Writing About Failure -- Postscript to the Atlas Mountain Race

Hike or bike -- the choice is yours

Writing about failure is not easy. It has taken me 10 months to finally pen down some thoughts about my failed attempt at the Atlas Mountain Race this past February. 

I've read too many race reports by athletes who underperform and then write a litany of excuses for why things went wrong. This blame train typically begins by underselling the athlete who showed up at the start -- "too many meetings," "too many commitments," "didn't have time to train," or my favorite "wasn't treating this as a race." This is usually followed by somewhat exaggerated tales of bad luck and misfortune during the race. 

I've never liked reading these types of reports. Why can't people just say sh** happened and leave it at that. I suppose at some alert or subconscious level, we all tie a little bit (or maybe a lot) of our self-worth to athletic performance. The drawn out justifications are then deemed necessary not only to satisfy others, but perhaps more to appease one's own pride. 

So it came as a shock to me that after quitting the race, all I wanted to do was scream about all the things that went wrong and convince my friends that I was still a good bike rider. The behavior in others I so despised finally made sense...

But I suppressed that hypocritical urge. I've waited 10 months to write anything so I (hopefully) don't sound like an excuse train running on high steam. Things went very wrong for me at the race, but most of it was my own fault. Let me begin at the start. 

Trying hard not to do this

A bit of background. I'm a decent athlete and have been racing bikes for many years now at the local level with some moderate success. I also love bikepacking and this blog is filled with tales of adventure that my wife and I have embarked on over the years. So a bikepacking race made all the sense in the world and the Atlas Mountain Race was to be my first.

I trained hard over the winter in DC, didn't race cyclocross so I could go on 5 hour training rides instead, consulted about training with a few experienced hands, and showed up in Morocco in good endurance shape. I've been in better condition in the past and since, but I showed up confident that I could handle 715 miles of laden riding. I also spent inordinate amounts of time thinking about my bike and gear, which I wrote about in a separate post here. Many of these decisions came back to bite me during the race, so its instructive to elaborate on those first. 

I carried way too much gear, plain and simple. If you see my pack list, it reads like I'm getting ready for a winter excursion and not a jaunt through a hot desert. Hindsight, of course, is perfect. Part of the reason for packing extra was that I had only ridden bikes in a desert once before and that was in January in San Diego on the Stagecoach 400 route. All I remember is how cold it got at nights. Morocco, in contrast, was a daytime frying pan that stayed lukewarm at night. 

Sums up the weather

The other main reason was sheer inexperience. I had never done one of these races before so packed too many extra things just in case I needed them. Importantly, many of the things I find indispensable for bikepacking were simply too heavy or unnecessary in a race setting -- e.g. water filter (tablets would have worked just fine, less space and weight), poop digger (not heavy but takes space, plus who has time to poop in a race?!), pillow (jacket does just fine), extra clothes (I'm used to sitting around at camp), etc. Do a google search on Jay Petervary's bike or Sofiane Sehili's bike. Granted those two take races a lot more seriously than I do, but still the contrast is telling. 

What I didn't realize at the start is how much small things like a moderately heavy bike play on your mind as the race wears on. By day 3, I was in a deep mental hole and likely spent hours fussing about why I carried a titanium poop shovel that weighs just a few ounces. But that is where the mind goes when it is stressed. 

So heavy! 

Not to dwell on the negatives too much, on the plus side I believe I brought the right bike with the right gearing. Basically, I found the lightest hardtail mountain bike frame I could find and equipped it with excellent lightweight components, a non-rigid fork, fast rolling mountain bike tires, and lots and lots of gears. I still don't understand why people under-gear their bikes for these races. Even James Hayden rides a 30T ring with a 10-51 cassette and he's an ex-pro who almost won this race. I managed to spin up many climbs that others could not. Yes, I walked many but at least had the option to ride. I would make the same gearing decision in a heartbeat. 

The other good decision I made was on pacing. I spoke a few times with Kurt Refsnider as I was training for the race and he insisted that I should ride at the boundary of zone 1 and 2 power for most of the race except maybe the first hour or two when everyone goes out hard. Just to clarify, boundary of zone 1 and 2 is very very slow, painfully so. Think how fast your grandparent would ride, then ride slower. 

As the gun went off, I kept up with the front peloton for the first couple of hours and we were moving at a fair clip. At that point I made the conscious decision to fall back and drop down to that ascribed slow pace. I have to say physically I felt great all day. By the time we reached checkpoint 1 after the first (and biggest) climb of the race, I was way back in the pack but also feeling quite fresh. After a quick meal, I kept on riding and started passing people. This was surprising because if it wasn't clear yet, I wasn't riding very fast and they were obviously riding even slower. I suppose Kurt was right -- I had to treat this race like a tortoise rather than a hare. 

I also greatly appreciated some suspension in my fork (I rode a lauf) and wide MTB tires, which really helped at night when I couldn't see very far ahead and this setup was fairly forgiving. If I could change two things on the bike, they would be (a) switching to a drop bar, and (b) switching to a flexy seatpost. Yes, flat bars are more stable off-road, but there are several wide drop bars on the market now with shallow flared drops for more control. Plus having multiple hand positions isn't only beneficial for those with hand numbness, its actually a real treat to just be able to hold on in different ways over long events. And a flexy seatpost is a great benefit for the hours and hours spent sitting on a narrow saddle. Many companies now make seatposts with some intelligent give (e.g. springs, elastomers, air) and some frame manufacturers are even starting to incorporate suspension in the rear for gravel-oriented bikes.    

Early slopes of the first big(gest) climb of the race

Back to the race, I have to say riding at night in the desert with no one around and just my narrow bike light for company was very calming. Unlike some others who have reported back feeling scared or spooked, I really enjoyed riding alone at night and much preferred the nighttime to the burning daytime sun. At some point 95-100 miles in, I decided to stop and get some sleep. One cool trick I employed throughout the race was to order two meals at every restaurant, eat one, and pack the other one in a large empty potato chips packet. The foil was perfectly waterproof and even kept the food moist and a bit warm -- just use a rubber band to seal it. This worked really well for the countless omelet sandwiches consumed at this race! So after stopping, I had a quick second dinner and setup my bivy and sleeping bag. 

This salt bomb bag served double duty as a free/reusable/waterproof omelet sandwich carrier

All the omelets

Here is the start of my biggest mistake in the race -- sleep. I simply could not go to sleep. My mind would not turn off and I tossed and turned for three hours without a single minute of sleep. Turns out a big part of the problem was that I believe I was overdressed for sleep. Some of the elite racers likes James and Jenny Tough decided it was too hot to bivy so they just slept on top of their sacks. I did not have the same brilliant idea -- in fact I was inside my sleeping bag in a bivy and wearing a few layers of clothes. Also, I made the awful choice of not stripping out of my chamois to let the southern bits dry out. Once again, James wrote in his debrief that he sleeps stark naked in these races. Smart choice indeed!

After flailing around for another 30 minutes, I gave up on sleep and started riding again. My slow pace meant that physically I was still going strong and one night of missed sleep wasn't holding me back yet. I made a lot of ground even before the sun came up. In my mind, I pictured catching up to near the front of the pack by the end of the race with my slow-and-steady approach. I believe if things had worked out differently I could have gotten there but there is no way to know and its too arrogant to assume.

Some magical sunrises

Sometime close to sunset I caught up to Jesse Blough on a steep hike-a-bike climb. I was still feeling pretty good and he happened to be in a hole at the time. So I stayed with him for a bit to walk and chat. I've gotten to know Jesse a bit and he's a stellar guy and I'm glad we got to go back and forth for a couple days in the race. Soon, I went on ahead and rode this amazing desert plateau in the dark. 

My sleep woes, however, continued and night 2 sleep was no better than night 1. Once again, I did not sleep a wink and now I was worried. Of course, Sofiane didn't sleep at all and he won the race but (a) he's Sofiane; and (b) he planned and trained to race that way. I didn't and when my sleep failed, my mind went in the gutter. 

As a result, day 3 was a slog. It started off well enough with a fantastic long and fast downhill towards a desert oasis where the nice host invited me in for tea. I should have taken him up on that offer but instead kept plodding. What came next was a horrible steep road climb with lots of traffic, a blazing hot sun, and a determined Jesse riding on a strong second wind bumping up my rear end. Everything fell apart for me on that climb, especially when Jesse passed me. I literally had to stop and calm down, take a few deep breaths, and suppress the urge to hail down a taxi and call it quits there and then. My bike felt incredibly heavy, my legs were wobbly, and my mind was on the verge of giving up. 

Thankfully, my wonderful wife must have received my telepathic communique because she sent me a lovely note just then that cheered me up and I decided to keep going. I took a long break at the next omelet stop and caught up a bit with several other racers. I overheard a few of them talk about the next big town -- Taznakht -- where there were hotels, and a real bed sounded like just what I needed to reset and catch some sleep. So I kept on. 

At this point for me, the race turned into a pure mental game rather than a physical one. My legs felt fine and I could pedal at the intensity I needed but for a lot of the time I simply didn't want to. My previous poor decision on clothing was also starting to bother me as I developed a pretty bad saddle sore and couldn't stay seated for too long. Nevertheless, the hotel bed beckoned and after many hours I reached the outskirts of town and found a large number of fellow racers sprinkled throughout the town's restaurants and hotels. I did manage to get a room and after a hot meal fell in bed. Here's the deal, I still could not go to sleep. I've since spoken to a few sleep experts and very likely my circadian rhythm was completely out of whack with abnormal levels of hormones but who knows. I cant imagine my situation was any different that others so perhaps I need to train my sleep better before attempting such an endeavor again. In the end, I think I did manage an hour of sleep but woke up in a panic as I thought I had slept through to the next evening as it was dark out. Took me a minute to realize I had only been sleeping for an hour! 

Once awake, sleep was a distant memory and I made the decision to pack up and leave. In hindsight, I should have persisted and tried to get a few more hours but the pressure of seeing folks I was mingling with ride away in the distance was too much to bear. I suppose that is the downside of live tracking -- you can see how far everyone else has moved while you are just sitting around. So I started riding again while it was still dark out and was surprised that I felt kind of alright. That feeling didn't last, however, as I began to hallucinate on the bike when the sun came up. Or at least I think thats what was going on. Basically I would doze off and wake up startled probably within a second or two. This is where I finally gave up, about 30 miles into the day. Whatever I was doing didn't seem worthwhile and I just wanted to be done. I messaged my wife and she offered the sage advice that I should just take a nap at the next town and then restart once I'm rested. Of course, this was the logical choice but I had already given up and my mind couldn't return to the bike no matter how hard I tried. 

So I managed to get a taxi to the finish line where everyone was awaiting the winner. I really felt like an outcast, as if I didn't belong, as if I didn't deserve to be there. So quietly and quickly, I escaped back to Marrakesh along with another rider in a shared taxi. 

Got to see James finish not very far behind Sofiane and ahead of Jay. All great riders

Back in Marrakesh and in stellar company

That was a wrap for me and the AMR 2020. Will I do a bikepacking race again? If you had asked me in February I would have said hell no. I've come to realize that what I really enjoy is exploring by bike with good company (i.e. my wife and friends). Riding alone for hours and hours with only distance and speed as goals doesn't sound super appealing. But I am also very stubborn and the sting of failure has not subsided. I've read reports by several accomplished athletes who also suffered setbacks in early races only to return with experience and put down great performances. Also, the mental high that comes from competing and finishing is not lost on me. So now, ten months later and with some direction on the weaknesses I need to work on, I believe I probably will give this off-road bikepack racing thing a try again.