Train or Die

My sister Kristen (formerly known as Energizer Bunny) has been training for the North Shore Inline Marathon all summer. This race, held right along Lake Superior, is my favorite inline event and I've done it probably 10 times in the 21 years its been held (I could count my race shirts and come up with an exact number, but I'm too lazy). The last time I skated this race was in 2013, a year before the hamstring injury.  (You can find the thrilling two-part recap of that race here and here.) I haven't skated much since the hammy, and I was out of commission as far as skating is concerned from June 21 through mid-August this summer due to the PRP injection I got in my hamstring, so I hadn't given the North Shore event a thought this year. But then I started joining Kristen on her training skates the third week of August.  Er, well, by "joining," I mean that we'd meet at the trailhead, she'd go flying off to do 3-6 laps of the 10K trail loop, and I'd struggle around the loop once or twice.  And after the second of these training skates, when I'd completed two loops without too much discomfort, I had a brilliant idea.

"Hey," I thought, "why not do the North Shore?"

I knew that I was in no shape to actually race the event, but I figured, how hard can it be to just finish it?  True, it's a full marathon distance--26.2 miles--but it's not like I would have to run it.  I'd be on skates.  Skates roll.  How hard could it be to just keep the skates rolling, in shape or not?

I'll spare you the suspense and answer right now:  Hard.  Very hard.

True, it's not hard to keep skates rolling--if there are no hills and no headwind.  I had forgotten about the hills and the headwind.

Anyway, I kept a close eye on the Duluth weather report as the race day approached.  I was waiting to sign up until the last minute, because I really didn't want to skate in the rain (rain is slippery and slippery scares me and my sore hammy).  But by Wednesday, the last day to sign up, the weather forecast looked good--only a 15 to 20 percent chance of rain--so I went ahead and paid my money.

I planned to drive up to Duluth the morning of the race, and despite the 5 am departure time, night-owl hubby Jim decided to go with me.  So we rolled out of bed at 4 am, fed and walked the dog, and hit the road. (Keira got to stay home this time because it was just a day trip; we weren't going on the the cabin afterwards like we did in 2013).  A quick stop in Duluth to pick up my race packet, then on to the starting line in Two Harbors, where the real fun began.

First step: Gear up.

Putting on my pile of protective gear.  See those purple lines

on my left knee?  Those are the scars from when I crashed and 

avulsed my right hammy.  Too bad I didn't wear kneepads that day...

but I won't make that mistake ever again!

Then I wandered up to the start line.  For the first time ever, I was starting in a "Recreational" wave (and not even the fastest of the three rec waves), rather than an "Advanced" wave; I had guessed at what time I'd likely finish in, and the two hours I was guessing put me right at the slow end of Rec 2.  And Rec was a whole different world than Advanced.  Way more people, way fewer skinsuits (I had opted not to wear mine, feeling that I wasn't really worthy of the skintight spandex), way fewer "race faces"  and way more costumes--there was a cowboy, some grass skirts, and even a few Minions.

I wasn't concerned about the lack of spandex or the Halloween-like feel of the wave...but the number of skaters was making me nervous.  And when the horn sounded and Rec 2 was turned loose, it was just as bad as I'd feared.  People darted everywhere at all different speeds, some attempting to get up to speed as quickly as possible with others randomly applying their brakes whenever they felt that the downhill start was propelling them along past the pace they were comfortable with.  Being a bit of a wuss, I quickly headed to the shoulder of the road, where almost no one was skating.  Finally, after a couple miles of shoulder-hugging I could see that the crowd had thinned enough that I felt safe rejoining main road and settling into my pace.

Since I had only trained a total of 31.2 miles for a 26.2 mile race, I wanted to be careful not to go out too fast.  So I trudged along at what seemed like a reasonable pace--although my heart rate monitor, which was showing mid-180's, seemed to be saying otherwise.  I was mostly skating solo, which was not fun with the headwind, but I couldn't seem to find a paceline to hook up with.  At one point I talked two guys who were also skating solo into joining together with me and forming a small paceline--but after I'd pulled once and rotated to the back they took off and I couldn't keep up, and I was by myself again.  I skated, and skated, and skated. I was out of breath and my chest hurt and my random heart arrhythmia seemed to be acting up again.  My heart rate was high and my hamstring hurt more than I expected it to (but it was quite managable), and it seemed like I'd been skating for hours.

And then I went by the "5 mile" marker.

Damn.  21 more of these to go?  What did I get myself into?

So I skated some more, and somewhere around the 9 mile mark I mostly abandoned any attempt to do anything but survive.  No trying to skate hard up hills, no trying to join onto pacelines, no concern about anything but just keeping going.

And then it started to rain.

Fortunately the road surface wasn't actually too slippery when wet, and since I'd skated this event in the rain before I knew to stay off the painted lines and turn arrows, which become as slick as ice when rained on.  I was still occasionally taken by surprise by a slippery "tar snake," but since I wasn't pushing too hard my skate wouldn't slide too far before I got control of it.

So I slogged on, sunglasses fogged and dripping, heart rate no longer high because I simply didn't have the energy to skate hard anymore.  I chatted briefly with a couple other skaters near me as I trudged along, and I watched many people that I had passed in the first couple miles of the race pass me back.  This included the two girls in grass skirts and leis, as well as three Minions.  You know things are not going well when you get passed by Minions.

Finally, we entered the city of Duluth.  By this time my lower legs--whose little "stabilizer muscles" hadn't had this much work in two years--were so sore and tired I was having trouble controlling my skates when I set them down.  I was extremely grateful that the I-35 tunnels had been re-paved and now had smooth asphalt instead of the bone-jarring grooved concrete they'd had for the past 10 years or so; I was pretty sure that, as tired and sore as my legs were, I would have crashed at least once on the old cheese-grater surface.  But when I got to the tunnels, I got a surprise almost as good as the smooth new asphalt: both tunnels had live bands in them.  Playing 80's music.  I cruised through the first tunnel to "Radar Love," and the second to the Cars' "Just What I Needed."  I gave the second band a thumbs-up as I wobbled past and shouted "you guys are just what I needed," but I'm pretty sure they didn't hear me.  Do you know how loud a band in a concrete tunnel is?

The unexpected music gave me just enough of a boost to make it up the final hill on the freeway exit ramp.  Then a nervous coast down the final downhill, around the left turn at the bottom, and finally, 2 hours and 7 minutes after I started, over the finish line.

Just enough energy left for a smile and a thumbs-up.

And if it looks like I'm trying not to fall over, that's 

because I'm trying not to fall over.

After I wobbled around a bit I found Jim and Kristen, and Kristen's husband Tom (formerly known as Sherpa Boy).  Kristen, it turned out, had had a great race.  She not only won her age group, but she was the third woman overall in the race--yes, including the pros.

Oh, and she turns 55 next week.

Kristen is the petite one on top of the podium.

And now, a day later, my legs are sore.  Very sore.  But my hamstring feels surprisingly good.  Good enough that I want to do this race again next year.

But next time I'll train for it.