Round 3 - The 2016 Tuckerman Inferno Pentathlon.

A racer headed over the headwall in the 1939 Tuckerman Inferno. Photo Winston Pote.

"The first time you do something it's science. The second time it's engineering. The third time, it's being a technician. I am a scientist. Once I do something, I want to do something else."- C. Stoll.

Those who have raced with me know that I'll try most any race one time. If it seems like an adventure and there are good people there, why not? A second time go at the same event? Maybe. Unlikely. Unless it is pretty awesome. There are only a few events that have made this standard. Truth be told, most events aren't as much fun the second time around, particularly the difficult ones. Once the sources of suffering are known, the Fun-O-Meter never reads as high for me. A third time? Well, never. I simply don't do that. 

Until this weekend, that is. This weekend's Tuckerman Inferno Pentathlon will be the first time I've had a go-around with the same event three times (in a row even!). Here is the thing about this race; every year it brings something different. In a nutshell, the event consists of a 8.5ish mile run, a 6-mile whitewater kayak, an 18-mile bike ride, a hike up Mt. Washington, and a climb and ski somewhere in Tuckerman ravine. My friend Ken Lubin, who has done this race over a dozen times, agrees that no two years are ever the same. Variable ski conditions in avalanche terrain, river levels, and the challenges that mother nature conjures up ensure that you can always expect the unexpected. 

A little final warm up before the start. Cozy and
 warm in my Spandits!- Dave Koenig photo.

So, despite my love 'em and leave 'em ways with races, I found myself rolling out of bed on Saturday morning (way too early) to hit the starting line at the crack of dawn, ready to start my 3rd Tuckerman Inferno (yet, no less nervous at all).

Of all of the legs, the run leg is the most predictable. For me, predictably difficult. Having struggled with plantar fasciitis for the last two years, I can no longer describe myself as a runner. In fact, I can no longer describe myself as someone who likes to run. Unfortunately, as I have experienced in other years of the Inferno, everyone else on the starting line IS a runner. Those participating in the running leg of a 5-man relay team have identified themselves, above other things, as the team's runner. The other Elite athletes (Elite is the term given to those competing in all 5 events), as I have learned, are no less of runners, they just aren't ready to stop when the running leg is over. Where, might you ask, are the middle-aged off-the-couch weekend warriors that make up 75% of the pack for most road races? They are still home, snug in their beds. There is no back-of-the pack at the Inferno. 

In the first three miles of the course, over a mile of it is straight uphill, gaining 600 feet in elevation (which feels more like 6,000 feet first thing in the morning). I generally like hills, so the first few miles are somewhat pleasant for me in a masochistic way. Where I run into trouble (no pun intended) is the downhill sections. My knees and feet detest the pounding of long-strided downhills, so my cadence is reduced to small shuffling steps. Waves of runners flock by me while I am helpless to keep pace. The miles go by and the wind picks up and I remind myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually the run comes to an end, and I couldn't be happier to see my kayak and the beautiful glistening water of the Saco river ahead.

Making my way down the Saco. Photo Wiseguy Creative

The kayak section is one of my favorite parts of the race. The river is clean and cold, and pine trees hang over the river banks in a way that would invite my 12-year-old self to grab hold of one of the many rope swings that hang from the branches of the 100-year old trees. Some of these trees have given in to the river's summons, creating river hazards that provide a poignant reminder of the wild and unpredictable nature of flowing water. The whitewater is not too difficult (class II+ maybe?), but turbulent and challenging enough to catch an unexperienced boater off guard resulting in a chilly, disparaging swim. This year, the moderate water level poses some hazards, waves, and holes but is deep enough to prevent most boats from getting hung up in shallow water. Hoping to gain more ground lost during my run, I am disappointed when the kayak leg is over despite the 25 degree air temperatures.

Bike leg 2016 Inferno. Photo Dave Koenig

The jog to the bike transition in wet kayak gear is long enough to provide a jarring reminder of the cold, swift, April breeze. I add a few dry layers and snacks and head out on my bike: a bike that I ride exactly one day each year (I am thinking perhaps I should do something about this deficiency). The bike route begins by retracing the 600-foot climb of the run loop before heading up toward Pinkham Notch at the base of Mt. Washington. Despite the early climb, I am cold. My tights dry out quickly and my gloves help thaw out my frozen fingers, but my feet continue to get colder from the relentless wind that badgers me at every turn of the road. By the time I begin the 1400 vertical ft. ascent to Mt. Washington, I am already in grandma gear. In and out of the saddle, I stagger up the final 6 miles of the climb and arrive at Pinkham Notch, where my husband Dave is waiting for me with encouragement, a smile, and my ski gear. 

The hike up towards Hermit Lake. Shout out to Hammer
Nutrition for supporting these crazy events!
Photo Dave Koenig

I am pretty sure this is where things start to get sloppy. Or perhaps better to say that this is where they progress to super-sloppy. The hike up to Tuckerman Ravine gains about 2,500 feet in approximately 3 miles. On fresh legs, this would be a fun hike with the kids. With 35 miles behind me already, ski gear strapped to my back, Huckleberry Hammer Gel smeared across my cheeks and hair (bike mishap), and fogged sunglasses, it is already clear that the ascent to the ravine won't be a walk in the park for me. Dave sprightly makes quick work of catching me on the climb with a backpack of goodies for the finish line for us. He cheerfully tries make conversation until it becomes clear that I only have one-word answers for his inquiries. There is no way around the reality of the situation: I am bonking. I try to take in more calories, but spit out most of what I put in. This is one of the frustrating parts of racing for me; if I go into an anaerobic state for too much time, I lose my ability to take in the calories I need. Even the best nutrition plan can be derailed when this happens. I slow down a little, hoping I haven't waited too long. I think it is harder on Dave than it is on me that I am passed by another Elite racer during this climb. At this point, I don't care.

Tuckerman Ravine beginning to come into view
on the hike from Hermit lake up.
-Dave Koenig photo

As Tuckerman Ravine comes into sight, I am reminded of the humility that is required to venture into mountains such as this. The walls of the ravine appear near vertical and give the illusion that they could be touched by simply reaching out. Exposed rocks along the headwall paint a majestic contrast to the white walls of snow and ice that now surround me. My momentary gasp of exhilaration and awe is interrupted by the sounds of metal edges scraping against the ice in the ravine above.

The line is a little interesting with shrubs in the way. Photo Wiseguy Creative.

I arrive at the ski transition feeling a little better and ready to make a final push to the finish. Due to the unusually low snowfall and considerable risk for long sliding falls (2 inches of rain the day before followed by a hard overnight freeze), the ski leg is modified considerably. There would be two laps of an "adventure GS" set in Left Gulley of Tuckerman Ravine. Adventure GS means that there will be rocks, water ice, and trees as well as the giant slalom gates that would normally be expected in a race course. I snake my way up the bootpack trail to the top of the course, grateful to have recovered from my earlier near-bonk status. While the GS is... adventurous... and icy, it is actually quite a bit of fun. I am able to overtake another racer during my second decent of the GS course (who would have thought you could pass someone in a GS course? Only on an Adventure GS!) and arrive at the finish line greeted with hugs and doughnuts. 

Approaching the "wooded portion" of the adventure GS- photo Wiseguy Creative.

The "adventure GS can be seen winding up from the main ravine to Left Gulley. Top of
course is just where Left Gulley bends out of sight. (I am the speck about 10 gates from the finish in the bushes)
 - Photo Dave Koenig

On a typical snow year, the race finish would be at Pinkham notch where spectators only get a momentary glimpse of racers as they cross the finish line. With the finish line moved up the mountain, the atmosphere of racers and cheering spectators made for a really exciting experience racing down Tuckerman ravine. In an increasingly more competitive field of 20 and 30-something racers, I am happy and honored to still be able to pull off a 4th place Elite female finish. Maybe there is some truth to the third time being the charm? 

L to R Allison, Erin, Dave, Harry, Me with my Hammer Recoverite, Ken, Damian- photo Allison Lubin.

Now, about those 3+ miles back to the car after the race....

Moonrise over Tucks after a long day of playing.- photo Dave Koenig

A huge thanks to Friends of Tuckerman Ravine for making this event possible. They are a great organization and are always looking for donations. Thanks to Dan Houde at Wiseguy Creative for sharing some great action shots of the event. Also thanks a ton to Spandits! for my cozy thermal tights and Hammer Nutrition for continued support and great endurance fuel!

For a discount code for Spandits! apparel use code SPANDITSLOVE and tell them I sent you for 10% off.

Use this link for 15% off of your first order at Hammer Nutrition (shop directly from the link for the discount).

Tuckerman Inferno Pentathlon!

 Destination- Beautiful Tuckerman Ravine

This winter's off season was a long one for me. Sustaining a nasty concussion in September laid me up for several months and the long, cold winter that followed did little to pull me out of the den that I crawled in back in November. Coming out of hibernation for the Tuckerman Inferno was certainly a formidable task even under normal circumstances.

The Tuckerman Inferno is a 5-stage pentathlon- a 8.3 mile run (with two miles straight uphill), 6 mile whitewater kayak (class II/ III-), 18-mile bike (with a 2,000 ft elevation gain), a hike up Mt. Washington (with ski gear) and a GS race down to the bottom through Tuckerman ravine. I had heard of the race several years ago, but this was the year Lani and I decided to give it a shot. Here's a racp of how it went down.

The run began at Storyland in Glen, NH and ran through the surrounding communities over an 8.3 miles course. The course was well-marked and included one steep grueling climb that brought many runners to their knees. Lani and I agreed that the only strategy for the run was survival. The pack went out at what felt like a blistering pace (to someone who lives where 4 feet of snow still covers all of the running trails for good training anyway). It became clear very early in this event that those people who come to participate in races straight off the couch simply for a fun day in the sun were not in this race. They were still in bed. I felt good, and with the exception of the two-mile excruciatingly slow mountain climb miles, maintained a pretty steady 8 minute/mile or so pace. Faster than I had planned, but not debilitating it seemed.

Looking like 1980 in my kayaking garb. The water here was a little chilly.

I arrived at the kayak transition to realize that we were pretty far back in the pack. In a field of a little over 70 teams and Tuckermen (equivalent to Ironman division), there were only about 20 boats left at the transition. As I wiggled into my kayaking gear, my sunglasses fogged over and I slipped on a patch of ice on the river's edge and stubbed my newly toenail-less big toe on a rock. Rough start to the kayak leg. Lani and I had noticed earlier in the morning while dropping off our gear that we were  amongst just a small number of racers that didn't have the faster downriver boats: instead we had smaller whitewater boats. Lani's was a playboat that she has had for many years; mine a larger, faster boat borrowed from a friend of a friend. Both left us feeling a little retro and unsure of how our slower boats would play out in the event. Rounding the first two bends I encountered the first of what would be well over a dozen swimmers I would pass in the icy water of the kayak leg. The course was peppered with rescuers both on shore and in the water- clearly they had been having a busy morning. My concern over my boat choice quickly dissipated, especially once I realized the water level had risen significantly since we pre-paddled the course with friends Friday afternoon. I later learned nearly 1/3 of the field took at least one swim during this leg.

Jon Erickson and I just pulling out of the bike transition.
 Where are the brakes on this thing, I wonder?

Entering the transition to the bike leg, I felt great. As I pulled away from the transition, my friend Jon Erickson pulled alongside me and we headed out together. For many racers, this day would be their first of 2014 on their road bikes. For me, this would be my first ever- unless the 10-speed that sat for years in our woodshed when I was a teenager counts? I started out ridiculously cautious, vowing to stay in the saddle for the entire leg as to not risk jerking on the handlebars and crashing.

Within the first mile, we hit a hill that must have been bigger than Mt. Everest. Ok, so I am exaggerating a tad, but it was big. Even downshifting into my grandma gear did little to propel me up the hill, and panic started to set in. I watched another rider ahead of me and studied his technique for ascending in a standing position. Eventually, I was forced to choose between getting off the bike or riding my bike like the big boys and girls. After a few wild swerves and screeches, I gained a little confidence and upped my cadence. I soon felt like Lance Armstrong on the L'Alpe d'Huez- minus the drugs- until I got to the top, that is. From the top, my brakes squealed and smoked during the entire decent as I squeezed them until my hands could squeeze no more. Jon had cautioned me about the potholes and sand as we left the transition, and I wisely chose a path right down the center of the road. Two bikes whizzed by me during this stretch like I was standing still. I would later pass one of these two riders vomiting as he rode up the final hills to Mt. Washington. I was glad not to be vomiting during this stage because it clearly took skill to wretch and ride.  I have heard people say they felt a ride was all uphill with a headwind in jest. In this case, it was, in fact, all uphill with a headwind.

Finally at the top of a long, long climb.

All in all, the bike was a great first ride. I passed a few riders up the final foothills up Mt. Washington and learned a thing or two about road biking. As a side note, I had a  sizable lock of hair stuck in my mouth for the entire ride. I swatted at it on a couple of occasions to no avail, but ultimately was too afraid to release my death grip of the handlebars long enough to fix it.

My awesome kids digging out
Hammer Gels from my transition bag while I change my shoes.

My family met me at the bike-hike transition and my kids handed me Hammer Gels, fixed my hair and cheered me on while I changed my shoes and grabbed my ski gear. After a couple of smooches from my cheering squad, I headed out of Pinkham Notch toward Tuckerman Ravine.

And they each sent me off with a kiss..

The snow was slushy and difficult to navigate with a heavy pack. I popped a few extra Hammer Endurolytes to help prevent my calves from cramping, which seemed to do the trick. The weather was bluebird and if I had any intentions of a quiet, peaceful hike into the ravine, I would have been hugely disappointed. There were thousands of people on the trail to Tuckerman's. I wove my way in and out of shirtless college kids with snowboards, skis, sleds, dogs, etc. It felt like Spring Break 2014. Under normal circumstances, I always try to acknowledge fellow hikers or racers while overtaking them, but this would have been impossible. The stream of bodies was continuous from the Pinkham Notch parking lot for three continuous slushy miles uphill. The scene at HoJo's, a forest service cabin nestled at the base of the ravine, was total insanity. After taking a moment to process the all of it, I finally lifted my head and looked up into the bowl of Tuckerman Ravine. For the first time in the race, my stomach fell into my sneakers. The ravine walls felt so steep that I could reach out and touch them. I could see a few hikers and skiers scattered about here and there, but generally the bowl was devoid of the activity and chaos of the lower slopes. This is when I first saw Hillman's Highway peppered with Giant Slalom gates disappearing skyward. This was my destination. I took a moment to question my own sanity and found a nice rock to perch on and boot up for the final ascent up the ravine.

HoJo's in the foreground and Hillman's Highway the diagonal line in the middle of the shot from center to the left. 

Knowing my own fear of heights, I never once looked behind me as I climbed. Placing one foot in front of the other, I followed a narrow boot pack path up Hillman's Highway. I moved steadily, stopping to lean into the hill a few times as the breeze grabbed my skis on my pack causing my weight to shift. At the top, I came to a little flat spot dug into the snow for putting skis on and after waiting for three or 4 other skiers to drop into the course it was my turn.

The funny thing is, in every fear I had about this race I never considered how tired my legs would be trying to descend such a steep slope and long run out. By this time, I was over 5 hours into a pretty consistent effort and my quads were shot. Having only telemark gear in my quiver, I had no choice but use what I had to race. The decent was unexpectedly grueling. The GS course following by a 4 mile decent in variable slush, ice and moguls brought me to my knees- so much so that I actually stopped near the bottom of the ravine (shamefully still in the GS course) to have a little rest and encourage my quads to stop shaking. I laughed at myself, continued on, stopping three or four more times before reaching the finish line at the base of the mountain, grateful to not take a telemark face plant along the way.

We made it!

All in all, this event was one of the most exhilarating, unpredictable, fun, challenging and diverse events I have done to date. The race organization was impeccable, complete with the National Guard at road crossings stopping traffic for cyclists, ski patrol covering the entire ski leg and safety boaters fishing swimmers out of a cold, icy river in seconds. I would put this one on your must do events if you are on the fence about giving it a try (I should add that most racers do this event as a relay format with up to 5 team members, so you don't have to go solo to be part of it).






For me personally, this event was a personal high. I couldn't be more proud of our 3rd and 4th place overall finishes (Tuckerwoman division) in an incredibly talented and accomplished field. I saw old friends, made new friends and laughed a lot. Maybe more than I should have.

Tuckerman Inferno, I think we'll be seeing more of you in the future.

A picture says it all. This is how Lani and I both felt in the end....

A special thanks to the folks at Hammer Nutrition and Reload Fitness for believing in me and being part of my adventure. I also want to give a shout out to the Friends of Tuckerman Ravine for pulling this off for all of us crazies.

Hammer Nutrition was well represented on the women's Tuckerwoman podium.
Nina Silitch 1st and me 3rd. What a cool woman she is!- photo Nina Silitch

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds."- Edward Abbey

This finish deserved a fist pump.