9 Stages of The North Country Endurance Challenge

Ken and PJ bathed in early morning sun. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go."- T.S. Eliot

Last weekend I had the opportunity to participate in the North Country Endurance Challenge in Pittsburg, NH. The event is supported by Untamed Adventure Racing and is directed by the same race director of the 4-day Untamed New England Adventure Race I competed in earlier this summer, so it didn't take too much convincing to pique my interest. This event is multi-sport 9-leg mountain race consisting of mountain biking, kayaking and running covering around 70 miles (and over 7,000 feet of elevation gain) of the Balsam Wilderness area of northern New Hampshire. Athletes have the opportunity to compete solo or as relay teams with as many members as they want.

Race Start. Photo North Country Endurance Challenge.

Despite the fact that only one female completed the full premiere course in 2013, I opted to register for the premiere course as a solo racer with a little encouragement from Ken, one of my teammates from the Untamed New England event in June. As it would turn out, all three of my teammates from our Executive Athletes team would be competing (Ken, PJ and James), although we would each be racing as individuals this time. While I knew the boys would all have their sights on competitive finishes, my goal for this event was to avoid the time cutoff after the 6th leg of the race which would result in an alternate short-course to the finish. Having been short-coursed on the pro-course at the Untamed event earlier this summer, I knew too well the dissatisfaction of the "what ifs?" in the aftermath of those two little words. Short course.

And with an early morning firing of a cannon (yep, really a cannon), we were off. Photo 
Dave Koenig

While the weather forecast doomed us to eventual thundershowers, the 6:30 AM race start brought a beautiful sunrise and glassy start on First Connecticut Lake where a 4-mile kayak leg would start off the race. Most athletes had sleek, fast, kevlar flat water racing boats 20 or more feet in length. My 13-foot plastic sea kayak would make for an interesting start. I knew that the overall time loss would be relatively small, on the order of minutes, but I also was pretty aware that the overall toll

taken on my energy levels might be a little more significant. One of these days I might get more serious about getting fancy gear for these races but until then I have a lot more to work on before it really makes a difference.

Leg 1- 4 mile kayak on First Connecticut Lake

The leaders coming into the first transition area. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 2- 3-ish mile run through Saint Francis State Park. The trail here was rooty in places and footing a little questionable, but otherwise a pretty straightforward trail run. I felt pretty good through these first two legs.

Finishing leg 2 of the event. Another female solo racer, Tamela Swan, is also
in this photo with me. She is a veteran adventure racer and is really, really tough.
Photo Jo. M. Wood Photography

Leg 3- Leg 3 brought us back in the kayak for a 5-ish mile paddle on Lake Francis. It was on this leg I felt a bigger difference between my boat and the other faster boats as the wind was beginning to kick up. Most of the paddle was at a slight angle to the headwind and not having a rudder made the effort considerably more work. Any difficulty that most of us competing at this point may have experienced was overshadowed by the beauty of the late summer sun on the water and hint of fall in the trees. It was truly breathtaking.

Coming into the transition after the paddle on Lake Francis. Clearly, I have issues tying a bib.
Photo Dave Koenig

At each transition area, my husband was one step ahead of me with whatever gear, food, and hydration I needed to get me to the next transition. In all, support crew would lug gear from place to place 8 times, filling hydration packs and refueling snacks. Some legs involved up to 45 minutes of driving just to hand off a bike and pick up a pair of shoes. As I left transition area two, my husband called out "I love you, honey." As I peddled off out of transition, I heard several volunteers yell that they loved me too.

I have told Ken (left) and PJ (right) that if they should ever find themselves taking their wives for granted, this photo should serve as a reminder of how awesome they are. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 4- 9-ish mile mountain bike. This was the easiest of the mountain biking legs. It included just under 1,000 feet of climbing, but wasn't technical at all. Initially, I had some trepidation about having an average mountain bike for the event but realistically, a new mountain bike is not in the budget in the near future, so a bit of a moot point. I pushed to a point that I felt I could maintain and tried my best to hydrate before the next leg, which would be a running leg. I opted to reduce my hydration pack for the running legs to save my knees from the extra impact. Coming into the 4th transition area, I was now about 45 minutes behind the leaders of the race, which felt pretty good to me.

Coming into Transition area 4. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 5. - 7+ mile Trail run (1,000 feet of climbing)?
On the maps we received before the event, this leg was advertised as a 7-mile trail run. It turned out to be something entirely different for me, however, and the low point of my race. First, the term "trail" is only one I can use loosely. There was flagging tape, that is. Trail? Not so much. At least 6 miles of this leg would be better described as a vertical swamp. Trail "run". Hardly. See my previous point. Not much running was happening for me here. Seven miles? Nope. Turned out to be 10.5. What is a 50% difference amongst friends, right? I say these things in jest mostly because in all of the adventure racing I have ever done, nothing is ever as it would appear on maps or course descriptions.  There is always a catch. I honestly wouldn't want it any other way. It just so happened that this leg of adventure commenced with a self-inflicted face plant into the mud and twisted ankle to boot. I won't deny that this provoked a little pitty-party-for-one that would cost me time. Additionally, for the first time in the race I would lose sight of Tamela Swan, with whom I had been exchanging positions with for much of the first 4 hours of the race. I would complete this leg alone, run out of water and food, and fail to emerge from the deep grassy trail for over two hours. Arriving at transition area 5, I could even tell that Dave was a little annoyed with my mid-woods frolicking. I changed my shoes and hopped on my bike determined to finish the leg before the 2:00 PM cutoff (initially it was a 1:30 cutoff, but it was extended due to the added length of leg 5).

Leg 6. 9 miles (about 1,800 feet gain)
I'd love to say that in leg six I rebounded and found my second wind. I was looking for it, that's for sure; until I turned off the pavement and began the climb up Sugar Hill one mile into the leg. The trail up Sugar Hill consisted of a series of switchbacks progressively steeper than the next climbing about 1,800 feet in under two miles. This climb was a venomous ascent. By the second pitch I was attempting to suppress any thoughts of misery or suffering by convincing myself that I could see the summit just over the rise in the distance. It was clearly a lie and I wasn't in the mood to be tricked. By the third pitch, I had given into peddling exclusively in grandma gear and as the 4th pitch came into view I was off my bike pushing. Up, up, up. Somewhere along this hike-a-bike, a group charged down the hill on ATV's and a man in the final ATV stopped to ask me if I was on a relay team or solo. I breathlessly replied "solo" and he started his engine and replied "well, you've got a loong way to go." I knew this meant I looked like I felt: not good. Turns out, he was right; I did have a long way to go. Fortunately, many of the pitches above this one were (mostly) rideable. I climbed on and off my bike 4 or 5 times more before reaching the summit, and descended the steep, loose, rocky trail down the other side with increasing confidence and speed. The surprise of leg 6 would be the trail network that followed Sugar Hill. While not very technical, the trail followed some of the most spectacular rolling single track and beautiful terrain encountered thus far in the race. It was fun. It was fast. It was spectacular.

I can't say I have ever changed this many times in one day.
Photo Dave Koenig

I arrived at the TA 6 at 1:15, a full 45 minutes before the time cutoff. I grabbed my running shoes and pack, ate a Snickers bar, and headed up the trails of the abandoned Balsams Ski Resort for leg 7. Having made the cutoff, I would be afforded the opportunity to complete the premier course as I had hoped, provided that my body was on the same page, that is.

Leg 7. Leg 7 was a 3.6 mile hike/run up the ski trails of the abandoned ski area that continued to Table Rock before descending back down into Dixville Notch. I enjoy mountain running and hiking, so this leg was one I had looked forward to. Although my legs didn't have the "ups" that I had hoped for, I climbed steadily and followed the trail as it wove in and out of the forest above Dixville Notch. The trail followed mountain streams and pine forests that carried the smells of fall. By this time, the predicted storms arrived and moderate downpours would become more continuous for the remainder of the race. I finished my descent just before the roots and rocks became too slippery for running, grateful to make it as far as I did before conditions deteriorated.

I arrived to the transition to find that another racer on a relay team had been evacuated due to dehydration and heat exhaustion. This was a little disconcerting to me, but it was evident even then that he would be fine, so I continued on. Sometimes stuff just happens.

James Kovacs descending from Table Rock into 
Grafton Notch. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography.

Leg 8. Legs 8 and 9 would would both be mountain bike legs completing the premier course. Leg 8 was a 14+ mile bike up through Kelsey Notch with another 1,700 feet of climbing and leg 9 an additional 10 miles and another 1,000 feet of climbing. By the time I began leg 8, the rain was coming down pretty hard and conditions were becoming increasingly slick. As I ascended into Kelsey Notch, the slick mud turned into sticky slime that coated my derailleur and filled the knobs of my tires in such a way that many pedal strokes up the hill were complete spin outs. Mulligans. Water poured off my helmet into my eyes coating my sunglasses with slime as the mud from my tires spun up into my eyes. Despite the mud, I opted to stuff my sunglasses into my sports bra to allow me a better chance at seeing the rocks and mud holes that made up the Kelsey Notch trail. With a compass, map, whistle and now sunglasses all stuffed into my bra, my glasses would bounce out into mud puddles more than once for me to retrieve. One of the most frustrating aspects of this climb (and soon to be descent) was that racers who had passed through Kelsey Notch before the downpours would not have experienced these conditions. In fact, as I understood it, the descent would have been fast and fun. For me, even the downhill sections would be a wheel caking, brake clogging, derailleur disabling grind.
It isn't unusual under these circumstances for me to have some kind of epiphany. In fact, I tend to seek out this type of fatigue simply to appreciate the beauty of each step, every colored leaf, and every smell of the forest during an endurance event. This day would be different. I became angry. With every pedal stroke more angry than the one before. Not angry at the mud or the difficulty or the course. I became angry with myself. In a moment of clarity between the rain drops and eye crushing mud I found an indistinguishable mixture of rain and tears streaming down my face over my inability to find tears over the tragic loss of a friend back in January. Why is it that I can't cry when I want to?  All sorts of emotions and questions churned about in my head. The mud felt good, almost as if a cleansing of the guilt that had sat deep in my stomach for all of these months. The harder I rode, better it all felt. In fact, for someone who admittedly stinks at mountain biking, I rode quite well. I picked good lines and committed to them. When I picked bad lines, I trusted my instincts and rode it out. I didn't crash. I didn't hike. The more I pushed, the better I felt. Kelsey Notch came and went; by the time I arrived at the final transition my muddy grin was undeniable.

Leg 9. Ironically, my husband Dave was down at the transition worrying about me. When Ken arrived at the transition, he had specifically told Dave "Shelley isn't going to like this." I am pretty sure Dave was convinced I would be tossing my mud-caked bike into the woods and calling it quits at any time. I, however, was having way too much fun embracing the absurdity of it all to remember that I am not a mountain biker.

The final 10 miles of mountain biking was more challenging than I had expected, but really fun. The terrain varied and brought us around beautiful tree farms, (wet) grasslands, forests and muddy 4-wheeler trails. It was a total hoot. I passed a few racers looking pretty ragged, but for the most part cycled the last 25 miles alone. The hardy volunteers still on-course in the rain cheered me to the finish in the town of Colebrook where I passed under the finish banner after 11 hours of racing.

At the finish. I would be extracting gobs of mud from my contacts for the rest of the evening after this. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography.

In summary, I would say that this race is not for sissies, but was beautifully run and executed by a great race director and volunteers. One of the great things about it is that athletes can choose to make a relay team or go solo. There is also a 4-leg sprint distance for those looking for something a little shorter or just getting started. Great views, great terrain and great people. I couldn't ask for a better opportunity to support my habit of self-inflicted suffering or better race volunteers to enable me. I think I just might be a junkie.

Men's and women's solo "podium" for the premier course, as well as the winning relay team. My friend James (far right) wound up 3rd for men and I was 2nd for women. I am honored to be in the company of these other two great women who finished this event this year.
Gotta love the wet hair shoulder stain. Photo Dave Koenig

"In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks."- John Muir

Thanks to Hammer Nutrition for Heed, Endurolytes and Sustained Energy that got me through this one. There is no way I could have make it without the help of the best fuel out there. Hammer Nutrition Seat Saver was also a life saver. Having wet shorts for the duration of the race required a little extra help! Use this link to save 15% off your first order.

Also thanks to Spandits! for the great training shorts and skirt. If you want to try a pair for yourself, use code SPANDITSLOVE and tell them Shelley sent you for an extra 10% off your order!

Get out of the gym! Try this fun workout that you can do outside with no gym equipment.

Get out for your workout. Find a campground, a park, a trail or even your backyard to enjoy beautiful summer and fall workouts outside!

"I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately" - Henry David Thoreau.

On those beautiful summer days, there is no reason to be stuck in a hot, dingy gym when you can get your workout done outside. Here is the second installment in alternative workouts that can be done anywhere. All you need for this one is a rock (or other object with some heft to it). I recommend choosing a rock that you can squat-to-overhead-press about 15 times before feeling fatigued. This will likely range from about 10 lbs to 35 lbs depending on your age, size, gender, fitness, etc. If you start out with the wrong size, you can always adjust the weight appropriately.

Start out with an easy warm up jog- about 15 minutes.

1) 100 meter forward rock throw. Starting with the rock at your chest, squat down and jump upward while pushing the rock (and release) forward. Jog to rock, repeat. Remember to bend down and pick up the rock using your legs to lift, not your back. After several reps, improper lifting can put strain on your back.
**Advanced- complete the rock throw uphill.
Jog back to start after 100m and take a 2 minute rest.

2) 30m burpee broad jump. These are just what they sound like. Complete a burpee (with full pushup) and then complete a broad jump forward. I find generally 30 m is about 11 or 12 cycles.
A modification to make this a little easier would be to eliminate the push up (instead completing a squat thrust in place of the full burpee).
2 minute rest

3) 100 bodyweight squats. Try to complete as many as possible without resting. Minimize rest between reps when rest is needed.

Feet should be shoulder width (or even a little more) apart.  

4) 20 reverse rock throws. Starting at chest height (palms up), throw the rock overhead behind you and release. Tighten your abdominal muscles to ensure you are engaging your core muscles to do this. If you are concerned that you might cluck yourself in the head with the rock, choose a lighter rock.
2 min rest.

5) 30 clean and press with rock. Start with rock just above the ground in squatting position. As you move to standing, bring rock up through chest and finish with arms extended overhead as you come to a full standing position.

6) 50 bodyweight squats (again, not a typo). Try to complete as many as possible without resting within set, otherwise, minimize rest between reps when rest is needed.
* If you feel you need a little more challenge, grab your rock!
1 minute rest.

7) 50 Step ups with rock. Use a bench, stable log, or rock and step up with one leg at a time finishing each rep with full extension and both feet on top of object at the top of the step-up (without locking out knee). 25 reps with each leg.

2 minutes rest.

Repeat cycle 2-5 times.

Train Hard. Play hard. Be awesome. Happy trails.

Summer is fleeting. Don't let it pass you by.

Death Race 2013. Part II (of 3): Chillin' at Chittenden Reservoir

Chittenden reservoir in the early AM. Photo credit Peak Races

As the 8 pm cutoff came and went, we lined up to prepare for our hike to Chittenden reservoir over Bloodroot mountain. I had been over Bloodroot once before in the 2012 summer Death Race and recalled that it was a long (20+ miles), tedious hike that followed the Long Trail for much of the distance. Embarrassed that my original rock had been smashed to pieces, I hastily grabbed a stone from the driveway at the farm and lined up with the other athletes. Joe carefully inspected each racer’s rock and gave me the hairy eyeball as he inspected mine, which was clearly too small. I admitted that I had just grabbed a new rock because my original rock had been crushed in the barbed wire crawl and agreed to get a larger one before departing. As the group began to depart from Riverside Farm, I found myself scrambling along the roadside for larger rock that would not be inadequate for the task. I grabbed a large, heavy chunk of quartz from the hillside, got it checked and headed off with the first part of the group departing.

Racers headed off to Chittenden with rocks. I can identify Amelia, PJ, Don and Ken amongst the group.
 Photo Peak Races.

As the hundred or so remaining racers headed off into the night, I tried to find a comfortable position to carry my new rock in. It had no rough edges to grab on to, and was smooth and round from years in the riverbed. I tried to use webbing to secure it somehow in front of me, which was futile with a smooth, round rock, especially now that it had begun to rain. As I struggled to find some way to carry the rock, a small group splintered off the front of the pack and their headlamps disappeared in the far distance. My friend Stacie and I decided that we didn’t need to travel at the blistering pace of the lead group anyhow and settled into a comfortable fast hike. As we arrived at what appeared to be the end of the dirt road, an old man stopped us for 50 push ups with our packs on and directed us to a trail that followed the river. Shortly thereafter, we came to a to a trail junction. To the right was what appeared to be an old road- to the left a trail through the long grass with a sign marked “Chittenden reservior”. We headed up the trail towards Chittenden and soon found more pink streaming flagging tape, providing confirmation that we were headed on the correct trail toward Bloodroot. I vaguely recognized the trail from the summer before, but the fog and driving rain in the darkness of the night made it difficult. I continued to struggle to find some way to carry my rock. It was wet and kept sliding down my arms, forcing me to use my forearms to support much of the weight. At one point, I stopped and put the rock in my pack. It seemed like the only way that I was going to be able to get to the reservoir without leaving it behind. Oddly, as I resumed hiking with the rock in my pack, a weird sensation overtook me that I could not ignore. I began to wonder: why am I here? If I am here to complete this race for me and me alone, why do I feel that I need to cut a corner to make this adversity easier? Who cares if no one else knows? I know. And that really is all that matters. I stopped and gathered the rock from my pack and put it back in my arms. 

Shortly after, we were caught by Dan and Brian from behind, and the 4 of use continued on through our second consecutive night through the darkness together. I knew the route to the reservoir would be at least 20 miles, so we determined that we would arrive at the reservoir with less than an hour or so to spare before sunlight. We hustled, hoping to catch some of the stragglers off the group in front of us. We hiked up a mountain, through grassy snowmobile trails and muddy never ending trails, but were not able to catch anyone. I started to wonder if we were going the right way....

The 4 of us continued to follow the pink flagging tape in the fog and darkness for hours, stopping for 2-3 minutes every hour for fuel and electrolytes. After about 15 miles, we did eventually arrive at the reservoir. It was a little before 2 am and there was no sign of anyone else. As we approached the camp at the end of a long driveway, it became clear to me that we we were in the right place, but not at the right time. We had not taken the trail over Bloodroot Mountain as the others all had. Robin and Melissa Crossman came out of their cabin and told us that other groups had also lost some hikers and had doubled back to move as one group.

Stacie and I looking bewildered about something.
This wouldn't be the frist time, nor the last. Photo Chad Weberg.

We must have made our wrong turn before the group doubled back and had gone undetected all of this time. I knew this was not good for us. Not good at all. While the Death Race is not designed to be fair.... no one gets away with finishing a Death Race while having missed 5 miles of extra hiking and Bloodroot Mountain. Worse yet, the next challenge was a swimming challenge, and we would never be allowed to leave without doing it first. Oh, and no swimming before sunrise. The earliest we would be allowed to start our swim would be after 6 am. So what for the next 4 hours? I asked Robin if we could just start doing our burpees now. I figured there would be thousands of them.

Unfortunately, they had a different plan for us. It would involve cold water submersion and lots of it.

While Brian decided to hang it up at this point salvage what was left of his feet at the fire, Dan, Stacie and I were sent to stand in the reservoir. We huddled together in silence for thirty minutes in the water, followed by 50 frozen-calf-wrenching burpees and a 5 minute break. Repeat. As we continued on this cycle, other racers slowly began to filter in.... those who presumably had also become lost and wound up on the same trail as us.

More racers arrive at Chittenden to learn of the burpee/soaking penalty.
Photo Valerie Moreno-Hardison

The group grew larger over time until eventually reaching 18 or so racers by 6 am. While it was utterly amusing to watch, one by one, as the guys fell asleep only to be jolted awake by their swaying bodies, it was also getting pretty chilly after multiple submersions into the water. By my 3rd hour, my lips were as blue as my little fleece hat, my hands and feet shriveled and punky, and my teeth chattered almost uncontrollably (I could stop them if I focused hard enough- which was the basis I used to convince myself that I was not hypothermic). The one saving grace for me was the the intervals seemed to be getting shorter- our last submersion lasted a mere 12 minutes.

One of the last water submersions at Chittenden before the sunrise.
Photo Valerie Moreno-Hardison.

We watched the headlamps of the larger group of racers as they descended towards the reservoir in the darkness. It was sometime around 6 or 7am that we were finally sent up the driveway to fill our backpacks full of stone to bring back to the cabin. We were relieved of our driveway duty and sent to finally move to the next task: the three mile swim.