Whiteface Mountain on Foot and Wheels (Again!) By Dennis Burns

Running Up Whiteface

Through the window of my motel room, I could see the summit of Whiteface Mountain, off in the distance, with its observatory in clear view, bathed in the early morning sunlight. "That's where I'm going to be", I thought to myself, "in about 2 hrs".

Starting at the base of the mountain, at the intersection of Routes 431 and 86, the race travels the entire length of the memorial highway, to the summit. With an average gradient of 8% and a distance of 8.3 miles, the course has the same dimensions as the famous "Alpe d'Huez" in the Tour De France. This road however has no flat spots. This is one continuous climb to the summit, with NO rest, and no recovery.

I was staying a couple of miles from the start, so I jogged over as part of my warm-up. I continued to jog around the area, checking out the runners. I saw many pairs of shaved legs. I don't usually see this many shaved legs at a running race. Since Lake Placid hosts the Ironman Triathlon in July, many of the triathletes come up there to train, and many use this race and the "Whiteface Mountain Uphill Bikerace" 2 weeks later as training for the Ironman. The roads are cyclist friendly, and crowded with cyclists, most of whom are triathletes.

As we toed up the starting line, the road disappeared into the distance, at the top of a great incline. I stood in the 49 degree temperature, wondering if I'd worn enough, but I'd been here many times, so I knew I would warm up quickly. Some runners took off much too quickly, and some I knew, could handle the pace. I knew I would be running at my own pace, so I tried to establish momentum, and rhythm from the beginning, but gravity was pushing back big time. I tried to run smoothly, and concentrate on my form. I tried not to look ahead, but rather down right in front of me. It's a psychological trick that works for me on hills. The ground rushes by more quickly at my feet, and gives me the feeling that I'm moving faster. A quick look ahead every now and then lets me know where I'm going. I tried to settle into a rhythm of my own, and maintain the pace.

At about 1 mile, things began to string out. The leaders were gone, and I tried to catch a few people in front of me, but I didn't want to work too hard, I had a long way to go, and if I went too hard, I couldn't recover. I settled into a pace that seemed comfortably uncomfortable. I looked at my HRM and it was about 138 BPM. I was working, but my heartrate was about 10 beats lower than last year. I took some sips of water from my bottle at the second water stop, and passed 3 runners who were drinking from a cup. I continued plugging away, trying to concentrate on my form. I was trying to run as efficiently as possible, saving my energy. I was beginning to feel fatigued, and I wasn't moving as fast as I though I should be. I realized I was tired going into this race. With the fatigue, and the lower heart rate, it was obvious. Now that reality had hit me, I would try to limit my losses, and run as efficiently as I could.

Mile 4 is a tough mile, which goes straight up from the tollbooth. I could see forever. I could see everyone in front of me, and I was hoping they felt as bad as I did. It¹s like a bad dream. I think I'm moving, but I'm really not. That's the illusion that this part of the course gave me. I started to pass a couple of people, and kept on plugging away.

I can't think of how many times I was tempted to walk. My legs hurt, but I kept running. The body goes through several transformations at this point. You go from feeling tired and sore to feeling numb, to wanting to quit, to a burning desire to keep moving no matter what happens. It almost seems like an out-of-body experience. Your concentration is entirely focused on putting one foot in front of the other. How easy, and yet, how difficult!

By the 5^th mile, we began to break out of the forest, and I could see the rest of the world down below. It was a beautifully sunny morning, and I could see forever. This part of the course always picks me up, as seeing the valley below gives me some perspective on how far I'd come, and gives me a feeling of accomplishment.

Now that we entered the switchbacks, I started to cut the tangents, and began to pass a few more people. The road was even steeper now, but I could see the summit way off in the distance, and the frequent switchbacks took away the monotony of the straighter part of the course. I looked around me, and almost everyone was looking terrible. Hunched over, and leaning to one side, with feet slapping the hot pavement, and bad expressions on their faces, and yet I wondered if I looked like that? Well, they were still moving, and most of them were in front of me.

Off to the left, we passed a huge area where a slide had taken place, mowing down all the trees, and leaving a white scar of solid rock in the mountainside. As I approached the next turn, I could hear the cheering of the crowds at the finish. There was a guy in front of me who was walking, and every time I passed him, he started to run past me, only to start walking again. This began to infuriate me, not only because it was irritating to have to pass this guy who passed me, but also because he was walking and keeping ahead of me!

In a mountain run, when the hill gets steep enough, it is more efficient to walk, depending upon how fast you were moving in the first place. If you're running faster, that's more efficient, but when your pace gets slower, and you lose your momentum, walking is more efficient, and brings your heart rate down. I however refused to walk. I wanted to run this thing.

The road took a left, and I could see the summit above me on my right side. Shouts and applause form the finish at the summit drifted by with the wind. The road sort of leveled to about a 6% grade, and I picked up the pace. It was easier now, but I was very tired at this point. I kept plugging along, with less than a mile to go. The view up here was spectacular, above the tree line, and I could see over the stone wall and out to the mountains in the distance. A sign on the left said you could see Vermont in the distance as well as Canada. It was inspiring to look below and see how far I'd actually come under my own power. That elation seemed to take the edge off of how I was feeling.

The road turned right again, and up to the sky, as I could feel the gravity pushing me back. Way off in the distance, about 300 meters ahead, I could see the finish line at the end of the road, at the foot of the huge stone summit. I started to pick it up about 200 meters from the finish, but the 2 guys ahead of me had the same idea, and took off, just as I tried to pass them. It's amazing how the finish line can bring someone back to life. These two guys were hunched over and barely running, until they smelled the finish. Then they suddenly sprang up, and started sprinting, WOW!

I finished right behind them, and after catching my breath; I walked around to see the view from the summit. I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment that only hard work brings about. I filled up my water bottle, drank a bottle of Gator Aid, took an energy bar from the table, and headed back down to my motel at the base of the mountain.

I will be back again in 2 weeks, along with hundreds of other athletes, to compete in the "Whiteface Mountain Uphill Bikerace" on June 19^th. I can't wait for that one. At least I can ride back down next time.

June, 2004

Whiteface on Wheels

I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of rain. The forecast had predicted a few passing showers with a front moving in, and clearing skies in the afternoon. A peek out my window revealed the summit of Whiteface Mountain, disappearing in thick and dark clouds. I went out for an early morning run, just to get the blood flowing and the legs moving. The five miles out and back paralleled the wild and beautiful Ausable River. I was back after a two-week absence to race up this mountain again, not on foot this time, but on my bike.

The Whiteface Mountain Uphill Bike Race, celebrating its 3rd year continues to get more competitive, with almost 300 racers this year, many from Canada.

Many triathletes, training for the upcoming Ironman in Lake Placid do this race, as well as the foot race 2 weeks earlier. This year, however, there were many more pure roadies, some with specialized climbing bikes, and many with triple cranksets. The race starts at the foot of Whiteface Mountain Memorial Highway, in the town of Wilmington, NY, and continues up for 8 miles at an average gradient of 8% without any flat spots. It is the same dimension as the famous Alpe D’Huez in the Tour de France. Since the race occurs about 3 weeks before the Tour, it gives me a special sense of appreciation and empathy to watch the riders ride that stage, and they ride the “Alpe” after many days of racing. WOW!

I finished my run in the rain, and had a nice home made breakfast, as I Looked at the threatening skies outside. Seven hours to race time. I hope this thing blows over. I don’t want to ride in the rain, especially back down the mountain. After a few hours, the weather began to clear, but there was a huge wind, blowing the clouds away.
At about 4 pm, I went out for a good warm up ride. I rode for about an hour on the local roads, taking in the beautiful scenery. I could see the summit of the mountain off in the distance, with the clouds quickly moving by. The wind was really blowing, but the sky was clearing.

We lined up at the starting line in age group categories. We would be going off in 5-minute intervals. The 50+ group was in the very back, about 45 riders strong. I met the guy who I’d battled with the year before. We decide to stay in the middle of the field, and get sheltered from the 25 mph wind, which was blowing down the mountain and right down our throats! I positioned myself in the front row. The gun went off, and I couldn’t get my foot into the pedal. Everyone passed me on both sides, as I flailed away in panic, trying to secure my foot. I tried to pedal with one leg, but as we were on an incline, it was difficult. By the time I got my foot in, the field was riding off into the distance. I began to pedal, into the head wind, all by myself. The wind was very cold, and pushing me back with such force, that I had to get low in the saddle, which made it difficult to climb. If I got up out of the saddle, my body became a parachute, as I felt the force of the wind, and its biting chill, pushing me back. Off in the distance, I saw the group ahead of me. I tried to maintain a rhythm, as I chased them into the wind. Out of the saddle in the 23, back in the saddle in the 26, over and over again, as I climbed toward the summit.

I began to catch the stragglers now, at first, one by one, and then in groups of twos and threes. My first instinct was to sit in behind them to shelter myself, but I realized that I had more momentum than they did, so I kept going. Each rider I caught gave me a boost of confidence, and strengthened my will to push harder. I couldn’t read my heart rate monitor, nor my cycle computer, as my glasses were cloudy from the sweat pouring down my face, but I knew by my burning legs and my labored breathing that I was “in the zone”. I had the strange sensation of perspiring profusely, while at the same time, my hands, feet, and head were cold! I began to pass younger riders, who had started 5 or 10 minutes before me, and each person I passed gave me a charge of energy. At one point, I took a bite of a cliff bar, but I was breathing so heavily that I couldn’t chew or swallow it. It remained in my mouth like a wad of chewing tobacco for quite a while before I could finally get it down.

Another switchback, at about mile 5, and we were above the tree line. The wind buffeted us from all sides now, and it became difficult to ride straight, but the sight of the summit observatory off in the distance encouraged me. At one point, about a mile from the summit, I came around a switchback, and a gust of wind actually hit me from behind, pushing me up the hill at 18 mph. That was short-lived, as another switchback in the last half mile took me right into the teeth of the biting wind. I couldn’t believe it. I was pedaling with everything I had, and I was going 4mph! I could see the finish ahead, but it seemed as if I wasn’t moving! The spectators at the finish were bundled up in fleece and Gortex, as I slowly inched by to the finish line. I finished in 1:06:25, which was my fastest time yet.

While scrambling around the summit observatory to locate my pack with my change of clothes, I overheard the meteorologist from the observatory telling a group of people that the temperature at the summit was 35 degrees, with wind of 30 mph, gusting to 45 mph! I quickly changed into my polypro top and windbreaker, and started back down the mountain. The long winding road down was dangerous in the twilight, as it was difficult to see the many frost heaves in the road (bulges in the road caused by freezing in the winter), but at least I didn’t have to peddle anymore. This was a free ride, and gravity was now on my side.

By the time I got to the bottom I couldn’t peddle, as my knees were numb. I was hypothermic, as I got off the bike and into the motel room. After a hot shower, and a few minutes of uncontrollable shaking, I headed for the bar and ordered a brandy and a hot bowl of soup.

At the awards ceremony, I was disappointed to find out that I’d finished 14th out of 39 in my age group (50-59), but I tried my hardest. If only I hadn’t missed the group in the beginning. I can’t wait for the time trial up the Alpe D’Huez at the Tour. Now I can really appreciate how strong those pro riders are.

July, 2004

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