Probably like you, I grew up playing and watching sports,
putting posters of my elite idols on my bedroom wall, and reading intently
about team dynamics, shattered course records, and the accomplishment of what
seemed physically impossible.
In other words, in whatever sport I followed, the elite were
a pack of immortals that existed solely on screen, in print, and on my
pedestal.
In my 20's, when I started marathoning, I was turned on by
the notion that I, as an amateur, would be able to compete in the same race, at
the same time, as my heroes. In what
other sport is this possible? Even with
a few corrals separating us, I felt privileged to be sharing the road with
professionals.
In my 30's, when triathlon had my attention, the thrill was
even greater, because I was actually standing in the same transition area
pre-race, readying my gear. I was so
close to those I admired, I could see what brand of sunscreen they use. And often on an out-and-back course, I witnessed the battle for podium as they hauled ass back in my direction. Pretty exciting stuff for a sports
nerd.
When I turned 40, I discovered the trails. Not only did it reinvigorate my passion for
running, it introduced me to the intimate and relaxed community of trail
runners. Many trail races look more like
a weekend club run - starkly different
from the event planning mega machines that drive the marathon and triathlon
scene. When asked to describe my first
50K, I remember pausing in search of the right words, and finally saying
"well, it was more like Burning Man than Ironman". Some participants had camped out or slept in
their car near the start. The race
director cupped his hands and yelled out the course description. Aid stations
were sparse, few and far between. The
winners sat next to me eating chili at a finish-area picnic table, wondering if
they would need to pay for parking.
The commercial focus (read:
big money) in marathon and triathlon has elevated the premier players to
mainstream, celebrity status. If you've
ever laced up a sneaker, you probably know who I'm referring to if I mention
Lance, Macca, Meb, or Shalane. Quite
conversely, the top echelon of the trail and ultrarunning world goes mostly
unrecognized. If the others are
considered rock stars, the trail elite would be the equivalent of the acoustic
singer-songwriter at the local bar;
every bit as talented a musician, but without the glamour and doting
handlers. Maybe it's the lack of
cheering onlookers and huge paychecks.
Or maybe it's just the ever-presence of dirt. Whatever the reason, trail runners tend to be
a fairly unpretentious crowd, and this attitude extends to the sport's
elite.
Participating in the 2011 GORE-TEX TransRockies underscored
for me this vast cultural difference.
The six-day stage race format means that participants live together for
a week. The people on the podium sleep
in the same tent village as you, eat dinner with you, and use the same
porta-johns. Except for the leader
shirt, there is really nothing that separates the winner from the walker.
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| No prima donnas here. |
Unlike earlier in my life, mere proximity to the elite was not the electrifying factor.
At TransRockies I witnessed an elite-amateur interaction that I had not
imagined realistic. I drank beer with
pros, sat in ice-baths, consoled, and was consoled by, pros. I made fun of their bedhead.
There was simply no elitist bullshit.
In fact, the fast and the furious of the GORE-TEX TransRockies gave a
tremendous amount back to 'the rest of us'.
Imagine this: on a couple of
afternoons, the elite racers relaxed in the back of a gear transport truck,
mixed up drinks, and held Q&A sessions.
Instead of sleeping or getting massages, they made themselves available
to answer any questions ranging from training tips to personal life. This crowd was both approachable and forthcoming
with their knowledge.
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| That's a whole truckload of talent. |
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| Ted hustling for us |
A few more examples of elite generosity at TransRockies:
A previous year champ, Ted Russell, whose pre-existing
injury caused him to drop on Day 1, stayed for the entire week to help
out. He handed me my cup of GU Brew at
the finish line every day, shuttled racers in vans, and cheered on the
course. When I asked him why he stayed,
he said "because I am normally the beneficiary of great support. My schedule is clear for the week, so I am
taking the opportunity to do my part.
What I contribute here will be a drop in the bucket compared to the
support I consume in a season." No
elitist entitlement attitude here.
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| Ross and Teammate Tim |
Another top racer, Ross McMahan, whose teammate became
injured and therefore had to drop out, asked me at breakfast if I was going to
run that day (my teammate, Paul, suffered a debilitating injury as well). When I said I was indeed running, he said,
"Alone? If you want some company,
I'll go with you". So despite
having just eaten a plateful of pancakes, he changed clothes, and joined me for
the stage. Only at TransRockies would
something like that ever happen.
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| Me with Mike and Jason |
Mike Smith and Jason Wolfe, winners of the Men's Open in
2011, were so proud of the large showing from Flagstaff, they cheered each of
their hometown racers like proud parents. I have never seen race
winners hang out at the finish to hug and congratulate mid-packers, and it gave
me goosebumps to see that kind of reciprocal support.
As a relative newcomer to trail running and racing, I am
able to look comparatively and objectively at elite culture across endurance
sports. I suspect the remote setting,
the anti-fanfare atmosphere, and the general population's limited exposure to the trail elite make for a much more humble and grounded attitude in the
race environment. Add to that the
special team- and multi-day structure of the GORE-TEX TransRockies Run, and you
have the recipe for a very unique, camaraderie-focused racing experience.
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| Paul with "Ultramarathon Man" Dean Karnazes |
The TransRockies elite are some of the most hard-core
athletes I have ever seen. But somehow their feet remain firmly planted on the ground, and
their hearts are in the right place.
Their attitude and behavior during this rather exceptional event should
serve as an example to the leadership in other endurance sports.
As demonstrated here in the Rockies, you can still be a
badass and not take yourself so seriously.
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| No flashy race kits. Max King rocks a skirt. |
--Lori Lyons
