Time to Diiiiieeeeeeeee!!!!!

Welcome to Boney Mountain, baby, one of the nastiest races I've been a part of in my brief, limited, and southern-California-centric race experience. Here are some specs so you're all very impressed:
- 2,800 ft. of elevation gain
- 1,600+ ft. of elevation gain between miles 6 and 10.5
- 69,168 ft. of horizontal gain (?)

Wildflower is the Great White Whale of triathlons for Life in Zone 2 to-date. So the majority of training I do, especially in the winter and spring, is with Wildflower in mind. Wildflower is known for its hills (1,000+ ft. of elevation gain on the run alone). To prepare for hills, you gotta run some hills, and I was eager to start adding some hilly muscle-memory in the midst of my Wildflower training schedule. Of course, it was Beast Wife's idea to sign up for a race that has more than twice Wildflower's elevation gain so we wouldn't be surprised by the 1,000 ft. Enter Boney Mountain. FML.

Mile 8 = Time to Die
Image by Generic Events {link to (http://trailrace.com/boney-mountain-trail-run/)}

Last Year's Theme: Getting Pwned

I raced Boney Mountain last year for the same reason (freaked out by Wildflower; signed up for stupidly hard race to compensate). And last year, the mountain humiliated me. I generally do not take much pleasure or displeasure from races and race results. 80% of my joy from participating in triathlon comes from the training accountability and the related positive changes to my physique and health. I can't skip workouts with a brutal race on my schedule that might humiliate me. 19% of my joy comes from scenery. Races to me are like going on a long hike, except with a much higher heart rate (hopefully in zone 2, but frequently in zone 5) and much tighter clothing. 1% of triathlon joy is the race result. However, when I get pwned by a race physically, mentally and emotionally, or if my result ends up below my cherished 50th percentile, I am not pleased. That's when race results start to mean a little bit more. Boney Mountain made my race results mean too much. Pwny Mountain is what I call it now.

My finishing time actually didn't matter to me. What really bothered me was that, at last years' race, I walked an entire mile. During a race. 1 mile of walking. Living in Los Angeles, I typically only walk a mile when there is a bar at the end of it. 1 mile is a long way to walk. Sure, it was a tough race. Lots of people walk portions of it. But I actually felt that, in this case, my walking mile showed me a weakness that I could overcome. Was it physical? Mental? Emotional? I didn't cry, so I'm going with physical/mental (mentaphysical?)

My friend the Garmin watch baited me into my fateful walk of shame last year when it called out the mile 9 marker. I had been pushing hard during the brutal climb from mile 6-10.5, having walked plenty already. I took my friend's alert as an excellent opportunity to, once again, slow my uphill plod into a hike in hopes of controlling an asymptotic heart rate. I kept hiking, waiting anxiously for my RPE to drop somewhere below the I AM DEAD range.

Image by Triathlon Inverness {link to (http://triathloninverness.co.uk/training/information-for-coached-sessions/)} via Diego Rodrgiquez {link to (http://olimpismoeducativoandaluz.blogspot.com/)}

I resisted the temptation to sit down. I resisted the temptation to hurl myself off the trail and into the brush so I could rest as park rangers air-lifted me home. I resisted the temptation to hurl. I also resisted the temptation to run. Soon, my Garmin friend triumphantly announced that we'd reached mile 10. I hung my head in shame (and in hope that blood would return there to keep my brain alive). My Garmin friend had become my enemy. And it was officially a bad race.

This Year's Theme: Overcoming My Own Unique Weaknesses in My Own Unique Ways

This year was going to be different. Armed with a heavier-than-normal winter running routine, a deeper fitness base, and course experience to help stave off mental defeat, I vowed not to walk. My running form was improved, thanks to a helpful run clinic at TrifitLa. My hill preparation was significant. My running shorts were embarrassingly short yet oddly freeing. I was ready.

The first few miles are mostly downhill, so I started quickly to make up some early time (in case walking was still in my future). My pace quickened and I concentrated on keeping my steps light and fast during the descent. I saw Beast Wife within the first half mile. I passed her (!!!!!!!!!!!). I panicked. I must have been sprinting. I turned down the intensity. Beast Wife passed me. She grew smaller and smaller in the distance. I felt strangely at peace. I turned my attention to another female runner to help me set my pace. She also grew smaller and smaller in the distance. I decided I should run at my own pace.

The first climb happens at about mile 3, and most people start walking there since it is very steep. Last year, I was hurting during that first climb, trying to push it, and when I saw others walking, I thought I should do the same (that's called mental weakness, friends). So this year, when I crested the hill with energy to spare, no walk-of-shame to speak of, and with Beast Wife's neon yellow jersey still shining on the horizon, I felt fantastic. Maybe I could break the two hour mark. Maybe I could crank it up to a 7:30 pace during the flat/downhill miles 4-5 as I had planned. Maybe I could catch Beast Wife (all unlikely). Regardless, I had an early victory over mental weakness, and that felt pretty good. Then, I got a side ache.

After the first aid station at mile 4, you have a nice, long descent and flat period. Pwny Mtn. then lulls you to sleep with a pleasant, tree-filled path across a streambed only to throw an uppercut to your heart minutes later with a steep ascent that will not relent until basically mile 11 (ouch). I took the downhill opportunity to start fueling (another weakness of mine). I took down two cups of gatorade, two Hammer endurolyte pills, and one gu so I would have plenty of downhill time to digest before I climbed Pwny. It took me about a quarter mile before I felt that familiar pain in my side, threatening to ruin my downhill recovery and to plant seeds of doubt that, when carefully watered with sweat, tears, and lactic acid, grow into the Thorny Bushes of Mental Weakness. I was in trouble.

The Thorny Bushes of Mental Weakness: beautiful but deadly additions to your race day plans

I racked my brain for side ache remedies. For next time, here are some that are pretty helpful: (http://www.runnersworld.com/injury-prevention-recovery/cure-your-next-sidestitch).

I feared at the time that all brain cells associated with side ache remedies had perished valiantly during the mile 4 climb. All except for one: the brain cell responsible for Joey Chestnut. I read an article once about this American Hero (I have trouble finishing books, but I have read multiple articles about the Lebron James of competitive eating). In this article, Mr. Chestnut claimed an athletic advantage when taking part in hot dog eating contests: his elite core strength. During the July 4th Nathan's hotdog eating contest, you could see him doing standing crunches and punching himself in the stomach in what he considered an advanced digestion technique (physically crushing ingested hot dogs with your abs and hands: that's why he's the best). I Chestnutted (sp?) throughout my descent, all while trying to maintain a quick cadence to keep that 7:30 pace going (it turned out to be an 8:30 pace, so Chestnutting does come with a cost). To my amazement, the technique actually worked! Or, the technique successfully distracted me. Either way, the 6 mile mark (and the last aid station) arrived much too quickly, but side ache free. Beast Wife was nowhere to be seen. And Pwny stared down at me with a wicked, knowing grin. Not even Joey Chestnut could save me now.

To be continued...

Image courtesy of my friend and fellow Boney conqueror, Pokey