Signing My Life Away

Its that time of year when all the big races in the fall open up for registration. Why they make you sign up months in advance is beyond me. Probably so you'll have anxiety attacks about it all summer, which combined with nervous training can result in some great conditioning- or an emotional break down the week before "D-Day". So, yesterday I signed up for the brutal race that caps off my cycling season, the LOTOJA.

LOTOJA- short for LOgan TO JAckson, is a USA Cycling sanctioned road cycling race held annually in September. The race is the longest single-day road cycling race in North America, if not the world. It is also the longest one-day race sanctioned by USA Cycling or the United States Cycling Federation.
Total distance: 206 miles (or 332 km)
Total elevation gain: nearly 10,000 ft (3,000 m)
*Courtesy of wikipedia- I was way too lazy to write up all the stats on my own.
It's the most physically draining and most mentally challenging thing I have ever done. Some of my most intense moments of pain are from this race. Each year I have vowed never to EVER race it again... but look who just keeps crawling back for more... Yeah, stupid.


1st year (2007)- I didn't even own a bike at the time I had signed up for the race. Two friends of mine had convinced me that my quest for manhood would somehow be thwarted if I omitted myself from racing (which didn't make sense, but I totally fell for it). I trained with the two of them, both seasoned cyclists, for the whole summer. The longest I had ever ridden was 98 miles... once... and it almost killed me. But somehow I found myself at 6:30am standing under the Red Bull starting line arch with a crafted piece of metal between my legs about to ride 206 miles... Yeah, stupid.

Descent from Strawberry Pass (first climb)

After crossing the finish line I collapsed and sat right here for 20 minutes

Finally able to stand for a picture. 

Soon after I single handedly ate an entire large pepperoni pizza and 2 liters of root-beer, then passed out in the back seat of my own truck. It took a few days to fully recover. 

2nd year (2008)- My original crew had diminished, but I had two more friends to race with, both of which were first timers. I quickly went from the greenie to the veteran. The race was considerably easier for me this time around (not easy, but easier). It probably had something to do with the year of training now under my belt. I hung back for the first half of the race to ride with the "grandfather" of our cycling group (gotta respect the elders, right?) He must of had some stroke of sanity cause he decided after already finishing LOTOJA 5 times, he had nothing more to prove to himself and dropped out. Couldn't afford anymore gray hairs I suppose. This left me all by my lonesome. I asked the girlfriends (now wives) of my fellow riders how far ahead they were. "15 maybe 20 minutes..." 

I pumped my legs as fast as I could, determined to catch them. About 30 miles down the road I had caught up, only to get a flat tire. This put me back about 7 minutes, but I managed to catch them again with about 45 miles remaining. I was able to cross the finish line with my best friend, a moment to remember. 

Lesson learned: get a girl to watch you race the LOTOJA and you'll have a wife 6 months later.

Jayson and I somewhere in the first 30 miles 

Daniel, me and the "grandfather" Dave at the finish line

3rd year (2009)- This one's the heart breaker. In July 2009, while on a training ride on the the Alpine Loop in Utah I almost died (whether or not thats true is debatable, but it was one of my many near death experiences. The short version- on our descent down the east side, at about 40 mph, I went head to head with a car, then a tree, then the asphalt. The result was a broken hand, separated shoulder, bruised ribs and stitches on my hip and knee. After a trip to the hospital (I have now been a patient in all the Utah Valley hospitals) I was told not to do anything active for 4 months. That wasn't exactly on my agenda. So, with a still very separated shoulder and sore hand, I decided to puff up my chest, be a man and race LOTOJA... Yeah, stupid.

Preston taping my shoulder for the race

Mounting up at the starting line

And we're off

Unfortunately, the all the pain killers I took didn't last long enough. My pride and desire to be a man were overtaken by horribly agonizing pain. Not being able to hold the handlebars with my left hand made me a danger to other racers, and after 80 miles, I was disqualified. 

4th year (2010)- Coming back with a vengeance- like Bruce Willis in the Die Hard Trilogy, and nothing is going to stop me... unless its a car, or a tree... then I'll probably tap out.