I’ve taken part in enough races over the years to be familiar with the full spectra of racing highs and lows, stresses and joys, buildups and releases. And even for an event as monumental as Iceman, there’s a lot of detail that fades away in the days and weeks following the race. Much of the race-day minutiae that feels incredibly important while recovering at Timber Ridge never gets transcribed to long-term memory, which is why we’ll all end up arguing with our riding buddies next fall about whether there was a headwind at the start last year, or whether the flyover was before or after that tight left-hander at the finish. In my experience, the details that really have staying power are the ones tied to my emotions. Pain, cold, and exhaustion all feel the same regardless of why I’m feeling them, but feeling content, disappointed, proud, or (hopefully not) embarrassed about aspects of my race? Those feelings are fundamentally different and they define my memories of a race after the dust has settled and I’ve closed the book on the season.
So what’s my end-of-year view on the Iceman that was, now that much of the raw freshness has passed? Above all, Iceman ’23 will go down as FUN. But let’s go back and start at the beginning.
I actually went into Iceman this year with my mind somewhat focused on this idea of separating things that happen in the moment from what I will remember about them once it’s over. Something about the reflective mindset that comes with writing these blog posts has sunk in, perhaps. But whatever the reason, I decided on two goals: tackle some of the things that make me a nervous wreck before every race no matter what, and race my race in a way I’ll be happy to look back on.
Yes, I’m one of those people who gets knots in my stomach and has a wrestling match with my breakfast before a race. Every time, no matter how many years go by or how well I’ve prepared, I still get caught up in stressing over whether I picked the right gloves, how much time I need to park, whether I should wear shoe covers, when to start warming up, you get the idea. And it doesn’t affect just me, just ask my wife. I’ll say, “yeah I’m actually feeling pretty relaxed this year. No stress, I’ve got the experience so I’m just going to take it as it comes and not overthink things,” but 10 minutes later I’ll still be talking and it’s not about what nice, relaxing dinner we could have. So this year I put my eggs in the basket called “Do exactly that over-the-top pre race routine you thought up that sounds ridiculous but will probably work, and shut up about it already.” For those of you who also suffer from terrible circulation in your hands and feet, here’s how it worked. We left half an hour earlier than I thought I needed, and I wore my warmest mittens and boots even though I had no intention of racing in them. In Kalkaska I laid out my regular shoes and gloves for the race in the car and opened up a set of hand and toe warmers to activate on the dashboard. Then I left to warm up, and my fat biking gear allowed my hands and feet to actually get warm without doing an interval workout as my warmup. I then changed shoes and gloves at the car before heading to the start, and the hand and toe warmers kept me comfortable until the race started. Not simple, but it was definitely effective, and I’ll confidently use this strategy again for similar temps in the future.
My other goal was to race in a way I’d be happy to look back on. This one may sound more complicated, but it was actually quite simple in execution. In every event I race, there are always uncertain tactical decisions that arise in the moment. Do I take a pull, or hide in the wheels? Is a sketchy passing move worth the risk, or would I be better off saving my matches for a safer attack later? Should I commit to closing the gap in front of me, or let the wheel go and regroup at my own pace? I’m not one of those people who can access regular brain function while smashing pedals as hard as I can, so these questions would historically go unanswered with my decisions made on impulse, or perhaps made for me by letting the moment slip by. This time, I just added one step to my mental process. We’ll call it the Dwight Schrute step. I take whatever gut reaction I have and ask myself “Would an idiot do that?” and if the answer is yes, I do not do that thing. I can’t say what effect this strategy may have had on my competitive result, but I can vouch for its effectiveness towards my goal. Not only did it help me let go of the urge to constantly look for sketchy passing lines on the side of the trail, but it also freed up more of my brain to genuinely enjoy the race as it happened. And that’s why I’d recommend the Dwight Schrute step for anyone who gets “race brain” like me.
In the end, we all pack up our bikes and go home. For many our “season” ends at Timber Ridge and by now, as we’re closing out the year, our focus shifts from the season that was to the next one ahead. But before I let go of Iceman ’23 once and for all I’ll leave you with one last reflection. Course design fell to NMMBA this year, and they KILLED IT. Seriously. We got a real mountain bike race this year, but one that could handle thousands of racers all day, and stayed true to the fast, cross-country Iceman heritage. Hats off to the crew.
And thanks to you all for reading along with me this year; I hope you got something out of it. See you at Iceman ’24! ~Martin
Thank you to our 2023 Iceman Cometh Ambassador Martin Harris @uncle.martin