hard."

"Midlife Crisis. I can't afford a Porsche."

"Lost a bet."

"Can't find Tour de France on active.com."

I had stock answers to my motivation because I didn't know how to describe the reason in under 14 seconds.

In 2000 my brother lost 16% of his body weight in a month. Untreated diabetes can be aggressive. Words like nephropathy entered our vocabulary. ChihYang's weight stabilized weeks after the first correct diagnosis, and the body betrayed at a slower pace. He started running. Exercise and diet were 2 of the few things within his control. Muscle cramps made sleeping through the night a rare treat. He increased his running distances. The infant daughter was counting on him.

I told my only brother to build up endurance so we could do Ironman. I didn't think it through; it just seemed like the right thing to say at the time. I was ignorant of triathlon but remembered the Julie Moss 1982 TV clip.

I spent the next few days wishing the Ironman promise away.

_2003: Endurance

A2A inline skate was my "A" event of the year. For the first time in my life I settled into a regular routine and happily caved to the team pressure and attended every practice. Skating was the centerpiece of my days. 87-mile hill skating with a team was a highlight of my life. We crossed the finish line hand in hand after a tough day in Georgian hills.

I wanted to race as a pro master in a couple of years. I'd retire from Cat-1 racing around 2015 and learn to swim and run during end of my inline career. I'd participate in Ironman around the year ChihYang turn 50.

ChihYang reported his running milestones: 5k, 10k, half, marathon.

He gained enough weight that he looked like those Kenyan runners. I was so proud. I planned to run my first marathon around 2013, maybe.

_2004: Yoga as a Competitive Sport

I was prone to lower back spasm due to a spine injury from preparing for the 1990 Maryland 9-ball Open. I assumed yoga would help.

5 days into 2004, I herniated a disc attempting a pose in the cold studio. Instead of training to race A2A, I spent 6 months avoiding the knife. The road to pro racing ended here.

I sought various treatments--some less painful than others. I started limping in May. I lost control over my life when I couldn't sleep for more than 2 hrs. Confidence was the next thing to go. I went to work at 5 am for not knowing what else to do. I was convinced I'd lose my job every time I met with customers. I finally went against the therapists' advice and started interviewing surgeons.

_Surgery

I was overwhelmed by all the tests and paper work. "I just want my life back" I wanted to scream.  I limped badly by this time. I had vague recollections of racing up hills a lifetime ago.

Lying on the cold operating table, I dreaded qualifying for the good parking spaces. The surgery went as the surgeon predicted, including not fully regaining ankle strength. I was touched by teammates' and friends' support during recovery. Most of them avoided asking whether I could return to the sport. My teammate Chris won the race I wanted that year; I congratulated him but didn't know how to feel.

3 months after the procedure, the surgeon told me I could go back to all the activities slowly, except running.

"But I promised to do Ironman." I protested like a child.

Dr. Peloza explained the possibility of re-injury and that I'd be a good candidate for the artificial disc soon to be approved by the FDA. "It wouldn't be end of the world, but we advise our patients not to run."

I caught Ironman (IM) Kona on TV while riding on the bike trainer. Between Bowflex and "Fear Factor" commercials, Sarah Reinertsen calmly talked about the amputation but lost her cool when recalling exclusion from neighborhood soccer games. I watched her struggle on bike missing a knee. She missed the cutoff. I cried with her.

ChihYang added bike and swim to his routine.

_2005: Developed Strong Feelings Toward Stem Cell Research

6 months after surgery, I oscillated between celebration for the freedom to sleep and self-pity from lost opportunities. I decided to resume inline racing while calf was still regaining size. Lance Armstrong beat cancer; I could overcome a stupid weak joint. I kept crashing. The therapist told me wrist surgery would be a certainty if I couldn't avoid falling.

The neurologist stuck tiny needles into my calf and pointed to the monitor on the other end of the wire. He proudly diagnosed, "Ah, here's the problem. You see, it's not firing right...."

"What can I do about it?"

He hesitated, "Some people find it helpful to take vitamin B-12"

"How much would that help?"

He decided to be blunt and told me my ankle was likely a lost cause. Speed skating was not a high priority when evolution designed the fault-tolerant system. After co-pay, I noticed the habitual lift on the left shoe to mask limping. I looked at the blue parking space and practiced the it-could-be-worse comforting method; I thought of Christopher Reeve.

ChihYang hated his diet, blood tests, and insulin shots. One day we talked about the time he competed in a noodle-eating contest. He encouraged me to eat whatever I wanted because I had the gift of being non-diabetic.

I watched 2005 IM Kona and saw an elated Sarah finished the 112-mile bike with time to spare. She put on the thing that didn't resemble a foot and bounced off like a happy bird. I wanted to marry her.

I went to the last skate race of the season to play domestique and crashed at the finish line.

ChihYang ran his first 100k. An MD volunteer followed him with a blood glucose meter and poked a new hole on the finger every 15k. I wanted to kiss the doctor's feet.

_2006: Triathlon

Biff from the Texas Flyers called on a Wednesday in May.

"Johnny, Tanisha got a comp spot for the Sunday triathlon, you up to it?"

"I can't swim."

"Neither can I, but it's only 400 meters."

Living in a state where 9 mm bullet was the only common reference to metric system, I had no clear concept of 400-meter swim, but it would be a cool story if it involved a Baywatch-style rescue.

"Sure, what the hell."

I struggled through the swim using breaststrokes, dog-like. I proudly passed 72-year-old Wilson Cozby who didn't look a day over 60.

I counted 11 bikes at Transition 1 (T1) and decided I'd pass 100 bikes in 10 minutes. I went all out, oblivious to the uneven downtown pavement. I hit a pothole while gulping Cytomax and landed on my head and shoulders. The helmet made a cool sound against pavement.

"Doo doo, I broke my collar bone."

"Yes! It ain't broken!"

"Good thing I'm wearing the old Pneumo, not the shiny Atmos!"

I got back on bike and marveled at my arrogance and cheapness. I tried to get the bloody side into the frame when I saw the event photographer.

I finished the race and celebrated having 2 unbroken clavicles.

ChihYang, who medaled in collegiate breaststroke events, hired a coach to learn freestyle. Months later, he declared his breaststroke was still faster.

After weeks of treatments on my wrist, spine, and ankle, I asked my 3rd highly recommended therapist when to expect measurable improvements. She said bunch words reminiscent of Thighmaster infomercial but didn't offer money back guarantee. I gave up when the insurance ran out. After decades of practice, I would never swing nunchucks again. No more Wing Chun. No more ax kick. Life was about limitations and acceptance. Good thing Riverdancing wasn't in my career plan.

Biff called,

"Johnny, I'm marrying Tanisha and need to be an Ironman, you up to it?"

"I can't swim."

"Neither can I, but it's only 2.4 miles."

"Sure, what the hell."

Actually, I don't remember how Biff talked me into bringing forward my IM date. Or was it Tanisha who convinced me by her 2007 Ironman Coeur d’Alene plan:

"Aren't you pregnant?"

She conjectured 3 months was sufficient between C-section and the 140.6-mile event.

ChihYang completed Ironman Kenting in Taiwan. I was proud and envious. I started my IM prep in October: swim lesson, 24-Hour Fitness membership, and White Rock Marathon registration.

"9 months is plenty of time to train," Biff assured me.

_Swim Lesson

By far my most received advice on swimming was "relax, you'll float."

I initially didn't understand how muscle contraction would change body density but concluded it's possible that relaxation could induce gas hence increase volume and lower overall density therefore promote buoyancy. I never mastered the Taco Bell technique.

In the class I followed the front crawl instruction and ended up ingesting large quantity of chlorinated water. I felt like the synchronized swimmer Martin Short played in SNL

The instructor got tired of my whining:

"Here, hold your body like this, keep your face up, breath normally," he demonstrated, not looking relaxed.

I copied his posture and sank like a rock.

"Wow, you really don't float."

Why didn't we test this 5 gallons ago?

"What you really need is boobs" a classmate commented helpfully.

I settled on an asymmetric freestyle. I also learned a less laughable version of breaststroke and managed to swim a whole mile by end of 2006. Bilateral breathing and floating eventually came with a wetsuit.

_White Rock Marathon, December 2006

Armstrong's New York Marathon story inspired me to train minimally. It's important to stay injury free. ChihYang recommended not running the whole 42 k. I figured 6-hour was a good target. I just needed to be convinced that the spine could take the pounding.

I enlisted another marathon virgin, Mark, to run the Rock together. A few weeks before the event, we learned Oprah ran a 4.5-hour marathon. Our friend Karla thought Oprah was the most perfect human in history, but Mark and I no longer considered it cool to go slower than 4:29:20.

The anticipation at the start line was awesome. Everyone wanted to take off on this 40-degree day. I was pumped and briefly considered sprinting off the line to get on TV. People cheered along the way. "Johnny Be Good," cheered a stranger waving a Mexican flag who had gotten my name off the race bib. I felt like a celebrity. I ran with the 3:40 pace balloon at mile 15. I felt relaxed and comfortable. "This running thing is easy!"

I stopped briefly for a Tanisha hug at the Clif tent at mile 19, adjacent to the well-advertised Hooter Zone. Then I hit the legendary wall.

"Marathon is 20 miles of hope and 6 miles of reality." The GPS swung wildly between 9 and 16 minute-mile. I saw the same Mexican flag guy, "Johnny don't quit." Even he knew I was in trouble. I managed to finish under 4 hours. Mark was also able to check "beat a talk show host's marathon time" off his list.

Thank you, Oprah.

I found numerous detailed triathlon training schedules. I opted for a simple and ad-hoc heuristic: swim 3 times a week, run at least once, and bike when I get the chance. Biff advised, "don't train other people's training." The goal was to finish. No need to complicate things.

_Half Iron, April 2007

My goals for the half distance event were making the swim cutoff and gauging amount of fuel my body could take. I optimistically assumed everything else would fall into place.

It was a cold and windy morning. I took a few strokes at my first open water swim, looked up, and saw I was 30 degrees off the line. I freaked out. Everything was foreign: cold water, constricting outfit, choppy waves. The HRM wouldn't stop beeping. I tried to peek ahead between strokes like on instructional DVD and tasted the canal water. 1 minute after the gun, I thought of abandoning the event. Then I realized the new wetsuit was doing its job. I breaststroked the rest of the way and had my fastest 1.2-mile swim. It felt like I got away with something.

I took my time at T1. I wanted to celebrate surviving the swim and was looking for a football to spike against the ground. I ate and drank and took pictures for and with the spectators.

I followed Biff's advice of taking it easy on the bike and caught Biff with 4 miles to go on the run. He went too hard on bike. Biff and I discussed nutrition and training and completed the half-distance event together on this beautiful windy day.

I was hungry after the 7-hour race. I ate a tofu pot at 3pm, 7 lbs. of crawfish, then a full vegi rice dinner. The HRM said I burned 4555 cal, which is consistent with the estimate that IM takes about 10000 cal. Kobayashi ate 53.75 hotdogs; I should have no problem with 100 gels.

I felt good about my chance for the full distance as long as I didn't find out Oprah Ironman'd in 13 hours. Karla approved that Oprah influenced my life.

I debated whether to hire a swim coach.

"Don't worry about your swim skill. It's too late." ChihYang told me. He was particularly unimpressed with my 14:33 T1.

Biff and Tanisha made me practice open water swimming and introduced me to Aqua Sphere; I learned swimming was even more possible when I could see. The couple showed me bike course photos and altitude maps 4 weeks before CDA. I panicked. I took the bike out of the house only twice in 2007. I swapped in a 27t cassette and shopped for wheels that were more technically advanced than stealth bombers and cost nearly as much. I peeled off Jetstream's sticker to save weight and pondered over scientific questions:

How many grams would shaving save?

Do I really need both eyebrows?

Are there rules against riding naked?

_Iron Man Coeur d'Alene (IMCDA), June 24, 2007

[pump-you-up dinner]

[brief TV appearance on local evening news]

[the day before]

[windy race day morning]

Swim

Contrary to common sense, the sky seemed bigger from Coeur d'Alene Lake.

The weather was less than ideal, and the organizer offered athletes a way out: skip the swim and do an official duathlon. Biff and I stood at the back amongst other aqua-challenged triathletes like a bunch hesitant emperor penguins. No one wanted the Iron Chicken option. Short of an Australian shark or toothpick fish, I was going in. I felt tremors of foreboding. I was so not ready for this.

The cannon blasted. Thousands of arms and legs propelled. I stayed at the edge of the madness consuming gallons of 52-degree water, unable to time the waves.

T1

Life was all roses when I entered T1 with 13 minutes to spare. The challenge was half over! The shiver started after the wetsuit came off. The volunteers urged me into the hot tub. I sat helplessly waiting for feelings to return and wondered what ChihYang would say about another double-digit T1 time.

Bike

This was a gorgeous Idaho day. I pedaled with 2100 of my best friends supported by 3500 volunteers. I held my heart rate steady. Gotta save it for the run.

Much of the 112-mile ride was mind and cheek numbing: no teammate to lean on; no wheel to suck. My feet were locked into 19.7-lbs. of mechanical contraption rolling on the endless pavement; the pavement didn't care what my story was.

I carelessly tried to rectify a damaged bottle cage and ended up crashing at mile 20. I got off with a scraped elbow, a giant headache, a ripped jersey, damaged shifters, and an impacted helmet. The Ironman bills continued to mount.

The 2nd loop: Microhammering was allowed. I lost control and went up the first hills like a madman. The quads turned rubbery. I was paying for the training decision made 7 months ago. I shifted to granny gear and resumed the low heart rate cruise.

I saw athletes walking their bikes, not giving up. I felt their determination. The artificial limbs on the course were humbling.

A wave of relief swept over me at the dismount line. No more mechanical concerns, no more postage-stamp sized seats, no more crashes. A shower and pizza were only a marathon away.

T2: I just need to finish a 7-hour marathon without falling asleep

Run

I walked the first section of course while going through the feedbag: exotic carbs and acids consisted of a bunch of syllables I couldn't pronounce. Real athletes have no simple all-in-1 solutions like Beefcake 2000.

I struggled to hold 12:30 pace. A real runner sleepwalked at this speed. Why couldn't triathlon consist of 3 sports I were good at like skating, pool, and whining?

My running legs returned by mile 2. I fantasized a comfortable marathon. The bubble was burst at mile 6. Hunger set in. An empty feeling crept throughout my veins. I craved a 72 oz. porterhouse and an Idaho potato with butter and extra bacon. Mostly I wanted to stop. The air temperature dropped with the sun. I tried moving faster to generate body heat. My legs didn't want to go at all. I visualized the pizza at the finish line, which felt further away as I passed each mile marker.

The roadside was littered with runners bending their limbs to work out cramps. A few bent over unable to hold fuel.

"Johnny, you look great!" The couple I met at the 4th Street pho restaurant shouted from the sideline. "I feel great!" I shouted back. I didn't feel great and didn't know how much longer I could keep this up. The wife climbed over the concrete barrier and gave me a bear hug. "You'll make it." They could always tell when I lied.

Like a faithful friend, the wall waited for me at mile 18. The 90-90 rule: "first 90% of the distance takes 90% of effort; the next 9% distance requires another 90%." Would this day ever end? The 17-hour deadline now seemed merciful. It was disheartening seeing all the people wrapped in silver blankets reduced to a painful walk. I was on the verge of joining them. I reminded myself how insignificant my obstacles were compared to what Team Hoyt overcame.

Mile 23. Every muscle contraction was a miracle. Spectators shouted encouraging words; I fed off their good will. I found freedom at the edge of cracking. My past and future no longer mattered. My life was about getting to the next mile marker. All over my body, I felt alive.

Did I feel alive despite of or because of pain? But it ain't about pain. The spectators didn't know who I was but perhaps sensed each of the suffering fools dedicated his body to pursue a promise and a dream.

I thought about ChihYang as a patient, a father, an ultra runner, and an Ironman. I knew he would stay strong for his family: diet, run, dialysis, whatever it takes. I wished my big brother were next to me to share some of his courage.

I heard the crowd roar. I sensed my shoes moving. I saw the finish, the line with mythical power to inspire.  I didn't want to cross.

[The Tanisha, Biff, and their 3-month-old Sammy]

[Bob and Andrea (the one with longer hair) decorated my office]

[we finally raced together a decade later.  2016 PingLin 50k]

2004 Texas Road Rash: last race before spine surgery

I started out telling an upbeat story about how Tiff and Mike came back after a difficult start. Somehow it became the most self-indulgent writing I'd done.

Racing in the Hill Country. Road Rash. March 28, 2004

The day started a bit gray, one big cloud in the sky. Some of the cloud came down to the well-planned course. It would be a beautiful day with racers taking the turns holding butts extra low.

I hadn't skated for over a week. I was here on doctor's grudging consent. He made it clear my muscles aren't up to competitive skating, but he also believed stopping activities was the worst thing for a spine patient. "Just don't lose balance. You'll be OK." Easy for him to say.

Eddy must have sensed my desperation when we last met. He wrote on a piece of paper "don't give up the dream."

I anxiously waited for the gun at the start. I didn't know how my body would react. I didn't want to find out. There was no time or racer I tried to beat. I didn't know if I could finish. Last time I stood at the start so ambiguously was on 1992 Rollerblade Lightening.

Richard said something over the PA system. I didn't hear him. But I remembered how he finished A2A by sheer determination. I needed some of his courage. Suddenly legs started moving; arms flew. I followed my teammates who helped me through the gentle Georgian hills.

Pace lines formed. Pace lines broke. Everyone wanted the same spots; no one got it. I watched my teammates working together negotiating the course from the back of the lead pack. I had no problem keeping up; I was all fast-twitch muscles. I saw feet moving quickly with frames coming close to each other. I saw Mike's knee bent unnaturally. I froze. I saw Mike set down on the ground. I saw a skater hurdle over him in slow motion. Our coach was not supposed to go down.

Every red-yellow jersey hesitated. Everyone pressed on. Tiffany was left behind, wanting no more to do with the hungry pack. I made her skate behind me. Today would be a success if I could bring my gifted friend back to the race.

I pulled Tiff into the wind. I tried to be steady. I tried to stride evenly. I sensed a drag on my right frame then heard the scrapping sound. I was sick to my stomach. Tiffany went down. She got up; we pushed on. I saw a pack in front of us, and my job was delivering my teammate to that pack. I wasn't as studly as I'd hoped, so she had to share a lot of work, but Tiff eventually bridged the gap, and I was happy. I rested.

I strolled along the windy highway alone, waiting for the next pack to pick me up. Tom and Patricia came.

I was amused to see how much speed Tom lost at every corner. I prompted the workhorse on the mechanics of going right; he caught on quickly. The more he learned, the more Pat struggled. It was weirdly entertaining and rewarding.

Tom suddenly skated away. He had steady strides and didn't care who's behind him. He looked great. I barely pull him back using dangerously long strokes going downhill. My double push blew the pack apart at Long Beach, now it's only good for keeping up with an inexperienced skater who couldn't turn. I have an illness that the best I can hope for is slowness in deterioration. It doesn't matter how flexible or strong I get. My back muscles would seize up every time its load crosses the threshold. I was angry with my body.

I imagined the lead pack negotiating the same wet pavement. I imaged Duane trying to keep up with the sudden acceleration and cursing. I thought about how I would never race among the pro lead pack. I told many Pegasus Flyers it ain't about the speed. Now I was having problem dealing with losing power. I'm such a hypocrite.

I continued to struggle. I was on the verge of slipping that would lead to weeks of funny walking. I remembered the pain of putting on the left sock in January mornings. I was afraid. I wanted to quit. My condition is a mild form of handicap that doesn't even qualify for good parking spaces. Reducing activities would promote losing more mobility. I couldn't quit. I desperately hanged on to my technique. I desperately hanged on to Tom.

I saw Scarlett. She hid behind some bigger Pegasus Flyer, bending over, Tiffany-like. She held her form and tapped out steady rhythm. She's so cool. She smiled at me.

I told Tom when to back off and hide in the slipstream. I told Tom to look for spots to attack. I wasn't going to beat a teammate by withholding information.

My left leg went numb. I tried to hold the speed using one and half legs. I double pushed. I used the technique I finally acquired after years of obsessing. I barely kept up with Tom's 100-mm wheels. I wanted his symmetry. I went through each stroke hoping the leg would do what I think it should.

I expected darkness or enlightenment at the edge of cracking; instead, I found freedom. My past and future no longer mattered. I just needed to make it to the top of the hill. I concentrated on my strides. I carefully contracted my muscles. My life became a smashing success--ampersand, set down, hook, roll, push, recovery. I celebrated over 30 victories per minute. I didn't think about what got me there or where I was going. I felt a primordial urge for motion. I was moving. I was content.

I saw Renee, hurt, dropped, alone. We picked her up right before the turn into headwind. I concentrated on my set down. Every landing had to be right; my fatigued muscles couldn't afford any slip.

Tom accelerated. I searched for the gear to follow. I found none. I lost my fast feet. I saw Tom pulling away. I was proud and envious of him. I was confused why I wasn't more bitter.

Tiffany popped out of nowhere. She hugged and thanked me. I vaguely recalled helping her a lifetime ago before I was wrapped up in my own feelings. I remembered Mike went down and was relieved to find he stealthily passed me and kicked my butt by a huge margin.

My back finally locked up in Duane's car on the way to motel. I was terrified. I didn't want another 6 weeks of pain. I tried to breath. I tried not to freak out. I lied on the dirty motel carpet 'til the tension went away.

I tried to keep my spirit up at the award ceremony, but I didn't care about my race. It seemed so far away. I didn't bother checking my time. I was lost. I mechanically walked up for my medal and was woken up by the cheers. I remembered I loved the sport and the people. "It ain't about how fast you go," I used to tell them. They were sitting there, with their first marathon still fresh in their mind.

We went to Chuy's for lunch, where Lance Armstrong got fat after giving up racing. It was fun listening to Renee, Tiffany and Kim compare scars and injury stories. I forgot what I ate. I enjoyed the company.

I got in Duane's car and adjusted the passenger seat to perfection. For next 3 hours he would educate me further on life, universe, and women. What was the line from the movie, "Tomorrow is another day" or "I don't give a damn"? I don't remember. I was full, tired, and a little drunk. I'd just enjoy the ride and maybe take a nap. I had a good workout that morning.

2003 A2A Ultra Inline

Athens 2 Atlanta 87-mile team skate

Skating 87 miles of Georgian gentle rolling hills seemed like an unreachable dream at the end of half-distance 1999 A2A. I was happy with my 11.3 mph. Actually, I didn't care about the speed; I was just glad I didn't get on the SAG wagon when my legs really wanted to. I also remember some faces come up the last hill before Dacula. They reminded me of patients passing kidney stones. How could a normal human do another 38?


_The Dream
The impossibility made it a cool challenge. I told Jack Neal I'd do the full distance with him the year he turns 60. I imagined I'd roll in Piedmont Park around dusk with all kinda foot and muscle pains, and I would understand why people cried at end of Iron Man. I hoped I would be in time to watch Jack claim his age group prize. But I thought the more likely outcome was I'd send him an email in March and say I couldn't train because of work.

3 layoffs and 4 years later, I became a more dedicated skater. I committed to skate A2A with Jack and other TX Flyers. I was skeptical about the team approach: I couldn't imagine Mike and Chris Ritter slow down enough to skate with us mortals. But I had nothing to lose; it beats my original plan of trying to hang on to my 60-year-old friend for as long as I can.


_The Preparation
The team made everything easy. I didn't have to worry about when and where to train. I had a team to practice going down the hill with only 1 person with clear view of the road. I was forced to train at low heart rate. I figured out how much fluid I need per hour and how much food I could tolerate. The only thing we didn't go over was how to pee, which I learned from Eddy.

Brenda took care of all the details: training and travel schedules, flights, hotels, van rental, restaurants, and even supermarkets. All I did was showing up and whining about having to get up early. 9-time participant Fred flew to the event just to support the team.


_Pre-race Dinner
I was a little down Saturday night at Chilli's, where I had pre-race dinner with Jack in 99. Jack's training this year didn't go well. He abandoned the race after 4 years of anticipation. Duane was ill and wasn't breathing too well. I felt weak from sleep deprivation. Then the rain came.

I was determined to skate the next day, regardless of the weather. Heck, I have short legs. I'm genetically blessed to make sharp left turn at bottom of the hill, puckered or otherwise. All I need is a healthy back in the morning.


_Athens
I was ecstatic to see the dry road Sunday morning.

The start line was the most relaxed of all major events. There was no 20-min team warm up. No one practiced the final sprint. People just skated around greeting each other. No one fought too hard for position after the gun went off. After some gentle pushing and shoving, we got our red and yellow pace line.


_Easy First Miles
It didn't take too long before we started to pass others, especially going downhill. Our long tight train was much faster than the small packs. Several skaters kept passing us going uphill and were quickly swallowed. Gravity of many, wind resistance of one. This was fun!

Everyone was fresh and stable. We enjoyed the weather and scenery. We were a chatty bunch.

Chris Ritter and Mike worked so well together pulling the pack many skaters gave up out-skating us and just joined our pack parasitically. A few didn't feel right sucking our wheels and went to the front and offered to pull. We didn't care if other skaters use us to save energy. Our objective was to finish the event safely as a team; the time and placement were secondary.


_Pucker Hill
At some point we had a pace line of 40+ various bright color shirts hanging off 12 red-yellow jerseys. Awesome sight. I was in the 12th position going down BP Hill. I opened 5 feet in front of me then sneakily sprinted to close the gap to shake off the attachment. The lead skater of the new pace line didn't quite know how to react to the sudden wind resistance and the sharp left turn; his line went into pieces. It was a rare chance for me to try these little team tactics without worrying being dropped by the pack. It was great.


_Little Puppy on a 20-foot Chain
Many cars greeted the skaters with hand waves employing variable number of fingers. A few dogs also greeted us enthusiastically as we roll by their homes. One rottweiller came close to the road, barking. What a cute little puppy!

"It's OK, he's on a chain." Someone said reassuringly.

Next thing I knew we had the most unsafe looking animal in Georgia running next to us dragging a 20-foot chain. He skillfully cut through the pace line and played chicken with an oncoming Buick. The canine won! He was unable to keep up after a few more minutes and dropped out of sight. Everyone gave a sigh of relief. Or maybe he stopped chasing only for celebration dance after the victory over car.

Like Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction," the beast reappeared out of nowhere, not looking particularly pleased. I wanted his recovery speed. The 2nd stalking didn't last as long. Perhaps he didn't find just the right calf to sink his teeth into. Maybe he was already full from eating a skater from the lead pack.

Hopefully the puppy found his way home.


_Bonk Alert
Some of our teammates got weak. We shuffled the team members around for better positioning. Biff fell off the pack briefly, but we didn't drop our teammates that easily. He was hurting but was determined to hang on.


_Brief Encounter w/ FL Pegasus Flyer
We caught our Florida friend Paul on a short steep climb. He didn't have sufficient momentum to catch up to our pack but went on to win his age group. You da man, Paul.


_Steeplechase
I've skated some rough roads, but this is the first time I skate a race with actually break on the course. Due to some efficient bureaucratic communication (example of sarcasm), a small section of the course had no surface. Everyone rolled slowly on the 1-foot wide concrete, tip-toed over rocks and mud, then climb over concrete barriers covered with blankets.

Later we heard Eddy's pack just ran over the mud.


_Dacula
Soon we reached the town I always mispronounced and was famous for a pumpkin story in newspaper. 10 of us cheered on as our 38-miler crossed the half distance finish line. I was so proud of them knowing how hard Biff worked to come this far and seeing how Tonya conquered the hills.


_Into 3 rd Quarter
Critter and Mike continued to pull. We passed and picked up skaters. All the sudden I heard a small pack coming fast from behind and thought maybe Eddy overslept. It was the 52-mile lead pack. They looked fast. They looked skinny.

Duane continued to do well and showed signs of breathing. Jason and Little Chris seemed recovered from helping Biff earlier. Tiffany and Brenda still looked strong. Everyone was comfortable in their places and started chatting again. It was a social skate on the gentle rolling hills. It's also obvious all legs are a little tired from the climbs.

One problem we did not have was direction. Brenda would use her cut up map and shout out the turns and distances from the back. The lead skaters look for street signs. Rest of us just concentrated on skating. We had motorcycle police escort for a long stretch, which helped tremendously. Another perk of going with a large team.


_Unscheduled Stop
The unthinkable happened. Our king of mountain, who probably has red polka dot tattooed on his torso, got severe cramp. After a brief rest, he continued to skate with a little help from teammates. At some points we were sure we'd reach Piedmont Park with a missing man, but we got through the remaining gentle hills together. Not letting Dave go is my proudest team achievement. Thanks for hanging on, Dave.

We also earned the right to make fun of him until the A2A 2004.


_50-mile Stop
Fred, Tonya, and Biff waited for us with each skater's feedbag on the curb. David sat down with obvious pain trying to consume everything with potassium. We swapped water containers, loaded more energy food and resumed with what we though was sufficient supply. Only 37 miles to go. I thought rest of the trip would be easy as long as Duane's lungs and Dave's legs continue to move.


_Challenges
I learned to climb by trying to keep up with Dave. It's only logical that my quads started to give out too. I kept up with the group but was unable to help others.

Coach Mike, who won 38-mile in 2000, finally got tired. He rested in the middle of the pace line and continued to direct the pack. Critter demonstrated his superpower by pulling against strong wind for much of the way. Chris, you're not even human. Rick was also strong near the front, always ready to take over.

Apparently I didn't learn from Hotter'n Hell where I threw away a water bottle. As temperature rose, I lost water quickly. I started to look for extra supply. Fortunately Speed Spray Bob showed up with water bottles and bananas every half an hour. It would be difficult to finish the trip without his support.


_The Big Long Downhill
Not everyone felt strong by the time we reached Silver Hill. We went down the long hill in scattered packs. Duane and my 2-man train reached a measly 42-mph behind Jason's 1-man bullet. This was disappointing but everyone made it safely.


_Atlanta
The rolling hills finally ended. We were on relatively flat Atlanta streets. My legs stopped cramping. The streets were so patchy I wanted to call out "crappy road next mile" instead of pointing out each bump and manhole.

The traffic got hairy by lunch hours, but police manned the intersection usually gave us priority.

We went through the Restaurant Street 5 hours into the race. I got really hungry. I hoped the sandwich waiting at finish had half a cow in it.

We asked the non TX Flyers in our pack to go ahead so we would go in as one unit.

We reached Piedmont Park with spectators welcoming us. It was a beautiful moment. Great weather. Great support. Great company. No blood. Everyone stopped talking about food and got a little emotional as we realized this is the final stretch. The pace line became horizontal. 10 of us crossed the finish line, hand in hand.

Wished it were longer.
Wished it were 7am so I could do the whole thing again.
Wished Jack were there.


_Post Race
I sat on the grass and talked to my teammates and other friends. I was happy to find out Eddy and Stacey both won their divisions. Barry didn't skate. The missing road and head wind prevented any new non-default record this year, but Eddy managed to blow his competition away by 7 minutes.

After sandwich and soda, I was ready for another long skate. Went to the hotel and took a shower. Suddenly all I wanted to do was rest. I fell asleep on a couch at award ceremony amongst hundreds of skaters still pumped with energy.

We went to a burger place for dinner. The items were logically named on the menu. I picked the obvious -- Coronary Bypass. Wondered whether the little black dog ever had Korean for dinner. Wondered if my friends knew how much I appreciated them. Wondered if I'd be in a team this good and feel this proud again.

Still can't believe I finished A2A!

2003 Hotter n Hell

Hotter n Hell 50-mile skate

1 year delay
It started out as a joke. I was going to skate Hotter n Hell 2002 with Texas Flyers. Duane found floor space for everyone and volunteered to make dinner. Donnie called us from the course Friday afternoon about the unskatable road surface. I carbo loaded at Duane's house (good job on the pasta, Duane) and went home.

Someone joked they should have 6"-wheel version of speedskates for rough road. I'm a Darwin Award fan, I figured, why not. The 13 lb skates should increase my odds.

I came close to not skating Hotter n Hell 2003, which requires getting a room in Wichta Falls or getting up early in the morning. I lack these skills. Fortunately Fuzi Dave took pity on me and sublet his hotel room. Fuzi also helped me with the toughest part of the even: getting up on time. I actually had time for a sit-down breakfast and for replacing a popped wheel, which I overpumped while whining why they couldn't start the ride at 1pm.


The Start
The weather was beautiful at the start, definitely not hotter than. The road toward back of the bike line was so long my ride became HH52. Saw Donnie, Dave Ahadi and 2 other skaters. Tony and Olga stayed at the back w/ the skaters Dave informed me doing 50 miles in Coyotes is not easy.

I skated up and down the spectator section while trying to convince my GPS and camera not to turn themselves off by vibration and ungentlemanly language. Many riders and spectators were curious about my doing the event in the odd-looking skates. Most questions had to do with whether I was crazy. My answer got shorter and shorter as the day went on:

"I don't know, are you?"
"No, just Stupid."
"Absolutely."
"Yes!"
"Yep"


Easy first miles
Donnie and I waited over 40 min for the road to clear. It was good to finally put the electronics aside and get some exercise. I saw Donnie quickly disappeared in his 5-wheel skates. I slowly pass tendon bikes and baby trailers and occasionally stopped for photos when my camera happened to be on. I saw a few riders crashed into curbs because they had problem handling < 5 mph speed in the crowd.

The crappy but skatable surface quickly turned into black ice. I stopped and refueled at first 2 rest stops. Great support, great weather, great road, great people. I started to enjoy myself and thought maybe I could've done the 100 km.

The unprepared Idiot.
After the first rest stop I got overconfident about my speed. I threw away the 3rd water bottle because it got in the way of the camera bag. I don't remember much of the road right after rest stop 2. I became obsessed and was busy "fixing" my GPS and camera. I finally accepted that carrying the extra gear was a mistake.

Soon I came to a T-intersection and didn't know which way to go. This was when I realized I forgot my map. I waited under the bridge, and 3 wise-looking local cyclists came up and showed me the way. 4 of us stayed together for much of the ride.


Rest stop 3
100k and 50-mile routes met at rest stop 3. Hooked up with a happy and relaxed Fuzi on his hybrid bike.

Several Dallas bikers said hi; they ride at Whiterock on Tuesdays or Thursdays and saw the Texas Flyers. More people told me how cool the Coyotes were. The words "tall" and "stud" were used.

Highway 44
I felt less and less studly by the minute as I start to have problem keeping up with my newfound bike friends. I see myself toe-pushing and could do nothing to correct it. Blisters developed inside the hot socks, 3 on each foot. I took pride in their symmetry until 1 popped and its sister blister didn't. I missed my custom boots. My heart rate started to go nuts as the temperature approached hell.

I must have looked pretty pathetic at this point. 1 of my new friends suggested I could hang on to her jersey. I politely declined. Being a bicep-less but macho male, I suggest racing up the ramp to Interstate 44 access road.

Fuzi and I impressed the girls by flying up the ramp. This was the only section of Hwy 44 I felt confident. The road surface was less than black ice. It gets worse as I ran out of water. My feet were on fire; the legs were running on sour milk; heart rate was on the wrong side of the anaerobic threshold. I was about to bonk. Someone mentioned 15 more miles to finish. I didn't know if I could do 5. The rest stop was nowhere in sight. I started to consider grabbing the cute girl's jersey. It's better than sagging. I sure could use that 3rd bottle of water now.

It suddenly dawned on me: I could just slow down. My friends adjusted their pace. I made it through the crappy road drafting behind them.


Big rest stop
Boy was I happy to see the overdue rest stop. I skated through a dried up ditch to get to water station. All-terrain skates come in handy once a while. I didn't feel so bad after hydration and cold towel. Scarlett tele-encouraged me on Fuzi's cell phone.

I couldn't find my ride buddies as I walked out of the port-a-potty. I felt a bit lost. I wondered if Superman ever felt this way when he walked out of phone booth.


Sheppard Air Force Base
The crappy road surface ended soon after the rest stop. I started to pass bikes again. I was strong, fresh, happy. I entered the base with a large pack. More spectators cheered us on. I stopped and took photos of airplanes. I stopped to thank the volunteers at the rest stop inside the base and realized I was near the end of HH 50. I didn't want it to end. I want it to last longer.


Final miles
My wish came true. I came to a long straight road with new pavement.
The 6" wheels barely rolled on the long stretch of black chip n seal. I duck-walked and wonder if urethane wheels would be easier. Hundreds of bikes passed by shouting encouraging words, especially the ones I passed at the airbase. No one asked me the crazy question any more. One rider actually hit the brake just to high five. This is the type of events that make guys hug each other, and not just sideways.

I was in no rush. I no longer cared about taking photos or keeping pace. I just wanted to remember this day. I reflected on the sequence of events that let me to Coyoting HH 50, starting with an impulse buy on eBay and not quite knowing what to do once the 7" high-heel arrived. I thought about all the friends who skated with me Tuesday nights. I recalled skating from Fort Worth to Dallas and bonking at the ballpark. I don't know why I do things like long distance skating, but I love doing it. Maybe I am crazy.

I chatted with a few more cyclists as we rode by the closed stores near downtown. We heard the announcer at the finish line and saw the century riders coming in from the opposite direction, each one looked exhausted. After 2 right turns, I sprinted, caught a century rider, drafted, and finished with him. I was so grateful my body didn't fail me.


Post ride
Talked with some Pegasus Flyers bikers at finish line about the absent Flyers. Went to the water and banana tent and chatted with riders met on the road. Drank like a fish and ate like a monkey. Life is good.

Tony and Olga came to Fuzi's room for shower. Except for Tony, we spent most of the time lying down waiting for dinner. Tony found comfort putting his forehead on the socks on table.

After a big dinner, I drove home and got ready for the Texas Flyer Sunday morning skate. I faced the great challenge of getting up for the 7 am A2A practice without Fuzi's help. At least I didn't have to worry about over pumping the wheels this time.