Hey Folks. Kelley-the-Guy has reported the big news from my race, so if you want the short version see his post. If you want the long version: Stop now, grab a cup of coffee, and have a seat.

I think I'll call this story "Can I Get a Mulligan?"

Ahhh, Race Day: Nothing like spending a warm Texas morning beating yourself into a miserable, senseless, pile of quivering flesh. I guess I should have known I was in for it even before the race started. I took the wrong exit off of I-35 and had to stop at a Walgreens to ask for directions from a Minnesota transplant who “has only been in the area for two years,” so she didn’t know where River Road was. This lady reminded me of the Car-Rental-Lady in “Trains Planes and Automobiles.” Although she never said it, in my mind I could hear her saying “Ohhh, You’re F*cked.” Anyway, I found the road and made it to TA in plenty of time. In my defense, I hadn’t been to the race site in a couple years, not since my wife and I raced the Sprint National Championship there in 2004.

What else gave me a clue that I might be in for a world of hurt today? Maybe the fact that my workouts have consisted of no more than 45 minute sessions of FLAT road-running since the marathon in January. Maybe also the fact that I haven’t raced since September. Oh, and don’t forget that I haven’t ridden or ran one single hill unless you count the Westpark overpass in the marathon. No matter. This is the first time in more than a year that I’ve gotten a free pass from Patty to race. I’m going to enjoy every step, revel in every twinge of pain in my legs, and maybe even crack the top ten of the “Texas Top Gun”. I don’t need training. Mind over matter. Put away the pain and drop the hammer. After all, I was a pretty decent Adventure Racer (um…two years ago).

It was great to see Ash and Kelley-the-Guy (I refuse to learn Kelley’s last name. He is forever Kelley-the-Guy). We warmed up together and talked quite a bit. I was doing my best “I shouldn’t even be here” routine while sizing up the competition and saying Hi to racers I hadn’t seen in years. I finished off two bottles of Gatoraide during warm-ups (that’s 40 oz for those of you counting at home). Man it was humid. By GO TIME it was drizzling. The amount of sweat supplied by the racers must have pushed the humidity over the top and started the drizzle.

(This is where the racing starts. You probably could have skipped the previous three paragraphs. Sorry ‘bout that.)

The gun sounded and we were off! Actually, it was a young lady who said “Bang!” Nonetheless, we were off. Thoughts: “Take it easy up the first hill. Don’t want to blow yourself up on the first hill. Damn, forgot about that second hill. Crap. Up those hills four more times? Okay, I’m up for it. Recover a little here. Keep the leaders in sight. Doing well.”

Down the now-wet technical trail and into the washout – a boulder strewn flood wash funneled between steep limestone cliffs on either side. An absolutely beautiful, picture-perfect location for a race. We head down the first few hundred yards of suitcase-size rocks, hopping from boulder to boulder and scootching down ledges. I had just passed the first-place male team and had maybe five guys right on my tail when my right foot planted on a slick rock just long enough for my left foot to leave the ground. With just too much pressure on that right foot it slipped out from under me. I planted my left arm on another wet rock to break my fall and protect my head. Momentum carried my body slightly ahead of my arm and just before my head hit the ground I heard a crunching sound in my left shoulder. Sort of like smashing a bag of wet potato chips; not so much a cracking sound but a dull crunch. In pseudo-slow motion I felt the upper terminus of my humerus bone move out of the socket and under my left pectoral muscle. (It’s always disconcerting to see your upper arm bone sticking out of your chest like a baseball beneath a bed sheet, even when it’s not the first leg of a race.) I muffled a curse, got myself up, and the arm went back into place cleanly after releasing the pressure off my hand. With no pinching or sharp pains in my shoulder immediately, and plenty of range-of-motion, I decided that I’d finish out the run and take stock of my limbs back in TA.

I picked some good lines through the rest of the boulders, dropping the group who had passed me during my fall, and even caught up to Kelley-the-Guy (who was in 2nd or 3rd place I think) by the time we got to “the swim.” Here the rocks funneled us into a large puddle, chest-high (well, only waste-high for Kelley) and about 20 meters long. I jumped in and yelled at Kelley, who was almost out of the water, that I had dislocated my shoulder back there. I don’t know why I told him that. I felt like a little kid telling his dad that he just wiped out bad on his bike but he wasn’t hurt (this is mostly due to adrenaline, I think). Anyway, another ¾ of a mile of running back to TA and Kelley and the leaders were well in front of me but still within striking distance.

I transitioned quickly and spotted Kelley walking circles in TA. “Dude, you have GOT to work on your transitions” I initially thought. Turns out he tweaked a hamstring and was trying to work it out. Although I’m ashamed to say it, my first thought was “sweet, if the rest of the leaders keep dropping out, I might have a chance.” Never once did I take a second to review my shoulder issue like I planned. Let’s make this clear: Kelley did the smart thing. Me, not so smart. That will be evident when Kelley is back racing again in a week while I am still contemplating an MRI.

Onto the bike, hammer the first hill, quads screaming, but granny gear works her magic. Top out, grab the big ring and push it to the second hill, pop down to granny again and grind out to about mid-way up the hill. Pop off and… OH MY GOD am I tired. Walk the bike to the top of the hill sucking wind like a two-pack smoker (typically I would run Two bikes to the top, but again, that was two years ago). Got passed by two guys, lets hope they were teammates. Top out, suck down some gatoraide from my camelbak between breaths and try to spin the pain out of my quads. Again grab the big ring and contemplate riding or walking my bike down a treacherous, slick down-hill section. I puss-out and walk it down. Loosing a good minute or minute-and-a-half on someone riding it down, I got passed again at the base of the hill. Shoulder the bike and hobble about 50 meters down the washout without breaking or dislocating anything. On the other side of the wash we re-mount our bikes. I pass somebody with a quicker mount and head up another short hill with the mother off all hills staring me in the face on the horizon.

This section of the bike follows a power line away from the washout and up and over several hills. My first race here back in 2003 I dubbed this first one the “Hill to the Sun.” From the top of the other side of the washout, which we have just come down, I could see racers trudging up it like ants. I nearly soiled my chamois shorts when I saw it the first time. Today I was less intimidated. First because I knew it was there, waiting to beat me into submission, and second, because I could see the leaders making their way up the face of the hill. My spirits rose slightly. A quick estimation put me within six or seven minutes of the leaders, and even though I was getting passed left and right during the bike, I was satisfied with my position and effort.

I pushed my bike up the second half of the Hill to the Sun and promptly got passed by more guys who’s biking skills/stamina exceeded my own today. Up and down a few more minor hills and a right-hand turn that marked the last uphill on the loop. Now mud caked on my wheels. Any joy I felt about putting the last hill behind me was incinerated by the fire in my quads from pushing through the mud that had caked on my tires. Once we connected with the well maintained dirt road, the hammer again dropped, this time due to gravity, not my legs. Downhill we raced, mud flying like the World of Outlaws, I sucked down as much gatoraide as I could and cursed my bike for being a hard-tail.

At the bottom of the last hill the course swings onto a flat gravel road that leads us back to TA. Another ¾ of a mile and we’re into the paddle. What the hell? I just got passed like I was standing still. Within ½ a mile the guy is completely out of sight. I get this sneaking suspicion that I have a flat tire. A quick look down and chill goes up my spine. No flat tire. Oh, how I wished it were a flat tire. I didn’t even look up. Just hung my head with the realization that the reason it was so hard to pedal was not a flat tire, but wasted legs. I was basically done right there. Just one hour into the race.

I hammered into TA as fast as my spindly little legs could take me. Lightning fast transition. Seat in hand I spotted Kelley-the-Guy sitting in TA. Only then did I realize that he called it a day. If he would have offered me a beer right there, I might have stopped. My shoulder was starting to ache and my fingers in my left hand were tingling.

On the short run to the boats I passed the leader, Justin Burger, and gave him five as he headed back into TA after finishing his paddle. Justin’s a good guy. I bought a bike from him a few years back and he constantly asks me how it’s running and if we need a tune-up. Oh, that and he’s a freaking animal. So here I was completely dejected about my lack of pedal power, going into my favorite event that was cut short because of high water on the river. Cut short is an understatement. The paddle was 1/3 of a mile long, down stream. What the hell am I going to be able to accomplish in 1/3 of a mile? Nevertheless, I tried to estimate my position after seeing Justin. My spirits rose. I was near 8th place and probably only ten to fifteen minutes behind Justin.

The guy that had dropped me on the last mile of the bike must have had a bad transition. I had caught him at the boat put-in. After exchanging pleasantries, I left him in my wake. In 1/3 of a mile I passed four boats, putting me about fifth or sixth again since one boat was a 2person male team that seemed to be in the freestyle paddling event with the amount of circles they were doing. I asked them if they’d like some music for their spins. They didn’t laugh. I was glad I didn’t ask if that was a triple-sow-cow or a triple tow-loop like I had planned.

Out of the boat and portage that same 1/3 of a mile back to the put-in. I figured I’d rest here and walk the boat, rather than jogging so as to save some energy for the bike. Since a slow jog wasn’t going to accomplish much more than my walk, I figured it was a good strategy. As I started my portage Ash and Tom yelled encouragement from their boat. I was maybe a minute or two ahead of them. They passed me on the portage. Again I must have had a good transition because I was only twenty meters behind them going into the bike.

My final bike leg started strong. I was immediately happy that I had walked the portage. Up the first hill I hammered. Legs burning but I caught and passed Ash on that first hill as she pushed her bike up. Maybe ten meters after passing Ash, I popped off the bike. Ohhhh, that’s not good. I was in so much pain. Ash looked fresh as a daisy. She nearly floated on past me. I don’t even remember if I said anything to her. My heart sunk. I was officially in survival mode. On one shoulder I have a little devil saying, “Give it up schmuck, you haven’t got the strength to finish, you were totally unprepared for this race, nobody is going to care if you finish or not.” On the other shoulder is an angel. “Just convince yourself to take one more step…10,000 more times. You don’t have to win, just finish. Just finish.” To be honest with you, I can’t remember which one was the angel and which was the devil.

I plodded through the second bike loop in survival mode, walking my bike slowly up the hills, never hammering, just trying to spin the pedals a few more revolutions. I held on desperately on the downhill section. I wasn’t going to hit the breaks and yet the pain in my shoulder and wrist caused me to hold on basically one-handed. Biking is not the easiest thing with a bad shoulder, but if Tyler Hamilton can race an entire Tour de France on a broken collarbone, then I should at least be able to squeeze out a couple more miles, I decided.

Happy to be in TA, I took my time, dropped my camelbak and grabbed my Amphipod water bottle and belt. In TA the first-place female racer, Tara Kelly, passed me. We started up the first hill together and finished the rest of the race walking, talking, waiting on, and encouraging each other. We talked about how racing solo was so lonely, and how last year we had the killer instinct and this year we’re both happy just to enjoy some conversation during the race. It was great to finish the race with someone. Adventure racing was never meant to be a solo event.

Tara helped me hobble back to TA. I had run out of water and ecaps. I had thought I consumed enough from my camelbak to sustain me, but it turns out that I left that freakin camelbak half-full. So it turns out that I downed only about 80 oz of gatoraide rather than 130 oz. My quads seized up with ½ a mile left and I finished that last half a mile feeling like Forrest Gump with his leg braces on. Tara and I crossed the line together at 2:34.

I hobbled over to Ash and Kelley as Ash reveled in messaging my cramped up quads while she scolded me about my dehydration. I made sure that she knew I hated her for pretending to help me. After causing me sufficiently more pain with the message, she relented and my legs felt better. As my quads recovered my shoulder pain returned and I was left mildly happy that the pain in my legs made me forget about my shoulder.

I packed up the car, wandered over to the Director’s Tent and found out I didn’t finish last. Mildly satisfied, I hopped in the car before the awards ceremony. I had kids to get back to.

Two things you should know that I learned by doing this race. 1) there is no convincing a four-year-old that you’re incapable of jumping on a trampoline. And 2) there is no amount of Advil that will dull the pain of jumping on a trampoline with a screwed up shoulder.

See you on the trails,
Kulow