Tucson Training Camp: Mount Lemmon

On the second full day of the training camp we decided to ride up Mount Lemmon, part of the Santa Catalina Mountain Range. Before we headed out, our "leader" Ryan explained that it would be a very steady climb with a pretty reasonable grade. We should expect a pretty consistent 8-9% grade for about 25 miles and that we'd end up climbing about 6800 ft.

The peak of Mt. Lemmon as viewed from Mt. Kimball

My thoughts at the time: "Well, that'll be a good, challenging and steady climb but at least it's not too high... we should be fine in terms of altitude."

We drove out to the base of the mountain in the Catalina Foothills around 1pm and got our bikes all prepped in the parking lot of a strip mall. Given the grade, we expected the ride to take about 3.5 hours and figured that 4 bottles of fluids should be enough to keep us going.

The first few miles out to the base of the mountain were a slight incline but nothing tough. Then, as we reached the beginning of the climb and I looked up, I realized that it was going to be a long day. Three hours of steady climbing with no free-wheeling was.... well, a long climb.


The climb consisted of a single long winding road that carried us through a valley and up along the mountain to the peak. Our group of four broke up pretty quickly because we all wanted to hold tight to our own power zones. Having ridden somewhat hard the day before and wanting to save the legs for the next two rides, I locked myself in at about 230W (80% of threshold) and just started pedaling away.

At the base of the climb, it was about 80F and at only 10mph I was pouring sweat pretty quickly. As I worked my way through the early miles, I saw between 30 and 40 cyclists descending the climb and gauged them at about 40mph... Grinding away at the climb, it was a little disheartening to know that they had already been to the top and were done with their days.

As I hit the 4000ft elevation marker about 25 minutes into the ride, I got confused. How had I already climbed 4000 of the 6800ft in only half-an-hour. And that's when I realized two things:
1) I had been incredibly stupid and we had actually started the climb at 2300ft, not sea-level (obvious....)
2) The climb would take us north of 8500ft and that meant that altitude was going to be an issue.

For the next hour or so, I just chipped away at the climb, passing a few riders along the way. As I hit interesting vistas, I took a few quick shots on the iPhone. The neat thing was to feel the temperature gradually drop as you climbed and the dusty terrain turn somewhat lush.

Around 6000ft, I caught up with a guy who lived up in Washington State and was on a training trip of his own. We held together for the rest of the climb and he told me about a number of the other great rides he had done in the area.

As we passed through 6700ft, we started seeing a number of fairly large snowbanks. And then, at 7000ft, the altitude finally hit me. I had expected the effect of altitude on my power output to be a steady drain, but it was really quite dramatic. I went from holding a steady 220W to about 185W in only the course of about 20 minutes. My VI stayed pretty steady around 1.01, but I just couldn't get anymore power out of my legs. My vision started to narrow just a bit. It was hard to describe except to say that I just felt weak. My legs weren't screaming, I just couldn't get any power out of them.

Power early into the climb.

Power near the peak. Notice that it's steady but much lower.

The road kept on winding but around 7900ft it seemed like we had approached the summit. We took a final turn and there we were at 8300ft! Fantastic. I pulled over to take a quick leak and then started pedaling again along a now level road. Unfortunately, this level road quickly turned into a fast 400ft descent. The problem was, we were still pedaling out along the road and I knew that we had to get back up to around 8500ft, so every foot we gave up, we'd have to climb again...

After the descent, we climbed some more..... And then we entered into Summer Haven. The ski resort was another few hundred feet up, but I was satisfied turning around at this point.

Me, at the peak. Notice the snow in the background...

The whole climb had taken about 3 hours... My buddies were a few minutes ahead of me and as I turned around to start the descent I saw them whipping past. Wiped from the ride and low on fluids, I decided to keep it safe and not attack the curves aggressively. As you can see from this vista picture at 7000ft, it's windy and it's steep.

Words that describe the descent: fast, curved, cold! (Covered in sweat from the climb and with the peak in the high 40s, I was shivering for the first 2000ft of the return trip.)

I hit the bottom about 40 minutes later (the longest continuous descent I've ever done in my life) and cruised back to the car. I was pretty beat and low on calories and food so I jumped in the car, kicked back a huge recovery drink and nodded off.

Definitely my toughest climb to date but an absolutely awesome ride. Challenging, steady and great views. If you're interested, here's someone else's video of various parts of the climb and descent.

Tucson Training Camp

Just got back from a 5-day training camp out in Tucson with some racing buddies. Weather was fantastic--sunny, mid-80s every day, dry--and we all got in some solid training. The goal of the camp was to focus on cycling volume and to train like pros (i.e. lots of rest, lots of food, low stress).

We stayed in a beautiful house to the west of downtown Tucson, tucked away in the mountains that had a number of bedrooms, a really awesome kitchen and an outdoor pool and grilling area. Worked out perfectly because we had tonnes of room to spread out, cook, relax and tinker with our bikes.

Pool at nighttime

House from the outside

Tour of kitchen and living area

When we weren't training, we spent most of our time lying around doing very. Oh, and eating. A lot. I figured that we'd have a lot more free time since we didn't have to go to work or keep up with the day-to-day of living in New York, but between training, prepping for workouts and cooking/eating all of the necessary food, the days went by pretty fast.

One of the interesting adaptations that I had to make was to increase my food intake dramatically. Normally, I go a little calorie-deficient on weekends in the spring and this helps me get down to race weight. But with five really tough days of training back-to-back, we all had to spend most of our free time putting food and fluids down the hatch. A typical day included:
6am: Wake-up, eat a giant bowl of cereal and fruit (~500 Cal). Drink 3 bottles of water to get back all of the fluids lost while sleeping (since we're in the dessert). Coffee!
7:30am: Get to the pool and put down 1.5hr swimming (burn about ~800 Cal). Drink 1 bottle of Gatorade Endurance sport drink (~100 Cal) while swimming.
9:00am: Finish up swimming and drink another bottle of water on the drive home and eat a banana (~100 Cal).
10:00am: Breakfast time. Granola, fruit, yogurt (~400 Cal). Large plate of chicken and rice with a high dose of salt to carry us through the day (~800 Cal). Drink 3 more bottles of water.
11:00am: Nap / watch TV. Nurse a bottle of water.
1:00pm: Head out for 3.5hr bike ride (~2400 Cal). Go through 4 bottles of sport drink and CarboPro (~800 Cal).
5:00pm: Quick 30min transition run (~500 Cal).
5:30pm: Drink UltraGen recovery drink (~300 Cal) on the drive home.
6:00pm: Back at the house, drink 4 bottles of water. Eat lots of dried fruit and nuts (~300 Cal).
6:30pm: Cook some dinner.
7:30pm: Eat dinner, e.g. pesto whole chicken grilled on BBQ, mushrooms sauteed with bacon, asparagus, rice. Eat two more servings. (~1500Cal + ~250Cal in beer)
8:30pm: Sit around and pass out in food coma.



So at this point, I've eaten 3600 Cal, drunk 1400 Cal and used 3700 Cal on top of the 1900 Cal from my base metabolic rate. I'm exhausted from all of the food I have to eat and I'm still short about 600 Cal. Anyway, 5 days later of running between -600 Cal and -1000 Cal and you start to run low on energy. I left for Arizona around 174 (read: winter fat-ass) and returned home at 170 (read: well on my way to race weight). If I could do it all over again, I'd try to eat even more so that I didn't dog it so much on my last few long workouts. In any case, I now have a whole new respect for the caloric demands of being a pro cyclist or pro swimmer.

All in all, the trip ended up being fantastic and although there was a significant build-up of fatigue as the week progressed, I definitely came back to New York feeling a lot stronger. Highlights included riding Gates Pass, Mount Lemmon and Madera Canyon; lots of outdoor swimming; and running the Sabino Canyon. As I have more time, I'll probably put up a few posts on specific rides and runs that were really awesome and include a few pictures.

Totals for the week:
22.5hrs
~15,000 yd swimming
~230 mi cycling
~30 mi running

Project California

Cervelo just posted their new video on the development and pro testing of their new ultra-light frame. Not for the faint of heart--frameset is retailing at around $9600.

New sponsors for 2010

Excited to report my new sponsors for the 2010 season. This year I'll be racing for Toga/Gotham, Brooks and Rudy Project.





I continue to be coached by Alex Mrosczyk McDonald of Team Timex and Personal Best Multisport.

Ironman Arizona Race Photos

Finally, some pictures from the race itself.

Swim just seconds after the cannon has gone off.

The human cement mixer, up close.

Swim exit, looking graceful as always.

Biking through the middle of the desert.

And more biking...

Start of the run.

Digging deep at the halfway point.

Finish.

Race Report #10, the Big One: Ironman Arizona

It's been several months since I finished up my 2009 race season with Ironman Arizona and I figured that it was about time to put together a race report. Tie up loose threads and then on with 2010.

It's hard to explain the emotional roller coaster that is Ironman, but I'm going to try because looking back those ups and downs were the most striking thing about my race this year.

Emotion #1, Excitement:
You spend a year preparing for your A Race and days getting setup at the race site. Despite all of that, excitement only seems to settle in just seconds before the canon goes off. So there I was, bobbing around in 62F water along with 2200 other racers. It is 6:59am. The DJ starts pumping up the crowd with some techno. And that's when the excitement bubbles up inside you. Fifteen. Ten. Five. BOOM! The canon goes off and those ten or so seconds of excitement immediately vanish. I'm in the middle of a human cement mixture and it's time to go.

Emotion #2, Confidence:
I came out of the water around 1:10--a little further back than I had hoped--but I felt good. I was pretty warm despite the cold water. My muscles felt loose and relaxed. I jumped on my bike, rolled out of T1, got out of the saddle and just hammered out of town for about 10 minutes. I felt great. I was synch with my bike. My legs were turning over and my disc wheel pulsed with this steady, hypnotic rhythm. I knew that I needed to pace myself but things felt good. This was going to be my day. I was going to crush this bike, get out there and run my heart out and get myself that slot to the World Championships. Confidence.

Emotion #3, Fear:
An Ironman bike is a long, steady ride. But things can change in a matter of minutes, or even seconds. You can flat or crash. You can get a penalty. Hit a pothole and lose your nutrition. And when these things happen, it's hard not to panic.

For the first half of the bike, I cruised along at a great pace. On the way out of town, I was holding about 18mph into a head wind and then on the turn-around kicked it up to about 32mph. Not bad. But, on the second turn-around (heading out of town again), my pace dropped to 15mph. I struggled with strong, strong headwinds and just felt like I was grinding away at about 240W--definitely too hot for me. As I hit the round-about to head back towards town for the second time, I felt wiped. I was only about 60 miles into the ride and things just weren't feeling right. And as I began to realize all of this, panic settled in. "I shouldn't be this empty. I have a whole day ahead of me. What's going on?" In only 20 minutes, the race started to feel like it was getting away from me.

Emotion #4 and #5, Confidence and Fear, again:
I thought back to the many chats I've had with my coach and tried to calm down. Alex always says that easing off and tending to nutritional needs can salvage things pretty quickly. So that's exactly what I did. I settled into a near Granny effort of about 150W and gulped down all my remaining sport drink and threw down a few gels.

Within 10 minutes, I felt about 10 times better. I had mapped out nutritional needs with the same hourly quotas at normal but must have underestimated them...Maybe my low body fat heading into the race was lower than usual or the higher intensity I maintained was making harder for my body to use fat. In any case, I had just needed extra fuel.

With my reserves topped up a bit, I picked up the pace a little bit and cruised towards T2 more or less on schedule.

I started the run off strong and felt great. I held a fairly easy 7:50/mi and did the occasional pick-up to pass other guys in my age group. Around mile 8 I caught a racer in M35-39 and set my pace off of him... Worked out perfectly.

But then at about the halfway point of the marathon, I started to feel a weird twinge in my left quad. I didn't pay too much attention to it and figured it was just late-race fatigue settling in. Over the next two miles, however, both legs started to tweak every so often. Cramps were settling in. Having trained through a relatively cool summer and rainy fall in New York, I hadn't had to do much salt/hydration practice. Well, that was coming back to bite me. I had relied nearly entirely on heavy duty sport drink for my salt. And, in the desert air of Tempe, that was hardly enough.

By mile 15 both legs were starting to lock up with each stride. The cramping in my quads turned into a repeated and painful cycle with each turnover. At each aid station, I grabbed as much fluid and salt as possible but there really wasn't much I could do except for damage control. I felt like I had a shot at qualifying for Worlds, but that all depended on me keeping pace and continuing to pick guys off. As my leg cramps got worse, I started to slow. The only thing taking my mind off the pain in my quads was the fear of my race falling apart.

Emotion #6, Nothing:
At mile 18, I came across 4 guys running 4-a-breast. Looking down at their calves, I realized that they were in my age group. Alex had told me to hold until mile 20 and then start to empty the tank... but at this point, who knew what was going to happen with my quads. "Maybe I should just hang behind these guys for a few miles and then try to go if I have anything left... Or maybe I need to go now. Who knows how many other guys are up ahead of these four." In the end, I decided to drop the hammer a bit and I took off in front of them. I made sure not to look back and to try and look as strong as possible. As I hit a bend in the course, I glanced back. I had opened up about 300m and they were not pursuing.

From this point forward, I just grit my teeth, up-ed my pace and shut down my mind. My legs hurt in a sharping shooting way that I had never before experienced. But, empty-minded, the remaining miles just seemed to roll by.

Emotion #7, Everything all at once:
And then, before I knew it, I came up on the Mile 25 marker and it struck me: my good buddy Pete Curtin had collapsed and later died right at this point in his marathon. The absurdity of what had happened to him hit me right in the gut. I teared up a bit, then dropped the hammer once more and powered in to the finish.

As I approached the line, the noise of the crowd grew louder and louder and I just broke down inside. A very long days of ups and downs.

I came up on the line just as the sun was starting to set. I heard them announce "Cameron Brien, from New York, New York, you are an Ironman." I crossed. Stumbled a bit. Sat down. And then I choked back tears for about 5 minutes while my girlfriend Posie just placed her hand on my shoulder. The rest is history.

My first Ironman had been an emotional day but to actually race this distance--as opposed to simply finish--is so much more intense of an
experience. I didn't end up qualifying but was damn close. And, I PRed the race by a whole 1:22. A really, really wonderful result. But, looking back, I'm most proud of having held it together when things got tough. The hardest part of Ironman racing is digging yourself out of those few, very deep craters that you find yourself in during the course of a very long day.