The Sea to Summit Race

from the perspective of the racer and the support crew

As seen by the racer

The Sea to Summit, a cross between an adventure race and a mutant triathlon, travels (as its name implies) from the Atlantic to the top of Mount Washington via a 12-mile kayak, 91-mile road bike, and 8.5-mile run/hike. A low-key affair, it attracts a devoted following of multisport adrenaline junkies who vie for the 40 starting slots each year.

Since the off-road Ironman I had planned to do this weekend was cancelled, I wheedled a spot from the S2S's sympathetic race director, and spent a few frantic days pulling together the gear and a crew (the race takes place on an open course with little support beyond transition locations and painted arrows on the roads). Thankfully, some generous friends offered up a kayak, paddle, and some pointers.

For example, Robin Hastings's brother tried to give me a paddling lesson on Friday. After watching me flail for a while, he said: "You know, my coach said sometimes it takes 1,000 miles to develop your form."

On the plus side, Kristin McCowan (a demi-goddess and great humanitarian) offered to spend 18 hours driving all over New Hampshire watching people sweat--just one day before she did the Lowell Triathlon.

After cruelly dragging Kristin (who is an amazing human being) out of bed at 4:00 am on Saturday, we set out for New Castle, NH, with me jabbering away, preventing her from getting a nap. With my usual crack race preparation, I looked up two minutes before the scheduled start time and saw every other racer in a kayak, bobbing 100 yards off shore. Sprinting from the parking lot to the beach, I coerced Kristin (may her name be forever blessed) into pushing me out to sea, soaking her sneakers in the process. Nice introduction to the world of race support.

Our little flotilla headed up the Piscataqua River under overcast skies, riding a following tide not quite strong enough to counteract a brisk headwind, dodging outgoing fishing boats, and marveling at Portsmouth's industrial scenery. A little less than two hours later, I transitioned to the bike, where the headwind slowly diminished and the sun eventually heated the day to about 85 degrees. The bike course rolls through many, many twists and turns for the first 30 miles, keeping the support crews guessing as they tried to follow the orange arrows on the pavement, and bikers from getting a good rhythm going.

My back decided to spasm early and often, although I finally settled in to a pattern of riding hard, grimacing, softpedaling, cursing, stretching, and riding hard again. Interrupted by a flat tire, I basically played math games, trying to fool myself that having done 4/9ths of the ride, I could easily make the other, uh (nine divided by four, add a zero...) 56 percent! And in another five miles, I would be halfway! And look, I'm more than four hours into a ten-hour race! The only thing to look forward to was Kristin (a phenomenal athlete as well as a saint) every 10 or 15 miles with fluids and Ibuprofen.

After 91 miles and a net gain of about 1,000 vertical feet, the bike gave way to a run of 4.4 miles, and another 1,000 vertical feet of gain up to Pinkham Notch. Along the way, another runner and I spotted a small black bear on the edge of the road, who looked far less threatening than the RVs barreling down Route 16 toward us.

At Pinkham, I grabbed some water and gels from Kristin (whose car I will be washing for at least a year) for the final 4.1 miles and 4,288 feet of vertical up the Tuckerman Ravine trail, past hundreds of downhikers, some of whom were shaking their heads and muttering about the "loonies" racing up the mountain. After a surprisingly quick two hours of clambering uphill, I got a whiff of the unmistakable Mount Washington summit odor of perfume, kitchen grease, overheating car engines, and Cog Railway coal smoke, signaling the end of a truly fun event. Amazingly, there was only one DNF, and everyone else made the 12-hour cutoff.

After an excellent post-race barbecue, Kristin (who bravely drove a kayak-laden car up Mount Washington) was just settling in for a long and richly deserved nap on the three-and-a-half ride home when the tail pipe on my car rusted through, increasing the interior decibel level to roughly the Expressway at rush hour. Despite getting home at 10:30, Kristin (someone notify the Nobel committee) still finished second at the Lowell Triathlon the next day on very little sleep, yet another reason I will be doing her laundry and cleaning her apartment for the next six months.

As seen by the crew

The Sea to Summit was a great race to be a part of, a report from the support crew seems appropriate.

4:00 am An hour I've never seen before and hope to never see again, we start for Portsmouth, NH.
5:30 am Arrive at the start and scramble to get the kayak and Ken ready. I receive instructions, which I sort a pay attention to. Maybe I should write these down.
5:58 am All the racers are in the water and are heading for the start, except Ken. The race director looks at his watch and then at me, "Where is your guy?" All I can say is, “Oh he'll be here.”
5:59 am Ken arrives, jumps in the kayak. "Kristin, one more favor" (this turns out to be a cruel, cruel joke) "flip the rudder down and give me a push." This is not possible from the beach so in I go (managed to kick my shoes off).
6:00 am They are off, now I can relax a little. More importantly I can get some coffee.
7:30 am Kayak/Bike trans: I hope I remember all the complicated instructions. For example, how to put the front tire on the bike so that the computer will function. He told me no less than 3 times. I realize I'm blond, but give me a break.
7:50ish am Ken is safely out of transition and I'm left to gather all the wet gear.
8:00 am Last kayaker is out of the water, he looks very familiar. Oh yeah, I dated him about year and half ago. This is shaping up to be an interesting day.
8 to 1pm These hours are spent driving across NH looking for a good place to stop to "service Ken" (as he like to refer to it) and to make sure I don't get lost as navigation is not one of my strong points.
1:30ish Bike/Run trans: It’s hot with very little breeze, note to self: put bike clothes in the trunk. Despite Ken's flat tire and back spasms he is smiling and making jokes.
2:20-2:30 Run/Hike trans: More clothes that will be kept in the trunk.
2:45-3:15 Up the Auto Road of Mt. Washington, 8 miles of road that should have been designated as singletrack. The view ends up being worth the effort, although Ken will be driving down.
4:20ish Ken finishes looking a bit worked, but happy and energetic. This is amazing to me. Adventure racers are definitely a different breed.
11PM Ken gets me home, with only a few more "one more favor"s. I'm so tired I sleep like a rock & feel great the next day for Lowell.