Gravel, Grit, and A Lot of F Bombs: Surviving My Third Gravel and Whine

 This was my 3rd go at Gravel and Whine! My affection for this race has evolved over the years. My first attempt was a rollercoaster of getting lost, battling deep sand, yet crossing the finish line with laughter. The following year was a revelation; the stats above do not reveal true differences in 23 and 24. 2023 was epic and fun,

Pro tip from a guy I was with, no brakes just relax and cruise down

2024 was transformative. The 2024 race upped the ante with about 70% gravel, more arduous climbs, and impossible, truly mountain biking, single tracks. Despite similar appearances, the experiences were worlds apart. My power meter malfunctioned, making the power stats irrelevant, but the intensity and training load tell the tale of why I was so smashed at the end. 

Sure this is rideable.
 

This year, I “welcomed” one of my athletes from Colorado and two friends to join in. I pitched the race as manageable and non-technical. All 3 by the way finished the course!  So kudos there. Yet, early on, I realized this year’s course was a different beast. It wasn't the challenging but doable course, it was soon about enduring fear, exhaustion, and taking risks on precarious descents, yearning for the end. The water scarcity at two out of three aid stations added an unexpected challenge, especially since I opted out of my camelback, complacent from last year's smooth sailing. A lesson was certainly learned there.

For most of the race, I was alone or accompanied by random fellow riders. Days like these can shatter your spirit, yet they are the ones that fortify it. Gravel racing pushes me out of my comfort zone in unpredictable ways. Confronting a 12% grade on a rocky path with deep crevices, running out of water miles from civilization, and facing dirt roads with no amenities - these are the moments that test you. I fell into the sand, tired to the bone, then summoned the effort to empty sand from my gloves, shoes, jersey and then to continue to the mud section.  Where some hilarious person placed a narrow plank to bridge the puddles and deep mud as if I could ride over that.   I tried to walk it but ended up in the mud, so be it.  I was cursing at my optimal level to the amusement of others and even talked a few riders out of quitting. There's something profoundly rewarding about overcoming such discomfort and fear.

I know many choose to cut the course short, but I'm glad I stayed the course. Finishing late, after the raffle and meals, was a humbling experience. I'm far from mastering this, but there's an allure in the challenge and the resilience it demands.

2024

2023

Quitting, Pulling the Plug, Modifying: Learning to Listen to Your Body

 As a triathlon coach and seasoned athlete, I've always pushed the boundaries of my endurance. Yet, there comes a time when you must confront a tough decision: stopping a workout before it's completed. Today, I found myself in this situation during one of my all-time favorite rides—a 120-miler through East County, encompassing the challenging terrains of Mt. Laguna and Engineers Road. This ride, which I partake in at least once a year at the renowned Smiles for Miles Winter Camp hosted by Hillary Biscay, is a testament to endurance and resilience.

Reflecting on my journey, let's rewind to 2023, arguably my most challenging season. In May, a persistent GI bug took up residence in my gut, leading to a miserable two months. This illness cascaded into multiple stress reactions in my foot, halting all running activities for the next ten weeks. My training shifted to a painful mix of biking and swimming. As my foot started to heal, an unfortunate encounter with a pinecone during a bike ride resulted in a fractured trochanter—a major setback that paused my biking and newly resumed running for six weeks. Back to swimming I went.

By November, I began rebuilding my routine, focusing on consistent swimming, biking, running, and strength training. The journey back was more humbling than ever, but I stayed the course. In early December, just as I was regaining some normalcy, my back gave out, a consequence of an overzealous run and an unfortunate collision with a dog. The following three weeks were incredibly tough; I was on the brink of quitting the sport altogether.

However, I persevered and gradually began rebuilding my strength and stamina. Fast forward to today: I've had eight successful, pain-free runs, slowly but surely increasing my time on foot. The Winter Camp was going well, with no issues during Thursday's coastal spin or the challenging Palomar + Cole Grade ride on Friday, despite some back pain post-ride. Saturday's hike/run and a 100x100 pool session went smoothly too.

Then came the "Queenstage Ride" today. Initially, I felt good, but about 90 minutes in, my back started to twinge. The old me would have downed more ibuprofen and powered through, but I've learned that sometimes, the bravest thing to do is to pull back. I wanted to run tomorrow, so I made the tough call to turn around, cutting my ride to 4 hours instead of 8. It was a decision I struggled to feel good about, yet it was the smart thing to do.

Over my 10+ years of coaching, I've seen athletes of all kinds—from those who regularly give up to those who push through at all costs (like I used to). The key, I've learned, is to find a balance. It's about understanding yourself as an athlete and a person, and making decisions that lead to being the best you can be. Today, I chose to listen to my body, and though it's a challenge to accept, it's a step towards being a smarter, more resilient athlete and coach.