My watch alarm beeps at 2:30 AM on race morning. It’s time to wake up and get to the starting line for my first 100-mile running race.

Leadville, Colorado is still sleeping except for the 465 runners, their support crews, and spectators milling about the dimly lit downtown area. It’s a rather balmy 43F and runners are getting in their last minute stretches.

At 3:59AM the announcer excitedly states “The shotgun is cocked.” (more…)

The 170-year-old Assumption Grotto Church sits quietly on Detroit’s Northeast side. Behind the Church, nestled in the Parishioner’s Cemetery is the Lourdes Grotto, an outdoors Marian shrine. Since 1881 this Shrine has purportedly bestowed miracles. Since I’d soon be starting the toughest, longest mountain bike race of my life, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a miracle in my back pocket.

But my 20 mile pedaling pilgrimage ends at a disappointing sign — “Closed at Dusk.” I had assumed it never closed because you never know when you might need a miracle. Oh well. I was at least on the Grotto grounds and hopefully that that was good enough for a partial miracle. (more…)

It all started with an argument over who were the best athletes: swimmers, cyclists, or runners. During a 1977 running race awards banquet in Hawaii, Navy Commander John Collins grabbed a microphone and laid down a challenge which would settle the debate. He invited the crowd to an ultra-endurance race which borrowed courses from the Waikiki Roughwater Swim (2.4 miles), the Around-Oahu Bike Race (112 miles) and the Honolulu Marathon (26.2 miles).

“I said the gun will go off about 7 a.m., the clock will keep running, and whoever finishes first we’ll call the ‘Ironman.'”

Twenty-two years have since passed and I find myself standing on a chilly beach in Panama City, Florida hidden amongst a crowd of other racers. The announcer’s voice is barely discernible as last minute instructions are repeated and the countdown clicks toward zero. The start cannon blasts and the mass of adrenaline-filled competitors scurry en mass to the Gulf water. The inaugural Florida Ironman triathlon is underway in grand fashion.
(more…)

Sometimes you can learn too much on the Internet.

It’s a week before the 1999 Iditasport 100-mile race in Alaska and I’m surfing the Anchorage weather web sites. “Worse cold snap in 10 years!” Even the old-timers are having a hard time remembering such cold weather. A day later and I’m calling to confirm my motel reservation near the race start. “It’s only 45 today. It’s been 55 for the two weeks.” There’s no need say “below zero.” Welcome to a brutal Alaskan winter courtesy of La Nina.
(more…)

I have a very bad tendency to seek tough mountain bike events. The events where you compete against yourself, where finishing is an accomplishment. The ones that make your parents wake up at night in a cold sweat.

It all started in 1994 when I registered our team of five for the 24 Hours of Canaan relay race in West Virginia. Up until this race, I had been mountain biking for three years and racing for two. I figured I could handle anything the Michigan trails could throw at me.

If I were the know-it-all teen, the Canaan course would be the experienced mother. She spanked me pretty hard on race day. Her trails were ten times more technical than anything I’d ridden before. I was left bruised and humbled. (more…)