Amgen Tour of California - Stage 8 Preview

This past weekend I had an incredible time training with my life long friend and teammate, David Schulhofer. Over three days we rode 200 miles and climbed over 19,000 feet. Most of our time was spent in the Santa Monica Mountains, climbs we have tackled together since our teenage years. We finished the weekend off with the Amgen Tour of California Breakaway Ride, which took place on the course that will be used for this years TOC, Stage 8. It includes a circuit with the famous "Rock Store Climb"...massive suffering. David and I were able to get into a four man break with non other than Ned Overand (no, I did not beat him...he was there representing Specialized and doing the longer course). With a lot of help from Dave, I was able to win the 63 mile event, which capped off a great weekend!

A Personal Story...

Af-flic-tion 1. a state of pain, distress, or grief; misery 2. a cause of mental or bodily pain, as sickness, loss, calamity, or persecution.

Have you ever wished, with all your heart, that you could fast forward time and bring yourself immediately to a place of eternal peace? Save a few days for precious goodbyes, but please, let’s just skip everything in between! It’s not easy to admit, but it would be inappropriate to exclude this very real thought if my true intention is to scribe moments that leap out at me, like they happened moments ago – lucid memories that are really so fundamental to this specific life experience. It’s really not an experience. In fact, it’s feels totally inappropriate to refer to it as such. From my vantage it at times feels like a tragedy, a calamity, bad fortune or a curse. An affliction.

Fundamentally, I’m afraid this was, and is, a life-altering circumstance, and now, really part of whom I am. While often maddening, exasperating, it does at times feel like a very, very strange sort of blessing. Let me do my best to explain.

It goes like this…

On Tuesday, February 21, 2006 I had a very thorough (frankly, too thorough, if you know what I mean) physical exam, including lab tests, and results showed I was in excellent condition. At that appointment, however, I complained of very slight burning and tingling sensations in my fingers and toes. On the 28^th, this strange and troubling feeling began moving, rather symmetrically up my arms and legs. On March 3, this pain became so severe that I went to the emergency room. After a wait that felt like forever, and a long list of patients in front of me, my exhaustion won out and I went home. Trying to rest the next day, the pain was now in my torso, and on the 5^th it spread to my face. On March 6^th, at 1:30 in the morning I went back to the emergency room and was admitted... the attending physician really struggled to understand what was happening.

I know, this story is getting long, so hang in there and I will fast forward a bit. I had concluded, based on numerous conversations and doctor theory, that my problem was neurological in nature. On March 14^th, I was referred into one the best Neurologists in Arizona. I went through nerve conduction testing, an MRI, and a small “punch” skin biopsy from the lower portion of my leg. Thank goodness, the MRI ruled out what could have been a very serious illness ( waiting for those results felt like three lifetimes, and with my mind racing, I was expecting the worse). However, the biopsy did confirm that my peripheral nerves were damaged…the bottom line, I was diagnosed with idiopathic (meaning no known explanation or cause) Small Fiber Neuropathy (SFN). In overly simplistic terms, SFN is a disease of the very small nerve fibers in the skin. Frankly, it’s hard for me to read published papers on the disorder – doctors use words like “progressive”, and “debilitating”, which is a bit disturbing when you’re the subject of discussion. On the other hand, “why be a statistic”, so I do my best to stay positive. In either case, I won’t lie…the pain is overwhelming at times, and I’ve had the distinct pleasure of experiencing ranging levels of pain, every hour of every day, going on four years.

Grief 1. Keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. 2. A cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow.

Traditionally, there are 5 stages of grief…we’ve all heard this, right?

Denial - "This can't be happening, not to me."

Anger - "Why me?"; "It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; "Who is to blame?"

Bargaining - "I'll do anything for a few more years"

Depression - "I'm so sad, why bother with anything."

Acceptance- "It's going to be ok."; "I can't fight it, so I might as well prepare for it."

I’ve learned a person grieving may not experience all 5 stages, and they certainly do not have to occur sequentially. In my own experience, I float around denial, very brief moments (rather than periods) of depression, and acceptance. Acceptance is taking time however, and writing this is a part of the acceptance process.

I’ve been asked why I don’t get angry, and I guess I just don’t see the point, nor do I believe I have the right. Just look around you and you can always find someone with far greater struggles. “Why me”, well “why not me”…”stuff” just happens, and there is a certain natural level of disorder, chaos, in life that we should each come to expect.

And bargaining, well with whom shall I bargain? You see, I believe in a God with the power to intervene, but that rarely does. Not out of a lack of caring, but with confidence in our resiliency, our ability to care for one another, and a judge and implementer of ultimate fairness. I guess I just feel that in those extremely rare occasions when He does choose to intervene, I suspect…no I’m quite sure…He has far more important issues to deal with.

Suffer 1. To undergo or feel pain or distress.

We are taught that we each have a purpose, a reason for being here. Furthermore, history shows us that a circumstance of tremendous struggle, creates great opportunity. Rather than hardship excusing us, perhaps it obligates us. Don’t get me wrong, it really, really gets me down sometimes, but maybe it’s better, healthier, for me to believe that suffering is part of my purpose, so to speak, my glory or unique contribution (it must be, given my love of racing bikes, which is really all about the beauty of absolutely horrendous suffering) and that SFN is my vehicle to help others, and inspire? Besides, while it is relative, we all struggle, and we all suffer to some extent.

Attitude 1. Manner, disposition, feeling, position, etc., with regard to a person or thing, tendency or orientation, esp. of the mind.

So in the end, it all seems to come down to attitude, and our free will to decide how we react to challenge. I mentioned early on that perhaps this was a blessing. And while at times I honestly want to eat these words, often, this is truly how I feel. Why? Well I truly am one of the lucky ones. My wife, girls, and the extended family I cherish. A rare set of friends. A team of the best doctors, a career I am grateful for, and a passion for cycling that first and foremost I am physically able to do, but that also helps me to feel better, and mitigates my symptoms.

I guess what I’m saying, in conclusion, is that as a product of this condition, I’m able to appreciate life, and all that is around me to a degree, and with intensity I never, ever knew before! And for that, I am truly blessed...and very, very indebted.

Small Fiber Neuropathy

This link will take you to an excellent article on Small Fiber Neuropathy.

A Dream, or the AZ State Time Trial Championship

I just woke from the craziest dream. Really, it would be more accurate to categorize it as a bloody nightmare. It was so intense, so vivid that I felt compelled to put it on paper. If anyone out there is good at psychoanalysis, have a read and help me out with this. Please!

So the dream goes like this. The 2009 race season is winding down, with just a few events remaining. I have no intentions of doing the AZ State Team Time Trial Championship, but at the last minute, we throw together a Haus team that makes absolutely no sense. Don Williams, Scott Schraff, and myself. But the part that is absolutely ridiculous, we recruit Eric Salstrand as our fourth guy?

Now, I need to be very respectful of Don and Scott, and deservingly so. These guys are super strong bike racers, and Don holds more cycling championships and records than anyone I know. In fact, if you had a racing pedigree with 1% of Don’s accomplishments, you’d be doing extremely well. But the problem with these time trials is that they are excruciatingly painful. Generally speaking, a little under an hour of living hell. Then you throw in a guy with “pulls” are like Bill White’s Ducati crotch-rocket, and well, hell would be a much, much nicer place. If you could finish with one guy o.k. but the rules require you finish three intact.

You see, Salstrand is part man part animal. I could spend all kinds of time describing him using fancy adjectives and metaphors, but let me keep it simple... if he wore socks you’d swear you were riding with Fabian Cancellara. For God’s sake, he even looks like the guy. What also makes this team selection so comical is that there’s a bit of age difference. In fact, if you take the 3 of us and calculate the difference between each of our ages, and Eric’s, you get total of about 60 years. No big deal. Just more experience, right? Well, you're wrong.

So in this phantasm, there are all sorts of interaction and communications between our team. I can’t seem to remember all of it, but a few remain tucked in memory. First, I recall calling Don and asking him to join our outfit. He asked who are teammates were, and when I mentioned Salstrand, he reacted calmly, but tellingly with the utterance, “oh shit”.

There was also tons of conversation with Eric. Actually, it would be better described as very specific instruction. “Eric, understand the strength difference in our team”, “we need to ride as a unit”, “the key to going fast is pacing”, “we are faster with 4 guys than three”, “we need to start slow”, and “no gaps in our formation”, “if we tell you to slow down, slow down”…anyway, you get the picture. So we’re on the start line and ready to go. But, here is where what could have been some really nice R.E.M., becomes a complete train wreck. Salstrand immediately behaves like we did something to upset him. Like we kicked his new born, Paige. All of our pre-race chatter, and instruction…the pacing, etc. he completely ignores. It’s like we never had the conversation. And the more we yell at him to slow down, the more upset he becomes. Not good.

So five minutes in, after 3 or 4 monster “Salstrand pulls”, Schraff looks at me and says, “I’m done”. I seriously considered asking if I could leave with him...you know, just sneak away without the other two even knowing...hide in some bushes or behind cactus. Bad decision, I decide to soldier ahead. So now we’re down to three. And to make my personal experience even worse, Don is in great form and the two of them are just killing me. How can I describe this? It’s truly like someone holding a flame to your lungs, for 55 flipping minutes, and these 55 minutes feel like 55 years. The pain and suffering is just unbearable. In this horrible dream, I keep slipping off the back, trying to get back on this 34 mph locomotive. I pray for a flat tire. I consider an intentional overlap of a rear wheel, as I’m totally convinced at this point that sliding on pavement would be more comfortable than trying to hang on. What excuse can I come up with? I politely ask, more than once, for them to take it easy. When they look back at me, they have fangs, and red eyes lacking pupils. Their stare startles me, waking me in a pool of sweat.

Only a dream! Thank goodness. After calming myself, I begin to chuckle. So absurd, clearly my common sense would never put me in such an idiotic position. Now I’m laughing out loud, right…so ridiculous! This could just never happen. But the images are so concrete, and the pain so irrefutable, that I’m starting to wonder could this really have happened.

Please, somebody, tell me it isn’t so?

The Leadville 100 - The Race Across the Sky

The mountains around Leadville are haunted. The ghost that roams this old mining town and its surrounding valleys and clouded peaks, most often disguises herself as Mother Nature. It doesn’t feel like She works alone, as it seems it would take several talented spirits to hand out the torture, and torment, to those riders foolish enough to bite off The Race Across the Sky. There’s no other explanation for the circumstances that surround this mysterious venue, and this epic race…The Leadville 100.

The town, founded in 1878 by chasers of gold first, then silver, is very, very, rough. It originally consisted of 120 saloons, 118 gambling dens, bordellos, and almost no law. Every noteworthy gambler and gunslinger of the American West followed miners to Leadville. Luke Short, a whisky dealer and gambler showed up in 1879. A gambling dispute provoked Short to shoot a man in the face. In character with the town, he was never charged. Doc Holiday arrived in 1883, and was promptly confronted by an armed Bartender wanting repayment of a loan. Holiday shot him. When a peace officer came looking for Doc, Holiday shot and killed the lawman. He claimed self defense, and the charges were dropped. Like I said, almost no law. Leadville’s proudest structure is the Opera House, built in 1879 and which still stands today. On its opening night, the premier was upstaged by a double hanging. Two claim jumpers were taken from jail by vigilantes and hung from the jailhouse roof. Their bodies were left hanging for days to discourage other thieves. Well, this town is still really rough, and this Race leaves bodies hanging as well.

And many, many accidents…or so it was thought. In 1892 two miners were fatally injured by an explosion of gun powder in their cabin. One of the miners laid two sticks of the powder near the fireplace, with plans to take it to the mine. Both men were relaxing when the explosion occurred. I think She casually picked up the sticks, and tossed them in flames, sending these two men to an early “exit”. A few years before, a cave-in occurred, entombing two other miners in a drift at a depth of 400 feet. Again, I sense our little friend may have been at work. Do you remember Poker Alice? Among the few women gamblers on the frontier, she began her career in Leadville after her husband was killed in a mine accident. Apparently our “visitor” had a jealous streak. Again, not much has changed in terms of mystery and intrigue. Today over a billion gallons of contaminated water is trapped deep in an abandoned mining tunnel. It is feared the water could escape into the town. Commissioners have declared a state of emergency, as a large snowpack melt could create a wave of toxic water. Personally, I don’t think this will happen. I think it’s where She bathes.

So this Race, what’s it like? She makes it hell, using every arsenal at Her disposal. That’s not to say She doesn’t warn you. The race starts at the only stop light in town, symbolically suggesting that you Stop!, get off your bike and go back to bed. Once you foolishly ignore that warning, you’ve really asked for it. Yeah it’s a neutral start, but the Witch has no manners. She sends you off in your well thought out kit, only to use the tire you trail as a weapon, flinging cow dung off Forest Road 103 into your face and jersey…no joke! I suggest you wear Oakley’s, as they saved me what could have been a disastrous eye infection.

Just as you dismiss this as a random, isolated, never to occur again event, She makes you drop your guard. You’re fresh, and the first early climb over St. Kevin, and even the front side of Sugarloaf Pass, allows you to find your rhythm. She lulls you into getting ahead of yourself, convinced that you will be o.k. Well bullshit, you won’t. She makes it rain, and within minutes you will ask yourself if you have ever been as cold on a bike. I’ve never been. You don’t believe me? Well go ask Tinker. It’s been a day and he’s still thawing out. They’ll need a blow torch to warm up his 60 kilo frame. Also, She just won’t let you eat. The rocks you’re rolling on are softer than your frozen Power Bars. Oh, I was one of the lucky ones. Singled out to make an ass of myself on a slippery right-hander. Yep, face-plant an hour twenty into a long day so I got to look down at blood, as if to warn me of greater danger ahead, streaming from my right knee.

Next is a special little section. It’s designed for those crazy enough to return. Typically those who she “skipped over”, like God skipping over the chosen people from His “consequences” to the Egyptians, for ironically, failing to accept warning. Remember the stop sign? It’s for those who did well, proudly displaying their ridiculously oversized belt buckle trophy. What now you ask? Bone jarring single track, and it’s exposed to the wind. This year, these bumps teamed with a saddle and literally took a “nut” from a friend… one of these returning soldiers. It took him out of commission. That’s right, set him next to Lance and you have a pair. Oh, and if you are lucky enough to get through this track on the way out, She will get you on the way back using the enormous strength of Her breath. It is bush lined narrow single track, and the wind will simply knock you into the gorse. This stuff makes St. Andrews look like harmless front yard shrubs.

Ok, so you all know what’s next…the Columbine Mine Climb. But first, time for a trivia question. Do you know the highest U.S. city? That’s right, Leadville. This particular climb starts at about 9,700 feet and you (try to) climb to 12,600 feet. So what if it’s hailing golf balls? So what if a gentle start to the climb on smooth fire trail turns into dodging bowling ball sized craters. Don’t feel bad, Lance walked sections this year. You’re dizzy when it gets really steep, and you’re 47 miles into the race, so how long can 3 lousy miles take to the turn-around. Well they take forever. An eternity. Riders, or let’s call them hikers, were celebrating birthdays up there. Don’t worry, you’ll likely get there, but at about 2 miles an hour, so let’s call it 45 minutes plus or minus. Don’t try to think or speak, because your intellect will be adjusted to a small rodent. The elevation does that to you.

Eventually, you will make it, and there are some incredibly nice volunteers at the top. You know the type that never drink, and like to make fun of the village idiot that’s wasted at a party. You sort of here snickering as you roll away. “Did you see that guy trying to take a gel? Looked like he thought it was sunscreen”. So you’ve made it to the top, and it’s all downhill from here, right? But it’s a pretty nasty decent, and remember you’re dodging the “hikers” going 30+mph, and you’re both operating at small infant mental capacity.

I’m going to skip over some of Her smaller tactics, although this year I had the chance to mix in a “run” with my ride. Actually, it was an all out sprint to the portal-potty, which is never pleasurable, but particularly in the middle of this restful event. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to sit down. But let’s just get to the real animal. The nuclear weapon! The Power Line climb. Have you tried rock climbing? This is not a mountain bike climb, it’s a wall. If it were in L.A. it would be tagged with graffiti. I kept looking for a rope. They should hand out white flags at the bottom. Forget the Power Line, where do you buy tram tickets? Just no sharp object left at the bottom please, as the altitude can cause instability. You know, it’s simply not good manners to place an obstacle of this enormity, at the 80 mile mark of a mountain bike race. This is where entrants drop like flies, those that are left and actually belong in the race. This year maybe 65% that started finished. With a 13 hour cut-off, many drilled this thing at a scorching 8 mph! You might walk it faster.

Oh yes, some will crest Power Line and She will let you rebuilt your confidence again, just to play one last cruel joke. An unforgiving act of treachery. In my case it was to tease me against my target time. I actually started the day strong, well ahead of my needed pace by the top of Columbine. But I went through a bad stretch…the run to the potty and all that. So things started looking not so good. But on the St. Kevin climb coming home, I started feeling better, and at a lower elevation was upgraded to 5th grade math. I figured that if I went as hard as I could, I would make it, with some room to spare. Well guess what? This Demon is liar. I reached the 100 mile mark ready to put arms in the air…and I was in the middle of a fire road without a soul in sight. Eventually, disgusted, I ran into a photographer and asked where the finish line was? Did I make a wrong turn? No, She stretched the race to 104 miles. Damn it. It’s not called the Leadville 104. Like I said, She’s a liar. They should make it 666 miles. It would be more fitting, and it just can’t feel any longer anyway.

So I finished 13 minutes outside my target time, but it was the time I deserved. Going in, I just didn’t realize how mean She was. And believe it or not, this story gets worse. You fall to sleep in exhaustion that evening and She makes you forget it all. I would imagine, with all due respect, it’s like a women giving birth. You would never do it again if you remembered the excruciating pain. I know, I know, you’re saying well I didn’t hear Lance complain. Well that’s because he’s too fast for Her to catch him. Your thinking he’s riding like a bat out of hell because Dave is chasing him, but it’s really because he’s actually riding out of hell. And what about Dave Wiens? He doesn’t complain either. He keeps coming back year after year. The fact of that matter is that everybody who has ever met Dave Wiens loves Dave, even this miserable tyrant. So the next day you wake up to blue ski, and an inability to acutely recall the sensation of torture that started just 24 hours ago. She fools you into thinking that next year will be different. That you can shave those 13 minutes. Well, well what an appropriate number! It makes sense I guess. She needs us to come back. After all, what’s a ghost without all of us to torment?

2007 Ford Ironman Arizona

In April of 2007, I competed in the Ford Arizona Ironman as a way to respond positively to my Small Fiber Neuropathy diagnosis. What follows is a brief write-up from my Firm's periodical.

That which does not kill you makes you stronger. - Friedrich Nietzsche

Though Phoenix Tax PIC Tod Smith is accustomed to challenges, he must have a whole new insight into Nietzsche’s famous maxim since finishing his first Ironman in late April.

Tod completed the grueling Ironman Arizona in 11 hours and 29 minutes, achieving his personal goal of breaking the elusive 12-hour mark. He finished in the top 15% of the over 2,000 professional and age group participants.

For those unfamiliar with Ironman Triathlon, the day starts with a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike, and finishes with a full marathon—a 26.2-mile run.

Contributing to the challenge on this particular day were 35 to 40 MPH winds. These conditions were particularly challenging on the bike, causing crashes and resulting in the highest “did not finish” rate ever for this event.

Why did he do it?

“It’s interesting to hear the many reasons why someone will set Ironman as a goal,” Tod said. “Often it has less to do with the race, but rather the way in which establishing, focusing, and reaching this goal helps us deal with and overcome other challenges in life. I guess I fall into this category”.

“There are certainly lots of other positives that come out of it. Obviously, personal fitness and a healthy lifestyle are great benefits; as are serving as a positive example to my daughters; and most importantly, the hope that I may inspire others along the way.”

How did he do it?

Tod spent roughly 10 months preparing for the race. “I have a fairly extensive background in competitive cycling, and have spent lots of time in the water. I felt that if I could prepare myself for the run, I would have a good chance to get through it. It did require some very thoughtful planning, given my other professional and personal responsibilities, but it’s manageable if you’re willing to sacrifice, make very good use of your time, plan carefully, and remain flexible.”

One of Tod’s best friends from childhood, a physician and world-class triathlete, worked with him on training, nutrition, and race day strategy. Tod's workouts required him to wake up at 4:30 AM to swim on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He biked primarily on weekends, and squeezed in long runs as best he could.

Injuries got in the way of Tod’s best intentions of training for the run. His longest run prior to Ironman was 17 miles, about a month before the big day.

Fuel for the fire
Tod testified that while the Ironman is all about preparation and some mental toughness, proper hydration and nutrition are also crucial.

“They say that Ironman is actually four legs: swimming, biking, running, and nutrition,” Tod said. “I planned my race day nutrition very carefully”.

“It’s really tough to race and at the same time take in enough calories, but if you don’t, the result is not pretty. As planned, I didn’t eat any solid food during the race. I took in Power Gel, sports drinks, and, at the end of the day, nothing works better than Coca-Cola—the combination of sugar and caffeine really helps. I also took Endurolyte tablets, which are electrolytes to prevent cramping.”

Going for it

Tod described how his race unfolded: “I knew it was going to be a long day so I tried to stay relaxed and get in a good rhythm. The race begins with a mass start in the water—there were more than 2,000 athletes all going off at the gun. It’s literally more of a wrestling match than a swim. You’re fighting for space and oxygen, trying to avoid being hit by a sea of thrashing arms and legs, trying to get past people who are absolutely panicking. My strategy was to go out really hard the first 300 meters and get space. That worked really well—I got out of the water in the top 100, excluding the pros.”

“The bike was what I expected, although the wind was absolutely brutal.”

“The run was the most difficult because I couldn’t train properly. The last six miles were beyond difficult. Of course, you always have concerns over an injury or cramping or something that could just knock you out of the race.”

Celebrating—and not looking too far ahead

Tod’s family was there rooting for him, along with the friend who helped him train. Three other close friends surprised him by flying in from southern California to cheer him on.

To celebrate his achievement, Tod planned to go home and collapse, but, “my friends were hungry,” he said, “so I managed to get up off the couch and go out to dinner with them.”
Will he do another Ironman? “The only thing that’s certain is a future of uncertainty,” said Tod with a smile.