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.

2003 Collin Classic

Collin Classic 30 mile skate

Indecision

I couldn't decide to skate or bike the event. By the rainy Friday night, I figure the road would be partially wet and told a few friends I would bike the 55-mile route. I missed riding, and through the Great Skate of TX I'd already donated this years quota to the big bearing ranch in the sky.

I woke up to a beautiful Saturday sky and 89.7% of my neurons wanted to skate. I took the bike out of the trunk and tossed in the skate bag.

Start

This is the biggest bike rally I've attended, and hundreds of cyclists practiced just-in-time management of waking up late. After waiting in the line for parking, the line for promised not to sue, and the line for event pack, the century riders were ready to go. As I headed toward back of the very long start line, I heard many riders expressing doubt regarding the rollerblader's (inline skater's) ability to participate. "You're gonna do what!" "How do you stop?" No one asked me where Gordon was.

Being intellectually unremarkable (moron) I failed to check the equipment before leaving the house. The left skate missed 1 wheel and axle. I felt slight perturbation of confidence (screwed) as I started at the very back of the pack without warm up.

After going at 5 mph for a while, I jumped behind a few fast cyclists who also ain't good at getting to event on time. I didn't get much draft as they dart in and out of the 15-milers. I pulled some back muscle during the zigzag portion of the course. I wanted my mommy.

The Course

Fortunately it wasn't a normal skating muscle. I felt fine once the road was clear enough to go straight. The course was very skatable. I kept waiting for the bad surface in Don's report to show up; it barely did. The black stuff is not smooth, but it's not as bad as some parts of the Tuesday night route. Over all it was an easier ride than 2002 Mesquite Rodeo Ride. I would've done the 55-mile if it weren't for the missing wheel and bad back.

There were some rolling hills. Long and gentle. The only tough hill was 1 mile before the finish. Many stood up pretending to be Lance Armstrong. I pretended to be Dave Guadiz and smiled as I passed them.

There were rest stops approximately every 10 miles. They seemed more and more attractive as my legs started to complain.

The people

I didn't see other skaters on the course except the few who pretended to be cyclists.

Everyone was nice to me, even the sheriff. I got encouragements from cyclists as I had problem staying in the pack going down hill. I ended up grabbing the bottom of their seats, which made interesting shadows.

My pack sneakily tried to drop me once when I said hi to Fuzi.

Post event

Lunch was served in the high school cafeteria. I ate hot dogs with the people I met on the 30-mile course. These are bicycle enthusiasts who don't necessarily care how fast they're going, not your typical Richardson Bike Mart Saturday crowd. We talked about Hotter n Hell and other events.

Wish more skaters were there.

2002 Long Beach Marathon

2002 Long Beach Inline Marathon

Tried to drive the 26-mile course Saturday morning. This was nontrivial since some turns weren't opened to motor vehicles. I casually abandoned the difficult parts of the course. I decided skater in front of me would know where to go.

I arrived at the expo half way into Chad Hedrick and Heather Elliot marathon workshop. Chad was teaching weight transfer and edge control. Not sure how useful such information was 1 day before the race. Half of class apparently already could double push; the other half struggled to get any outside-edge at all. Most wanted to be there just to skate w/ Superman.

I noticed Chad wasn't using the Chad-signature wheels I would use in the race. Chad supposedly endorsed these more expensive item. It was the only 84-mm wheels I could find after Northshore people bought all the popular stuff.

All the expected manufactures showed up. After getting my annual hug from lovely Skategrrl Kathie Fry, I test drove Rollerblade's new models. When I mentioned the pressure point I felt, the rep immediately guessed that my feet were too wide and basically told me the entire line of skates ain't for me. Interesting sales approach.

In the afternoon I made some effort skating parts of course that were not accessible by car. I met our FL members Paul and Stacey on the bike path. Just as 3 of us realized we didn't know where the course was, we met 2 women asking about race route. Paul turned on the charm and enthusiastically gave the 2 attractive ladies all kinda helpful information. Stacey accused his father of being a "clean young man" (not exact quote). After finishing A2A just the week before, Stacey had food poisoning and was unsure about her readiness for Long Beach.

The Race.

It was dark when everyone got to the start line. The temperature was low enough I barely sweated during warm up. My heart rate monitor said 224, which was a reasonable number if I were a hummingbird. It's the unadvertised beat-doubling feature of Polar sensors.

The advanced start was a zoo.
As soon as we crossed the start line, everyone wanted the same positions.
This led to constant forming and breaking of long pace lines. Several people crashed minutes into the race. A skater landed on her right ear; I saw the sunglasses frame snapped in slow motion. Scary stuff. After clicking skates couple time, I decided to play it safe and hide behind a lone skater who refused to join the fight. I eventually fought my to the front when most gave up changing their positions. I looked at my HRM, 186 (93% max). I should be OK as long as I stayed in the draft and didn't have to counter any attack before my heart rate slows a bit.

First 6 miles had many turns. Hay bales were placed at strategic positions. At one spot the orange cones were so confusing the lead motorcycle led the pro men in the wrong path, and the 3 pros who memorized the route broke away and won the race.
Advanced lead pack (motto: we could skate like the pro if we pretend) took the same wrong turn. The problem w/ U-turn having 100+ skaters behind you in a race is you can't just power slide into a 180 unless you want to test your helmet. By the time I stopped, ran over the grass, jumped over dirt, the directionally gifted were long gone. It felt like the race had restarted and some were allowed to start early.

A few of us sprinted and quickly realized the futility. I stayed in a small pack lead by 2 San Diego skaters and began our chase of the huge group 400 yards ahead. I found a tall steady skater to block the wind; few miles later I realized it was Paul. I concentrated on falling into my strides and saving energy; all the practice behind Critter's ridiculously long strokes was paying off.

We swallowed many skaters into our growing pack between mile 7 and 12, but a group of 40+ skaters managed to keep the distance. They disappeared at the end of the bike path alone the beautiful morning Pacific. I could swear one of them looked back and gave us the evil smile.


Before we entered a U-turn I saw Stacey skating alone on the other side of the street looking tired. Food poisoning was not a optimal activity before endurance sport. I hoped she was OK. She managed to maintain her speed; we never caught her.

Half way into the race we saw what could be the lead pack and picked up the pace. I pulled the pack and worried whether my legs would hold for another 13 miles. Then I saw the woman of my dream--the one who helped pull! We closed the gap and found out they weren't leader.

Some guy in Hyper skin suit pulled much of the way in his 4-wheel rec skates. We could hear him coming behind our pack shouting "AAAAAH," and all the sudden he would pass the pack as if he were wearing blue war paint and holding Wallace sword. Braveheart would slow down to lead the pack then disappear until the next charge. He did this so many times I started to think they were twins or triplets racing as 1 person.

We continue to pick up and pass skaters shed off the front packs, including a racer shouting encouraging words sitting at a bus stop. People were less and less willing to pull. My HRM says 165. Not a good sign. The lead pack was probably increasing the gap. It was tempting to push the pack faster, but I didn't know how the 30 skaters around me would react. A solo break away probably wouldn't do any good either. Wish Dave G and Duane were here.

We made the final turn just before mile 24. I couldn't see any skater in front of us. No more chasing. A few half-hearted attacked started and faded. The group seemed to slow down even more. I realized having 20+ skaters in front of me w/ 2- miles left was not a good idea. I decided to take the lead. As I started to move up from the left Paul opened a gap in front of him to let me into the 3rd position.
It's wonderful to have a teammate.

The attack finally started w/ less than a mile to go by the energized Hyper guy shouting something that's not "freedom" and suddenly opened a 10-yard gap. Thanks to Paul, I was fresh enough to chase him down, and our 2-man pack had what I thought was a comfortable lead. What a rush! Unfortunately we were both sprinters (AKA endurance-challenged), 3 other skaters caught us before the line.

It was disappointed to finish so far behind the leaders, but I was ecstatic to have finished the race safely and have enough left for sprint. It's also the first time I finished 26-mile course in less than 2 hr. The curse is broken.

Saw Stacey sitting by the curb looking beat. She skated much of the course by herself. Hope she'll recover soon from illness and the race.

Most pro men I talked to at finishing area appeared bitter about being directed off the course. The exceptions were K2's Josh Wood, who missed the wrong turn, and Eddy, who had a huge smile as if he won the race. Gotta hand it to Eddy.

2002 Great Skate of Texas

race report: 2002 Great Skate of Texas Inline Marathon

Hats off to David Darr for making the 1^st Annual event such a success.

Bonnie Blair was the guest of the honor at the dinner banquet. Cancer survivors, including Bonnie's brother, gave moving speeches on their experiences and future of cancer treatment and prevention. K2's Dean Burke (finished after our Chris and Jason :) gave an inline speedskating 101 talk, completed with a race video provided by Bont's Debbie Rice. I felt bad keep aiming the flash at Bonnie's face. Sigh, nothing screams out _amateur_ like a point-n-shoot camera on a $20 tripod. Bonnie was very understanding when I apologized. I finally met our virtual member Paul in person with whom I had discussed his Greek-God-like physique. His daughter Skate-Like-Wind Stacey also made the trip from Florida.

I planned to take 5k and 1-mile pix on skates. The 5k skaters were much faster than I expected. Yeah, I was having trouble keeping up w/ little kids. I never reached the leader of 5k. I stopped chasing after catching up w/ little Marvin the Energizer bunny.

I lingered too long on the 5k course and missed the start of the 1-mile Fun Skate. I barely got there on time to make the wrong turn w/ some front skaters. Yeah, my gift for getting lost triumphed again. I didn't take many photos on the 1-mile course. It was fun just hanging out w/ Bonnie and our skater friends, and I was anxious to start the 25k race.

After Dean told me K2 team would try to do 27 ~ 28 mph with a mouthful of meat at the dinner, I gave up on my goal of not to be lapped. But I stuck with my original strategy: hang on to jelly boy for as long as I could. Dave and Duane's pack dropped me during the 4^th big lap. Renee Coffman from Houston was nice enough to bonk around the same time so I didn't have to skate alone. We picked up and dropped a few skaters alone the way. I wanted to give Renee high five as we finished lap 4—unlapped!—but was too tired to raise my arm.

After I finished 25k, I tried to take pix with my shaking hands and screwed up all kinda Nikon moments. I did witness a girl panicked at the big hill and fell going 20+ mph. Scary sight. I was surprised at how little injury she sustained. She seemed to be in good spirit 20 min after the crash. I wish I had a chance to talk to her; I was late for a wedding (not mine).

It was exciting to see the result in Dallas Morning News Monday, particularly on Chris and Jason's beating the pros. Wish I were there to see the final sprint.

Johnny the event's official snapshot taker