Savageman Revisited

Triathlon |trīˈaTHlən, -ˌlän| 

nounan athletic contest consisting of three different events, typically swimming, cycling, and long-distance running.DERIVATIVES triathlete |-ˌlēt| nounORIGIN 1970s: from tri-‘three,’ on the pattern of decathlon.
The image above is my finisher's medal for the 2014 Savageman Triathlon in Deep Creek, Maryland.  Raced on September 19, 2014, it was my first middle-distance triathlon and remains the longest race I've completed to date, and the hardest.  (This includes the marathon I've done.)  I entered the race with only two goals: beat the Wall at Westernport, and complete the race - no matter how long it took.And it's a good thing I had these two humble goals, because this race is insane.  Several online sources include it in their lists of the toughest triathlons in the world.  (For instance, here, and here, and here.)  I registered for it without fully realizing what it was; I just knew that I wanted to progress from the Olympic distance to the half iron distance in preparation for Ironman MD.  In fact, I can recall visiting the SetupEvents website to search for half iron distance races and thinking that this was probably a backwoods event trying to pass itself off as more intense than it was.  It was not.I don't think Savageman is technically a half iron distance, though.  It only comes in at 70 miles total, but with preparations, cycling to and from the transition area, and (in my and my fiancée's case) decamping from Deep Creek State Park, we definitely logged over the 70.3 distance on the day.  And I still wear the 70.3 badge on my RoadID, too.  I don't think anybody who's completed the race will begrudge this.  Simply to finish is an accomplishment.And my first experience was brutal - and that was before race day dawned.  Lydia and I had just begun experimenting with a new diet which I'd thought would help with endurance fueling, so my nutrition plan was totally insufficient to the task.  I had a boat load of quinoa and guacamole the night before and the morning of the race.  My mid-race fuel supplement was a medley of fatty nuts: almonds, cashews, pecans.  (Interestingly enough, they don't chew and swallow too well in a dry throat just about to slog through a 13.1.  Who'd have thought?)  Apart from this rudimentary plan, I didn't consume much during the actual race.  We were stupidly unprepared for the weather in the mountains: we decided to camp in order to save money, which was dumb because it dropped to 40 degrees F the night before the race; we left the house in Southern Maryland, a 4.5 hour drive, without our tent and didn't realize it until we hit Cumberland.  This meant we had to get a new one from a local Walmart and set it up in the dark, before I went and drove the course.  And as we were driving the course, Lydia developed a migraine, and the car seemed nearly to fail several times on the steeper hills.  When we go to the Westernport Wall, I couldn't even see the top of it - the lights dimmed under the strain of hauling us up to it.  This did not make for a very encouraging night ahead.  But on the bright side, my doubts all froze, almost as solidly as my toes did, in those frigid temperatures!For all the pre-race nerves and logistical stress, once it got under way things started to loosen up, and I settled into a mental groove that saw me out of the water after 43 minutes.  The transition to the bike was lengthy, totaling 5 minutes, as I wanted to be sure to towel off completely.  The air was colder than the lake by about 20 degrees by the time we finished the swim, and I didn't want that to bite me in the butt when I started the descents on the bike.  And it's a good thing, because after two short (by Savageman standards) climbs, the bike descends for roughly 18 miles to the town of Newport.  I saw several people who weren't elite level competitors and who hadn't taken the time to dry completely or apply an extra layer, and they looked like they suffered quite a bit from the cold.  I thought I might have saved time by skimping on the extra layer if I pushed my pace a bit, but it was a risk I didn't want to take given my two main goals.  You never want to push too hard too early and then risk a DNF, especially in a race that's so much longer than your usual distances.  I settled in for the swift descents and started gathering my energies for the Wall.Now, in the time since I've completed the race and advertised it to fellow triathletes looking to make the jump to middle-distance events, I note that whenever I refer to Savageman the first thing people mention is the Wall.  It has its own aura that isolates it from the rest of the race in both unhelpful ways and ways that make it a fantastic marketing tool.  The Wall itself is the steepest section of the bike course.  At an average grade of 12% and a maximum grade of 32% in the last 100 feet or so, it's one of the most challenging things an amateur athlete can conquer.  And there's basically a block party for the entire day for the spectators, who ride a bus the 18 miles from the start line to watch their athletes attempt the climb.Just to give you a sense of how challenging it is, here's a pretty good video that includes a fine montage of people attempting - with varying degrees of success - the assault on the Wall:

The plaintive guitar, the misty morning shots of the lake, and the race director's unsympathetic "If you don't know what you're getting yourself into, it's your own fault - this is Savageman" mix together here to create an appropriate aura to the race.  And then the mischievous swingband-esque song "The Devil's brew" admirably translates the degree to which this challenge seduces aspiring triathletes.  The Wall itself has a bailout detour which athletes can follow if, for whatever reason, they don't want to take the Wall after all.It takes a strong cyclist to make it up the wall in decent time, and the best way is to ramp up the pace and follow the smoothest path up the right-hand side.  But this doesn't always happen, as this video attests.  It can be a real crap shoot if you find yourself at the bottom of the climb with five to ten cyclists in front of you all clambering up the Wall, willy-nilly.  The problem it presents is twofold: first, how can I make it up without overtaking and risking a collision with someone weaving so erratically as they try simply to keep their wheels down?  Second: with all this traffic, should I even attempt the Wall if I can't take a clean line up the right side?  I lucked out by arriving at the wall with only one other cyclist at the top of the Wall as I reached the bottom.The town of Westernport resembles an old mining town built into the side of the mountains of western Maryland.  There's a chemical plant or factory that makes up the bulk of the town's infrastructure, or at least this is what it seems like to the cyclist approaching the town.  The course runs along the vein of the  North Branch Potomac River until it cuts left into a cluster of homes built on a hill in three "shelves" after a short, sharp incline onto Rock Street via Front Street.  At each of the three "steps" (starting at Rock & Hammond, then at Rock &Walnut, then again at Roc & Spruce) levels off slightly at the intersection formed by these cross streets.  With a clear road ahead, the rider can pace himself up these shelves and then choose an appropriate gear based on spatial availability and energy reserves for the climb.But this is if everything goes to plan - if even there is a plan.  I hadn't considered this as a possibility before reaching the Wall, and so it was very fortunate that the road was mostly clear ahead.  The cyclist I saw at the top of the climb must have reached it before I hit the last shelf before the Wall, 'cause when I hit the Gremlin the way ahead was totally empty.

The fellow following depicted in this image, I later learned, was taken down by the lead rider, who veered to the left when he lost his momentum and caused the crash shown below.

The pair have crossed all the way to the other side of the road, and all that way from trying to stay upright!  I was lucky not to have to deal with this problem at all, as the right hand line was entirely free of traffic.  I even got a few memorable pieces of encouragement from the crowd along the right line side.  I didn't see faces or catch names, but a woman at the bottom of the climb saw my race number and shouted her support.  A volunteer (wearing yellow) walked alongside me for a second or two and said, "You're good to go - all clear ahead.  You've got this!"  I was in a 25x39 gearing combination at the last shelf, and I was making clear progress up the hill.  But about halfway up the last shelf I felt myself slowing, so I dropped into the smallest of a triple ring.  This brought me to a 25x39 ratio, which is quite an easy gear, and I stood up as I neared the final five meters.  At this point, I couldn't have been moving very fast at all, because I heard a woman's voice in my ear say, "That's right - stand up.  You're almost there!"I don't know why, but these interactions stood out very clearly at the time, and I drew a lot of motivation from them.  Even though I didn't know these people, their words gave me a sense that this challenge was totally within my grasp.  It was as if it was a mere formality that it hadn't happened yet.  And their encouragement was invaluable because, while I was very focused, I tried to spy Lydia amongst the crowd.  But the press was so great that it was hopeless to pick out a single face.  She later showed me these photos of myself as I crested the peak:

I beat the wall on my first attempt, and it was a great encouragement.  Although, I'd have been very embarrassed not to have taken the climb with a triple crank, I'm certainly not ashamed to say that I used one.  I'd read so much in the week before the race about proper gearing for the large climbs that I panicked and brought my Madone rather that the Triathlon bike.  The relative comfort - I won't say ease! - that I felt while climbing the Wall makes me think I can take it in a standard with a 28x39 combination.  Next year, I might attempt it in an actual TT bike.
In any event, cresting the hill provides all of about 30 seconds of satisfaction before leaving competitors staring down another, longer, tougher climb.  After rounding the bend on Rock Street once you've crowned the hill, there appears the aid station and garment drop station.  I pulled off and ditched my Under Armour base layer in a pre-marked bag, which the race volunteers collected and returned to the start area.  I was in all, about 30 seconds disrobing and taking on an extra water bottle before setting off again.  But this time, the going was much slower, much more cardio-dependent than the Wall had been, and much more demoralizing in its intensity and protraction over time.  As the elevation profile below indicates, the Wall is only the beginning - albeit a bitter beginning - of a much longer and trying segment.

All told, the Wall amounts to about 238 feet of climbing over the course of 0.3 miles.  Big Savage Mountain winds up being around 1,950 feet of climbing over 7 miles.  On average it's much less steep than the steepest portion of the Wall, but the entire climb taken together means that the hardest part of the whole affair leaves riders with roughly 88% of an incredibly difficult climb to complete.  And once that's complete, there's still almost exactly half of the bike leg left!But despite the enormity (at the time) of my perceived effort and the remaining half of the bike split to complete, things slowed down and energized at the same time.  With the first of my two main goals accomplished, I set myself in for the long 27 miles homeward and the half marathon at a steady, entirely manageable pace.  After the Big Savage Mountain, even the descents remaining seemed slower, since in my mind the rest of my are hinged on completing the 13.1 miles at the end.  I'd never done that distance after such an exertion on the bike before, and my pace reflected my prejudice against speed in favor of sustained energies across the remaining discipline.I allowed myself to appreciate the scenery of the course, and I discovered that this is a race that places a contest requiring more endurance and discipline than most competitors have ever summoned before in a region of tremendous natural beauty.  The long remainder of the Big Savage Mountain, the Elk Lick, leading to McAndrews Hill, all pass through shaded portions of mountain roads, valley passes that let you see far into the distance, and expose you to the sounds of nature.  By this point, the air warms considerably, such that the toil up the climbs doesn't cost cyclists overmuch in sweat.  The aid stations are situated to provide sport top bottles of water at manageable distances across the course.  I found myself actually enjoying the ride, despite a lowest sustained speed of approximately 7 mph up the long inclines.  I saw and laughed at the various signage - all very tongue-in-cheek - questioning our sanity.  There were such tokens as "How's that aero gear treating you now?" at the steepest part of the BSM climb, and "Ironman?  Big deal!  This is SAVAGEMAN!"The last remaining hurdle was the Killer Miller.  It wasn't so bad of itself compared to other portions of the course, but coming as it does at the tail end of significant amounts of climbing, and its average of 22% grade tries the legs and the soul.  A playful sign warns riders not to look left across the small valley from which the Miller snakes up and out, and the course seems designed to taunt competitors with a last taste of free speed on the descent before the last sharp incline.  Roughly partway up this hill, I saw a group of what looked like college kids passing out water bottles.  I had enough energy to joke with them, asking for a tow rope before I snatched up the last bottle I'd take on board.There remained a few climbs left, but they were minor in comparison to the earlier ones and the late appearance of the Miller.  But they weren't without cost.  They drove me into the dangerous gray space in which you can feel yourself accessing reserves.  It became harder for me to maintain a constant speed, and as the hills began to roll I noted my computer register slower and slower speeds, until it was a relief to see the display showing 15mph.  I found that I couldn't generate power and sustain it.  My breaths came in shorter gasps and felt frail compared to my earlier, steady, long, and reassuring respiratory cadence.  I was hitting the wall.But thankfully, I was within 6 miles of the transition area, and I told myself it was entirely manageable.  I'd bonked before on long training rides of more than 100 miles, so I was familiar with the sensation and could settle once more with adequate mental energy devoted to the task.  I slowed to what felt like a crawl before reaching the gentle slope back into Deep Creek State Park and coasting home.Once off the bike, though, things started to get hairy.  I'd never done a brick to combine sensations of fatigue with training performance before (this was a trick I'd learn later, in which you pair two disciplines to adapt the body to the stresses of moving from one endurance activity to the other).  My performance suffered as a result.  I made the transition and once again failed to see Lydia, who snapped a few pictures as I rolled in to rack my bike.  A few short moments and I was out on the trail to complete one of the hardest runs I've endured to date!Just out of the gate, I realized that I needed to stop and tend to an old bother.  An old injury to my left foot big toe leaves the digit susceptible to pressure while in cycling shoes and which requires some little adjustment before I can regain comfortable use of my foot for running.  I slipped off my shoe, cracked my big toe using my hand, and laced up once more.  Just before joining the trail, I figured I'd better stop off and use the portable, just to ensure a comfortable run.  I was out for perhaps 30 seconds of relief before rejoining the course.The run went.  That's about all I can say for it in terms of my performance.  I'd hoped to come home with something like a 10 minute mile average over the 13.1, but that was rather faster than I was able to maintain after the exertions on the bike.  I clocked a 2.18 half marathon, which equates roughly to 10.40 minute mile.  I was intrigued to note, however disappointed, to experience such fatigue during the run, especially given how conservative I'd been on the inbound loop of the bike leg.  There were two segments in which I resolved to walk and recover.  And given that I hadn't paid great attention during the pre-race meeting about the elevation profile on the run, this was a last-minute plan I developed on the fly to deal with the fringale I experienced late in the event.The elevation profile looks like this:

The run passes through parts of the campgrounds of Deep Creek State Park, and although Lydia and I hadn't planned this, our campsite was right on the run course.  This made for an interesting crisis of the will during the second lap, as I found myself fantasizing about taking a break, resting, and rehydrating when I passed through it on the first lap.  I managed to get out of my head and force the pace up that incline, which is comparable to Tower Hill without the terrible implications of the name.  I made it through the first 4.5 miles in decent form and chanting my mantra, "just finish," to myself, before hitting the top of Tower Hill and resolving to walk up it the next time I reached the foot.  It was so energy-sapping that I couldn't even think about the second lap without feeling an overwhelming urge simply to walk, to recover.  I gave that up and focused on the second lap after I descended from the Tower.  When I reached the campgrounds, I decided to walk up the ascent.  I hadn't studied the elevation maps of the run, so I thought I was just bonking harder than I had ever done before when I made my second pass of the campsite.  I learned later that it's in fact higher than the Tower.There was a fellow at one of the loops in the campgrounds shouting all sorts of encouraging hyperboles to the runners as they passed at their various speeds.  The most memorable comment I heard him reiterate was along these lines: "Here's another Savageman [or woman; he was gender-conscious]!  You're doing an awesome thing!  Look at you go!  If a hurricane stood in your way, you'd blast right through it!"  And so on.  A little less intense than the block party at the Wall, but oddly personalized comments that helped dissolve the negative mental energy that I had accumulated around mile 8.By this time, I hadn't seen Lydia since leaving her at the campsite that morning, and I was beginning to wonder where she'd gotten to.  Although she'd been at each transition, I hadn't seen her at all and couldn't know she'd been supporting me incredibly vocally.  But waiting for 5 or more hours for your boyfriend to complete a race in which you're only intermittently involved can be tedious.  And so Lydia solved this problem by lacing up and pounding the run course on her own.  She even managed an attack of Tower Hill during an impromptu 7 mile jaunt!  (I'd passed her going in the opposite direction at mile 6, and I told her I was on lap 2.)  The next time I saw her again, she was coming towards me as I closed in on mile 13.  We paced the last mile together, but then I got my second wind and dropped the proverbial hammer.  Of course, after so long at play, my top end speed was considerably reduced.  I wouldn't be surprised if my top speed as I neared the finishing chute was around a 9 minute mile.  

To put it in perspective, at this point, my top cruising speed was around 9.15.  I felt like I was seriously on the rivet at this point, but Lydia still managed to kick past me in her attempt to grab a photo of my crossing the line.  She managed to snap these photos before pulling out and around:
I finished in 6.45.16 and found the nearest spot of unoccupied turf, where I promptly fell out and started moaning and complaining and making all the appearances of having suffered inordinately.  I groaned about my hamstrings, which were tighter than I'd ever experienced before.  I wailed about the blisters I'd developed.  I wept over the state of my nutrition.  And generally, anything I could identify as a factor in limiting my performance and thus excluding me from the ranks of the elite, I identified.  I channeled Team Sky and began a complex yet precise analysis of the garbled, jargon-ridden performance metrics and "shit [only] triathletes say."  My long-suffering girlfriend patiently listened and never let on that I sounded ridiculous, as I rationalized everything in sight, and most of what was out of sight as well.  But before people get the wrong idea about this confession, I should mention that this is a hallowed tradition amongst triathletes.  It's almost a rite of passage.  The competitors who piss and moan to each other in this vein are probably the furthest things from sore losers or whiners who could have done better "if only" - if only that headwind didn't kick up exactly when it did; if only I'd had carbon wheels; if only I hadn't had that respiratory infection!This is the lingua franca of the multisport world, and the degree of enjoyment athletes experience is directly proportional to the degree of exaggeration in each claim.  Apart from the actual competition, these are the greatest expressions of joy triathletes can make to each other.  (Though nothing reaches the sublime ecstasy of a podium finish - even if it's just an age group award.)  "If my old hamstring injury hadn't flared up on that last ascent, I'd definitely have been laying down a sub-6 mile for the last 5k" translates to "I couldn't even feel my legs during that last climb, and if I weren't thoroughly average I'd be doing better than my 12 minute mile pace."  It's a way of expressing the desire to belong: we can talk the talk, even if we can't post a 4.39.38 Savageman result (the 2014 overall victor's finish time).So I'll wrap up by reiterating my initial claim: this race is insane.  There's no way around the brutality of the event and the psychopathy of the course architect.  No way around; you just have to muscle through it.  If I could give any advice for the first time participant, it's this:1) Arrive early, fuel properly; the race starts with your meal the night before.2) Enjoy the swim; it's the easiest it'll be all day.3) Buy a triple crank (unless you're a cat 2 or higher cyclist); you'll thank me and yourself on the Miller.4) Have your own mental strategy in place for the run; you can fall into a dark headspace on the run if you haven't trained with bike-run workouts.5) Don't forget to enjoy yourself; this is some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen, and it's a great privilege to do what we love in such a lovely place.  Appreciate it.6) Finally, THANK A VOLUNTEER!  There are so many great people who come out to help this event come off: from the people picking you up off the Wall, to the kids passing out salt tablets and Heed, this fantastic sporting event thrives because of these workers behind the course.
Thanks everyone at Savageman and SetupEvents.  We'll see you guys again next year!