Almanzo 100; Spring Valley, MN; 5/17/14
I’m only 40 years old but goddamn if my body doesn’t feel a
lot older than that on most days. Yet I train (when I train, that is) like I’m
still 20 despite nothing responding the way I’d like it to. So naturally,I
prefer to jump in the deep end when some sort of event comes up. When someone says
“Hey let’s do one of those fun mud runs”, I say “OK, how about the Tough
Mudder?” Likewise when my training partner suggested I do a bike race, I opted
for the Almanzo, which is 100 miles of gravel roads through the hilly farm
country of Southeastern Minnesota.
Even though I entered the event with a team of five guys it
took me all of ten minutes on the bike to realize this was going to be an every-man-for-himself
type of contest. I’ll spare you the mile-by-mile account of elevation, weather fluctuation,
mental torment, and physical exhaustion. Let’s just say there are a lot of
variables you have to endure out there on the trail. It goes from bottom of the
barrel depression to thrill ride of your life and back again in a matter of
minutes and it lasts for 12 fucking hours when you’re as slow as I am. I wrote
two novels, directed three movies, had imaginary phone conversations with my
dad and my brother, named my yet-to-be-conceived children, and worked out a
bunch of un-dealt-with shit from my childhood in my head just to survive. It was like a tug-of-war between my body and
my mind. My body was like a school yard playground where all my muscles were
cruel little kids running around pointing at each other and chanting “Haha, you
can’t do this.” But then my mind would slap my muscles in the face and tell
them to shut the fuck up. My cramps developed their own cramps who then had
their periods, so my brain would morph into Jesse Ventura in Predator and tell them, “I aint got time
to bleed.”
I ingested two Gatorade gels, one Cliff Shot Blocker, two
Nice granola bars, one Cliff Mojo granola bar, three quarters of a PB&J, a handful
of Sun Chips, half a banana, a small bag of teriyaki beef jerky, 16 ounces of
Cytomax, 96 ounces of Gatorade, six liters of water, six raspberries, four
Oreos, six Advil, 18 Hammer Endurolytes, and enough dirt to cough up a sand
castle big enough for Peter Dinklage to live in.
I saw painted horses, a giant turkey, a hawk of some sort, a
humongous Bernese mountain dog, a black lab, a herd of goats, the most
beautiful red wing blackbird ever, locals drinking beer in their yards, and
some fabulous countryside filled with streams, bluffs, and green meadows.
My favorite parts of the race were the rare miles where I
was able to keep up with the rest of my team; flying down hills and using the
momentum to power up the next. And the camaraderie amongst all the competitors
was awesome too. I didn’t talk to one single person out there that wasn’t friendly
and motivating. My least favorite part was the last 20 miles, complete with sketchy
gravel, and a so-close-yet-so-far-away route seemingly designed with the sole
intent of pissing me off and breaking my will power. But quitting was never an
option for me and more than anything it was the fear of failure that kept me
going.
So, was the finish line handshake from organizer Chris
Skogen and the sense of pride and accomplishment worth it? Yeah, it definitely was.
Would it be worth it to do it again? At this point I honestly don’t know.
Someone asked me if it was as hard as I expected. Two days
later and I still don’t know how to answer that. I keep vacillating between
exactly as hard as I thought it would be and way fucking harder than I could
have ever imagined. Physically, is it the hardest thing I’ve ever done? Quite
possibly yes. Mentally, in terms of athletic endeavors, yes…I think. You see
the thing is I’m not really sure anymore. Despite my body bouncing back surprisingly well, the Almanzo 100 has left me with a giant question mark
looming over my head as to where I stand as an athlete. Going into this event, I knew I was quite under-prepared. Winter's asshole-y reluctance to go away, stolen bikes, and general laziness got the best of me these past months. I definitely could have trained and dieted better; I will be the first to admit that. But going forward, what kind
of athlete do I want to be? And am I still capable of being the type of athlete
I want to be? I don't know. 100 miles of thinking and I still haven't come to any conclusions.
-Nathan G. O'Brien
