XTERRA Arizona Extreme race report
By Brad Culp
April 30, 2008 -- I’m definitely not the “glass half empty” type, but last Saturday it seemed Murphy’s Law was in full effect and I was the victim. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the not-so-ancient American proverb, Murphy’s Law refers to the notion that on some days, everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Before I go any further, I’d like to start by saying that the gang at DCB Adventures does a top-notch job of putting on races and any snags I ran into at XTERRA Arizona Extreme were the result of some serious miscues on my part.
In hindsight, I was destined for anything but greatness before I even started the race. I wasn’t able to leave San Diego until late Friday night and by the time I arrived in Phoenix, I was seriously contemplating just pushing through the night and making it through the race on zero hours of sleep and about 12 cups of coffee. I decided against it and squeezed in a couple hours of shut-eye and I only needed one quadruple-shot espresso in the morning to get going.
As I made the one-hour drive from Phoenix to Saguaro Lake, Ariz. at 5 a.m., my car reported the outside temperature to be 42 degrees and for a fleeting moment, I thought maybe the weathermen were off their game and the projected triple-digit heat wouldn’t show up. However, by the time I parked my car, I realized why being a weatherman in central Arizona is perhaps the easiest job on earth, as the mercury had already climbed 30 degrees and showed no sign of slowing down.
Ken Shields/Dust Devil 4x4 Club
The event kicked off at 9 a.m., with the on-road, Olympic distance swim start, while myself and the rest of the XTERRA field waited in the sun for our start, 15 minutes later. Nine in the morning may seem like a late start for a triathlon, but when you have a race that is 60 miles from the nearest corner of civilization, it’s really the only option. Just about every athlete in the race made a morning commute from Phoenix, Tempe, Scottsdale or one of the other towns that’s sprung up during Phoenix’s endless urban sprawl.
At least the swim went well. I spent the entire 1,300-meter swim going stroke for stroke with Ben Hoffman, one of only two pros in the race, and the two of us exited the water with a big gap on the field.
Before I go into the trials and tribulations of the 18-mile bike leg, I want to let you know that I always pre-ride an XTERRA course before race-day. I feel this is something you must do, as knowing the dips and bends of an off-road course can make all the difference on race-day. However, pre-riding wasn’t an option this time around, because I couldn’t sneak out of San Diego early, so I was truly winging it.
I asked the race director to fill me in on the bike course before the race and he let me know the first big climb is a 1,000-foot hike-a-bike section. I shrugged it off, assuming I’d have no problem spinning up the hill on my new 21-pound carbon hardtail. Turns out he was right. Only a mile into the bike, myself and the rest of the race leaders were shouldering our bikes and struggling up a steep and sandy pitch. My heart rate hit 188 beats per minute as meandered uphill, the highest it would climb all day.
After about three minutes of hiking, I was back on my bike, in fourth position, following a good line on a ripping descent. At the bottom of the descent, we made a sweeping left turn into a sandy wash. The rider in front of me took what I assumed was a bad line, going for the ridge on top of the wash instead of heading straight down. I opted to go straight, only to find out why the rider took the line he did: There was a deep rut in the sand, just wide enough to squeeze my front wheel and send me flying over the handlebars. I’ve been in the “end-o” position a few times before and I’ve always been fortunate enough go get my shoes out of the pedals before I begin my aerial summersault. This time I wasn’t so lucky and my right foot remained locked to the bike as I flipped forward. I must’ve looked like a soccer player in mid-bicycle kick, only instead of launching a ball of my foot, I was propelling a piece of carbon fiber that’s worth more than my car. The torque of somersaulting with my bike was too much for my right leg to bear, and I suffered what I thought at first was a muscle tear in my quad. After about four minutes of lying leg-locked on the side of the trail, I decided that it was just a bad pull and I opted to keep pedaling.
My right quad turned out to be completely useless for the rest of the bike leg, so I was reduced to making it back to T2 on one-and-a-half legs. As I struggled up the last few climbs, getting passed at an embarassing rate, I reached down to grab my water bottle, hoping that a little hydration my put some power back in my legs. Of course, my bottle was nowhere to be found, likely the result of the aforementioned end-o. And yes, I know I should’ve had at least two bottles for a race in the desert, but in my haste to make it to Arizona in time, I was too rushed to bother grabbing a second bottle. I know – it was dumb.
I eventually made it to transition, bruised, beaten and severely dehydrated and once I sat down to change shoes, I thought for a moment about calling it a day. Then I remembered that I had forgone sleeping in and a few leisurely rides on the California coast to be at this race, so dropping out really wasn’t an option.
Rich Cruse
I stood up to start the run, only to be sent falling back down to the ground. The brief cessation of movement, combined with my complete neglect of proper desert hydration, had caused my quad to lock up again and so I was left lying in the dirt, exactly where I was an hour before. After about a minute of thinking, “why the hell did I ever leave San Diego”, I stood up and began a slow and pathetic trot.
The only good part about running so slow was that it allowed my stomach to settle a bit and actually absorb some of the water I was guzzling down at every aid station on the 4.1-mile run course. Normally I wouldn’t even think about stopping at an aid station on such a short course, but with the temperature dangerously close to 100 degrees and my chances of a solid finish completely out of reach, I treated each aid station as a buffet line.
As I approached the finish, another athlete came up alongside me and the race announcer encouraged us both to fight to the finish. I just laughed and told the kid next to me to go for it. Even attempting a sprint would’ve sent me falling to the ground once again and I decided I had enough sand for one day.
I spent the next thirty minutes recovering with a mix of Gatorade and beer, chatting it up with a few other bloodied athletes about our misfortunes. That was the first time all morning that I was reminded of what makes XTERRA so unique. Only at an XTERRA event can three athletes sit around after the event, legs covered in blood, bruised from head to toe and laugh about what they just put themselves through while they enjoy a cold brew.
Interested in experiencing it for yourself? DCB Adventures (www.dcbadventures.com) hosts XTERRA Arizona Extreme each April, along with a number of other on-road triathlons and mountain bike races each year. If you like heat and you don’t mind some seriously challenging terrain, give one of their races a try. Next up is the Tribal Sprint Triathlon, in Anthem, Ariz., on June 7th.
