Denmark is not flat. Ironman Copenhagen Report

On paper, Ironman (“IM”) Copenhagen was my ideal race for my second IM; cold lagoon swim, rolling hills and a mostly false flat run.  In the months leading up to the race Earl (Walton) prepared me for dealing with every possible scenario so I’d be certain to have a good day. I was calm, confident and ready to execute the plan.  We all know that sometimes paper does not live up to reality, and while I had a great race in many respects, it wasn’t my day after all. However, I  can definitely chalk this one up to a strong mind and will over a failing body.  So here is my take on KMD IM Copenhagen.  

To those wanting the A-D-D version, as in my previous reports:  sorry, it isn’t happening.  Guess you will need to read on if you want to know all about my 180k journey from Amager Strandpark Beach to The Castle in downtown Copenhagen.  But I will summarize some of the pre-race stuff (shorten, not spare).

Pre-Race:  A Mermaid, Some Bike…and many, many bikes

If Copenhagen is not called the land of bikes, it should be.  Marybeth “MB” Moore (racing her first IM) and I arrived a few days early to acclimate to the time change, climate and surroundings.  Getting from the hotel to the airport was a breeze, but unfortunately our room was not ready so we opted for some sightseeing.  Making the mistake of taking a cab downtown, we got suckered into a cab downtown ($30 in Danish KR), then walked around the city to get a feel for the streets. We tried to figure out where T2 was (the race was point-to-point), where we would be running, and, of course, the finish line. 

Bikes, Bikes everywhere

Many people told me that Copenhagen was the “land of bikes” but I have never seen such a bike friendly city.  Not only were there more bikes than cars, there were bike lanes everywhere — and both people and cars yielded to bikes.  Bike is obviously the preferred form of transportation and people simply bike to their destination, leave their bikes in one of many racks (unlocked) and fetch when heading out.  Not that these were carbon fiber bikes with power meters, Di2s, etc., but It was amazing. 

Not having slept on the flight, we were beat and took the Metro back to the hotel (very easy) and crashed.  After a quick nap, we re-assembled our bikes (easy thanks partially to the new bike case I got and a lesson from Mike Sherry on how not to screw it up again like I did in Mallorca) and I took Malibu Too out for a spin while MB did a shakeout run.  

Yes they were good!

The next few days (Wed, Thurs and Fri) were a mix of some sightseeing (more bikes), testing the waters literally, shakeout rides/runs, and pre-race mania (registration, packing bike and run clothing, etc.).  We also were very careful not to overindulge on Danish treats (well maybe except for one day when we stumbled upon a place called the Donut Shop (see photo above; yes that’s real).  Mom and Ruth arrived on Friday, along with one of Mom’s oldest friends,  Gloria (whom I had not seen in at least 15 years); together these three were my race posse.

The Main Event:  Race Day

It has been nearly 8 years since my first race and 2 years since IM CdA.  While not a pro by any stretch, I am what Earl calls a “veteran” who knows the drill and really does not freak out before the cannon goes off (even during an IM).  

Race morning was pretty calm. MB went down for breakfast in the hotel while I opted to eat what I packed and was approved by Nicci Schock’s (Elevate by Nicci) metabolic efficiency plan. (For those who don’t know, I followed a metabolic efficient plan this year and it really helped with energy, weight loss, and overall race nutrition.)  We got to swim start and went our separate ways (MB and I would not be reunited until post-race). Making sure Malibu Too was ready, I knew where my clothing bag was, placed post-race clothing in the drop-off area and started to prepare myself mentally. 

IM Copenhagen uses mixed-sex age group seeding (at least this year), but the old folks (me) started at 7:50 as opposed to MB (7:10) and the elite sub-10-hour folks (7:05).  A but unfair in my book as instead of having a full 16 hours to complete the race, I only had 15:10.  

I did not see the posse before the swim start, but since they were situated in VIP (thanks to John Duke at WTC), I did not worry about them.

Swim:  Acting like Shakira

Earl and I discussed not wearing a watch at all (except during the run) as I did not want to get stuck on time; after all, breaking the finish line tape or landing a Kona spot was not in my game plan.  I seeded myself in the second row of my age group (again men and women together; which is unusual), knowing that my swim is solid but a sub-1-hour was not going o happen (figure let the faster kids duke it out in the beginning).  My swim is usually stronger in colder water and doing a few practice swims earlier in the week, I opted for a sleeveless wet suit;—a good decision for me, but it made me stand out among a sea of those in full sleeves and even some in neoprene caps. 

7:50 AM…let the games begin.  The gun fires and we jump into the water.  The one-loop, 2.4 mile (3.8k) swim course took us under three bridges on the way out and four on the way back to shore.  Didn’t understand why exactly, but “Happy” by Pharrell popped into my head. This would become my mantra for most of the race, while repeating “hips” and “glide” (key words to focus on and help me stay streamlined during the swim). Between Pharrell and finding bubbles (from others) to help with sighting, I started to pass people early on.  And due to the windy conditions (and hence waves), I found myself sighting out of the water, both to stay on course and to find a new group to draft off of.  Feeling relaxed, I kept singing and speaking to myself,  trying not to swallow too much brackish water (would give myself a 50% success rate on that).  

Midway through the swim, I started to pass even people in the 7:40am wave…and then 7:30am wave, thinking these were the stragglers or those who were going to swim 2:00.  I  thought nothing of my position or overall time and continued to swim, sing, and focus on my stroke.  Without even realizing it, I was at the final turnaround and heading back home and hearing the roar of the crowds  cheering from the bridges above us.  

Sighting off the VIP tent and the swim exit arch, I passed even more folks in the earlier waves and hooked onto a group of red caps (my color) and swam to shore.  Suddenly I got caught up between two slower swimmers and could not push through them despite several attempts.  Breaking free, I got kicked pretty hard in the head; enough to make me check that I wasn’t bleeding or anything.  Good to go, I get back into a rhythm and swim to shore.  At the exit, without a clue as to my time, I grab the hand of a volunteer to help stabilize me on the exit ramp and trot over the timing mat…onto T1.

I grabbed my bike bag from the hook. (For those unfamiliar with Ironman/Long Course, you do not have a transition area for keeping your shoes, shorts, helmet et al.  Everything you need for the bike and also for the run is placed in a bag and left at T1 the day before the race.)  I then trotted into the changing tent.  Unlike IM CdA, there are no volunteers around to help you.  So I got out of the wet suit, tried to dry off quickly and put on my bib shorts and top as fast as possible, and then re-packed everything.  Holding on my helmet, shoes in my hand, I head for the exit only to be stopped by a volunteer who says I cannot leave until the helmet and shoes are on my body. (Vow for 2016 racing:  learn how to get onto the bike with shoes already clipped in.)  Once everything is on me and bag is re-tied I trot to the bin, drop bag, and head to Malibu Too.

And now for the Wind…for 180K

The weather leading up to the race called for winds, but coming from the southeast which would have created a strong tailwind and made the course that much faster.  But alas, the wind shifted in the days leading up to race day, and by Sunday it was now coming from the north and creating headwinds as fast as 20 MPH (yes, not great).  This little wrinkle changed my ideal bike course into a challenge, as wind sucks me dry. (At least it wasn’t hot and windy like it was in Puerto Rico, NoLa, and even Mallorca.)  The northeast winds made the course feel like a climb instead of rollers.  You can never predict what’s going to happen in an Ironman, so I just needed to roll with the punches…and get punched a lot over and over again.  

Getting onto the bike and out of T1 was pretty cool as we started out riding over one  of the bridges we had swum under. The area was filled with cheering spectators, and that boost helped to get me started on the journey.  The first 15k of the bike was pretty technical as we headed out of the city and into the countryside.  While my biking has improved this past year, I have no plans to join the “tour” anytime soon.  I set my Garmin to show cadence (~ 85),  power (b/w 145-150 with a max at 180 only as needed), heart rate (~ 150) and total distance (one mile at a time) to focus on my numbers and not get bogged down in overall time.  

Earl had specifically told me not to drink anything for at least ten minutes, and my nutrition plan had my first dose of UCann at :45 mins into the ride.  Without a clock to go by, I was estimating the overall time by mile splits (we opted not to change the system from miles to Ks to keep with my training) and ate/drank accordingly. 

The bike course is spectacular, with two loops around the coast, farmland, small villages, and a highway section (where the famed Geels Bakke is located) before heading back into the city.  It had a mix of paved roads which were in pretty good condition as well as cobblestones, which were a little nerve-wracking; I hoped that my tires would hold up.  The course was well marked and well supported with plenty of aid stations and small groups of spectators cheering us along.  

Once we hit the coast, the winds picked up even more and I did my best to tuck in (staying aero) and keep my numbers.  Despite being only about ~20k, this section felt like the longest as the winds were relentless.  I pedaled on and started to sing “Happy” again (still not sure why this song was in my head, but whatever it takes to get through 112 miles).  Finally, after making a left, we headed into the farmland, which indeed felt like 9W. (For those not in the NYC/NJ area this is basically where we train.  Since I had done my 100-miler as well as my metric IM training on this stretch, the rolling hills were not too bad.) I was still waiting for the promised fast, flat areas of the course, with the wind dying out a tad (maybe to 8-10 MPH).  Winding our way past beautiful turn-of-the-century homes with amazing vistas, I just wanted to jump off the bike and take pictures. But no camera meant I  had to continue to pedal.  

I assumed that I had had a decent swim as I was passed by a handful of people who looked “younger” than me.  However, being in one of the last waves still meant that there were few fellow competitors in my “section,” and many passed me as I continued to struggle through the wind. Once past the farmland area, we made a left onto a stretch of highway (closed to traffic) which, you guessed it, brought some more wind.  This was probably one of the most boring areas of the course, but I knew that Geels Bakke was approaching. 

I had heard different things about this climb — one person said that it was short but steep, one that said it wasn’t too bad, and others said it was nothing.  The pictures from prior years made me think it was going to be a nightmare.  To get to the climb, we faced other hills which were hard (maybe because of the wind) so when I finally saw the famous one I braced myself for some pain.  

Over my triathlon “career” I have never seen a crowd like the one that was at this area.  Both sides of the road were lined with spectators, and everyone was offering a cheer or a high five (for which I gladly obliged).  Perhaps it was the crowd support or the fact that I rode many steep hills during my training, but the incline never felt that tough and was over before I remembered.  

This section is where we had the opportunity to grab our special needs bag which I did.  It was also where I suggested that the posse situate themselves—both to see them and in case I needed anything. (The race allows spectators to hand racers items in a specific spot on the hill.) However, I could not find them. (I later heard that the directions in the official spectator guide were wrong and they got lost) Oh well. I exchanged my nutrition bottle, took a swig of Coca-Cola, stretched out a bit and jumped back on the bike for lap two.  Immediately after the climb, we had to ride through about 5 blocks of pure cobblestones. Never having biked over these before, I was unsure how to handle them so got onto an easier gear and just braced myself for some bumps.  Approaching another turnaround, I caught sign that slits the race either back to T2 (right) or onto lap (left) two; onward I go. 

Lap two brought more of the same, especially the wind, but this time the field of bikers was thinner than before with only a handful of us still on the course (or so I thought).  Passing a few people who looked like they pushed too hard on the first loop gave me some relief as I knew I would not be the last one into T2.  While I wish I could say the second loop was easier, it was not as my back started to twitch and I could not stay in area for long periods of time. 

Side note: Earlier in the year my L2 and L3 (in my lower back) slipped a little creating a huge issue for training and basically everyday life.  As a result, I worked with a neurologist (who told me  it wasn’t a good idea to run at all), a chiropractor (David Williams, the best) who gave me exercises to strengthen my back, and a physical therapist (Andy Feneck) to help with mobility.  Andy is the person I credit with keeping me injury free this year.  

The wind did not wane either — despite forecasts that said the wind would shift directions around this time.  I nearly screamed “uncle” to the wind — as if that would actually do something.  This is around the time when  the war between my mind and my body started — something that would continue at the latter stages of the run.  

Despite a few dark moments of self-doubt, I pushed on through the winds and back onto the farmland, the highway and Geels Bakke (again).  However by this time the crowds were thinner, as the bulk of the racers had passed and were likely on the run.  However, I finally saw Mom and Gloria on the side of the road waiting for me to pass.  I quickly pulled over to give them a status report and hope to hand them my wind vest.  When I tried to hand it to the, an official said I could not or I would be DQd — oh well.  I had ~ 20k to go.  I could deal with it for that long.  Back to the cobblestones for more bumps; finally I can make the right towards T2.  

Heading back to the city with more wind; still no relief.  Counting down the miles (or Ks) , there was Pharrell again to help me focus, get into aero and push on as I started to pass a few more folks also finishing the bike. Through the streets of Copenhagen, I finally caught sight of people on the run course; they did not look happy.  Giving up was not an option as despite my discomfort, everyone was in the same boat as I was; this was an Ironman after all.  The last few blocks came quickly, and I finally saw the sign for bike dismount. Relief.  I handed Malibu Too over to a nice volunteer, I trotted to my run bag and headed into the changing tent—a co-ed one (when in the Nordic region, I guess that’s how it’s done).  

To the right of the mass changing area (which was more crowded than I expected given the time of the day) was a small area for men and one for women where we could change clothing.  Getting into the tent, I stretched for a few minutes, got out of my cycling clothing, changed into a tri top, shorts, my CAF hat (I always race with something that says CAF and was fundraising for the organization) and headed out for the 26.2 miles (or 42k run).

Running in the Wind - can’t  guy get a break already!

My run plan called for a 5 min walk, followed by a 5 min run and 1 min walk plan.  Sticking to my plan, I smiled as people urged me to run…run…run.  After the first 5 minutes, I obliged the crowd and started to run; not too fast, but not too slow.  

The run consisted of a four ~ 8k loops, taking us from near the finish line to a pedestrian bridge near the water, back though the streets of Copenhagen, past the Little Mermaid statute, through a park, out to a pier where we collected a colored bracelet for every completed lap (four in total) and back to the finish area.  The roads had every imaginable surface, from asphalt, to wood, to cobblestones, to cement.  It was an excellent test of one’s ability to handle a variety of surfaces and keep focused.  The course was well marked (in the daylight), with tons of people lining up at a variety of “hot spots.”   The hype of the crowds lived up to expectations which totally motivated me to keep on running (during the five minute sections of course).  

The first lap went smoothly and I passed some familiar faces from TriLife along the sidelines cheering their ~10 teammates competing as well.  While I did not catch sight of MB on the run, she was out there somewhere.  Making my way past the finish line for the start of lap two, I saw the posse, stopped to give them hugs, and made my way back for another loop (~ 17 miles to go).  Making my way back to the Little Mermaid statute and the furthest point of the run, the winds started to pick up again. (Perhaps they never died out and I just started to notice them again.)  

It was now the latter part of the day and the temperature had begun to drop. I started to feel a little uneasy (queasy and definitely off).  Making my way to the pier, I saw Ross, a TriLife coach on the sidelines (guess Earl asked him to look out for me) and went over to him for advice.  He felt my arms and immediately told me I was cold to get something warm on and get some nutrition in me; I checked my pockets and noticed my gels had fallen out—likely on the cobblestones!  Ross handed me a Coke and told me to drink it and get cola at the aid stations to get some simple syrup calories in quickly.  Thanking him, I continued on.  Grabbing the second of four bracelets, I headed back to the start of the third loop but modified my plan to a 3:1.  

Getting counsel from mom before
she gave up her pink windbreaker

Heading to the finish line area, and the start of loop 3, I saw the posse again and told them I was cold.  Not having prepared for the wind, or the chill it created, I did not have an extra layer of clothing. I asked them if I should call it a day (in the back of my head this wasn’t really an option).  Mom said try one more lap and see how I feel; at this time I also asked for her windbreaker; a pink one, to keep me warm.  Better wear a small, pink windbreaker than be freezing.

I wish I could say the pink jacket gave me mighty twin, super powers, but it did not.  The combination of winds from the bike and now relentless headwinds on the run sounded the call of the war between mind and body.  Strategically I picked places where to run (when I could pass someone) and where to walk (when the wind picked up), as  the miles counted down.  Passing Ross again, he asked how I was feeling as he helped to tuck the hood of the jacket in to stop a sail-like effect it was having in the wind. That quick pep talk helped a lot as I made my way to collect bracelet three. 

Heading back to the finish, I was not among the sea of more walkers than runners.  Looking at fellow competitors’ wrists, I was jealous of their four as compared to my three.  Hitting a sign that showed I had ~ 13k to go, I told my body to shove it and forged ahead.  Passing the posse for one last time, I made sure MB was done (they told me yes), looked down at my watch and saw that I had close to 1:45 hours to finish the race.  I could easily do 10k in well under that time, especially if I picked moments to run.  Mom would later tell me that once I finished the third loop, she knew I would finish, regardless of how much pain I was in physically.  

Side note:  The posse was standing in the VIP area which was great viewing for the finish line.  It was also where the laps split.  Approaching the finish area, a guard pointed to the finish line, but alas I shook my head, pointed to the three bracelets and told him I would see him real soon.  

At this point the sun was gone and there were far fewer spectators out.  I started to talk to a few others on the course, some of whom were very friendly as those in the back of the pack tend to be, while others were in their own dark zone and did not want to deal with my chatter.  Every step forward, whether a walk or a few mins of running, was another step to the finish line.  The winds were even stronger now and navigating the streets in the dark was somewhat difficult. (For some odd reason, the race did not put out any extra lights on the course, but as I had done the loop three times before, I generally knew where I was—well mostly.)  Heading past the Little Mermaid for the last time, I entered the park area which was really pitch dark.  The aid stations were packed up, and the only way to really figure out the path was to follow people ahead of me,  The only challenge of doing so was I passed many of them when I was able (and willing) to run.  Finally collecting my last bracelet,  I let myself say that the end is near; a mere 3 miles to the finish line and another IM finish.  

Leaving the park (and the darkness), I again picked times when I could run.  My quads felt as if on fire at times, but my mind was ruling my body at this point. Running on asphalt, walking on the cobblestones and cement, the last three miles went by somewhat quickly — especially as I passed others.  Hitting the last timing mat, I was a mere 1k from the finish and decided to run as much as I could.  Over the last bridge, down the last long stretch, I could see the red and black carpet welcoming me home.  Remembering the pink jacket, I stopped for a second to take it off (no finish line pics with that on), hoping to throw it to Mom before the finish line.  

The finish - finally
(pink jacket in hand)

I made my way around the last bend, and saw the finish line chute.  I gave the announcer (not Mike Reilly) a high five and used whatever I had left in the tank to sprint to the finish line (pink jacket in my hand).  While this was not the race I planned it to be, I found out I notched a PR overall — besting my CdA time by ~ :30 mins — despite the slower than expected run.

After Thoughts

This race took all I had mentally and physically and am proud to once again call myself an Ironman. Congrats to MB on her first IM and to the TriLife crew.  A special thank you to Ross for his help.  

I would never have gotten through IM Copenhagen without the help of many people.  Sorry if this sounds like an acceptance speech, but,

• Earl, Four years, 2 IMs, many coffees and life talks and not letting me quit. I am glad to not only trust him completely as a coach but to call him a friend
• Andy, Nicci, and Dr. Williams (see above)
• Mike Sherry and Bruno Pinto (Bikeriders NYC) for helping Malibu Too stay in shape as we
• The countless training partners at Tailwind Endurance — the Squirrels (Jacquie "Doc" Wolfson and Joyce "Dean" Perley), everyone who kept me company on long ride (especially Maggie O’Brien for the 85 miler and Meg Gardiner for keeping me company on the 100 miler), my bike yoda who helped me focus on cadence Abe Bornstein, and the 5:30am Tailwind crew (Steve “CIA” Dean, Kevin Boova, Christine Hoffmann, Agnes Park, Rosie McGuire, Sarah Couham, Sarah Rupprecht, Salah Tanlay, Matt Bach, Matt Gilotti, and Randi Gordon).  
• Ken and Jocelyn Szekretar, Meg Newcomer, Vic Brumfield and everyone who knew that an early dinner on a Sat night meant the blue-haired special
• My family (blood and otherwise) who were more positive on the IM trek
• The people at Accenture — especially the local market team who knew I was crazy and the my new colleagues at Hogan Lovells who just started to learn how crazy I actually am
• Thank you to everyone who donated to CAF.  Thus far, I have raised over $10k!  

Now to the off season and not thinking about the 2016 season…at least for another two weeks.

After the race, we took a mini vacation to the Nordic region spending a few days in Stockholm and St. Petersburg.  More on those visits coming soon.  In the meanwhile, here are some photos from the three cities:

• Copenhagen

• Stockholm

• St. Petersburg

4-Weeks to Go and 140.6 miles to get there...

On August 23rd, I am once again stepping up to the start line of an Ironman.  This will be my second foray into this distance and I am optimistic that the training and sacrifices will pay off. 

An Ironman is greater than I am; it’s  not just about the training and dedication (although it’s a lot), but about the support network who are there every mile of the swim, bike and run.  It’s about the courage to push myself beyond what I think I am capable of  and to be part of something greater.  It is for this reason that every time I race it’s a personal journey; this time is no different.  I am once again raising fund for the Challenged Athletes Foundation (CAF) and am asking for   your support.  Please click here to donate.

In 2013, I did my first IM in Coeur d’Alene (CdA) and was able to raise more than I hoped for CAF.  As you know, I credit my involvement with CAF to changing my life and do whatever I can to both raise awareness of and financially support its mission to change people’s lives.   Over the years supporting my efforts, I hope you have seen what a positive impact CAF makes and the really and significant difference it makes.  My fundraising goal will buy four hand cycles, or support a wounded veteran with coaching expenses, or help a Paralympian get to Rio in 2016.  These athletes are my inspiration and  have been my motivation over the past 10-months of training.  

Your financial support will go a long way in changing someone’s life.  I am looking for donations that correspond with the Ironman.   If you want to support me, any amount helps, but to keep with the theme, you can make donations in increments of $112 (miles on the bike), $26.2 (miles I will need to run), or $140.6 (entire distance in miles of the race).  

In addition to the athletes CAF funds, there is an amazing support network behind me including an amazing and understanding coach (who gets my craziness), teammate at Tailwind Endurance who have made getting up at 4:15am a lot easier, and of course my friends and family who have tolerated another Ironman.  

To support me click here. 

Thanks as always for your support.  

Where is the Summer Going?

You blink and it's already mid-July.  Wow the summer is really flying by quickly!   Over the past 45-days a lot has changed for me professionally; oh and the countdown to  Ironman Copenhagen is coming faster and faster.

To make this entry short here are some highlights from June 2015...

• 9th Annual Challenged Athletes Foundation's Heroes, Heart and Hope Gala.  It's been an honor to be associated with, and helping to manage this gala since the inception.  It was an an amazing night full of inspirational speeches and raising funds (+$2.6M) which will really change people's lives.  I cannot wait until June 2016.
• IM Eagelman 70.3 (Relay).  My friend Ryan Frankel (along with his wife Erika) and I made up Team Vo2 to the Max (Ryan's idea).; I would swim, Ryan bike and Erika run.    Coming off The Challenge Quassy double (or planned double), a weekend away and another shot at an open water swim was welcome.  Earl agreed only after promising to do a long run after the swim.  After a practice swim, I knew the Choptank River wasn't going to be pleasant.  But any practice.  The weather that day was projected to reach the high 90s, so was glad that I was only swimming.  While it was fun to do a relay with friends, that course was not suited to my strength. There was little visibility on the entire swim but did my best; starting off fast (like a normally do) and getting into a rhythm.  Sighting was off a little after the turnaround as again I lost visibility in the sun.  On the back to shore, the water was very shallow in places to the point where I was hitting the bottom with my stroke.  At about 1,600m into the swim, I was hitting bottom and by 1,800m I had to dolphin dive into I ran out of water.  The swim time was ok but everyone seemed to have a bad day that day.   Post swim, I went over to friends who had yet to start the race and gave them tips about the conditions.  I hope it helped them.  The weekend was a bonus as I got to see Jen Bornemann and ran into Allie Silverman  during her racing comeback tour.
• My run after the swim was supposed to be a 1:40 slow run. I decided to run the race course to take advantage of the aid stations should I need water, etc.  I ran the first :40 with Shawn Hawkins (Minda Dentler's husband) and chatted about life in general.  Shawn peeled off after a bit to help Minda in her transition from the bike to the run (this was her final prep race for Challenge Roth) leaving me with over an hour to run.  While it was only about 9:30am, the heat was so intense it felt as if I was running near the edge of a volcano; I only imagined what it would be like for the racers coming off the bike in a two+ hours.   I am a heavy sweater, and cannot get rid of the heat that easily.  At 1:20 into the run, the wheels started to come off my bus (so to speak).  I grabbed ice, gatorade, soda, water; anything I could from the aid station to try and cool my core down.  My slow run became slower and slow until I had nothing left in me and walked back to the transition area to wait for Ryan to return and wish Erika good luck.  Lucky Copenhagen isn't that hot.  
• Over the following weekends, I had a long 90-mile bike ride, several 4k swims, many 10+ mile rides and an epic Metric Ironman.  The Metric is basically a play on the distance of an ironman in Ks (2.4k swim, 112k ride and 26.2k run; or 1.2 mile swim, 70-mile ride, and  16-mile run).  It was a long, long, day, but with one (of two) under my belt, I know I am getting stronger.  

Beyond the racing, after 10.5 years at Accenture, I made the hard decision to leave.  On July 6th, I started my new role at the law firm Hogan Lovells.  Below is my final goodbye note to colleagues.  While I do miss the people I worked with for the past decade, I am excited about the challenge ahead of me.  

Many of you know that my last day at Accenture is next Wednesday, July 1^st. 

The past decade brought great joy, but also amazing development opportunities for me personally and professionally.  I have learned from and have been mentored by some of the best and brightest people I have had the privilege to work with during my career.  I had the opportunity to collaborate with people who take great pride in their work, and worked on and managed programs and projects I am tremendously proud of.  I hope that I am leaving “my mark” on Accenture as it certainly has left one on me. 

From my first day on a cold morning in January (2005), to my last (which most likely will be hot and humid), this has been an amazing ride and I have you all to thank for that.  I remember staring blankly at people when they started to use an acronym…today I use these myself.  Over the past ten years, I learned new ways to go to market, what it truly means to activate a sponsorship, how to create an internal newsletter that is visually stimulating, yet has all of the necessary information, how to navigate a larger and complex organization, what it means to be a good corporate citizen, etc.  Accenture opened my eyes and world to many new areas; one that has changed my life through our work with the Challenged Athletes Foundation and sponsorship of triathlons.  Finally Accenture taught me to that it’s up to me to create a career for myself and that I am the only one who can forge my own journey.  So I leave Accenture as a proud alumni -- one that will look back on the past ten years very proud of my colleagues, the work we have done and some great friends. 

I start my new adventure at Hogan Lovells (a global law firm) on July 6^th.  For now, please keep in touch (email:  justinmmodel@gmail.com , Twitter: @jmodelnyc, or LinkedIn http://www.linkedin.com/in/justinmodel ) and if you want to follow my racing exploits, my blog (www.justinstrilife.blogspot.com /). 

Justin

A Double in Quassy - Say What?

A few weeks ago, August 23, 2015 seemed so far away.  That is until opening my Training Peaks account this week and the number 9 was staring at me.  How in the heck did we get to a single-digit countdown?   So here it is...the last nine weeks before Ironman Copenhagen. It's on!

As Mallorca 70.3 was a test for traveling overseas and the new bike (a few hiccups; see prior post), I selected Challenge Quassy as a big volume weekend on a course that has always kicked my ass.  Challenge Quassy, in Middleburry, CT (look on a map) is a mini mecca for triathletes from around the area.  Annually a large number of athletes come for a serving of the difficult Olympic (OLY) course or the well, humbling half iron course.  And there are a few insane people who opt for both courses; I was only partially insane by trying the OLY and the Aqua-Bike (swim and bike only) on the half course.  The race starts and ends in an amusement park which is kinda fun in its own way.   It also served as the USAT Regional Age Group Championship which meant that I had double duty as chair of the Region; racer and "worker" at our tent and during the awards ceremony.   Cutting to the chase, I was sucker-punched and spit out over that June weekend.  But with all good tales, I am here to tell it...  In summary

* OLY Race:  Decent swim, solid bike, and I actually ran the run.  All in, a solid day with a PR on the course (if you insist on my time, look it up)

* Half Race:  decent swim, a little off and blinded by the sun.  Aborted bike mid-way through.  Not fully recovered from day before.  

The OLY Course - Saturday
Thecourse was pretty much as I remembered it to be.  Hilly.  Even the swim.  I lined up to the far right of my age group (the semi-old guys) and dove into the water.  My goal was to try and find feet (of another competitor) and follow bubbles so not to have to sight.  As I glided through the water and focused on turning the hips, catching bubbles, I felt smooth...and pretty fast...until the turn when I started to swim directly into the rising morning sun....She looked, I blinked and went off course.  Luckily I noticed this quickly and start to breathe to my left (those who breathe on their right side, like me, have a harder time seeing anything when looking into the sun).  Back on course, I started to pass people in the two waves ahead of me.  Back to shore in a solid time.  Out of the water and onto the bike.

Every time I ride this course, whether in a race or training camp, I forget how hard, but amazing, it really is.  The roads dish up everything from short climbs (many of them), to fast downhills and flats, to very challenging climbs which some people walk up.  Within the first 10 mins or so, I cam across my friend Haggai (a few waves before me) and pulled up close, but not in the drafting zone, so that we could chat.  Haggai played cat/mouse, him passing me at times to say something, me coming back and chatting some more.  The 8 or so miles Haggai and I rode together was one of the highlights of the day.  However, after a bit, I needed to say adieu and rode off (saying catching you on the run as I it the hills).  The race is situated smack in the middle of Litchfield County, CT,  Known for its well hills.  While I love this course and after 3-4 times riding it (either in races or training camps), know when to push and when I can ease back., it simply is an ass kicker.  There are several steep climbs and some fast downhills where you can get up to speeds greater than 45 MPH.  The only issue I had while riding was the terrible conditions the roads were in from the winter.  Choppy, broken up and at times teeth chattering made the ride a tad slower than it should have been.   Heading back to the amusement park, I felt good and was ready to run.

Like the ride, the run also takes you around the neighborhood hills.  Immediately the run didn't feel great and I just could not get a rhythm going.  Earl was standing on the top of a downhill (the place he likes to perch himself as we'll be back in a few miles heading the opposite direction) and said nice job (on the bike), now run.  I nod and think to myself, I wish.  Down the hill I go hoping the legs move.  The heat isn't too bad, but my heart rate is higher than I want it to be.  Chugging along, I hit the first hill and opt to run walk it; running more than walking and passing a few folks.  Another quick flat until the biggest hill of the day.  Yup, walking this one too; why waste energy when I can walk faster than trying to run it.  At around mile 3 my legs finally felt like they were coming to life and my run speed started to pick-up.  Zooming and passing people, I felt good...until I didn't;  at about mile 5, I felt a bit off and hit to porta john hoping a quick relief would spell relief. Onward...The downhill at the beginning was now an uphill with Earl once again perched at the top trying to motivate us to the top.  Up and over and onto the finish.  Done, I then rooted the rest of the Tailwind Endurance crew to the finish line.  

The rest of the day, I spent with my USAT Chair duties working our booth and handing out awards to the age-groups.  In hindsight, this probably wasn't the smartest move as I was on my feet and not resting for the next day.  Oh well.

Sunday:  Half Aqua Bike
I believe on omens and should have sensed something was looming when I went to the car at 5:15am and immediately dropped my one nutrition bottle.  Gone.  I started to call teammates to see if anyone had extra; finally Earl to the rescue once again.  

The swim (1.2 miles) has me start with other Aqua-bikers, a few of the women and another group (a lot of people).  It started like the day before with me picking off people and following feet and bubbles.  When we made the turn and headed into the sun, I veered off course even more than the day before.  Once I saw how off I was, I pushed hard to get back onto the buoy line and find more feet and bubbles.  Back to shore in a decent, but not a PR time.  Time to get onto the bike. 

Getting out of my full-sleeve wetsuit (I wore my sleeveless the day before) was harder than the day before (normally, I don't wear a watch when using a full-sleeve suit as I cannot get the suit over the watch).  Finally getting the sucker off, I jump onto the bike and go.  Earl told me to top my power out at 165 (175 on hills) and use the course as a training day (knowing that I didn't have to run the half marathon when I got off).  The half course mirrors the OLY one, but we have an added 25-miles with, you guessed it, hills including one seven-mile climb which isn't steep, but just long.  As my wave started near the back (but not the very back), the field wasn't that crowded, but I started to pick off people who did not know how to manage the course.  Following my mantra of saying thank you to every volunteer - especially the cops -- I kept on chugging along.  

Turning the corner, the seven-mile climb appears.  Ready....the miles start to tick off, and am feeling ok, but not great.  Half way through the climb, start to cramp.  Not in my legs (which I would expect), this one concerned me as it started in my lower back and started to creep into my midsection and arm.  Pulling to the side of the road, I try stretching to shake out the cramp.  Feeling ok, I hop back on and started to climb some more.  3/4 of the way up, the cramp is not going away.  I see the top and the first aid station and pull to the side.  

Decision time.  Should I push through this?  Can I make it through the next section of 24-hilly miles?  This is when the "smart" and "logical"  Justin takes over from the "stubborn" me.  After speaking with the doctor at the aid station who advised not to continue (suggesting that I am not recovered enough from the day before), the smart Justin opts to call it a day.  I head over to the aid station captain, tell her my decision and ask to call a SAG wagon to bring me back to the start.  Along the way, I borrow a phone and email Earl with my decision.  


At the end of the weekend, I swam 2.1 miles, biked 52 miles and ran 6.2.  Not that bad.  

Rolling with the Punches - Mallorca 70.3: The start of 2015 season

In putting together my race calendar, Earl (Walton) and I had one goal in mind; race and race well at Ironman Copenhagen in August.  Given how hectic work can be, new added responsibilities at USA Triathlon Northeast, supporting and raising money for CAF and trying to have a social life (trying is the optimum word here), we decided to use every race before Copenhagen as prep ones. I have typically used “early season” races (Nola, Puerto Rico, et al. to test my fitness out.  The challenge has always been acclimating to hot weather during the cold winter months.  Heat and humidity, coupled with windy conditions have plagued my “performance” at these races in the past.  I was hoping not to repeat this when signing up for Mallorca 70.3.  Why Mallorca and not Texas, Florida?  Well, friends and teammates Jacquie Wolfson and Agnes Park decided to do it and hey, I have never been there and hell the Island was supposed to be beautiful.  Unfortunately Jacquie had to cancel her trip due to a business meeting in Far Asia, so what started out as a trio heading to Spain, ended up being just me and Agnes.

The five-day jaunt started off promising as we used my miles to get upgraded to Business Class en route to Madrid.  The 8-hour flight is so much more pleasant when you can actually sleep (and hang in the Admirals Club before the flight).  Yea, it did not suck.  The trip took a turn when after getting off the Iberia flight in Mallorca, our bikes did not arrive.  We waited over and hour  going to various baggage claim areas looking for them.  As many of you know, disorder and chaos are not my friends.  I like to have a set schedule before a race and while a little deviation does not get my off track, a lot of it well just sucks and throws me off my game.  Not having a bike (along with sneakers) put racing in jeopardy as Iberia initially said the bikes would arrive sometime in Saturday (when the race was happening).  Getting to the hotel in Alcudia, Agnes suggested we contact Amex Platinum desk for help.  After a 45-min call, they were extremely helpful, somehow found our bikes and got Iberia to promise to deliver them by 2pm on Friday.   Well, welcome to panic mode.  

Bike Arrivals…and another set-back:

Our bikes finally arrived Friday at 2:15pm (close enough).  I scrambled to assemble my bike and get to the race briefing.  Post briefing, I was struggling a bit and facing a 7:30pm bike check in “curfew.”  Finally giving up, I took it to the mechanic Agnes brought her bike to for help.  $25 Euros later, the bike was ready…but first a test ride.  Jumping on, I could not shift at all.  Well, kids, when I took apart my bike in NYC, I forgot that Mike Sherry (Bikeriders NYC)  told me that the battery (I have new electronic shifters) was housed in the seat post, and inadvertently dislodged the wires tendering the gears useless.  Bike fiasco #2.  Thankfully the mechanics diagnosed the problem and went to work to fix it; seat post off, crank off, cables everywhere.  A good hour and a half and $150 more Euros later, Malibu Too was working and racked along with bike and run transition bags (Ironman Europe does not have traditional transition areas; everything is done in changing tents with nothing at your spot but your bike).  I was mentally drained and the race didn’t even start yet.  

Saturday Morning - Race Day

Mallorca 70.3 starts really late for our standards with the first wave going off at 7:55am.  My start time was 9:10am (the second to last wave).  I am really not used to being that far behind and knew it was going to be a lonely day.  Checking the weather, I prepared myself for one hot day.  At around 8:30am I headed down to the beach which was literally across the street from our hotel in my new TYR (thanks MB for the hook up) wetsuit and immediately started to sweat.  Oh boy, this is going to be fun!   Trying to focus and relax, I watched as waves before me started first the blue caps (young guns) and two waves of light green caps (men 40-444).  Heading to the start line, people are already shoving for a starting position.  Whatever.  Finally, we line up and are called to start.  

Swim…I like the taste of Salt in the morning

Earl told me to use the day as a long, catered, workout.  With that in mind, I was not racing, but training.  This totally helped to relax me.  When the whistle blew, I let people jump ahead of me and started to swim as soon as I was able to do so (it was a beach start and as really shallow for about 100 or so yards).  Soon enough I was passing people who obnoxiously seeded themselves in the wrong place.  Smooth, clear, rotting hips, sighing every 15 strokes, I was sailing along.  Occasionally I started to veer to far to the left on the way out, but was able to easily correct myself and found feet to sight off of (and draft a bit; it’s allowed in the swim).  The turnaround was easy enough too and I started to see and pass a handful of light green caps.  Suddenly took in a mouth full of salt water;  ugh, hope I do not feel that later on.  The route back to shore had me breathing into the sun (not ideal) so I increased my sighting ti every 20 or so strokes.  At one point I look up and catch sight of the crew on the safety kayaks telling me I am too far off course.  Oops.  I started to breathe to my left in order to get back on course. This worked well as I fund the line, started to pass more light green and even some of the slower blue caps.  I see the swim exit arch, stroke until I am hitting sand, stand up and start to wade to the beach.  Not being a race, I take my time and jog into transition (it’s a long trek).

T1: Where are all of the bikes?

This was my far the largest race I have entered with over 3,700 registrants (I was # 3750 and think the numbers want to 3,900).  It was also a very long jaunt into T1 (longer than Mont Tremblant which was long).  I grab my Swim>Bike bag and prepare for the next 90k (56 miles) in the changing tent.  Powder, gloves, shoes, sunglasses, suntan lotion and I head to the area my bike is in.  Where are all of the bikes?  Oh yea, about 3,000 people are already on the course (including Agnes who started an hour before me).  Time to buckle up and ride.     

Bike:  Heat, Hills and Wind…Oh my

Two weeks before the race, Agnes and I did a simulation on the course at Tailwind Endurance.  This allowed us to get a taste for the course and practice on the 15% grades.   Of course experiencing it in real life is vastly different from a simulation ride.  However, with the mindset that this is not racing and just training, I decided to focus on my heart rate and power and keep it in a range that would not make me blow up on the hills.  That provided immediately hard as I had no data.  Two choices, panic and keep going or calmly pull to the side and re-set my Garmin to pick up some data.  Rolling with the punches, I go with the latter, reset the bike computer and once again head off on the ride.  Being used to getting passed on the bike, I just ignore everyone around me and focus on his beautiful Mallorca is.  

The route was flat for the first 10 or so miles before we started to climb, and climb and climb. Approaching the hills, I simply focused on maintaining my goal watts, keeping my feet off the base of my shoes and pedaling in round circles.  While my cadence was low (low even for me), I didn’t blow up, nor pull to the side and rest like a few others.  Instead I just settled in for the 10K+ climb and focused on climbing, taking in the right nutrition as Nicci (Elevate by Nicci) and I discussed, and getting to the top which I knew would come…eventually.

What goes up must also come down.  And down we did via fast and twisty switch-backs.  After the crash in South Beach in 2010 (4-years later and I am still not over it), I am cautious on downhills (probably to my detriment during races).   So while others may have bombed down the mountain, I just took my time and freaked as needed.  This was the right thing for me especially passing someone on the side of the road of one of the descents, as well as ambulance at another.  Just like I eventually made it up, I would eventually make it down the mountain.    

The thing about being in or near the back of a race is that you’re never really sure if you’re on the right course.  With many of the marshals packing up to go, and so few fellow riders, I kept hoping that the sag wagon (used to sweep the last of the riders) was far enough behind me.  I don’t mind being slow, I just don’t to be last.  

Getting off the mountain, the route took us through small towns that were exactly what you imagine them to be; mostly old stone buildings closely clustered together with some residents peering out of their windows to catch a glance as we rode by.  Some of the roads were well paved, but ones that weren’t  were so bad my teeth were chattering, the bike bottles were spilling liquid and my Garmin was bouncing.   Despite this, it was just an amazing sight and something I have never experienced before.  While the course was flat, smooth and fast at this point, it was also extremely windy.  

Now I have faced windy courses before (Nola, Puerto Rico), but the last 20 miles were pure grit as it was pedaling against headwinds throughout.  I kept saying, get into aero, treat it like a hill and push through the wind.  My mind started to play tricks — going between wanting to give up one minute and pushing though the next.  It helped that I started to overtake a lot of people — riders who pushed too hard in the beginning and were now paying for it.  Knowing this was not going to be a PR today in any way, shape or form, I focused on much my biking has improved and how much more confident I am now on the bike,   The new hand I was dealt had a lot of wind and heat.  Well, I see your wind and heat and raise you some speed and cadence (well maybe not speed, but cadence).  I pass a few more folks and see T2 ahead of me.  

T2..to run or not to run:

I got off, racked my bike, grabbed my Bike>Run bag and head into the changing tent.  Over the past two seasons, I have been plagued by a foot that goes numb off the bike.  After many, many tests, Earl, Andy Feneck (Finish Line PT, friend, and fellow scotch lover) helped to rework my running form so that I was not running solely on the balls of my feet.  Given that I worked hard to get back to enjoying the run, I really wanted to see if the work I have done with Andy and my friend and strength guru Ken Szekretar, was paying off.  So I start and say to myself you can always stop.  

The Run…Hello Sun!

The course was 2 1/2 loops around the Port of Alcudia with many zig zags through neighborhoods.  It was hot with none of the wind we had on the bike (we could have used it now) and very little shade.  Given how many bikes I saw in transition, I knew that I was starting while many were on their second or third lap.  This was a major demotivating factor.  The first mile was somewhat slow but steady; 12.1 miles to go.  The hope of running the full distance soon flew out the window as the walking dead around me suckered me in and soon enough I was one of them.  I can do a run walk…it won’t be so bad.  At first I was doing a 5 min run and a 2 min walk.  Then 5 and 3, then 5 and 5 and then the opposite.  

The course brought us around the finish line twice, but directed people to either finish or head to the second or third loop.  As I approached this split and I heard the roar from the crowds welcoming them back home, I hoped to find Agnes, finished, who would persuade me to quit. Alas, I did not see Agnes, so kept going.

Around 8K (and the start of the second loop), I started to cramp around my mid section overtime I ran more than a few mins.  Was this dehydration?  Did I need to pee?  Was it the saltwater I swallowed in the swim?  Who knew?  The walking helped and I kept hoping to see Agnes along on the second loop somewhere (where in the hell was she?  Walk…run…walk some more.  Drink water, cola, anything that would make me feel better.  

As I approached the start of the second loop, I passed a few people who were in waves ahead of.  Good I will not be the last person on the run course.  Second loop, or 16 K done.  5k and another half a loop to go.  I can eek this out.  It wont be pretty.  I run up to an elderly woman named Patty from the UK.  She and I walk together for a bit.  Patty helped to motivate me as she was so happy to be beating her previous race on this course and for being ahead of her friend and teammate Rob who started after her.  It turns out that Patty is also doing Copenhagen (her second attempt at a full) so we chatted about that race.  Suddenly Rob runs past us and I think, “Oh no you don’t.”  I wish Patty good luck and run after Rob (in Patty’s honor and also because I cannot let a 70+ year old man beat me although I am sure many already had).  Rob and I played Cat/Mouse for a little while until the last aid station.  I stopped in the porta-potty one more time to see if going will help me, you know, go.  I see Rob ahead of my and run past him.  With 2k to go, I just want to be done with this race already.  

I hit the path along the ocean which is now full of pedestrians rather than runners.  Despite the pain I was in from the cramp and the exhaustion from the heat, my running form, when I am running, is actually good and strong.  While I didn’t dare look at my pace, I felt fast maybe as I only had 1k to go.  Near the finish line, I pass a crowd of spectators cheered me on by name (our names are on our bibs along with our nationality) and shout USA, USA as I run past them.  Head down,…a few more steps.  Almost there…Almost done.  Almost.  

Finally I saw the directional signal to the finish line is meters away.  I zig-zag past strollers, walkers and others who likely were not aware a race was going on,“excuse me,” I say, “need to finish this race.”  As I entered the finish line carpet, the announcer personally greater me, gave me a high five and announced my arrival home.  Guess being near the end has some perks after all.  Done and done.  I am cooked.  

While the weather and the course got the best of me, I am proud that I did not give up when I wanted to do so, ran without any foot pain, and focused through the wind.  It was a great experience and then enjoyed Mallorca and chilled out.  

Next Up….Challenge Quassy in June followed by Eagleman 70.3 Relay and then the big dance.  

The Amazing Non-Race. A Trek Up Kilimanjaro

Before the start of the tale (and yes it’s going to be a long one, but as usual a cliff notes version before the long one), you need to understand the cast (in alpha order); nicknames will be explained later (an incentive to read the full entry)

• Victoria Brumfield (a/k/a Torrie, Kili,)
• Randi Gordon (El Torro)
• Justin (me a/k/a J-Mo)
• Maggie O’Brien (Magpie)
• Micha Ophir (Soldier)
• Jacquie Wolfson (Doc)
• …our fearless guides, Mussa, Deglan and John and about 27 other porters, chefs, and a bathroom attendant.  

And some Swahili expressions and words used throughout the climb…To understand more, read the entire entry (sorry, no short-cuts)

• Pole Pole - meaning slowly (a key expression used a lot)
• Jambo - Means hi in a more formal way
• Mambo - equivalent of  “yo” or “whass-up”
• Assanti - Thank you
• Wash-Wash - something they give you to wash up
• The Blue Tent of Happiness - or portable toilet (yes it was blue and amazing)

Cliff Notes...

Now, it is no secret I am no camping fan.  This trip was stretching me way outside my comfort zone as it required 6 days and 5 nights of camping, no shower for 5 days, sleeping on the earth, wearing the same clothing multiple times (basically being filthy and smelly), and living w/o my creature comforts (books, cell phone, Internet, etc.). 

At the end of the day, I survived — smelled but survived.  Before the trip, I was diagnosed with a slipped disc in my L4/5 and 3/4 vertebrates and wasn't actually cleared to travel until a week prior to the trip.  While I did not make it to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro (I made it to 5k Meters of elevation before succumbing to altitude sickness), I pushed past the pain and did what I could on that given day.  No regrets and cherished the experience…and the shower after.

And now for those wanting the blow-by-blow, here is my version of the trek to Kilimanjaro.

Prologue: The Trek just to Get to Kili

We left NYC on a mild Friday evening for the start of the epic journey.  An uneventful flight from NYC to Amsterdam brought us to a 3-hour layover and the chance to catch some sleep for an hour or so, eat what is served on the plane and repeat.  The 8+ hour flight from Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro felt more like 24-hours, perhaps because none of us had a proper night sleep since Thursday.  In b/w we had discussions on when to take the altitude sickness medication (Maggie and I chose to take it, others did not), several walks around Amsterdam airport, a few security checks, and countless bad movies.  Finally around 10pm we arrived in Kilimanjaro. First the payment window, then the photograph window (where you get your actual visa) and finally time to get fingerprinted (no clue why).  got our visas (one line) and went through immigration (two more lines).  Note to anyone traveling to Tanzania, get your visas ahead of time and save the 45-min wait.    

With Visas in hand and luggage collected (phew all bags arrived), we rode nearly two hours to the “resort” (loose terms).  Upon arrival, we were greeted, assigned rooms, and told to eat dinner (it was approaching midnight by now).  Post dinner (Africa time puts Island time to shame), we all called it a night — 1:00am Sunday morning, after leaving NYC at 5:50pm on Friday.  

On Sunday, we organized our stuff, and did a quick tour of some local “attractions” in the village including the waterfalls, a local coffee and banana farm, and a cave before packing and repacking our day bags (the ones we carry ourselves) and our regular bags (the ones the porters are carrying for us).  During our orientation for the trek, we learned we’ll have a total of 30 guides with us including a head guide, two assistant guides, a cook, and about 27 other guides who will do everything for us from setting up our camp site before we arrive, to carrying a flushing toilet up the mountain (this became known as the blue tented mecca).  All of us rented supplies from the touring company (including sleeping bags, a heavyweight parka, walking sticks, a thin foam “mattress” and Oxygen tanks [we had to carry the sleeping bags, poles, and coat each day and was including into the 15k weight limit).  We also leaned the route, approx. time per day we’ll be walking, and the gain (or eventual loss) we’ll climb each day.  The longest day, summit day, will occur on day 5 (of 6) when we lave base camp at midnight, summit at day-break, and continue down the mountain for a total of about 13-15 hours (about the time of an Ironman).  

The Climb…Rongai Route from 2,000K to 5,686K meters above sea level.  

Day 1:  Mon, December 29th - Park Gate to Simba Camp (+750 Meters )

We left the “resort” at 8:30am and traveled 1.5 hours to the start of our climb.  Prior to leaving, we each had to weigh our luggage (which the porters would be carrying up for us everyday along w our tents, a kitchen, a bathroom [the blue tent), a mess-tent and their own sleeping quarters) to ensure it was not over the max weight of 15k (or ~ 33 lb.). Anything over 15k we would need to carry in our day packs (including water, change of clothing, snacks, etc.) .  Upon arrival at the Gate, we met our Head Gide Mussa, our assistant guides Deglan and John as well as our chief Robert before starting out on the journey.  

The first hour or so was exciting.  While we started to walk uphill, we were fresh, were at lower altitude, were enjoying the scenery, and did’t smell.  All of us were chatting about the adventure, taking some photos of the local scenery (it wasn’t too warm even though we were in the rain forest), getting to know John (who started us out).  I even named my sun hat “Gilligan” (it looked like the one from Gilligan’s Island) which was a constant staple on my head (that or a bandanna which I called “badass” — ‘cause I felt like one when wearing it).  We broke for a boxed lunch consisting of a bread a butter sandwich, carrots, a banana, and a candy bar(immediately I knew my metabolically efficient diet was out the window for the next few days). Making the newbie mistake, I over packed my day bag with 4.5 liters of water, a first aid kit, a book (why I thought I would have time to read is beyond me).  Luckily, Maggie, Jacquie and Micha offered to help lighten my load and took some things off of me.   The vegetation around us was spectacular — almost to the extent you forgot you were on a mountain. Green plush plants, flowers, and trees were everywhere.  Unfortunately we did not catch a glimpse of any wildlife (I was hoping for a monkey spotting) during our trek.  

After lunch, we started to climb again and were met with a sudden downpour (yes this was expected) and we all put on our wet pants (on top of our clothing), ponchos, gators (for those who had them) and continued to climb. To pass some time, we told each other stories about our childhood, I confessed my fear of birds, and joked a lot.  This was going to be a fun trip if we laughed as much as we did the first day.

Throughout the first leg, John made sure we were going “poli-poli” which felt weird, but he knew best.  There were times when we got tired, had to shed clothing (not the rain pants, jackets, ponchos, etc.) as we trudged through the wet conditions.  

We made it to Simba Camp in about 3:45 hours (average time), climbing about 750 meters and immediately went on another acclamation hike of about 30 mins.  After that we settled into our tents (I was with Randi, Maggie and Jacquie were paired as well as Vic and Micha), were introduced to our first “wash wash” had our first taste of dinner on the climb and crashed by 8:00pm (it was not like there was any TV on to veg out in front of).  Each of us was also assigned an attendant to help us during our trip (Ellie was assigned to me).  He was a great guy, but didn’t speak much (I do not know if he even knew any English).  My first night in the tent wasn’t that bad and fell asleep.  

A little about the meals.  Robert was an excellent chef no doubt and did amazing things given the conditions.  Breakfast daily was some type of oatmeal, lunches were some type of stew, and each dinner started off with a vegetable soup (we all had our fair share of cauliflower soup by the end of the trip) and lots (and I mean lots) of carbs (potatoes, rice and even pasta once (but don’t ask Jacquie about the e-bollanese sauce she had one night). 

Day 2, Tuesday, December 30th: Simba Camp to Kukelelwa Cave and Kevin’s appearance. (+900 Meters )

We were woken up  at 6:30am and offered a “wash wash” and coffee (or tea) and were told to be in the mess-tent by 7:00am all packed up (meaning our day and luggage was all packed up) so we can get into the road by 8:00am.

This was billed as a long day  — meaning 8 hours of climbing gaining 900M of altitude — with a break for lunch after 4 hours and another 4 hours after that.  The weather started to get colder, and while I had a base layer, a sweater and a windbreaker on, I still did not wear long johns.  

I have to say this was by far the most enjoyable day for me.  While the trek was tough taking us over steep terrain, rocks, and a few pauses to catch our breath, we had a blast singing, laughing and making up nicknames.  Micah started to tell us about the Israeli army (first McGuyver was his name and then we settled on Soldier (but when together, Vic and Micha were known as the “Michas” like the Ropers in Three’s Company...alas J-Mo, MagPie and Doc stuck w/me, Maggie and Jacquie…Randi’s name did not emerge until Day 4).  We also started to call ourselves Kili (Vic as lead singer) and the Monjaros because of our bad, but enthusiastic singing and we sang a lot that day.  As the air thinned, we could hardly remember full songs or even verses so decided our group does jams of hit songs, snippets or just one liners.  I do not know if Deglan (who was leading our group this day) knew what to make of us, but think he even started to laugh near the end.  

As mentioned, I have an irrational fear and dislike of birds.  Call this having pigeons crap on me, having a seagull nearly attack me while on vacation last year, or just the fact that their beaks look like they can do serious damage; I just don’t like them very much.  At one point, Micha saw a very large looking creature (I have no idea what type of bird it was), pointed it out to me and said, hey look Kevin is following you.  Well, Kevin stuck and overtime we saw a bird soaring over us, someone said, '“hey Kevin is here.” Funny enough Kevin did actually follow us the entire journey up the mountain and until we exited the area.  

The route was getting harder and harder and at each in line I kept cursing whomever said this trek was easy.  There were times we were walking up what felt like the side of a skyscraper (really), or were walking over volcanic rocks (Kili was an active volcano many, many centuries ago). The plant life was changing from lush grass and trees, to smaller plants and desert-like vegetation.  We took short and long rests throughout the day to catch our breath, allow our bodies to adjust to altitude, and take photos (we have many).  Indeed it was hard both mentally and physically, but eventually we caught a glimpse of Blue Paradise and knew we made it “home” for the night.  After a wash wash,we had dinner (yes some type of veggie soup again), and crashed getting ready for the next day.  

Day 3: Wednesday, December 31st: To Mawenzi (New Years Eve) - The Alpine Desert (elevation +750 Meters )

The day started out like the previous, but with thinner and colder air.  This meant the layers kept being piled on (and our day packs were getting heavier).  This was a shorter day, but a much harder one (terrain and elevation-wise) than the previous two days and we could see the mountain in the foreground.  The terrain was desert-like (makes sense considering it was a volcano); we only wished there was desert-like heat.  Regardless, we continued to try and have fun and pass the hours (the first stage was ~ 4 hours) and fatigue, soreness, lack of oxygen and initial onset of altitude nausea made it around our group).  

I do not believe any of us properly planned for the clothing, hence we started to wear and re-wear clothing over and over again.  Not that we cared, as showers were nowhere near on the horizon and our daily wash consisted of baby-wipes and other wet cloths (which did I mention were heavy).  Deglan, John or Mussa kept trying to keep us on our pole pole pace, but it was getting harder to do so as the terrain wasn’t exactly like Central Park (where we did the majority of our practice climbs). Our boots (which were once pristine) were covered with soot as we continued the upward climb.  

Instead of stopping for lunch like we did on prior days, we plowed right through it stopping for rests and quick snacks only (our oatmeal and toast breakfast was bone sticking).  I packed a lot of Kind Bars, some jerky, and self-made trail mix baggies; none of which I actually ate on the trek up.  Guess I was losing my appetite as the altitude started to affect me more and more, so each day I gave some of my snacks to the porters to enjoy.  

On our last few Kilometers into camp, we traveled across shocking rocky terrain, but were struck that the porters were simply hanging  out in certain areas.  When we asked Deglan about this, he told us it was where they knew cell service could be found and they were checking in with their families, loved ones, or simply playing candy crush (kidding).  The road into camp required we go one-by-one and we all made sure we were all ok (helping each other over tricky areas).  Finally, we saw Blue Paradise on the horizon and knew we made it “home” again.  

Mawenzi was probably one of the most beautiful camps — with its own “lake.”  The air was cold, but before we were allowed to eat and rest (before an acclimatization hike), we had to register with the Kili Park Service (basically had to sign in).  There we noticed a pair of bull horns and wanted to take some photos.  Randi walked over, put her head near the bones and knocked them over (earning her nickname of El Toro).  After a quick meal and rest, John needed us to practice using our oxygen tanks and walking poles so he and Deglan took us out of an extremely steep hike up the side of a ridge surrounding the camp.  

The tubes to the oxygen tanks were put into our nostrils with the packs on our backs (like they are in the hospital).  Collectively, whenever we took a breath, it sounded like a scene from an old-age home was walking towards you.  The practice hike was hard and not being a skier, I was not used to using poles to support my legs (either up or down).  If the practice hike was anything like the mountain trek, I was in trouble.  We went extremely pole pole and most of us did ok (Mica, of course, opted not to use his oxygen tank that much — he is a true bad ass solider).  Gong down was a lot harder than going up and we had to ensure our feet did not slip on any of the earth or rocks.  It was harder to go slowly, but I managed by making sure I went zig-zag and stepping with my heels and not the base of my foot.  We climbed for about 1,000 meters in multiple layers, walking poles and oxygen tanks,  Compare this to what we would have done on a typical New Year's Eve.  

That night, after another round of soup and a main course of pasta; which is when Jacquie got her taste of e-bolenese, we settled for the night.  I cannot say it was a restful one as at 10pm and again at midnight, the porters started to celebrate the new year (maybe the first  celebration was one of the neighboring trekkers from Europe - probably the Norwegians whom we encountered a few times during the trek).  Anyway, it was loud, and the temps definitely dropped a lot (meaning multiple layers on in a sleeping bag…on the ground…in a tent that did not keep much of the air out [did I mention I am not a fan of camping).   In fact, Mussa left his shorts to dry on a rock overnight only to find them frozen the next morning.  

At 6:00am it was time for our wake up with a wash-wash and hot coffee.  

Day 4: Thursday, Jan 1st (New Years Day) To Kibo Hut +370 Meters

What a way to kick off 2015. Unlike others when I would be suffering from a hangover and watching college football trying to cure my body from over indulgence, I was on a mountain, having camped for three nights and was planning on climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Wow!  Yet this day had its own type of hell.  It was hard both mentally and even more so, physically.  The path was extremely steep and it was very cold out, and it was when I started to get altitude sickness.  

We left camp and proceeded closer and closer to the mountain.  I felt great as we started the day — making our way out of the valley our camp was in and onto the road to Kibo (our base camp).  At times it felt like the City of Oz in the foreground that was never getting any closer.  We tried to sing, but kept forgetting the words to songs.  The persistent laughing and smiling of prior days were not so prevalent — but we all tried to keep our spirits high and made sure we rested whenever someone needed it.  Our strides were slower than before, as we kept walking, walking and walking.  While not that steep, the incline was constant and steady — never really breaking for a flat or even a downhill.  Most of the crew kept the prospect of climbing the mountain as motivation for achieving base camp.  I was fighting the altitude and kept making sure I was breathing and drinking water or Nuun to get in some nutrients (as our appetites were suppressed, most of us were not taking in many calories at this point).  

There is no doubt about it…I felt horrible as we finally made it up the last hill and got to base camp.  There was a great energy around the camp — something I wished I was able to catch, but I felt nauseous and could only think about crashing.  Maggie took charge and signed us all into camp (like we had to in the prior camp).  After taking our day 4 photo, I crawled to our tent and fell flat on my face. I started to doubt whether or not I would even begin the journey up Kili - I felt that bad.  Mussa came over to see if I was ok and made my get up to try and eat some dinner. While I tried to get some food in, I could not eat, could not vomit and as Randi said, looked horrible.  Robert brought out a bottle of wine for us to celebrate the New Year.  However, none of us — especially me — wanted to drink a thing the night before the summit. 

After playing with my food a bit, Mussa sent us all to bed at around 6:15pm as the next day was summit day and we would begin with a 11pm wake-up call. 

Day 5:  Friday , Jan 1st and Saturday, 2nd (Part 1).  Summit Day 

At 11pm, we heard our wash-wash being delivered along with our coffee.  Having come back to life a bit, I was somewhat optimistic about being able to climb.  I tried to get some oatmeal down and we assembled ourselves.  5 layers on top, two on the bottom, walking poles, two hats, a pair of heavy gloves, 3 liters of water and the very critical oxygen tank — we all looked like we should have been checking into The Biggest Loser Ranch instead of climbing 1,500 meters.

We started the assent walking probably a foot every minute or so (if that fast).  When I tell you we were walking uphill, imagine walking on a sandy floor at a 45-degree angle in pitch black.  The oxygen tanks went off in unison as if we were all in a retired elderly home hooked to tanks.  With our fearless guides leading the way, we slowly we zigged and zagged the trail.  

An hour and a half in, my health began its backward slide.  I was just off.  My legs were moving slowly, yet my breath was labored.  My legs felt like they had weights attached to them walking steadily uphill,  Once in a while we all stopped to take a break.  What felt like eternity was only about 2 hours and about 200 meters.  As we were approaching what we thought was our first long break, my left foot essentially said enough and almost collapsed underneath me.  When we all stopped for a quick break, I told the head guide — Mussa — I was done and I need to go back down the mountain  He asked me three times if I was sure (sort of what a ref does in a race).  Sadly I was.  My long term health, the recovery from the slipped disc and an Ironman this August was much more important than summiting.  With my decision made, Mussa guided me back down to base camp.  I wish the way down was as easy as you would think it would be, but alas it was not.  Only having skied once in my life, the poles were my lifeblood as I skidded, walked, and prayed on my way down.  What took me 2-hours to get up, took me 20 minutes to get back.  I proceeded to my tent and crashed to await the others return.  NO regrets.  

In my tent, the temps got colder and colder as it turned from early morning to mid-morning.  I woke up a few times to check the clock, anticipating the crew to return around 7am.  7am past, then 8am, 9am, 10am.  Finally around 11am, Randi came in and looked like death.  She made it to  Stella Point at 5,686 meters) — one of the last ones before the very summit, but had to stop and was escorted down by Mussa (who after taking my back down climbed back up).  Randi crashed and around 45 minutes later, I heard Maggie, Micha and Vic all come in.  They were thrilled to have made it to the top (Uhuru Peak at 5,896 Meters), but were all exhausted from the trek.  A few minutes later Jacquie returned and kissed the ground.  Immediately I knew I made the right decision for me on that day and knew my body simply would not have made it up the mountain. I wish my friends had an opportunity to rest, but our day called for a quick lunch and an immediate departure 3/4 back down the mountain (or another 5 hour journey). Feeling fresh, I helped pack everyone I could before we set off.  

Day 5: Part II:  Down we Go….2,180 Meters from Kibo Hut to Horombo

As hard as going uphill is, downhill is equally hard as your quads, ankles, and calves feel every movement  Carrying clothing for the cold and warmer weather — as we left the mountain — and were traveling to warmer climate — added some extra weight to our weary bodies (at least we did not have to carry the oxygen tanks).   Jacquie was struggling the most so Vic, Micha and I walked alongside her offering an arm on the steeper descents to help stabilize her.  While we were not going as slowly as were on the ascent, we were all very cautious as the ground was slippery and you could lose fitting very easily.  

Even though it got slightly warmer as we made our way back down and we had to shed layers along the way, the mountain air was still very much present and the winds were gusty at times.  The minute the altitude started to wane, my headache disappeared and I started to feel more normal (well as normal as I get).  The road down was never truly flat, but there were section that were easier than others to navigate.  Jacquie started to come alive a bit more, but we had to force her to take in some fluids (Nuun again saved the day) to regain some strength.  Our laughing and even a bit of singing returned as we all started to feel a bit better (not having made the climb up, I had an “unfair” advantage and felt better than the rest). We kept asking Mussa how much longer as this 25k felt like an eternity; his reply was a constant “about 20 more minutes” which after a few times made us laugh even more so.  Finally after about 5 hours of walking downhill, I caught a glimpse of Blue Paradise and knew we were finally back.  Randi and Maggie had walked ahead of us and signed us into camp and helped to lay out Jacque’s sleeping bag so she could crash.  

Mussa let us re-organize a bit before calling us into dinner.  For the first time in three days I had an appetite and actually ate most of dinner.  Jacquie slept through this meal and both Maggie and Randi were not feeling so great.  Eventually we all crashed as our goal to leave camp was 7:30am the next morning.  

Day 6:  Sunday, January 3rd - Horombo to Marantu Gate - 1,920 meters of descent

The morning started out with a symbolic and ritualistic goodbye from the crew which included a few traditional songs for us (like their goodbye and congratulations ceremony) followed by a speech from Mussa.  After which it was our turn to speak (we nominated Vic as our spokesperson) and our turn to offer tips as a thank you for bringing us — and more important our stuff — up and back down the mountain (as the self-nominated banker, I created envelopes for each of the teams).  Following this ritual, we packed up our stuff for our last portion of the trek down the mountain.  

The last leg of our journey called for a 19k walk for about 8-hours as we made our way back to the Gate.  At this point all I could think about was a shower and a coke.  Two things that keep my motivation up and my walking speed.  Jacquie and most of the gang were all back to their normal selves and the frequency of the laughter increased as we kept getting closer and closer to home.  

This day took us from the base of the mountain into the rain forest covering both extremely rocky and steep terrain.  We had to keep constant vigil on our footing as one misstep and you could easily fall.  Micha, Deglan and I were walking out ahead while Maggie was mostly walking with Randi and Jacquie with Vic.  Micha and I were asking Deglan a lot about the Tanzania culture, his tribe, life as a guide and his family life.  We both walked away with a wealth of knowledge and a deeper understanding of what life is like for guides and porters.   This really helped the time (not to mention the 11k by foot) go by as we broke for lunch and a rest.  

After lunch, we headed deeper into the rain forest (luckily it did not rain) for about another 8k.  The vegetation changed once again as the terrain went from rocks to tree roots.  We still had to be extremely careful with our footing as the slope continued down and down.   Vic’s IT band suddenly tightened and had to stop often to stretch.  Despite her (at times extreme) pain, she continued to have fun creating a Floridian persona that she and Jacquie kept up for a good 45-minutes making us all laugh.  At one point John pointed out a monkey in a tree which we all stopped to watch for a bit.  The weather was never too hot and we are still at about 2,000 meters above sea level.  However, I felt great and kept focused on the getting clean and downing a coke (Maggie joked that I was going at shower speed); At every turn, but to no avail, I kept hoping to see concrete and a parking lot.  Finally, at one last turn, I saw it, the  sign for Marantu Gate signaling our arrival back.  We were all so happy to see the gate, our strides and pace increased — no more pole pole — we were home.  

After a group photo with John and Deglan (Mussa went ahead of us to sort out our luggage and plan for our arrival), I dashed into a concession/gift shop and bought everyone a Coke (one wish granted).  We all had to sign back in and state our highest point where we climbed.  Everyone who made it to the top of the mountain received a nice certificate as a souvenir of their survival to the top.  While I did not receive one, I did push my personal limits, lived outside my comfort zone, faced my own demons and came out on top.  It was a truly memorable trip, but I am down with extreme camping and climbing for a while.

And then it was time for a shower……Ah!!! 

More photos from the trek can be found here.