Crewing Canal Corridor 100!

Jim & our friend Mike made a crew shirt!

On Saturday and Sunday, July 13th and 14th, I was support crew for my friend Jim Ridolfo who ran the Canal Corridor 100 ultramarathon. Yep. 100 miles. On foot. It was a pretty amazing and humbling event to watch and be a part of. Jim managed to finish the race, his first attempt at the 100 mile distance, and as I wrote in a comment on his post-race report, he was "the gracious and brave and strong human we all know him to be who, despite the hardship, never once visited his stresses on anyone there to help (that was *not* true of all the competitors, let me tell you). He had a smile for everyone, words of encouragement for his fellow runners, and nothing but gratitude for all the volunteers. I'm super proud of him for this amazing achievement!!"

Indeed. It was an inspiring day. Or day plus a few hours, if we are being precise. :) And I learned a lot along the way! So in this post, I'll try to reflect on what went well, what I'd do differently, and offer any advice for folks who might be crewing someone for a 100miler.

100 miles. Wait. What?
 So let's start with what this thing is and how to wrap one's brain around it. 100 miles is just short of four marathons run back-to-back-to-back-to-back. For the fastest, elite, world-class type folks, it's a 14-and-change hours effort to get the job done. For normal humans, it's usually a challenge just to finish under 24. The time limit for the Canal Corridor 100, which is run on the Ohio & Erie Canalway towpath is 30 hours. If you are in ahead of the limit, you get a belt buckle and lots of admiration from the ultra community. If you don't finish (DNF), well, you're like 21 of the 70 or so that started this year's CC100. Saturday got hot, the course was challenging with some sections affected by recent flooding, and 100 miles is a 100 miles. A lot can go wrong on a day or more worth of solid running. And it only takes one or two things going wrong to end your race. 

Runners do stop during the race at aid stations that were, for this race, very well staffed and stocked with food, water, electrolyte drinks, chairs, first-aid supplies, and knowledgeable, veteran runners from the local ultra community who could offer advice and encouragement. It was quite impressive. Jim noted in his race report that for a race that had 88 registered entrants (some of whom did not start), they had more than 200 volunteers who helped mark the course, staff aid stations, sweep the trail on bikes to be sure nobody was left behind, deliver ice and supplies to aid stations, and clean everything up afterwards. It was quite a showing by the Northeast Ohio running community, to say the least. Bravo and thanks, too, for being so hospitable and welcoming to newcomers (crew and athletes)! 

So What Does Crew Do?
Even with all of the great support by the race organizers & volunteers, on a race like this, runners stand a better chance of finishing well if they have a team helping them. There are two roles that folks play to lend support: 1) crew, & 2) pacing. Pacers run with the athlete for some of the course, as permitted by the race rules. Crew take care of the runner when and where the race rules allow by hauling gear, getting food and fluids, helping them change shoes, look after sore feet, apply various balms, salves, ointments, unguents, or creams, refill bottles and refresh packs/vests with nutrition. Crew also helps keep the runner on track with their race plan, assist in making any decisions or solving problems that might come up during the race, and most importantly keep their spirits high and keep them motivated. Taxing events like a 100 mile run challenge every part of a person, including your emotions. It's quite incredible until you experience it. 

For a 100 miler, being crew also means you need a car with gas in it and a way to navigate on country roads in the middle of nowhere, sometimes at 4:00 a.m. with no GPS or cell signal...because you are leap frogging ahead of your runner to meet them at the next aid station all the way. For this version of the CC100, the course was out and back. I first met Jim at mile 25 and from there saw him at all the crew-eligible stations (some were in remote areas where there was no easy way for crew to reach runners, so those were water-fill stations only) - roughly every 5-10 miles along the way.

Things That Went Well or I Would Do Again

1. Nutrition: I think we had a very solid nutrition plan for Jim that he followed extremely well. He had tested this at other long events and knew pretty well what he needed and could tolerate for a long day. At aid stations we tried to give him real food to supplement his SWORD (like gatorade) and gels that he took in each hour. We kept him stocked with two fresh bottles at each aid station with SWORD packets he could use to mix in. This made sure he had electrolytes, liquid, and calories at a steady rate all day. 
2. Navigation: I didn't get lost! I pre-loaded all the aid station addresses into my phone to use when I needed them. When I had cell signal, which was most of the time, I had no trouble finding where I needed to be and was always in place and ready when Jim came in to an aid station. When I lost signal, I had prepared a bit because I'd been warned so I took screenshots and saved static images of the map and turn-by-turn text directions to use. This was great because I needed them literally at 4:00 a.m. to go from one crazy, middle-of-nowhere place to another 9 miles away.
3. Extra...everything!: I brought extra socks, extra shirts, extra food, extra water...and in one way or another, we wounded up using almost all of the categories of things (though not all of the inventory). Some of the stuff I gave to other runners in need, and some were useful to Jim. One example was extra socks. This course, with muddy and wet sections early and then lots of crushed limestone gravel was really hard on the feet because the tiny grains of stone would get into the shoes and even the socks and act like sandpaper. Brutal.
4. Unscented baby wipes: I mean, when *don't* these come in handy? I'll spare you all the details, but trust me on this one.    

Things I Would Do Differently

Jim & me, cold-brew caffeinated at mile 80

1. Bring two (or more) folding camp chairs. The aid stations usually had some for the athletes, but as crew you don't want to eat the food at the aid stations or take up space in a chair that a runner may need. So it's best to bring one for yourself. And then to bring a couple more for others.
2. Bring a legit cooler & stock with ice a few times. For a hot day, ice comes in handy in a bunch of ways. I had a soft-sided cooler that I used to haul food and drink around, but since I had the car, I should have just brought my igloo too and then used that to keep other stuff cold. I could stock/restock with ice a few times en route.
3. Make a big ol' thing of cold brew.  I honestly didn't struggle too badly to stay awake because I stayed focused on doing my job. But I did need a little chemical assistance in the form of late-in-the day caffeine. Last year, when Jim & I rode the Michigan Mountain Mayhem (do you see a pattern here?) we got some cold brew in bottles to have before the race. So when Jim was ready, I got some of that for this race too and it was just the ticket. It occurred to me that I could have made a gallon of cold brew and had that in the car... 
4. Check batteries at every aid station, including a portable charger for the runner's phone/gps/watch. Jim ran low on light at one point in the race and was luckily able to find another runner to pair with and share light. I take some blame for this one because we packed extra lights and had a plan to switch, but I should've checked earlier, logged the burn time and swapped them out *before* we got too close to the limit. Rookie crew mistake, but I got bailed out on that one by fate.
5. Bring *good* chamois cream. Ultra runners know about lube, but a surprising number of them use substandard stuff. We cyclists know how to prevent unrest in the Netherlands. It is time for a bit of endurance diplomacy, I think.

Jim gets congrats from the race director at the finish!

I really, really liked crewing. I've done some similar volunteering before, so I knew I'd be down for it. And, aside from goodwill and the pleasure I take in helping folks out, my knowledge of what it feels like to do all-day sufferfests is an asset. I don't feel any personal tug to test this particular limit of endurance, so I don't see myself running a 100 miler. But I would crew again or serve as a pacer for sure. That was our original plan, in fact, that I would pace Jim for the last 50k. But course changes and the realization that I could do more good if I was his dedicated crew (allowing his family to not have to worry about the many logistics and decisions and stress of that) made us switch things up. I am glad we did. I was still able to run down from the finish and meet him about 1.5 miles from the finish and go with him up the final, steep mile to the line. If we had another person to crew, I'd gladly serve as a pacer. But I have no regrets with the choice we made and found it very fun. I also got to help a lot of other runners this way too, which was a nice bonus.

If you have an endurance background, I highly recommend serving as a crew member or aid station volunteer for an ultra. You'll see amazing and inspiring humans at their best, full of gratitude and goodwill. It's an incredibly diverse group too, with folks from many countries, backgrounds, and ages. All of them cheering for one another. Being part of that was good for my soul.

I want to thank Jim and his family, Jan & Lior, for letting me take part in this adventure. It was Jim's bravery to attempt this thing in the first place that made it all possible. His perseverance and preparation were inspiring to me and I admire his ability to move forward when, as always happens in this kind of event, things looked bleak and he was hurting. He rallied and now has a truly extraordinary accomplishment to show for it. I am so glad I got to be a small part of it! 

Announcing the #Ride2CW 8-bit Grand Fondo!!

What is the 8bit Fondo?
A one day event for folks attending or supporting the Ride2CW fundraiser to ride together, see some of the beautiful roads of Ingham County Michigan, all with some support by Bill & Leslie H-D!

The ride will take place on Wednesday, June 19th! And riders will have three options:

• 64* miles - we'll leave from the H-D Compound at 9:00 a.m. for the first loop!
• 32* miles - we'll leave from the H-D Compound at 12:00 for the second loop!
• 8* miles - we'll leave from the H-D Compound at 2:00 for the final loop!

We'll have snacks, drinks and bottle filling, and a little SAG/support station at the Compound. If you are riding or supporting a rider, you can come and hang out and choose the ride you'd like to do. 

Ok, So What Does it Cost?
No charge...but we ask that you either donate or get others to contribute to the #Ride2CW! All you need to do apart from that is contact Bill H-D and let us know which route you'd like to ride (so we don't leave anybody behind and so we have enough snacks on hand). 

What are the Routes?
Bill will link to the three loop routes via Strava. [1 is below, others coming soon]

The first 32 mile loop heads South to Mason, the county seat and includes a convenient stop at the Vault Deli halfway where coffee, sandwiches, etc. can be had.

The second loop is about 26 miles and heads Northeast. It includes an optional ice cream stop. 

The final loop is just six miles to the Township Hall in the rural "neighborhood" of the compound, but never fear because afterwards we are just 1.1 miles away from Old Nation Brewing Co., where we can eat, drink, and tell stories.

Which Route Should I Pick? What Kind of Bike do I Need?
We recommend that folks choosing the 64 mile route (full day, all thee loops for roughly a metric century) should be on road bikes, but a flat-bar road bike or mountain bike would work if you are up for the challenge. 

For the 25 mile route, we'd say just about anything other than a beach cruiser is going to work. We aren't looking to set any speed records and Mid-Michigan is not terribly climby...there are a few rollers, but I don't think we'll have more than a few hundred feet of total elevation change for the two longer loops.

For the 6 mile loop, we welcome all comers!

Ok, But When I Add Up All the Miles, It's Actually 70 Miles...
Well, now you've learned something about cyclists. We are bad about estimating distance and it's always a little longer than we said it would be... :)

Interested? 
Email Bill H-D or ping me on twitter @billhd

*ish
 

"You Don't Belong Here"

"You don't belong here."

That's a paraphrase - edited for expletives - of something yelled at me recently on a ride by a guy driving a pickup truck. I was on a fairly lightly-traveled country road. Mid-day on a Sunday afternoon. I was riding with my wife. We were moving well - about 17mph - but not screaming fast. It was a pleasant weekend ride on a beautiful day.

The driver pulled up beside us, we were single file and had communicated with one another ("car back!") to move as far to the right as we could go to let him pass. This, despite the fact that we were in a zone marked with a double yellow line and with "Do Not Pass" signs on the side of the road. There were a few little rolling hills, so passing at that spot was hazardous because a driver can't see if a car may be in the oncoming lane over the rise.

The truck driver didn't pass us immediately. Instead, he stopped beside us in the opposite lane. Driving on the wrong side of the road, he lingered to yell at us that we had no business riding there at all. He had two passengers in the truck, we saw. One a child, another in the area behind the cab may have been an adult but we couldn't quite tell. The bed of the truck held a loosely tied down load of furniture.

I yelled back that we had the right to be in the road and that he was making an unsafe pass. I'm not sure he could hear me, as he was gunning his engine. He continued to shout at us a bit longer. And then sped off. For the rest of the ride, we rode with some worry that he might be up the road, waiting to accost us again or worse. He clearly believed we didn't belong on that road.

He also imagined that we were somehow in the wrong. This, despite his actions that endangered the lives of his passengers, himself, and of course us. He could have gotten a lot of people hurt. To be clear, we were acting within the law. He was not.

I wish this was an unusual event. But it isn't. Yesterday, on a very short ride of just 10 miles - once again, on a Saturday, on relatively lightly-traveled country roads - we were passed no fewer than six times illegally, the drivers crossing double yellow lines.

In many of these situations, we cyclists become the object of palpable anger. We are told, sometimes explicitly, we don't belong. The law, of course, says otherwise. But that doesn't seem to matter. These folks aren't rushing to work or trying to get someone to the emergency room - it's a weekend - and in any case, the time it actually takes to make a safe pass in a zone where the road conditions allow it is usually a matter of  *seconds* not minutes. I know this because I drive cars too. And I make safe passing decisions when I encounter cyclists on the road.

But from my perspective in the saddle, there is so much anger from those behind the wheel. When I tell stories like the one I relay here to others who do not ride, the response is usually sympathy...for the drivers! Immediately, we get told a counter story about a cyclist one time who didn't stop at a stop sign. The indignation about cyclists who break the law "all the time" is not a rational response, though. If it were, it would be matched by a concern for drivers of cars who do so far more often and with far more dire consequences.

Let me bottom line this issue. People are momentariliy inconvenienced by me and other cyclists when they encounter me, on a bike, on the road. For this inconvenience, they often threaten my life. When we tell stories about these encounters, others feel the inconvenience and seek to blame cyclists. It is chilling. These folks are telling me and others that we don't belong, that we may not deserve to live even, if it means we are an inconvenience to them.

For the record, I think it's very important for cyclists to abide by traffic laws. But the main reason they should isn't because they impose much of a risk to people who drive cars and trucks. They should do it for their own safety. It's also convenient to drivers when cyclists obey the rules. But as my example shows, it is no guarantee that they won't put our lives at risk anyway. I can do everything right and still be an inconvenience. And this is enough, quite often, for someone who doesn't know me to threaten my life.

Sometimes the inconvenience is a few seconds of slowing down and a momentary shift of their attention to pass. Sometimes the inconvenience is not even about a delay...sometimes it is resentment that they may need to exercise a bit more caution so that they don't cause an accident, an injury, or a death. Either way, there is anger. And it nearly always results in the driver breaking the law and/or endangering lives by making an unsafe pass, speeding, or worse.

I truly am at a loss for where the anger comes from. Is thirty seconds on a Sunday afternoon worth risking your life and the lives of your loved ones in the car with you? Is it worth my life? I hesitate to even ask the latter question.

The answer seems clear: "yes. My time is worth more than your life. Get the hell out of my way. YOU DON'T BELONG HERE."
---
Program note: this entry is a break in tone, I know, from others in this blog. It is grim. I usually keep things pretty positive here. I also try to pose solutions where I write about a problem or challenge. But here, I don't see a way to provide a solution. There may not be one. So I can only raise the question: what does driving a car do to a human being that makes the lives of others immaterial?

Return to Space

This week I've started a new exercise adventure. I'm attempting to do 30 days worth of the SPACE lab workout routine that I did last year and earlier this year. I'm keeping the basic six day pattern the same, but this time, rather than do them on a stationary bike, I've modified them to do as running workouts.

Here's what that looks like:

3.4 mile loop day 1, 3 and 5. (this is close enough distance-wise to a 30 minute continuous workout) at 165 BPM, which is just shy of my lactate threshold heart rate.

Intervals the other days, with the following pattern:

Day 2: 10 minute warmup, then 8 x 30 seconds at V02 max, :20 Recovery Interval. 10 min cooldown
Day 4: 5min warmup, 6 x 1/4 mile interval ladder: 140, 150, 160, 170, 160, 150 BPM. 2:00 RI, 5 CD
Day 6: 5min warmup, 4 x 1/2 mile intervals at 170 BPM, walk 1/4, jog 1/4 in between, 5 min CD

Two minute interval pacing.

And on the seventh day, we rest. Here's a graph from yesterday's (Day 4) two-minute intervals.


"Why?" you ask...

I'm doing this for several reasons, I guess.

1. To try and learn about run pacing the way I was able to learn about pacing on the bike doing these workouts. I thought I knew a fair amount already, but I really got to pay close attention to the way it pays to pace carefully. Going too fast, too soon is never good. I was able to put that into stark and repeated empirical terms during the SPACE study. I've never paid that close attention to running workouts, so it seems like it could be useful.
2. I'd like to see if I can improve my ability to recover in the same way I can/did on the bike. I notice that it is a lot harder for me to recover from a hard effort while running than it is for me to scale back a bit and recover on the bike. I've mentioned that this is one of the only arrows in my quiver when it comes to riding: when I'm fit, I can put in a hard effort and recover and do another one without slipping too much during the recovery period. My top end is not great, but I can persist. I am not nearly as able to do this on the run unless I slow wayyyyy down. I'm hoping I can change that. 
3. I want to see if I can stay healthy and unhurt while running 6 days a week for 5 weeks straight. We'll see. 

So, how's it going so far? 
Well, today is day five of thirty. I've done three continuous workouts and two interval workouts so far. I have a little bit of predictable muscle soreness after 2.5 hours worth of running this week. That's more than I've done in a single week in years. But it doesn't appear that this "dose" is too extreme. At least, not yet.

Qualitatively, it's already hard. Today as I kitted up I was already thinking "it's only day 5?!" It has been hot and very humid for Michigan here lately. So that is making these perhaps more suffery than they would otherwise be. I felt a bit tired at first today, but otherwise good. I seem to be getting a bit better at keeping each mile the same pace throughout. The first day was uneven with a faster first mile split and a slower second mile. I'm keeping the data on my Strava profile. Today, though, Strava measured the course .3 miles shorter than it usually does (it was the same route) so the numbers for today are likely a bit off. But comparing total time is not my main goal day-to-day. I will be interested to see, however, if I can improve my time while staying close to my target 30 min HR of 165bpm.

What is keeping me going though is a major takeaway from the SPACE study: intensity matters. A lot. More than volume. So I'm summoning that every time I'm out there. It's supposed to be hard. That's what makes it work. 

Find Your Limits

On Competition
I am a competitive person. In my line of work - academia - my competitive drive serves me well. But it also tends to make many people uncomfortable. In fact, I've heard a lot of colleagues say they chose their profession for the opposite reason. Many will even say they are against competition and don't like it at all.

At the heart of my drive to compete, though, is not a will to dominate others. It's much more personal than that. 

Race for Ralya 2016, second in my age group

The roots of my personal motivation for running, cycling, and just about everything else I do that looks to the outside world like a competitive activity is this: finding my limits. What am I capable of? Where does my ability to endure, to execute, to concentrate come to its ragged edge? Every time I lace up my running shoes or ramp up the cadence on my road bike, this is what I want to know. What can I do today?

There is always an answer. And it changes with every opportunity I get to answer. It is one of the best lessons from a lifetime of searching for my limits, in fact. These change. Day to day, and over long periods of time. In those moments when I've paid extraordinary attention to monitoring my limits, I've learned I can push them back...enough to surprise myself, even.

Over the years, I've learned that everyone else's limits are subject to the same dynamics. When I compete as an athlete these days, I race. Racing teaches a lot of valuable things about limits - mine and those of others - about failure, and about how the fleeting value of the answer to "what am I capable of" that results from an event like a race can be understood as something other than a summative judgement. These are things I carry with me into my work life too.

Two Lessons On Limits and Failure I Learned from Racing

1. Limits Vary with Time
Most of the squabbling that happens over how to measure competitions is about how the measure should be done: the how. Too little attention is paid to what I understand to be the biggest challenge with measuring limits: the when.

My performance today may usefully predict my performance tomorrow, but it doesn't determine it.

It is true that for some types of competitive activity, knowing your own limits becomes clear only with a comparative measure. How do I perform in comparison to someone else? In that situation, it need not matter if those giving the performances being compared are equally invested in the competition. This, too, makes a lot of folks uncomfortable. But it happens just the same.

Where others are engaged, my best performance today may still fall short of where another person's limits are on that same day. This could be true even if I did nothing wrong and performed at the limit of my capability. When you see a competitor genuinely happy for another who has beaten him or her after a race, you see someone who has learned this lesson about limits.

But if you really want to experience this camaraderie among racers, hang out at the starting line before the race begins. There will be, among the veteran racers in particular, enormous respect for those who lace 'em up and wait for the starting gun. That respect comes from having been at one's limit and bested, and from the anticipation of same. It truly is the foundation for joy when one wins. But it isn't only the rarity of a win amidst the confrontation of limits that makes victory sweet. It is also the acknowledgement that it takes the best effort of everyone seeking those limits to make a win possible. 

2. Failure is Feedback, not an Outcome
Following from lesson 1, I would ask you to consider that to lose is to find your limit on the day. And to find your limit is to belong. 

Those are pretty heady words to write about failure, no? Now, there are plenty of narratives out there about failing these days. We are admonished to "fail fast" and "fail forward." The lessons in these stories are usually meant to emphasize the learning that comes from the reflection that follows a less-than-successful attempt at something. Occasionally, there is also the notion that failure, rather than winning, is the norm in almost every kind of competitive situation (and thus, winning is sweet).

Both of these lessons fit into a broader truth about failure for me: it is a process, not an outcome. Failing rarely happens all at once, in other words. There are confrontations with limits all along the route to failure. Each of these tends to push those limits back the next time. And each confrontation sorts us into the group of people with whom we can share the experience of coming up short. These are the faces on the starting line.

Racing is a good teacher of this lesson because, more than anything else, it reduces the range of limits on performance to a very few possibilities. In most things we do, the situation is much more complicated. Opportunities to confront limits are everywhere. Any one of these confrontations may put us in the group of the many - those who tried and failed - vs. the few who have won. But with racing we reduce the variables and control the environment to make a little more possible what everyday life confounds: a simple test of limits. A race is so pure a measure in fact, everyone save a lone individual fails. This simplicity is achieved by capturing a measure of limits in a single moment in time. Of course, this also defines the weakness of a race as a measure. Why the result can not hope to hold up. After all, the winner is the only one who walks away from a race unacquainted with her limits. 

Your Only Obligation: Find Your Limit
Lesson number two teaches us that, in racing, only a winner stands alone. Failure means belonging. And it means a clear answer, on the day, to the shared question: what can I do?

There is a curious kind of failure involved in winning a race - the failure to find one's limits - that shrouds the athlete on the top step of the podium. In most cases, the overwhelming uproar of accomplishment drowns out the much more faint signal about what might have been possible.

This is why a "good winner" is quiet. It is not just a show of humilty, but an attempt to capture the thing that racing teaches racers not just to endure, but to crave: knowing where the limit is.

I heard a very successful racer - a woman who wins a lot and in a dominant fashion - recently talk about her goals in a race. Hers were all about process, she said. Something common enough to sound like a cliché. But then she went on to explain that by this she meant that when running she paid close attention to her stride length, so that she could feel with each step she was extending her leg using the muscles in her upper leg and carrying the motion through down to her foot. Tuning in like this for every step in a ten thousand meter race. Every swing of each leg was an opportunity to get it right or to fail. A good race would mean every step, or almost every step, executed in the same way.

I think of this woman and the way she transformed the race into a near-constant stream of feedback on her limits quite often. All alone, out front, she finds a way to belong. She says having a good race is more important to her than winning. Again, we might hear it and dismiss it as hackneyed humility. But I hear it differently. I understand it.

Your only obligation is to find your limit. A good day is when you know the answer.

Do you know where yours is today?

Find Your Limits

On Competition
I am a competitive person. In my line of work - academia - my competitive drive serves me well. But it also tends to make many people uncomfortable. In fact, I've heard a lot of colleagues say they chose their profession for the opposite reason. Many will even say they are against competition and don't like it at all.

At the heart of my drive to compete, though, is not a will to dominate others. It's much more personal than that. 

Race for Ralya 2016, second in my age group

The roots of my personal motivation for running, cycling, and just about everything else I do that looks to the outside world like a competitive activity is this: finding my limits. What am I capable of? Where does my ability to endure, to execute, to concentrate come to its ragged edge? Every time I lace up my running shoes or ramp up the cadence on my road bike, this is what I want to know. What can I do today?

There is always an answer. And it changes with every opportunity I get to answer. It is one of the best lessons from a lifetime of searching for my limits, in fact. These change. Day to day, and over long periods of time. In those moments when I've paid extraordinary attention to monitoring my limits, I've learned I can push them back...enough to surprise myself, even.

Over the years, I've learned that everyone else's limits are subject to the same dynamics. When I compete as an athlete these days, I race. Racing teaches a lot of valuable things about limits - mine and those of others - about failure, and about how the fleeting value of the answer to "what am I capable of" that results from an event like a race can be understood as something other than a summative judgement. These are things I carry with me into my work life too.

Two Lessons On Limits and Failure I Learned from Racing

1. Limits Vary with Time
Most of the squabbling that happens over how to measure competitions is about how the measure should be done: the how. Too little attention is paid to what I understand to be the biggest challenge with measuring limits: the when.

My performance today may usefully predict my performance tomorrow, but it doesn't determine it.

It is true that for some types of competitive activity, knowing your own limits becomes clear only with a comparative measure. How do I perform in comparison to someone else? In that situation, it need not matter if those giving the performances being compared are equally invested in the competition. This, too, makes a lot of folks uncomfortable. But it happens just the same.

Where others are engaged, my best performance today may still fall short of where another person's limits are on that same day. This could be true even if I did nothing wrong and performed at the limit of my capability. When you see a competitor genuinely happy for another who has beaten him or her after a race, you see someone who has learned this lesson about limits.

But if you really want to experience this camaraderie among racers, hang out at the starting line before the race begins. There will be, among the veteran racers in particular, enormous respect for those who lace 'em up and wait for the starting gun. That respect comes from having been at one's limit and bested, and from the anticipation of same. It truly is the foundation for joy when one wins. But it is isn't only the rarity of a win amidst the confrontation of limits that makes victory sweet. It is also the acknowledgement that it takes the best effort everyone seeking those limits to make a win possible. 

2. Failure is Feedback, not an Outcome
Following from lesson 1, I would ask you to consider that to lose is to find your limit on the day. And to find your limit is to belong. 

Those are pretty heady words to write about failure, no? Now, there are plenty of narratives out there about failing these days. We are admonished to "fail fast" and "fail forward." The lessons in these stories are usually meant to emphasize the learning that comes from either the reflection that follows a less-than-successful attempt at something. Occasionally, there is also the notion that failure, rather than winning, is the norm in almost every kind of competitive situation (and thus, winning is sweet).

Both of these lessons fit into a broader truth about failure for me: it is a process, not an outcome. Failing rarely happens all at once, in other words. There are confrontations with limits all along the route to failure. Each of these tends to push those limits back the next time. And each confrontation sorts us into the group of people with whom we can share the experience of coming up short. These are the faces on the starting line.

Racing is a good teacher of this lesson because, more than anything else, it reduces the range of limits on performance to a very few possibilities. In most things we do, the situation is much more complicated. Opportunities to confront limits are everywhere. Any one of these confrontations may put us in the group of the many - those who tried and failed - vs. the few who won. But with racing we reduce the variables and control the environment to make a little more possible what everyday life confounds: a simple test of limits. A race is so pure a measure in fact, everyone save a lone individual fails. This simplicity is achieved by capturing a measure of limits in a single moment in time. Of course, this also defines the weakness of a race as a measure. Why the result can not hope to hold up. After all, the winner is the only one who walks away from a race unacquainted with her limits. 

Your Only Obligation: Find Your Limit
Lesson number two teaches us that, in racing, only a winner stands alone. Failure means belonging. And it means a clear answer, on the day, to the shared question: what can I do?

There is a curious kind of failure involved in winning a race - the failure to find one's limits - that shrouds the athlete on the top step of the podium. In most cases, the overwhelming uproar of accomplishment drowns out the much more faint signal about what might have been possible.

This is why a "good winner" is quiet. It is not just a show of humilty, but an attempt to capture the thing that racing teaches racers not just to endure, but to crave: knowing where the limit is.

I heard a very successful racer - a woman who wins a lot and in a dominant fashion - recently talk about her goals in a race. Hers were all about process, she said. Something common enough to sound like a cliché. But then she went on to explain that by this she meant that when running she paid close attention to her stride length, so that she could feel with each step she was extending her leg using the muscles in her upper leg and carrying the motion through down to her foot. Tuning in like this for every step in a ten thousand meter race. Every swing of each leg was an opportunity to get it right or to fail. A good race would mean every step, or almost every step, executed in the same way.

I think of this woman and the way she transformed the race into a near-constant stream of feedback on her limits quite often. All alone, out front, she finds a way to belong. She says having a good race is more important to her than winning. Again, we might hear it and dismiss it as hackneyed humility. But I hear it differently. I understand it.

Your only obligation is to find your limit. A good day is when you know the answer.
Do you know where yours is t
oday?

Maslow Don't Ride

I write a lot about human motivation on this particular blog. Usually it's in a circumspect way. Sometimes I get more direct. Here lately, I've had a run of days off the bike. I can give no particular reason, except that it sometimes happens to all of us: a little dip in motivation.

One of the most well-known theories of human motivation comes from a guy whose last name you might know. Maslow. First name: Abraham. He came up with this:

Is it all coming back to you now? From your psych 101 class maybe? Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. The pyramid shaped diagram represents what Maslow proposed to be the most basic needs at the bottom. Things like air, water, and food live there.

Just up from that is "safety" where shelter, etc. live. At higher levels, the needs are more abstract. The idea is that to "level up" on the pyramid, you have to first fulfill needs at the lower level(s).

Luckily, it's dead wrong. I ended my motivation drought today with 35 glorious miles on the hottest day of the year so far. It was, in a (compound) word, self-actualizing.

It is clear to me that Abe never rode a bike. I mean, the basic needs are solid. We need air for tires. Water for bottles. And food to make the bike go.

But after that, let's face it, the bike is an express ticket to the top of the chart. With a few gestures toward safety, most of us cyclists plot daring exploits that incur wrath from our fellow humans (mostly the ones in pickup trucks). Those bits of shiny styrofoam strapped to our heads invite as much scorn as they afford protection. 

And should we talk "esteem?" How about a triple shot of humilty? Endurance sports: where self care and self abuse meet!

But let me tell you...a few pedal strokes in, wind in your face, zipping along in a group or out alone on a lonely country road? Actualized. Oh yeah.

Just like that, I'm a cyclist again. Confident. Back on track. No need to build from the bottom of Abe's Hierarchy. Just needed to mount up and ride to the top.

SPACE Lab: Mission Accomplished!

After 138 days, my mission is complete and like American astronaut and International Space Station Commander Scott Kelly, I'm back on Earth. Ok, he's back. I technically never got up the gravity well like Kelly did. I'm more like his twin brother Mark who stayed on Earth but performed a similar exercise regimen in order to learn how human bodies adapt to zero gravity conditions during extended space flights.

So in at least one way, Mark and Scott and I all have something in common: we're all contributing to the research that will help humans travel to Mars someday. And that's so cool I can hardly stand it.

Training Like an Astronaut
What is even better, the benefits of the study to me personally were substantial as well.  In previous posts, I've written about the exercise routines and the test regimen that evaluates the physiological results. And now we can see the outcomes for the full protocol. Here are a set of tables that summarize where I began, where I was at the midpoint of the study, and where I finished last week:

Leg Strength	Baseline	Midpoint	Final
% of bodyweight	85	147	??

Body Composition	Baseline	Midpoint	Final
weight (kg)	75.6	76.4	74.3
% of fat body mass	23.1	22.3	21.3

V02Max	Baseline	Midpoint	Final
ml/kg/min V02	43.5	48.3	51.7
METS	12.4	13.8	14.7
Peak Watts	275	325	325
MAX Heart Rate (BPM)	187	188	182

As you can see, I've continued to improve throughout the study. On Monday 3/28, I'll take my final leg strength test so those results are still pending. But the V02Max results are really encouraging. Frankly, I'm surprised at how much I was able to improve. I'm very happy to see it, mostly because while I've certainly had a sense that when I train hard I improve, I've never had the empirical evidence in this way.

Heck, very, very few people ever get anything like these results including professional bike racers. They have data, but this is a very controlled study with every outcome measure done with all of the scientific precautions one takes to control for confounding variables. So what you see is as close to what can be measured as was possible over an extended study.

So What Does It All Mean?
Well, it depends on what kind of perspective you are looking for, of course. One very important takeaway for me that I think is something for lots of people to think about is this: you can see big, measurable gains in your overall fitness with 30 minutes or less of exercise a day...IF it is at the right intensity.

What is interesting to me is that this is likely to surprise both normal folks who are just trying to get healthy by adding some exercise to their daily routines and hard core endurance athletes who were trained to believe that massive volume (lots of hours in the saddle, for example) is the only way to big improvements. I was in that latter camp. But no longer. I mean, take a look:

I'm 45 years old. Over the course of this study I moved up from Good to Excellent to Superior. I'll get a full debriefing from the scientists running this study soon (and I'll write about that!), but the lab techs who do the physiological testing - different from the lab where I completed the intervention - were already able to tell me that my performance was the best they had seen. And I didn't get there by being genetically gifted. It just took working very hard six days a week. How hard? Consistently at my limit. Pushing it every day. Needing a full shower after 4 x 4:00 intervals at an average W of 288. That kind of thing. Hard.

It makes a difference in what I can do on the bike too. Here's my 30 minuted sustained effort comparison:

3 x 30 Min Continuous	Week 6	Week 12	Week 21
Avg. Watts	235.38	240.2	253.71
Avg HR (BPM)	171	162	168

I was very happy to put down 250W for 30 minutes. That's a big effort on a stationary bike where there is no coasting, there are no downhills, just you and the machine. And through it all, I stayed very close to my limit for the "damn this feels terrible" heart rate which is 166. Not all day pace by any means, but sustainable for just about as long as I would ever need on the road in a hard group ride or even in a road race unless I was in some crazy, ill-fated solo break.

Ground Control to Major Tom...
I feel really grateful for the opportunity this study has given me to explore my limits with a level of precision, intensity, and regularity that I've never had before. It will stay with me. I now know, beyond a doubt, that I can be better if I work hard. I know that I can keep getting better too. What I don't know is where the ceiling is! If I could sign up for another round to find out, you better believe I would do it.

SPACE Mission Update: Signs of Improvement

I'm really encouraged by the improvement I've seen in my performance after I hit the halfway mark of the SPACE study. As of today, I've completed 15 of 26 weeks. And as I noted in my earlier post, I've really learned a lot. My mid-protocol test results are back too, so I thought I'd share some of that information for the data-curious among you.

The Tests
The second set of performance tests is a chance to compare my results with my baseline numbers. I wrote a bit more about those here, in case you'd like to catch up. But I'll repeat the numbers below side by side with the new results for comparison.

Bill during V02Max test

There are three measures to compare: 1) a static leg strength test, a V02Max test, and a body fat composition test. Of the three, the most dramatic and difficult - by far - is the V02Max test. This is where the goal is to pedal on a stationary bike with the resistance increasing every 2:00 minutes. The directive from the physiologist conducting the test: "Pedal to exhaustion." All of this happens while strapped to a breathing tube, nose pinched shut, so as to measure the consumption of oxygen and the composition of the gases you are inhaling and exhaling.

Well...see above for yourself! In the picture, I'd only just started, so I look rather composed. By the end, I was not in such pristine form.

The other two tests are much less demanding. The static leg strength test involves having your dominant leg strapped to a dynamometer that measures the force you exert when moving your leg. There are a series of measures, from pushing against a solid force to kicking the leg out against variable resistance. The heaviest repetitions are heavy enough that you can't move the leg fast at all. The longest test involves kicking out and pulling back as rapidly as possible twenty times against less resistance. This allows for measurement of endurance as well as peak force.

The third test is body fat percentage. This is the easiest physically. You strip down to a pair of bike shorts and sit in a big egg-shaped machine. What this test lacks in physical demands, it more than makes up for in emotional ones. Humbling. To say the least.

Results: Getting Better!
I went into the testing period thinking I might have improved some, but with modest expectations. So it was really heartening to see that I improved quite a bit on all of the measures! Results compared with baseline numbers are in the tables below, followed by some discussion.

Leg Strength	Baseline	Midpoint
% of bodyweight	85	147

Body Composition	Baseline	Midpoint
weight (kg)	75.6	76.4
% of lean body mass	23.1	22.3

V02Max	Baseline	Midpoint
ml/kg/min V02	43.5	48.3
METS	12.4	13.8
Peak Watts	275	325
MAX Heart Rate (BPM)	187	188

Discussion
First things first, that weight includes my clothes and shoes! As you can see, I gained about a pound between September and January. Not bad, given my usual spiral into winter. But this is one time I can say, without it being pure fabrication, that the weight gained was muscle rather than fat! Why? Because my lean body mass percentage improved over the same period. So far so good.

It makes sense that I gained some muscle when you look at the results of my leg strength test. In September, I was able to move 85 percent of my bodyweight with my right quadriceps (the machine isolates these). In January, I improved to 147% of my bodyweight. Big gain!

My V02Max numbers also improved more than I expected. I knew that I could push more Watts than before, based on what I was able to do on a day-by-day basis in the lab during my 30 minute continuous workouts. But it was nice to see this translated into a nearly 5% increase in V02, from 43.5 to 48.3. Here's what that translates to using the chart I linked to in an earlier post:

I go from the upper end of the "Good" category to the upper end of the "Excellent" category. Not bad. Knocking on the door of Superior. Maybe they'll let me in come April.

What Does It All Mean?
It's pretty clear to me that the kind of short (30 minutes or less per day), but intense and very, very consistent workouts I've been doing can translate to good results. And not just in my baseline fitness and potential, as the mid-point numbers show. I am seeing real improvement in my performances as well. Based on what I've done in my 30 minute workouts, for instance, here is a comparison with week 6 and last week:

3 x 30 Min Continuous	Week 6	Week 14
Avg. Watts	235.38	240.2
Avg HR (BPM)	171	162

What that translates to is three 30 min. workouts last week, all of which topped 240W and all done at a HR that felt less like imminent death. Based on my most recent performance data, I think my functional threshold power is now somewhere between 228-232W, with peak 1 minute Watts of 325 at the end of a 30 minute effort. 30s peak power is about 375-400W. And, based on my daily experiments in pacing, I think I could do a few attacks at 300+ W in a race situation, if I rode smart and had recovery options. There will be no long breakaways above 240W, but I now see I have some tools in the toolkit to play with.

SPACE odyssey: the halfway mark

I just finished week 13 of my Mars mission (background here), so it is time for an update about how things are proceeding. I will be doing my mid-protocol tests next week, so I'll have numbers to report like I have done previously shortly. But for now, I'll stick to the things that stand out to me - either as realizations or observations - about the overall experience of being a participant in this fascinating study. And for each, I've set a little goal (it is New Year's Day, after all!) for the coming year.

1. It remains on the whole, fun for me to participate in this study.
This is not a revelation, though I am happy to report it now with more certainty than I would have had at the beginning. Working out 6 days a week and following a very structured workout each time is something I've never done with this degree of precision. Because the point of this, from a scientific point of view, is to make a dataset for the team to analyze, I am doing exactly what is called for each day with no deviations. This is true for each individual day, but also for each week with just a few exceptions when I've had to reschedule a session due to travel.

But I like the regularity of the workouts very much. I'm going to try to keep up the pattern of 6 workouts/week throughout the year even when the study is done.

2. Intensity is much much more important than I thought for producing physiological adaptations.
This is saying something, because I've understood for a long time what the point of exercise is - to create stress that causes the body to adapt. The interesting thing I've started to see now, though, due to the large amount of data I am producing from a very consistent workout regimen is just how much adaptation can come from relatively short, but hard workouts. I'll have more to say about this once I get my next set of testing data back, but here are a few bits that you might find interesting.

At the six week mark, I reported that my best 30 minute sustained efforts came when I was producing between 235-240W. Those are continuous, no coasting, no rest numbers. So they function like an FTP test. I do this workout every other day. So I've done it about 28 times now.

As I start week 14, I am consistently able to produce W in that range. One key difference though is that at Week 6 I was doing that with an average HR of 170-172. At 13 weeks, it's more like 162-164 for the same power. I haven't seen a lot of improvement in my PR for the 30 min workout. I think this is due to the fact that my regimen is not really designed to produce huge gains in performance, but is rather designed to help astronauts maintain fitness levels in zero gravity conditions. Still, I'm getting better: more efficient and better able to use more of the total power I can produce.

An area where I have seen consistent improvement is the 4x4:00 interval workouts, with 3:00 active recovery in between. These long intervals are done at a Wattage level of my choosing (unlike the other two intervals, which are set by the computer), so I can dial them up to 11. I think about these days as the days I get better. Early on, I was doing these at 240 or 250W. In week 3, I started at 268 W for interval one and had to drop way back in subsequent intervals to try and recover from that first one.

But these days, I'm doing 4x4:00 at 283W. That's a big difference. Considering that in my baseline max test, I was only able to get to 275W (for 2:00), it's a noticeable change (though not necessarily a big change in my V02Max). I think by the end of the study, I'll be able to do 300W for all 16:00 worth of work interval. That's my goal, at least.

3. Making the Science is Weird.
First, I want to say that everyone I see as part of the study - all of the research assistants, post-docs, and others who run the project on a day-to-day basis - has been extremely nice, courteous, generous, grateful, and professional. They have clearly been very well prepared by the folks in the lab. But they are also, in general, super nice folks. They go out of their way to treat us like people (not like gerbils running on a wheel) and to express their gratitude for our effort and commitment to the project.

I can see why the PI's on the project spend time training the research staff to be like this. Because it is just a little bit weird to be a research subject. Some of the measurements - like blood pressure, etc. - feel like a visit to the Dr.'s office. But for the workouts, there are specific cues for the researchers to collect key data points such as our heart rate, cycling cadence (revolutions per minute), watts, and/or perceived exertion level (how hard we feel we are working). And so it's a little strange going full bore in front of other people who are literally measuring your effort. I think about folks being nervous to work out in a gym in front of others they don't know. Try doing it while someone is literally standing right beside you, taking your HR after every 30 second interval!

The takeaway here is simply that I've got nothing to hide any more. Now that I've been a 45 year old rat in a lab, slathered in electrode gel, huffing like a freight train in front of undergrads less than half my age (good god) writing down everything I can do or can't do on a given day...I know I can go to the pain cave now in front of anybody.

Bring it on, 2016!

9 years of Doing Diabetes

Me, Lily, & Les at my first TdC in 2007

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7!

Doing it for myself, and for others

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes." And as you can guess, it has made a big difference in my life. But what has made me even more proud is just how many others I know - friends, family, colleagues - who have let me know that my efforts to do this and to do it "out loud" in public, have been helpful to them as well. It is that, more than any other thing, that inspires me to ride in the Tour de Cure ride each in support of the ADA. 

And I'm doing it again this year! My campaign is underway, and you can track it here. And of course, I appreciate any support you might give in monetary form to my fundraising efforts. But...what I'd really love is for you to come ride with me!

• Want to ride in Ann Arbor in June at the TdC with me? If so, get in touch and we can form a team. We need five riders, but we need not all do the same distance or speed. We'll cheer for one another and do more good together than any one us might do alone
• Can't make it to Michigan? Join a Tour de Cure near you! There are events all over the country. Find one and let me know so I can cheer and lend you support 

   

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7! 

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes" .

- See more at: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR/TourdeCure/TourAdmin?px=6398072&pg=personal&fr_id=11064#sthash.59KVRUim.dpuf

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7! 

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes" .

- See more at: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR/TourdeCure/TourAdmin?px=6398072&pg=personal&fr_id=11064#sthash.59KVRUim.dpuf

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7! 

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes" .

- See more at: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR/TourdeCure/TourAdmin?px=6398072&pg=personal&fr_id=11064#sthash.59KVRUim.dpuf

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7! 

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes" .

- See more at: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR/TourdeCure/TourAdmin?px=6398072&pg=personal&fr_id=11064#sthash.59KVRUim.dpuf

Nine years ago, I made a change. My doctor, also a colleague of mine, showed me the results of my checkup. I had met the criteria for a diagnosis of Type II diabetes. It was not a big surprise. I'd been creeping up on those numbers for several years. First, came elevated blood pressure and an anti-hypertensive. Then elevetated cardiac risk factors creeped in. All the while, my fasting glucose numbers were creeping up. So that first high HbA1c was not a surprise, but it was a signal that it was time to do something.

I knew that my family history was one of the risk factors I couldn't do much about. But everything else I could address: overweight, high blood pressure, elevated blood glucose, and high blood lipids (fats). And the most important tool - my magic weapon - was a bike.

I participated in my first TdC in June 2007 after losing 60lbs. Since that time, I've maintained a normal A1c for the last 8 years, and have done it without medication for the last 7! 

But I'm still doing the things that made me healthy. Riding, counting carbs... "doing diabetes" so I don't "have diabetes" .

- See more at: http://main.diabetes.org/site/TR/TourdeCure/TourAdmin?px=6398072&pg=personal&fr_id=11064#sthash.59KVRUim.dpuf

100 Miles of Nowhere, Camp Kesem Live from Michigan Edition!

"This Wasn't Really Supposed to Be a Thing..."

Elden & I before mounting up for the 2015 100 MoN

Today, November 7 2015, all over the world folks are doing the epic event known as the 100 Miles of Nowhere. The brainchild of the brilliant, kind, and slightly deranged Elden "Fatty " Nelson of fatcyclist.com, the event challenges participants to find the shortest tolerable course imaginable to go 100 miles without going anywhere at all. It is as much a test of one's mental toughness as physical stamina, though friends and family of the dedicated riders will surely tell you that it's proof positive of a deep affliction to the bike.

Fatty did the first one all by himself in his garage, and he wrote about it. To his surprise, it caught on. And now this thing that, according to Elden "wasn't even supposed to be a thing" is very much a big thing. 

Readers of this humble blog will recall that I've done this thing before. More than once, in fact. There was the time when I rode 3000 laps in my circle driveway, for instance. And the time I rode on a stationary trainer in front of my local bike shop. I like to make it a spectacle.

But perhaps you are asking...Why? Why do we do it? There are many reasons, truly, but the main one is that we get to engage in something truly wonderful that a certain group of people - I call them "People of the Bike" and my friend Mike "MC" Clark calls them "Bike-Minded Individuals" - have come to learn. That the bike is a tool to make good things happen. Not just for oneself, but if you work at it, for many, many other people as well.

100 Miles of Nowhere for Camp Kesem 

Team Fatty at the Kesem Summit, 2015 100 Miles of Nowhere

This year, I got to be part of Team Fatty once again for #100MoN, along with several of my dedicated, kind, and dauntless Michigan cycling community friends. We joined Fatty himself at the National Summit meeting for Camp Kesem outside Fenton, MI and got to see and feel the amazing power the bike can generate when we turn our pedals for a great cause.

When Fatty said he'd be coming to Michigan and he could use a little logistical help, I sent him a message and said I'd be happy to do it. I knew my MI crew would be equally stoked. We are, as People of the Bike, all about being there to help, especially when we can work together to make much more of a difference than any one of us could do alone. Our team consisted of two of my colleagues from Michigan State - Bump Halbritter & Mike Ristich, and three friends from the West part of the state: Derek Dykstra, MC, and Kaat Tahy. I've shared epic days in the saddle with all of them in the past. But yesterday's ride in which we went zero miles while riding 100 miles worth may have topped them all.

Healing the Harm Cancer Does to Families
Camp Kesem has a powerful mission. They provide children who have lost parents to cancer with a place to go to help with recovery from the damage that the disease does to families, to relationships. I've been witness to this, up close, in my own life. And I have to say, it is a hard thing to talk about. We know cancer does devastating damage to those afflicted with the disease. And we rightfully focus most of our energy on the care and comfort of people who are directly affected.

But cancer is something that families get too. They get it without asking for it. And it stays around. I've watched dear friends lose partners this way, and children lose parents. I've felt devastated for those family members. The nature of the disease and our limitations, clinically speaking, in understanding at any given moment how it may or may not be progressing, how an intervention may or may not be working...these weigh on loved ones in the circle of care in unimaginably difficult ways. At the time you feel most compelled to act, to care for and comfort those you love, you may find yourself without options to do much of anything. You turn your focus outward. Love overwhelms you. All while inside you are afraid, you are frustrated, you are mourning the loss of a life that has already irrevocably changed. You too have this thing called cancer. So may your children. It may not be in your body, your cells, but it has nonetheless invaded your life, your home, and your realtionships.

I wanted to write those things, because for those who have gone or are going through this ordeal, even thinking them can seem like the wrong thing to be doing. Add guilt to the pile of emotions that one feels in that situation. And there aren't many obvious outlets, not many treatments for the violence that cancer does to families. I lost my Dad last year to cancer. And one of the things he asked me to do was to take care of everybody around him, the people who loved him so much. "Help them," he said, "help the kids."

Counselors at the Kesem Summit Cheering Us On!

I know my Dad would have been proud to learn about the powerful response to this aspect of cancer that is embodied in the healing energy, spirit, and generosity of Camp Kesem. Our group felt it yesterday - we were cheered on during our ride by hundreds of college students from all over the U.S. who had come to the Kesem Summit to train to be counselors, to prepare to meet children this Summer who will spend some time healing, learning, singing and laughing with others who share their challenge: to overcome the pain cancer brought home to them.

So we rode. And we laughed and sang along with Kesem crew. We rocked. We rolled. Not necessarily in that order.

MC brings #bikeface to 100MoN!

Fatty rocks!

DiD and Kaat ride and inspire!

Mike leads the way

And in the end, as we drained our reserve tanks to finish the ride, we left refilled, with more energy than we had coming in. Seeing people assemble to give their time, to suspend the rules of their day-to-day lives to do something improbable, to connect with one another...it's pretty great. And it reminds you that we can make amazing things happen when we combine the power of creativity and caring.

My MSU colleages with Fatty after the 100 Miles of Nowhere 2015