No, it isn’t really dawn. It just feels like it. The sun has been up for more than an hour now, but my world remains dim, shrouded in a murky, surreal haze.
A glance out the westerly window reveals a clean, cobalt sky, and I realize that the clouds are only in my head, not imagined but not entirely indisputable, either. It will take more than a little mental coaxing to burn through this fog. About a quart of caffeine should do for starters, maybe a shower and a dose of rock ‘n’ roll. Soon enough it becomes clear: The race has begun without me.
Fortunately for me and the other maladjusted morning people of the world, the race, in this case, is merely a metaphor. Like the orbit of the Earth, it has no tangible beginning or end. It’s only as competitive as we’re willing to make it.
But metaphors are still too much for my feeble morning mind right now. Another pint of java helps reality slip into focus before imagination gains a foothold. It has been nearly eight hours since my head hit the pillow. I try to imagine how far I could ride a bike in that time. Or how far I could run. Or swim. If only we didn’t have to sleep.
For most of us, sleep is a reality. For people like me, an absolute necessity. It may not always come at night, but it always makes an appearance eventually, imposing itself upon me like a belligerent Sandman who has had a few too many nightcaps. Mornings may sound bad now, but without a USRDA dose of doze, it gets plenty worse.
Others, though, seem to be lacking this sleep gene. Their idea of a good time is a shot of Red Bull with a Go Fast! chaser at 2 a.m., just before strapping a halogen headlamp to a bike helmet and pumping their pulse toward VO2max while the remainder of the hemisphere is dillydallying in REM. They’re not insomniacs. They’re insomnimaniacs.
The hills of Colorado will be littered with insomnimaniacs this weekend, as the second annual Sleepless in the Saddle 24-hour mountain bike race makes its way to Snow Mountain Ranch, outside of Winter Park, all day – and night – Saturday (www.konaworld.com/bikes/
demo_bikes/24_hour.html). Sure, there’s a $20,000 purse to keep competitors perky, but you get the impression that prize money is pretty far down the list of priorities for most of the wing nuts out there doing laps for a full revolution of the planet.
“At the Snow Mountain Ranch event last year, one guy rode his bike all the way from Utah, jumped straight into the race, and, most impressively, drank a can of Pabst after every lap,” said Russell Carty of event-sponsor Kona Cycles. “The Kona Global 24-hour Series brings out the heroes of mountain biking.”
Yep, nothing screams “hero” quite like a case of PBR. But rest assured there are far more designated drivers than drinkers at a typical 24-hour endurance event. Or at an atypical event, for that matter.
Consider the newest experiment in the 24-hour racing world: the 24 Hours of Triathlon, making its debut at the Boulder Reservoir on Saturday (www.24hoursoftriathlon.com). Don’t expect to see any keg stands or beer pong marathons at this all-night rager as athletes continuously transition between a half-mile swim, 17-mile bike ride and 4-mile run for a full day and night, many of them as solo competitors.
It’s an ambitious undertaking to be sure, conceived by one of the most ambitious endurance athletes of the modern era – adventure racer Ian Adamson of Boulder.
Adamson, a multiple world-record holder for endurance kayaking who recently captained Team Nike/PowerBlast to victory at the Adventure Race World Championships in Sweden, is originally from New Zealand, potentially explaining the extreme sports psyche that emerges when a Kiwi adrenaline addict is transplanted to the People’s Republic of Kinetic Energy. To a guy like Adamson, a 24-hour triathlon is something akin to pregame calisthenics, with the game lasting the remainder of the week.
But for the rest of us, the 24-hour thing is certain to take its toll. Between the physical exertion, sleep deprivation and sheer strain of competition – whether it’s against others or simply yourself – one full day can surely make one weak.
It takes a certain type of person to truly reap the benefits of insomnimania, and as a guy whose idea of ultra-endurance is hanging out in the hot tub after my skin has begun to prune, I can say with a modicum of certainty that I’m not that person. Still, I’m glad to know there are people out there crazy enough to make dreams like this a reality. Just don’t be surprised if I wind up sleeping through it.
Staff writer Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-954-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
