Newton Kismet in the color I've been testing. Image courtesy of Newton Running.
It's been almost a year since my last product review, which was the Skechers GoRun Speed. In the time since, I've had the unfortunate experience of #OopsIBrokeMySpine and the long road to recovery coming back.
As part of that recovery, it was also peak time for a new pair of shoes. My good friend Seth had opened up Granite City Running this past winter. As part of his opening, he had Newton Running come to the event with some demo pair of footwear. After chatting with their rep, as well as Seth talking up the Kismet, I decided to try a pair on.
I immediately knew that I was going to need to take a pair for a long-term test. I bought the orange pair that you see above in April from GCR and have been piling on the miles in it over the last two months.
The Tech Babble
The Kismet was a new model for Newton during 2014, as part of the year-long switch from the original four-lug platform to the new five-lug shoes. Part of this was due to advances in manufacturing tolerances; Newton had always wanted to be able to do five-lugs, but couldn't ensure the quality of the manufacturing to ensure the lugs would actually stay on the shoe when they were pushed out to the edges of the outsole.
In the image above, you have an old Newton Distance S; underneath, a Newton Tri Racer. As you can see, the five-lug pattern pushes out to the lateral edges of the midsole, whereas the old four-lug placement required a decent amount of offset from the edges.
The Kismet is part of the "P.O.P 2" family in the Newton line. Newton divides the line-up into the three distinct ranges:
P.O.P. 1: These are the classic shoes in the Newton family: the Gravity, Distance, and Motion ranges. They feature the lowest drops, most exposed lugs, and the classic Newton responsive ride.
P.O.P. 2: Referred to as the "Core" models, these shoes have a slightly higher drop than the P.O.P. 1 shoes. The lug pattern is also slightly less obtrusive, while also featuring slightly more cushioning than some of the P.O.P. 1 shoes.
P.O.P. 3: The most "traditional" of all Newtons, the lugs barely protrude from the outsole. These are designed to get people used to the feel of a Newton before transitioning into one of the other two families of shoes.
Now, I hear your question: why should I care about the lugs?
It's not so much the lugs that you should be worried about, it is the membrane that the compress into. This Action/Reaction membrane is compressed upon impact and then provides energy return. This is what gives Newton their snappy feel and has led to the claims from runners that they simply run faster in a pair of Newton's than anything else.
The Kismet is Newton's stability shoe in the P.O.P. 2 line. Newton takes a non-traditional approach to stability these days; rather than putting in a medial post to try to slow the rate of pronation, Newton fills out the shoe under the midfoot for maximum ground contact. This creates a more stable platform for the entirety of the foot to land on. Newton found during development that this approach provided a more stable and natural experience for runners with higher pronation rates.
The Kismet weighs in at 9.7 ounces in a size 9, with a 4.5 mm drop. Naturally, I have to take these published weights with the whole shaker of salt in my size 13 boats.
One of the primary things I noted when I slid my foot into the demo pair of Kismets back in December was what I didn't notice:
No annoying overlays in the wrong place.
No obtrusive feeling out of the lugs.
No feeling the shoe; it simply felt like an extension of my foot.
In other words: damn, this shoe feels like it fits my foot really, really well.
I've put about 200 miles on the shoe thus far and can say that, for the most part, those initial feelings continue to hold true. Unfortunately, the Newton logo attachment on the medial side, coupled with an overlay, tends to bunch up a little bit on the side of the foot over time; I've blistered a few times over in this spot.
That said, though, the ride of the shoe has been a revelation. I had a pair of the original Newton Motions, which I found the lugs to be overly obtrusive and the ride too harsh for long runs. Newton has finally found the feel balance: well cushioned yet responsive enough that you really feel the snappiness of the shoe when you pick up the pace.
A note: be prepared for the shoe to sound a little slappy, especially on some downhills. Don't be alarmed; it's just the AR membrane compressing in the heel. It took me a minute to figure out what the sound was, but it has not impacted overall performance of the shoe at all.
The beauty of this shoe is that it is light enough to race long distances in, while still retaining the cushioning and feel of an everyday trainer. It is an excellent swiss-army knife to add to your running arsenal, assuming that you need that touch of stability on offer here.
June 28, 2015 at 6:30 AM. 328 Days, 22 Hours, 14 minutes and 40 seconds.
Brackett stabilizing my neck as the EMTs arrived.
It's been that long since I went from laying in the road in North Berwick with a broken spine to gun time at Challenge Atlantic City, diving into the water to start a 70 plus mile journey back into competing.
Racking the CD0.1.
Months of physical therapy. Months of "actual" therapy with a set of trauma specialists. And a long road back to being something closely resembling an athlete. All coming down to finally just saying, "let's throw caution to the wind and go for it." No better time than the present to toe the line.
Pre-Race
Drove down on Saturday morning with Kelly and arrived in town to a very wet and windy Atlantic City. It was my first time to AC; I was slightly overwhelmed by the mix of Cape Cod beach resort town, casino central, and parking fees that rival downtown New York City.
We grabbed breakfast at a little diner that had excellent pancakes and then rolled over to the expo inside Bally's. It was a bit disorienting to walk through a casino at noon to see the crowd there, as well as the numerous athletes streaming in and out who were trying to prep for the following day's events.
Saw some of the old Rev3 crew working their tails off as always, and then found this waiting for me:
First: I'm a bit perturbed by my USAT age.
Secondly: WHAT AM I DOING!?!?!?!?!?
Had we been smart, we would've put
these up at mile 50 of the course.
At least I had a decent bib number.
Walked around the expo in search of a pump and a flat kit, seeing as between the two of us, we had managed to bring neither item. Procured said items and promptly determined it was time to head towards Bader Field (site of transition) in order to do some work in support of 50 Women to Kona.
We met a few people; handed out a bunch of tattoos, swim caps, and signs; and otherwise had great conversations about equality in the sport over the course of the next hour. Met a few folks that I had only known from Twitter; always nice to be able to put names with faces.
Then it was time to rack up the bikes, pack the bags, and otherwise get ready for the following day. About an hour after we'd headed back, it started pouring. We're talking wrath of God sheets of rain. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.
Race day dawned humid, still with a fair bit of cloud cover and wind about. As long as it stayed cool, which it was forecasted to do, things looked like it would be a day for a fast time.
We arrived at the race site to find Bader Field more like Bader Swamp: the evening downpours had left the field under significant standing water. Transition was a bit of a mud pit, particularly with the long run down the center to bike out. But it appeared that none of the back racks were worse for wear, and things seemed to be running somewhat smoothly.
At 5:40, we received the announcement that we were being pushed back 15 minutes on race start and transition closing; this was in part due to the parking issues caused by the flooding, as well as some delays getting cones set to close down the road out to the Atlantic City Expressway and a lane of the ACE. Perfect opportunity to hit the port-o-john one final time. After all, it was time for some Race Day Magic.
After checking things over in transition a final time, we headed over to the shoreline to discover we'd been pushed back a bit more. Swim safety crews were loading into the water, and from our vantage point it looked like the production crew was trying to get one of the turn buoys set properly in place. Unfortunately, the P.A. system didn't seem to have much capability in relaying information to athletes; it was very difficult to hear anything that was going on.
Finally, we got the go ahead: we'd be taking off. Kelly and I wished each other luck (she, too, was coming back from her own spectacular crash and injury), promising that neither one of us would end up in the hospital today. And then it was time to roll over through to the swim start.
The swim start had been published as a mass start; this wound up being a bit of a misnomer. It was really a time trial start. You walked down the dock, hit the timing mat, and then jumped (feet first required) into the water to begin your day.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much done in terms of seeding swimmers. So it was really just more about who you happened to line up with. I would've liked to have seen either an Age Group seeding or a swim time seeding, simply to give a better flow and cleaner swim to everyone involved. It's never fun to be the slow swimmer being swum over, nor is it fun to be the fast person who is cutting their way through a slower field. Having been both in my tri career (hooray improvement!), I think it'd eliminate some swim anxiety to have that type of set-up in the future.
I was about the 100th person in line. Walk down the dock. Say hi to the Virginia Challenge/Rev3 folks. And time to start to do work.
Race Time
Swim: 32:28
Bike: 2:54:08
"Run": 2:20:54
Final Time: 5:53:25
Hopping into the water, I immediately hit the bottom; I was very thankful that the production team had eliminated diving from the proceeding. Using the bottom to push off of, I launched into my first 200 to get a feel for the water and what the swimmers around me were like. Three things came to mind:
The swimmers around me were already breast-stroking. Not a good sign.
The current was pushing me towards shore. I'd need to fight against it in order to swim into the turn buoy.
I couldn't see my hand entering the water in front of me. Which meant it was going to be a "feel and don't grab" exercise to not drown someone.
Swimming along and moving through the earlier starters, I felt good. I could also feel that someone was on my feet, which is a new experience for me. Somebody thought I was good enough to follow! We wound up towing each other the entire swim.
Getting down to the turn buoy, and it was congestion city. Anxiety set in. Although I've been swimming with the guys and gals of 207 Multisport all winter and spring, I was beyond terrified of getting hit in my back. This is, in part, why I'm known as "circle swim guy" at the Westbrook pool. I also can't give enough of a shameless plug to Bill and Fran Shea at New England Family Institute; they do trauma therapy work and were/are instrumental in getting me back on board a bike.
Coming into the first turn buoy, the thing I'd feared the most happened: the "thwack" of a neoprene-covered arm across my back.
And I felt nothing.
Finally, the last few fears I had about racing again melted away. Now I knew my body could make it through the day; it was just a matter of how much I could extract out of it.
Rounding the turn buoy to head onto the back stretch, I realized that I had zero concept of where the sight buoys were. Challenge decided to utilize red sight buoys and yellow turn buoys, both of which were nowhere to be seen while in the water. I just saw arms splashing up ahead of me and charged in their general direction.
I continued to wind up on the right hand side of where I needed to be, adding some distance to my day in the water. It's always been an issue, particularly in salt water. Something to work on.
Rounding the final turn buoy, me and my fellow stronger swimmer wound up swimming on each other's hip. We motored through the field, heading back into the dock. I couldn't pull myself up onto the ramp (it pinches the discs that are still very much irritated from #OopsIBrokeMySpine), so I got some assistance from a very kind volunteer.
I raced without a watch, simply because I had zero expectations. I was half-expecting a timing clock at the swim exit to have some idea where I was on the day. I was wrong. Ran into Eric Wynn, which was great to be able to see him for the first time in about a year. I overheard a couple people behind me complaining about their swim times, which told me that the day was indeed slow across the board.
Wetsuit off. Helmet on. Sunglasses on. Nutrition together. Let's ride.
Onto the bike, I quickly passed a few of the super swimmers. I spun through the gears pretty quickly as we headed out of Bader Field. One of the few unfortunate segments about the bike was a muddy traverse in order to get out onto the road properly. The Challenge team had tried to address this by laying down some carpet. However, because of how much rain there had been and the amount of rain that had pooled, it had turned into a muddy mess. Ruts were developing. Luckily, having some experience riding a tri bike through these conditions, I knew to pick a line and just charge through it.
As we merged up onto the road, rain started falling again. I relished this opportunity, as cooler weather is right up my alley. I early on made the call that I'd ride comfortably for the first 40 miles before ratcheting up the intensity on the way home. I settled in, making passes and getting passed. It was very, very hard for me to not immediately try and go with people, but I knew that it would be extremely foolish to try and ride harder given my lack of training.
Turning off the Atlantic City Expressway, we went through a residential neighborhood. At one point I hit a pretty decent pothole while in aero that I couldn't see; my sunglasses had fogged so badly that they were proving useless. As it turned out, when I went back into aero, I realized that the pothole hit was bad enough to take the aerobar pad and bend it all the way down to the basebar. Awesome. I'd need to try and modify holding aero position for the remainder of the bike.
By about mile 10, I realized I shouldn't have worn my aero helmet; I just didn't have the strength in my neck to effectively wear the Giro Advantage 2. I'm contemplating moving to a new aero helmet that is significantly lighter. If you have a recommendation, feel free to leave it in the comments!
The bike course was fantastic, outside of those few potholes. It was windy. There were a few moments where I really wasn't enjoying being out there, as my back started to seize up. It was probably an error to not preview the course, simply to know when the wind would switch. But I just kept pushing.
Around mile 30, the sun came out, and the temperature immediately skyrocketed. I could tell it was going to be a long day at the office when I saw the amount of salt that was already caked on my Huub kit. I kept hammering the Skratch Hyper Hydration mix and the margarita flavored Clif Shot Bloks in an attempt to keep my stomach happy and myself out of the med tent.
The aid stations on course were spaced significantly apart from one another, with it essentially being the same aid station passed twice; once at mile 16-18 or so, and then again at mile 40-42. It made for a long time without being able to grab a fresh bottle to cool down. The volunteers themselves were great, knowing exactly how to hold the bottle to be able to roll through the station quickly and still get everything needed. Applause to that crew, for sure.
Unfortunately, my bottle wound up rocketing out of the cages about three miles later, as the cyclist in front of me had a hard time negotiating the trickiest corner on course. This was a decreasing radius right-hand turn into a Wawa, with a large concrete pothole in the middle. He lost his bottle; I had to bunny hop it to not eat shit myself. In the process, I launched my bottle as well as pinch-flatted. To give you an idea on the amount of cursing involved...
I got everything together in what felt like an eternity, and started rolling again. About a mile up the road I came upon a guy who had blown through both of his CO2 cartridges trying to inflate his spare tube. Public service announcement: make sure your spare tube and valve extender are long enough to be able to get the head of the inflator on the valve. This was his problem. Seeing as I had zero expectations on the day, I stopped to help him out and get him going again.
Heading back towards transition, we repeated the stretch through the neighborhood. I came up on a big crash between two athletes; I arrived on site just as the ambulance was arriving. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a minor panic attack. I sat up for the next couple of miles just to get myself back mentally into what I was doing. Right around this time, teammate David Cassidy rolled up alongside of me. It was really good to be able to chat with him for a minute to get myself back in control.
Back onto the ACE and I decided to just pedal like hell. It was hot, my back and neck hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and get a beer. So the sooner I got off the bike, the more likely it would be that I would actually run. So hard-charging come hell or high water into transition I came. It also didn't help that the bike course was more than two miles long…but not like I could do anything about it.
Off the bike. Running through the grass. OK, this doesn't feel terrible. Rack the bike. Socks on. Shoes on. Backwards hat on. Start to futz with the race belt on my way out of transition. This feels awful but I need to keep moving. Alright, out onto the course. Let's go do this.
I ran the first mile and a half with a guy who, like me, was tall and melting in the now 80+ degree temperatures as we hit the boardwalk. All we could say to each other was, "Well, we could be doing the full in CdA right now…" and just kept trucking.
It was during this next stretch that I came to the realization that I wasn't sweating. The new name of the game was to load up on ice, cool my temperature down, and just move at the fastest rate that my body could tolerate. I also made the (in retrospect, poor) decision to roll my top down off my shoulders in order to be able to cool off and more easily dump ice down my shorts to use the femoral artery for cooling.
Unfortunately, though, the aid stations were set at relatively random intervals from one another. In particular, there was a very long stretch from mile 4 to about mile 7 without anything; this was the stretch that broke me. I started hyperventilating a little bit before reaching the aid station. Having passed out once while racing, and not needing a repeat performance, I power-walked to the station and grabbed just about every cup of ice, water, and Coke they would give me. I kept walking until I could feel the sweat starting to flow again, and then picked right back up where I left off.
The run course itself was a bit diabolical in that you were navigating through the throngs on the boardwalk, while also not being offered much in terms of shade or breeze. I think this is where racing without a watch hurt me a bit; I just didn't have a very good idea where I was mileage wise. It wasn't until I passed back the finish line that I knew I had about 3 miles to go and could just set myself to grind until the finish.
Saw Kelly again about a mile from the finish; she was motoring along well (and she outran me by a fair bit). I threw the kit top back on in the final approach because, hey, better to look pro than to be pro. (Well, that and I had a horrid sunburn.) And crossed the line. Not my fastest. Not my slowest. But I'm back.
Post-race: finished. And not in the medical tent or hospital. HOORAY!
So, to this whole broken back experience, I bid you one final adieu in the form of a picture about three hours post crash:
In the interest of full disclosure at the beginning: I am a signatory on the official letter to Ironman's Women For Tri board, advocating for equal slots for professional men and women's fields at Kona.
As you can probably tell from my Twitter feed, I am critical of the triathlon industry as a whole. I'm critical because I care deeply about it; I didn't dedicate a decade to it (and the run industry) because I was chasing money. It's a labor of love.
I got my start in this sport because I remember watching the Wide World of Sports coverage of Kona, watching the men and women's professional field coverage, and thinking that it was astounding that people would do that. And that I wanted to do it someday. Someday became 2010 when Hannah's father died and it through into stark relief that it was damned time to turn my dreams into goals into reality, as you never know when it will all come to an end.
So when I see barriers to entry to the sport like an insistence on "needs" like aero wheels, or wetsuits, or hell, a "budget triathlon bike" for $2800, that bothers me. We can't grow the sport when we're asking people to invest thousands of dollars into one event. It's simply not a sustainable model. There will always be people willing to buy that amount of gear. But we need to make it easier for people to get hooked on the sport and then want to invest in it, rather than asking them to invest that kind of money out of the gate.
That brings us to the lack of equality at the top of the sport.
Before the introduction of the Kona points ranking system, it was pretty easy to get yourself to Hawaii as a professional. However, since the introduction of KPR (which is a genius method of WTC getting more pros to race their events, but I digress), professional slots have been allocated to 50 men and 35 women. Counting champions provisionals, it winds up being a little closer to 55-40.
The argument for that is twofold: first, that there are more male professionals; second, that the men's professional field is deeper in quality.
The quantity argument is, well, indisputable. The simple fact is that as of now, there are more male professional triathletes. The quality argument has been thoroughly debunked by those far smarter than I; for a great reading on the topic, I would suggest this post over on Trirating.com.
So, what's the hold-up? We have data over the years showing the success of Title IX in athletic sports, including a six-fold increase in participation at the collegiate level by women versus pre-Title IX levels. In other words: if you build it, they will come.
Ironman Kona is the birthplace of our sport. WTC is the primary stakeholder in the history and future (until proven otherwise). The lack of equality in slot allocation to professional women is a disgrace.
The primary argument that I have seen come is that "well, we use participation numbers to set the age-group slots, so doing it for professionals is only fair." This argument is flawed. Age-group slots are set based upon the field at any given race; if women 35-39 make up 20% of the field at one race, and 10% at another, they get 20% at one event and 10% at another. Those slots are consistently in flux; if more women start racing, they immediately get more Kona slots awarded to them.
At the professional level, this isn't the case. There are a finite number of slots determined by the KPR system. Increases in FPRO numbers do not immediately change the number of Kona slots awarded to FPRO's. It *might* have an impact for the following year, although I have the feeling the "quantity" argument that was highlighted in this letter to professional athletes would come up.
Another argument made is regarding quantity. I know of multiple female athletes who have qualified for their pro cards who have declined or delayed acceptance on it because they wanted to race Kona, and would not make the Top 35 in points. By opening up more slots to equal the numbers to the men, you encourage these women to take a crack at their professional card, opening opportunities to women who otherwise may not break through to an amateur Kona slot.
Furthermore, it creates additional value for sponsors to say that they have more athletes in Kona, whether that is a mainstream brand or the women's exclusive apparel manufacturers. Anything to add exposure to both athletes and the industry in totality is adding value, which will do nothing but create benefits down the road. Also, these women often have compelling stories about their families, or how they trained, juggling their professional, personal, and racing lives. By giving that exposure, you encourage those who are on the couch, who have done nothing but harbor that dream, to potentially give it a shot.
I'm passionate about this because we, as a sport, get so much of this right. We've had equal prize money for men and women. Women get to race the same distance as the men, which is something a lot of other endurance sports don't offer. (Cycling, here's looking at you with a death stare.) Equal slots is the last frontier to make our sport truly an equal harbor for professional men and women.
This year has been the most difficult of my life. Between starting to lay down roots in Virginia, to having to uproot them again to come back to Maine, to start to put things back together, to breaking my spine and the subsequent issues around it, to the consistent struggle...
It's tiring. I'm exhausted.
So, fuck you, 2014. 2015 is going to kick ass and be awesome.
Why?
Because through all of that garbage in 2014, I had the support of so many phenomenal people. From Hannah, who I am lucky enough to love, to my family, to friends who reached out and helped out throughout the year as shit hit the fan...you made it all tolerable, to keep me moving forward.
Looking to put together a blog post, answering as many questions in re: what happened, recovery, insurances, etc. Either Tweet me or comment here and I'll compile them into a single post.
Placeholder photo. Choose some budgie smuggler photo later.
Also, Photoshop down to race weight.
Publicist Note: Draft. Do not post!
I, Ryan Heisler, am hereby declaring my eligibility for the Winter 2014 The Real Starky Draft. I believe it is the correct time to take this step in my triathlon careerprofession hobby. Although I don't project as a first-round pick, I believe I would provide excellent value as a later-round draftee.
I am a rough three-tool prospect (editor's note: to quote one Sterling Archer...uh, phrasing?) who can activate on sponsorship, race decently, and provide excellent beer support from the great state of Maine.
To wit: after #OopsIBrokeMySpine, I attended Revolution3 Maine to cheer on friends. Additionally, having a relationship with Rising Tide Brewing Company (editor's note: you stayed on the owner's couch for a couple months; that's a little more than "a relationship"; let's rethink this passage), I determined it would be a good idea to activate on the sponsorship at mile 1 of the run course.
note: can we edit Jamie to be female?
For what it's worth, Rising Tide brews what is considered the Best Beer in Maine: Maine Island Trail Ale, which makes for phenomenal racing hand-ups, as evidenced by the above Tweets.
To answer some hand-picked questions from the media:
Why would I want to join up with what was originally a parody Twitter account?
Because, well, triathlon needs to be more fun. Working in the running and multisport industry for as long as I have, there's one thing I've learned: there are a lot of people who take this far too seriously for what is our hobby.
Also, The Real Starky and I have done battle before:
Broken Thoracic Spine. Guess that's close enough.
Creative environments tend to have some volatility to them; by having strong voices that push one another, you wind up with a better end result rather than a bunch of lemming yes-men in the same circle. How do we think the current handling of WTC got to where it is?
So, what do you mean by triathlon as more fun?
More trash talk before the race. More trash talk during the race. And then getting done, laughing about it, drinking a beer or four, and generally just having fun.
Look, there's a reason why Brooks has been successful in the run space. Hint: it's not by taking themselves seriously. Their tagline is "Run Happy!" We need more of that in triathlon. That's what TRS stands for.
What else can you offer The Real Starky?
Plenty of beer from Maine, of course. Also, we have Sugarloaf up here, and that mountain kicks all kinds of ass. So, a ski vacation for fellow team members.
Also, well, I'm prone to doing some relatively silly things:
In the market for a new bike, but don't know what will fit you? Fell in love with an old running shoe that was discontinued five years ago and are still struggling to find that new shoe that you love? You've come to the right place.
Let's get the obvious out of the way: here's what I don't do:
I won't attempt to re-fit you on the bike. Instead, we will be trying to find the most optimal bike to work with your current position (or slight variations of it). This theory will also not guarantee one single bike to be best; instead, there will be a range of options presented to you based on price range and flexibility of the bike to evolve with your fit.
I won't be doing run assessments. I have a doctorate degree, but it is not in the medical field, and therefore it isn't my job to tell you how to run. I want you to just be able to run, and to enjoy every stride while you're out pounding the pavement.
Here's what I will do:
Provide detailed recommendations of bikes and shoes to try, along with respective sizes.
Provide feedback on local shops to you to be able to purchase these items from.
Analyze Retul, Guru, etc. fit files, as well as photos on board of the bike to analyze potential positional errors as well as providing additional feedback on these recommendations.
If preferred, Skype consultation to talk about the analysis and feedback.
About Me:
A decade of experience in the specialty run and triathlon marketplace, working at multiple Top 50 Running Stores in America (presented by Competitor) as well as with Revolution3 Triathlon
Good Form Running certified
Worked with dozens of medical practitioners to provide best shoe fit for their clients
Self-proclaimed repository of useless information, shoe geek, and athlete
Comprehensive knowledge of FIST-method of triathlon bike fitting and how frames and component choices complement one another to provide the best overall fit for a consumer
Hundreds of success stories from customers in the run and bike marketplace (such as this):
Ladies and gents, I give you @rrheisler, resident shoe swami. Thanks for sharing your wisdom :)
— Maggie Rusch (@maggieru) September 4, 2014
Editor's Note: I received this pair of shoes from Skechers Performance Division for the purposes of review. I was instructed to be honest. No financial considerations were offered nor would they ever be accepted.
I think I speak for a lot of people in terms of my initial reaction to Skechers launching a running shoe product line:
Skechers? REALLY? The folks who put out Shape Ups? Are you kidding me?
Yep. That was my initial attitude in the summer of 2012 as I saw the product line for the first time. I was seeded (read as: given a free pair of shoes; it is a common thing for a brand to do in the industry as hey, if you don't believe in it, you won't sell it) a pair of the GoRun Ride's.
And what do you know, they are actually pretty comfortable. Not great for me (a little too spongy underfoot, not quite moving with my foot) but a hell of a lot better than a lot of other things on the wall.
Fast forward to April of this year, and getting to see the big marketing push as Skechers segmented out the running shoe line in the new Skechers Performance Division at the Boston Marathon.
And then Meb won.
Then they signed Kara Goucher.
It was a sign of a brand that said, "We are committed to performance. We are committed to running." And now, starting in the spring, shoes will be exclusively committed to the specialty running channel. That's more than a lot of "traditional running brands" can say.
So with that in mind, I took a look at the product line, and asked if I could take the GoMeb Speed out for some testing. I figured it would be the ultimate test for the brand. At the end of the day, product is king. If your product sucks, it doesn't matter what elites are running in your shoes or how much you're trying to do for the industry. Your product better damn well be good.
The Tech Babble
Skechers Performance Division (think like the old Bowerman line in Nike running shoes; if it's not Skechers Performance Division or Bowerman in Nike-speak, odds are you're not looking at technical running product) started out introducing a line-up based on "M-Strike Technology." The "natural running" movement had really taken off, with the Saucony Kinvara, the Brooks PureProject, and New Balance Minimus product line really moving.
That being said, SPD took the tack of trying to offer more than just a "minimal" shoe. They would offer more of a range than simply going after the lightweight/minimal end of the market.
There are multiple shoes in the product line; this is their order from least to most cushioning: the GoMeb Speed, the GoRun Bionic, the GoRun, the GoRun Ride, and the GoRun Ultra. There will be more shoes launched throughout. They also range in offset from 0 to 8 millimeters.
The focus of this test, the Speed, features a 4 millimeter offset. This is similar to one of my favorite flats, the Saucony Fastwitch. The Speed features a mid foot shank of Hytrel, which gives the shoe some beef under the mid foot. A lot of times in racing shoes, the flexibility results in a shoe that gives up platform stability and efficiency. In theory, this is not the case here.
SPD, much like Pearl Izumi, does not use a "secondary" cushioning system like Air, Gel, or DNA. Instead, they rely on their blend of foam. In this case, SPD calls theirs Resalyte. Resalyte is an injection-molded compound, which according to SPD provides "memory retention [to] help absorb impacts." The beauty of foams, like the one SPD uses, is that each brand can spec different durometers, different air volume in the compound matrix, etc. that provides a unique ride.
The upper is seamless on the inner, with most overlays either printed or heat-molded onto the shoe. This in theory reduces the chances of blistering, as there are fewer places for the foot to really rub against a firm section on the interior. I wound up wearing the black-and-gold edition seen above.
The Speed weighs in at 6.8 ounces in a men's size 9. To put that in perspective, it's .9 ounces lighter than a comparable Saucony Kinvara. Versus my go-to flat, the Saucony Fastwitch, it is .1 ounces lighter. As an aside, the Speed ran large, and so I wore a 12.5. This will not give a true comparison on weight to a Fastwitch, as I wear a 13 in it, so I won't try to argue the merits. Besides, it's .1 ounces. I would never be able to tell the difference.
Enough Babble. How was the run?
In a word: brilliant.
I received these shoes on a Wednesday. That following weekend, I went down to Connecticut to tackle the Revolution at Rev3 Quassy, where I would be racing an Olympic on Saturday and a Half on Sunday.
I had made the decision that Saturday was my "race" day. My Fastwitch's were somewhere in my storage unit (I had just moved back from VA to ME), and I figured what better way to give a shoe a test than to slap 'em on and go racin'.
You put the shoe on and immediately notice...nothing. This is the best compliment you can give a shoe, in my opinion. The last thing you ever want to do when running is be worried about something on your feet. I slipped them on and just felt like the shoe and my foot were united in their job to propel me from Point A to Point B as quickly as my body could go.
Starting to stride, the shoe has a very snappy feel to it. You're going from impact to toe-off in a smooth, quick fashion. It wants to get up and play. That being said, it is incredibly well-cushioned. It felt as soft as some of my daily trainers in a much, much lighter package.
The mid foot shank works. As I started to fatigue, I could feel the shoe helping provide a stable platform for my foot to land on. It's secure and just lets you focus on turnover, breathing, and nutrition. In other words, again: you're not thinking about the shoe on your foot.
I crossed the finish line Saturday and faced a dilemma: the Speed felt so damn good, would I wear it again tomorrow on thrashed legs? For a half?
Answer: yes, yes I did.
And what do you know, it felt even better than the day before. The cushioning is incredible for a lightweight flat. It's the fastest I've ever run the half course at Quassy, and I can honestly say I ran every step of that run course for the first time. The shoe helped. It just let me go.
Would I wear this for a marathon? I was scheduled to find out the day that I broke my spine. I would guess that it would be close for me, personally, especially coming off the bike. But I can't honestly answer that question yet.
In sum, this shoe supplanted the Fastwitch as my go-to race flat. Of all of the things I'm looking forward to in my recovery, slapping these bad boys on for another race is towards the top of the list.
Skechers Performance Division GoMeb Speed 2 MSRP: $114.99 Available: Now
WARNING: Some of the images below are not for the faint of heart. If you're not interested in seeing what it looks like for a human to go from 25 MPH to 0 in .8 seconds using their helmeted head, shoulder, and handlebars of their bike as the braking mechanism, DO NOT SCROLL ONWARD. There are two kinds of cyclists: those that have crashed, and those who will.
Although I'd been brushed by a car back in 2011, and had the occasional stoplight mishap when adjusting to new cleats...I had never truly crashed.
That all changed last Sunday.
As you all know, I had been training for Rev3 Cedar Point. Hard. I had DNFed here last year. I had put all my eggs into the basket for this race. I was committed to giving this race 100%. Training has been spectacular (hence the lack of updates). Swimming faster than ever. Good efforts on the bike. Runs were a little lackluster, but I was really looking forward to dialing it in over the last couple weeks heading into the event.
Hence the workout on Sunday: 100 miles on the bike at race effort, then 8 mile effort starting conservatively and then picking up the pace so that the total effort would average out to race pace as well. There were 3 of us starting the ride, then we would pick up a 4th along the route and keep chugging along.
We were coming into our turnaround point of North Berwick. Two of us had put in about a 40 second gap on the other duo. I got dropped from the front guy and so we rolled in towards town. As it was unfamiliar territory, I immediately got myself out of aero and onto the base bar.
To paint the scene, there was the guy in front. About 50 yards behind him was a car. 50 yards back of that was me. We were turning left and got into the left turn lane. There was a car oncoming that did not have traffic behind it. Guy up front signals the left turn. Oncoming car signals turning right. Stalemate ensues. Car behind brake checks hard. I go to brake.
I don't know what action put me on the ground. After review, there was a bump in the road there. Maybe I hit it while not balanced well. Maybe I just hit too much front brake. I can't honestly say. And I can't say I know how I flew through the air, etc. I just know I went very fast from being upright to being on the ground.
I could feel that my helmet had hit hard. I was flat out on my back. I tried to take stock of the situation. I went to get up, and a crushing pain in my chest stopped me. I couldn't take a deep breath.
My inner monologue: oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do oh fuck.
I couldn't get out of the road. I was worried I'd get run over. I was worried I'd really hurt myself badly. And I was worried that my little hobby had really just fucked things up royally.
My fellow riders came back upon me. One stabilized my neck. The other two helped direct traffic and the scene. Luckily, I suppose, I'd crashed about 200 meters from the fire station.
Here's what things looked like about five minutes after the accident. *WARNING: Graphic.*
Shameless plug for Road ID: their product saved my bacon here. It allowed people to get in contact with Hannah as well as let them know that I'm allergic to morphine (which is what they wanted to give me for pain ASAP).
We got stabilized, neck collar, strapped to a board (experience I don't ever care to relive. I'd done it once for my brother as part of his EMT certification and I panicked then. You can imagine how this went now.) As they were loading me up, my wits returned: how's the bike? Priorities, people. Priorities.
We got into the ambulance, and the EMTs were good guys. Really kind, asking me questions, keeping me positive. The worst was I immediately cramped in my quad and because I was strapped to the board, there wasn't a damn thing they could do for me in terms of stretching it out. One of my buddies had ridden along and uttered the joke, "First time in an ambulance and you can't be bothered to be hurt enough for them to turn on the lights and sirens. I feel cheated." I returned my first of many middle fingers of the day. EMTs laughed. I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.
I earned an express ticket to New Hampshire, as Wentworth-Douglas in Dover was the closest open trauma center. I was the priority patient of the day (hooray, I think?) and immediately got into imaging. The thought was that I had landed on my handlebars with my sternum, and so they wanted to ensure I didn't have internal injuries as well as checking my sternum. While they were at it, they also scanned the totality of my spine. They reviewed the cervical spine first, which allowed them to unstrap me from the backboard as well as the neck collar. I felt relieved.
And then they told me I'd fractured my spine.
That's an anterior lateral body compression fracture of T5 at the arrow.
This is me following the diagnosis:
I was told that my fracture was relatively stable (whatever the fuck a fracture of your spine as "stable" means), and to follow up with my orthopedist. I'd also earned whiplash, a mild concussion, road rash on my face and shoulder, an MRI needed for my shoulder (possible rotator cuff injury), and a whole lot of other assorted bumps and bruises.
I was lucky enough to get into the orthopedist on Wednesday. Hannah and I went to see Guardians of the Galaxy beforehand to kill sometime as I was going stir-crazy at home. Went over to Orthopedic Associates in Portland (these guys are good!) and saw my new spine specialist, Dr. Totta. For what it's worth, I highly recommend him. Excellent bedside manner, takes care, explains everything...I really, really like him.
Anyways, during the course of review, he revealed that I also had a compression fracture of T6. Basically, T5/T6 are located just about even with your shoulder blades. On the lucky side, this part of the body is pretty stable. On the negative side, that means the impact was phenomenal in order to wind up with a fracture there.
He wanted me in a brace and described the non-impact stuff I would be allowed to do in the near future for exercise. Stationary bike, elliptical, stair-stepper. Walking, of course. But only so long as it didn't hurt. I was told that my days of driving stick are over for a good long while between the shoulder and the fractures in my spine.
I went over to Atlantic ProCare the following day, to be told that my brace had to be custom-made due to the location and nature of the fractures. He called back over to OA, talked to the doctor, who agreed. And away we went.
So this is what my 16 hour a day companion looks like:
So long as I'm not lying down or taking a shower...this sucker is on for the foreseeable future.
On the plus side, my back pain is alleviated greatly. On the negative, I feel completely and utterly helpless while wearing it.
I'm trying to take small things and make them huge. I can wiggle my toes. I can take the dog out for a walk using a waist leash. I can walk around. I was able to go without narcotics yesterday for the first time since the accident.
My recovery is not going to be easy. I have a lot of physical therapy to do once I get out of this thing. There is still the question of how badly I screwed up my shoulder. I'm hopeful that most of my concussion symptoms have abated.
You rise, you fall, you're down then you rise again What don't kill ya make ya more strong.
--Metallica, Broken, Beat, and Scarred.
As many of you are aware, I had a severe cycling accident on Sunday. I'll post more details as I care and can actually begin to process things, but so far the damage includes:
Mild concussion
Whiplash
Compression fracture of T5 and T6. Luckily, no burst and the fractures are in the anterior body, relatively far from the spinal cord canal.
Possibly torn right rotator cuff
Hematoma on the right hip
Bruised sternum
Road rash on my face and shoulder
Numerous sprains and strains in my hands and ribs
For the most part, updates will be on Twitter (@rrheisler) or Facebook.
I'm not dead. I'm not paralyzed. I am broken. But I will come back stronger.
So desperately I sing to thee Of love Sure, but also of rage and hate and pain and fear of self And I can't keep those feelings on the shelf I've tried, well no in fact, I've lied Could be financial suicide but I've got too much pride inside To hide or slide I'll do as I'll decide and let it ride till I've died And only then shall I abide this tide...
I've made a lot of terrifically dumb decisions in my 28 years on this planet. And I'm sure I'll make many more along the way.
The past two weeks probably enter the top realm of idiocy. What kind of moron decides to race an incredibly challenging half the day after an extremely tough Olympic? And then, on a whim, decides, "Sure, you know what? I'm going to go do the dumbest, hardest race I have ever done AGAIN."
It's the hook, you see. The infectious drug of camaraderie, of competition, of the drive to make oneself and your fellow athletes better. There's something about triathlon that, during the course of racing, you're laying yourself out there to bare. You're as much of yourself out there as you are anywhere else. There's no place to hide. There's no excuses. It's you against the course, the clock, and your competitors. And you get to see where your work puts you amongst your peers.
Without further adieu...
Revolution3 Quassy
I drove down Friday after work to hit up the course and toss the race wheels onto Sam Eagle.
Sam Eagle, you ask? Well, naturally, it's another year, so it's another new bike:
I'm forever grateful to Brian Richards and the team over at MyBikeShop for the help getting on board this Speed Concept.
As we all know at this point, my bike names come after things that my late father-in-law enjoyed. So we had Kermit, Wallace, and Oddjob.
I felt compelled to go back to the Muppets. Also, with the blue-and-white paint and knowing Trek's commitment to building bikes in the US (yes, I know mine was merely "designed" here...), this came to mind:
Ah...Muppets.
So after a brief visit with Hannah, Alex, and the entire Rev3 crew, it was time to get my food in, packet picked-up, and away we went.
Realized that I was Bib #2 for this race. Uh-oh. Guess that means I'd better go fast. However, I knew that I would not be meeting my goal of beating my bib number in the overall standings.
The day dawned cool. Perfect conditions for a guy like me. I generate a fair amount of heat and so being able to keep the temperatures down was perfect.
All of us doing the Revolution (aka double-dipping in the Olympic and the Half) were racked together. We made a fair number of jokes, and also got everyone's assessment on how we were going to try to attack the day. The majority were here to cruise today and then try to race the following day. One guy was here to crush both. There were two of us that were going to try and race our guts out on Saturday and then use Sunday effectively as a catered workout. (Note: sign you are messed up--70.3 miles is justifiable as a "catered workout.")
Waltzed on down to the water's edge and get myself into the wetsuit. I was wearing a blueseventy Reaction for this event; I'm simply not good enough for a Helix. At least, not to take advantage of a Helix.
We got into the water and did a couple of swim start efforts to warm-up. Back on the beach and we're ready to roll.
I lined up left at the swim start. I knew the gong show would be on the inside right as people jockeyed to stay right on the buoy line. I figured it'd be much clearer water for the first little bit and then start cutting the diagonal to the turn buoy.
The horn sounds. We sprint off. The super-swimmers are off the front fast. I settle in and find some feet that I'm pretty happy being on; about 15th guy back, inside edge of this front group that is starting to form. We're the chase; there's a group of 10 or so on the inside buoy line that are simply flying.
We start doing some work and we're at the first sight buoy in no time. I can tell that I've been out of the pool a little more than I wanted to be heading into this race, but we're starting to feel comfortable. I lift my head to sight and notice that the feet I'm following are going WAY left. I make the decision: get off these feet, move back towards the buoy.
I think I made four strokes before I get kicked so hard in the ribs I had to come to a full-stop and roll onto my back. Dude is just all over the place thrashing about and nailed me. It happens...and I put myself in that position. Still...getting kicked in the ribs sucks.
I roll back over and get going again. I've missed my feet, and now I'm going to have to try to work around this guy. I get close and his feet get wide again. I took a very indirect route up and around.
Finally, make it to the turn buoy...and directly into the sun. I can't see anything. (Note to all swim directors: maybe it's time we considered having some different colored buoys based on light conditions? Like, say, something more contrasted for bright sunny days? Save the yellow for when it's cloudier?) I just charge ahead and pray I'm on the right path. A yank on my foot tells me that's someone on my feet. I go to breathe again, same yank underwater. A third: same.
Now, I don't mind my swim's being a little...aggressive. But if you grab my foot three times in a row, and I don't get to breathe for triple my normal breath range...you are going to get introduced to my foot. Hard.
After that, it was pretty smooth sailing. I got up and out of the water and:
25:XX
F***!
I run right up the hill to transition. I get to my spot, get down to the ankles with the wetsuit and realize that I forgot to TriSlide my calves.
F***!You moron!
As you can tell by the above T1 number, I could've eaten a picnic lunch up there. I was furious with myself.
Finally, time to get on board the bike and ride. I knew this course was supremely hilly, and so I wanted to open a little more conservatively through the first 10 miles and then flip the switch to turbo.
We started climbing. And climbing. And climbing some more. I had a couple of the 35-39 crowd start to pass me at this point as I debated whether or not to chase them. I decided to stick to my guns. In retrospect, I probably should've attacked here. But having never raced an Olympic distance event before and really wanting to make sure I charged the run, I went with the more conservative of the options.
We finally started making some turns and I started to reel in a couple of guys that had blown up early. I kept moving at my relatively decent pace (I never actually looked at the numbers until later.) I hit mile 10 and started to lay on a little bit more power. I felt like it was a good effort, but not like I was redlining. Again, in retrospect...too conservative.
I made up some good time from miles 15 to 20 as we hauled ass down Hard Hill Road (aka the Big Hill from the Half course). Fastest time down it ever! As we started to climb back towards transition, I again opted for the spin technique, rather than putting in a little bit more effort.
We cruised back into the chute. The guy in front of me completely locked everything up and was all over the road. I wound up coming in way hotter than I wanted to, having to bail right. My options were as follows:
1.) Lock up the brakes and take the mount/dismount penalty;
2.) Bail right into the rock wall, or;
3.) Skid as much speed as I could, jump off, and hope that I could sprint fast enough to not die.
I went with option 3. It wasn't pretty, but everyone applauded me pulling it out of my ass.
Now for the run. I pulled on my Skechers GoMeb Speeds and took off like a bat out of hell.
I flew out of transition, knowing the first two miles were going to be key to a great run split here. They needed to be hard, but not so charging that you were all blown up by the hills. I got through mile 1.5 and Team Rev3er Chris Garges went by me like I was going backwards. I yelled at him: "I HATE YOUR RUN!" He yelled back "Don't worry, I hate it too when I get to the hills!"
This course features three big hills: one at mile 2.5, one at mile 3.5, and one at mile 5.5. I hit the first one...and didn't feel great. This was more of a steepness thing than anything else. Got to the top and was able to open my stride back up.
On this next hill, I realized the guy in front of me was in my age-group. I decided to charge after him on this hill. He was hurting. I was in agony. I just kept pushing. I knew that if I could crest the hill before him, there was no way he was going to come back. Psychologically, I had to break him.
So I charged past at a completely unsustainable pace on the hill, muttering "Good job, keep it up" as I went past. I crested, looked back, and his shoulders were slumped; the stride had shortened; he had broken.
I flew down this next downhill and caught up with the guy in front of me. We were both moving at a great clip and decided we'd try and work together to hold off a hard-charging group behind us. We worked the next mile hard, trying to really push the pace. Yet these guys were just flat out faster. They caught us. We both lifted our efforts to try and stay with them. I was the first out the back; the guy I was with held on for the next half-mile.
We made the turn for home and the evil hill; it's a half-mile, it's the steepest hill on the course, it gets steeper as you make the turn, you can hear the finish line, and it just does not ever seem to end. I saw Eric, the race director, who immediately looked at his watch and went "Hurry it up!" I couldn't help but shrug and smile; my race had pretty much been decided at that point. I went hard up the hill. I couldn't lose position at this point, nor could I gain it, so as we rounded the corner for home I went with "tempo effort" into the finish.
Now, three years ago, this would've been my second-fastest 10K ever. So, to run that off the bike I'm pretty thrilled, particularly on a course as hard as that. As always, though, I'm not truly satisfied; I felt like I was way more conservative than I should have been. Then again...I only had this to do the following day...
Revolution3 Quassy HalfRev 70.3 Miles Quick Hits: 35:55/3:10:21/1:52:19 5:42:42
Race morning dawned, and I got my breakfast on. I opted to wear the Pearl Izumi Octane Tri Suit for the second day. I was completely undecided on shoes. I had loved the GoMebs the day before. I also had my Mizuno Sayonara's that I had rocked in the Charleston Marathon this year. I just couldn't make up my mind. I left both in transition for the morning.
I readied the nutrition for the day. Working with Christine Lynch this off-season was the best decision I have ever made, as it helped me uncover some serious nutritional issues as well as dial in my sports nutrition. For this race, I would start with the following:
1 x EFS Liquid Shot Kona Mocha 4 oz flask (for electrolyte and calories)
1 x 26 oz bottle with 2 packets Skratch Labs Apple Cinnamon Drink Mix and 3 x Huma Gel Apple Cinnamon (for calories and light electrolyte).
1 x 22 oz bottle water
I would start off nursing the slurry 26 oz bottle with water, and then transition to the EFS bottle. This was to try and front load calories on the ride when it was easier to digest, and then transition to the simpler EFS fuel. Also, as the day started to warm, I would be able to replenish more electrolytes. I knew my body tolerated all of this fuel well, so I was excited to see how it would stand up in a race environment.
I made the decision that I would try and push the swim harder than the day before because I was so irritated with my result from Saturday. I would then try to get to Thomaston on the bike (the town where you start the massive climbs for this race) as conservatively as possible. I would then see how the legs responded. If they had pace, then pace. If they did not, then it was spin-city time. And then I was running every step of this run course because of how last year went.
Into the wetsuit, into the water, and time to get my ass in gear. And away...we...go.
I lined up left again, and this time had much better folks to work with. We were on the straight path to the buoy and had a good clear sight of the lead group. This is what good swimming is supposed to feel like! We had a great time out to the first buoy, rounding it at the 10 minute mark...
...and was staring directly into the sun.
I have never had to stop before to sight. But we as a group flat out could not see. Everybody picked their heads up to try and find the line. Finally, two of the group spotted the buoy, and the sprint was back on. In previous years, my age-group has been a little bit later, so we could just follow the line-up of splashing. But as the second group, we just could not see where to go. Would a different goggle have helped? Who knows. But before I knew it, I was spit out the back of my group. I have good diesel speed; efficient over the long course. But I need to do more explosive work (sprints) to be able to hang with the fish over the short haul.
At any rate, chugging along, and wound up WAY inside the buoy line. Wound up having to cut way back out to the left across the forthcoming swim caps. Still, I felt like I was in pretty good shape.
We rounded the far buoy and headed back in towards shore. This year they added a final turn buoy to make sure that nobody would hit the dock on the inside edge of the line to shore. (That was the shortest path in from the former last turn buoy.) I charged ahead, feeling like I could get out of the water around 32 and change, the same as last year. I had just felt like I settled in again, went to sight...and I was way too far right again.
Dammit.
At this point, I lost my cool a little bit and wound up having a pretty craptastic remainder of the swim. I got out of the water, saw 34:5X and just swore under my breath for having wasted a pretty good first half of the swim.
Up the hill we went. This time, I'd remembered to put a gallon of TriSlide on my calves. The suit came off easily.
Off and onto the bike. Two out of four years here, I have charged the first 20 miles so hard that I was completely and utterly useless getting back into town. The other two years, I reminded myself to be patient. Attack a little bit on the shorter climbs so long as it felt like a controlled effort, but otherwise get to Thomaston as easily as possible.
Well, off we go...and I really try to even control the effort on the climbs here. I really was trying to be as patient as possible. I let three guys in my age-group speed off ahead, figuring "I'll see you boys on the run. Have you RACED here?"
It was the most fun I've had in a race in a while. I passed a few athletes, wishing them luck on their days. I got passed, asked whether or not they had beer hand-ups available. Joked with a few folks that "dammit, I think Eric finds a way to add elevation to this course every year." And so on. I ignored the time on my watch, figuring that if we were going to start worrying about that, it would start on the climb from Thomaston.
I absolutely hauled ass down the descent to Thomaston. It's the fastest I've ever gone on that stretch of road. Some of that has come from the confidence in riding in groups on descents (note to triathletes: yes, do group rides, and learn how to be able to slow yourself down without having to touch your brakes...) and some of that was the confidence in the positioning and handling aboard Sam Eagle there.
Finally, we make the dual left turns that marks the start of 7 miles of relentless uphill. It starts off innocently and then gradually ramps its way up. The first sign of trouble was getting dropped on the first sign of uphill. The second sign was when I went to start putting in some power...and my body responded with "uh, excuse me, sir, but there is none of that available here." I asked again. "Nope. Fresh out. Try again later." Well then.
So I sat up and spun. I tried everything in the book to jumpstart the system, but as John had warned me the day before: if you raced the Olympic well, you'll have nothing but base fitness for tomorrow. Well, whaddya know: the coach was right!
Further up the climb I got a high-five from the awesome Jamie Bull and his lovely wife Sam. I pressed onward, but started to get really negative about the way things had gone. Malaika Homo, who I'd told the day before, "see you on the climb from Thomaston," had blown my doors off about five minutes before. I was just not in the right spot...and then I dropped my chain.
Conveniently, it was at the second aid station. Last year, I muffed the bottle exchange here and paid the price dearly for it. I stopped to deal with the locked chain. In the interim, I also decided to hit the port-o-john and regroup on fluids. I figured that if we were in that spot at this point anyways, it couldn't hurt to just re-focus and re-group on the things that I could control.
After my pit stop, I rode with renewed vigor. My legs came right around with some calories, fluids, and the couple minutes of recuperation. Suddenly I felt tremendous. We got to Litchfield and made the sharp descent...
...and I hit a pothole...and a bottle ejects...with the USAT official next to me.
Now, the rule states you're supposed to stop and pick this up whenever. Obviously, that doesn't happen (have you SEEN the amount of litter after an event?) frequently. With the official right there and the knowledge of what kind of effort it takes to clean this course, I stopped, found my bottle, and hopped back on.
Now I'm fueled by anger. And we all know that you can not just be pissed off, but pissed off for greatness. So I rode. Angry. Hard. Probably too hard. But I didn't care. I'd found the tunnel and was staying in it. Somehow I rode the last 28 miles of that course 20+ minutes faster than I rode the first.
Time to hop off the bike and head into transition. Much neater than the day before. I rolled in and had a decision to make: do I wear the Sayonaras, that I know have worked well for me over distance? Or do I wear the Meb's, which I had run in for the first time the day before? My body screamed "whatever is lighter" and so the Meb won.
I tore ass out of transition, slapped hands with Christine and Eric, and went on my merry way. I found a couple of people in really rough shape heading on down out of the hill, knowing that they were in for a long day on the baking hills of Quassy. I clipped off 5 before the first aid station. The last guy I passed was very much not happy to be passed by someone who had raced the day before. I smiled a little and told him to come chase me down.
I made the turn to head up to the spot where I passed out last year. It was the same aid station folks as the year before. I made sure to thank them profusely for pulling my ass out of the road and helping me out so much; they commented how much better I looked upright. Smartasses. Excellent retort, too.
First three miles down. 10 to go. 10 very hilly miles to go. I started on the uphill and just kept plugging. I promised myself that I was running every single step of this run this year whether it killed me. (Note: yeah, I sound a little morbid during my races. It's the willingness to dig as far and as deep as you can possibly ask out of yourself on a given day that draws me to it...so naturally, you get pretty far down the rabbit hole in your head.) I kept clipping off runners who had been slowed to a power-hike by the relentless Quassy hills.
We hit the run out-and-back and I caught my first glimpse of fellow Mainer Eric Oberg. Dude is a great family guy and really genuine. Highly recommend getting to know him if you're from up here. Anyways, he looked like he was a hurting unit. I had told him out of transition that I was coming for him; now, I'd run his 5 minute lead down to nothing in 5 miles. Now, that said, he was also 10 minutes ahead of me on the course (he started two waves later). But still, it's those things that you find to motivate yourself.
I caught him at the next mile. I tried to get him to run with me, but he muttered something about "negative split" and went on his way. (Don't worry, we'll see him again.) Mile 7-8 is probably the hardest part of the course, in my opinion. You are done with the out and back, but have this long, steep grind to the aid station. I slowed my pace a bit here, trying to conserve my legs for the speedy miles ahead. I loaded up at the aid station and tried to find my fast legs again...but they weren't coming.
Well, that's OK, I said, because now we've got the downhill to find Christian Road, which is across the street from the finish line. That picks up your cadence well, and now we can just truck onward. I felt OK, not as fast as I wanted but still running reasonably well. I took the next turn and looked back...and there's Oberg. Figured he'd make a comeback!
He passed me in the course of the next mile, looking strong. I was getting close to gassed from the weekend's worth of work. My stomach started to get a little haywire, so I slowed a bit more to just get it to calm down. I wanted to make sure I'd give my best effort on the final climb of the day. It's the best I've ever run the last out-and-back, which isn't saying much.
Finally: 1 mile to go. You can hear Sean making announcements, you can hear the music. And you're staring at this massively dumb climb under this bridge, which marks only halfway to the top, because it gets steeper when you get around the corner. I love to hate this course. I dug as far down into the well as I had. I looked behind me and realized I had plenty of gap; nobody was catching me today, so I was going to enjoy this finish chute.
Salt much?
I was done. I proceeded to enjoy the ice bath, as well as a lovely Rising Tide Maine Island Trail Ale while in said ice bath. It was tremendous.
Overall, a hell of a weekend. An absolute blast for those that are gluttons for punishment. Quassy is magical.
White Mountains
So I get razzed a little bit while in Connecticut from Rev3 staffer Bob Balfour, who does some work at White Mountains. He, too, had raced the event last year. I told him after Quassy there was exactly a 0.0 percent chance of me going to do the race. He agreed.
Fast forward to Saturday morning and he puts up a beautiful picture from Franconia Notch, touting the race. I put out a "don't tempt me" on Facebook. He messages me back that he has a spot for me if I want it.
Oh, boy.
I texted Hannah first, who said "go for it; why not?" I then texted John, who I'm sure looked at his phone in utter bewilderment and thought "this guy is f'n nuts." And that's how I wound up doing White Mountains.
I drove over the night before, got a fitful nights sleep, and then headed to Cannon. Had a nice race morning panic attack as a tire had blown on the rear wheel. Fixed in short order. I then spotted nemesis Bob Turner coming up the hill in his truck, whom I had told there was absofnlutely no way I was doing this event. I pointed straight at him in the old-school Hulk Hogan "YOU!!!" mannerism. I'm pretty sure he broke a rib laughing.
We chatted, I put beers in his cooler, and away we went.
I don't have nearly as much to say about this event because, well, it was really more like a training day than anything else. I did swim better than either day at Quassy, coming out of the water and onto the beach in 33:XX. I then opted to shoot for the King of the Mountains award on the bike; a really hard climb up to the campground. I finished 2nd, based on the results I've seen; I got curb-stomped by the guy who won the jersey and the cash so no worries there!
I had two mechanical issues on the bike, both with the chain again. Turns out the limit screw was out of place as well as a stretched chain, leading to dropping it when throwing to the small ring and trying to do any shifting in the rear. Rode OK, but knew that the run was going to be a long day at the office.
This run course makes Quassy seem pancake flat. Just unrelenting. It was not nearly as nice of a run this year versus last, in my opinion. I got through about 8 miles and my stomach simply had had enough; I had stopped sweating. So I loaded up on ice, grabbed some water and pretzels, and just started walking until I could run again. It's the second slowest half I've ever done, but dammit it was done.
And just like that, you've got 171 miles of racing in 8 days.
I can't say I'll be doing that again...we are deep into the build for Cedar Point now and we're following the plan. Each day is a constant step forward towards a hell of a race in September. Time to enjoy the ride.
Next up on the blog: a full review of the Skechers GoMeb Speed 2.
This space has gone dormant over the past few months for a multitude of reasons. Some comes from my depression following an injury-plagued six weeks post-Charleston Marathon. Some comes from being homesick. And some others, well, elsewhere.
At any rate, things being what they were, I've been given a fantastic opportunity. So I'm proud to say that I'll be moving back to Maine at the end of the month to work for Vont Performance Digital Marketing. Hannah will follow later this summer. For the interim, I'll be couch surfing. So...if you have some space in the Portland area...can I spend a week or two at your place?
It's bittersweet to be leaving after investing so much of myself into Rev3. That said, I'm not really leaving so much as relocating. I'll be helping out with some of the races and being a brand ambassador. So you'll still see me at selected Rev3 races (Knoxville, Quassy, Maine, and Cedar Point...with who knows what else). I'll also be working a little with Maine Running Company.
There are countless people to thank here: Charlie, Carole, Alex, Tim, Ashley, Alison, Lisa, Mark, Mike, Greg, Tommy, Lenny, Senior, Debbie and the rest of the extended Rev3 family for their support over the past few years; all of the Rev3 team members (yeah, you count in the above but you all are some of the best people I've ever met); Ted, Tom and the VONT team for giving me the current opportunity; Hannah, for putting up with me and supporting me...
