Xterra Mexico, 4 Sep 2010
Valle de Bravo
2nd, 2:19:21, 46sec behind winner Seth Wealing
I feel to complain of my incredible few days down south in Mexico but that would be a small crime and a coup for my delayed Continental flight frustrations and my three spills in three days. It was a true expose of “race travel” at its best – and since I wrote a recent column in Go Multi Magazine encouraging such faith – I best be telling it as it was – a sensation.
Setting an alarm to 2:50-am cannot be a professional act in any sense. I vow never to do so again. Between this sleep sacrilege of a start (which included acquiring lifetime debt to a friend for carting myself, a cardboard box and trusty Jeep duffel to a nearby bus stop) and twisting down gradients assuredly outlawed in first world nations to reach our remote destination some three hours outside Mexico City – I’d exchanged three helpings of the same veggie quinoa dish for a once intact sense of humour. It may have more to do with the state of Mexican road surfaces than the tamato basil sauce, but I arrived pale, desperate and amusingly unable to appreciate the luxury villa and breathtaking mountains till sunrise.
Our Villa is the furthest one in sight.
It’s often best to get the blood moving in such moments; so I built the Epic and set out for a spin. Two lads in early teens caught up to me and did their best as passionate tour guides despite not comprehending a single word of English other than “Xterra” perhaps. It was sufficient of course as I repeated “Xterra Xterra” and off we went. The one had a better time holding his own and on most climbs would turn back and beg his partner to hang in. It must have been a good moment for them, hope so anyway, and it did lift my spirits while resurfacing memories of Dylan and I years back — over excited and under prepared.
It was after greeting them and the sun that I connected with industrial grade grid wire exposed at the end of a cement road in the making. I went over the handle bars faster than conscious thought but seemed intact to sulk the last 300m to the villa. It was within those last three hundred meters that I crashed the next morning, sliding out on a mossy cement corner…
Ah, but then the course was fantastic and being back on technical terrain soothed the soul except when chased by local dogs offended by red Specialized kit. Valle de Bravo is lush forest and every afternoon is cooled by a thunderous downpour. Across the lake was the town proper which serves as a weekend playground for the privileged from Mexico City. We were on the golf course-resort side but spent our time in rural subsistence mielie fields and indigenous forest. It all seemed very contrary to my desert cactus expectations. Seth Wealing and Shonny Vanlandingham had returned after racing the inaugural Xterra Mexico a year before and we enjoyed incredible hospitality with full time cooking and cleaning staff.
The racing side of the weekend was a three way show between local Olympian and crows favourite Pacco Serrano, defending Xterra Mexico Champion Seth Wealing and myself. Small and personal. After really consistent training in Boulder over the past month I was hopeful to handle the 6000ft elevation, barely higher than my Colorado dwelling, with better success than my previous altitude race at Beaver Creek. My lungs did not disappoint and I’ve come a long way although I feel my output, my sixth gear, just is not available when air is scarce.
The start was slightly delayed as last minute guidance in foreign tongue had me overcome with shivers. A rookie error really. Swimming a warm-up when the water is borderline shouldn’t be risked. Despite the cold and not understanding the language, the energy and excitement was magic and much the same as in Brazil, South Africa or the USA. We share passion for a challenge, adventure, fitness and health that is universal. I loved it and wished more from back home could share in such a moment.
Defrosting arms and thinner air had me loose touch with the front three. When race visualisation, that ripple effect of wishful events doesnt realise, the voices of doubt and excuse become persistent to the point of distraction. My emotional space did strengthen on the second lap once settled and warmer. I’ve been loving the swimming in Boulder – joining the various masters groups – and felt that form late in the swim. My deficit was minor and soon the four leaders were within earshot on a lengthy hike-a-bike. Being second in line had me pushing at Serrano’s tempo, which was a notch below my redline. Amazing how a few moments of semi-respite can lower blood lactate and perceived excursion.
As we re-clipped I picked a straighter line over a log while Serrano went round and that had me one bike length ahead on the second portion of walking. I dug in and kicked as we crested, giving me some space. When looking back a few kilometres on I had a couple hundred metres to Wealing and Serrano who were riding together. I was moving fluidly and loving the muddy conditions. Being in the right gear, on the right line, finding the limit, sync’ing body and mind.
And then in a section Shonny described as a slalom course on the pre-ride; I hit the forest floor like I belonged beneath it. I must have had my front wheel veer off the little clearing and centre a hidden stump, but that’s a guess at best. I just know I hit hard, went over the bars and banged my right patella on something more solid than I. I got up a little shaken, gave the bike a once over, centred the muddy helmet and gingerly hopped on. There is no way around it: That’s my mistake, an avoidable mistake.
After two hundred bikes had churned up lap one it was a proper mud bath for round two. The hike-a-bike was best done off the now mudslide path on the leaves adjacent, and the technical descent was best partly run. Whether I did or did not have excessive top end wattage or reckless confidence on the second lap, I was still riding really well, and to have Wealing within 60sec off the bike was a fine effort on his behalf.
The run course wasnt ideal for a tender knee but it warmed to the occasion. As in Brazil I was in need of more traction and will have to scout Puma’s arsenal this week. No more race flats when spikes would do. The first part of the run unpolished trail running at its best, and the return was just opposite, smooth, fast and wide trail.
With about 1.5km to go Seth finally bridged the gap and was moving too well. He is in fine form and had a flawless day. Congrats to him. Serrano was some ways back and I jogged it in. Disappointed and tender but elated for the setting, experience and countless memories on a course that offered many.
Beyond the race; well, two glasses of Argentinian Cab Sauv and some traditional Mexican treats suggested by new friends and I was more than merry… We chattered a local boat for all of 200 pesos one way (about $18US) and spent two hours in the classic Mexican town that seemed positively bursting at the seams. Flora de natta ice cream before some traditional meat – thinly sliced and spicy. Seemed agreeable in that order.
My lessons:
- Never underestimate travel – I prefer a later start and arriving three days prior. Dont get utterly fatigued.
- Don’t ride after sunset when you dont know your way around.
- Take spare pedals – had to borrow Shonny’s as my broke.
- Have two sets of running shoes, and two sets of tires, when the conditions are unknown.
- Dont warm up in water if its cold. Swing arms, stretch, do some push-ups, perhaps even stretch cords.
- For goodness sake dont crash, and if you do dont bang anything. Some forest utensils are deadly.
- Accept altitude treats everyone differently.
- Never ever stop noticing the small pleasures. Even when you like to win.
Again, many thanks to the Mexican locals. And bravo to a festive race.
