Leadville Training - March Update

It's been a bad month. Things were looking good in February when I dropped five pounds (to 177) and was riding hard, including doing several 50-mile rides on weekends. Then Michael and Jacob came into town for a week. We kept eating out, so I went off my training diet. To make matters worse, the whole family got sick. I ended up with bronchitis, which kept me off the bike for a couple of weeks. And what's the point of lying around the house if you're not going to eat ice cream and donuts? And since you're not in training mode, why not have an extra helping or two of dinner? Oh, is it girl scout cookie season? Sure, I'll support the friendly neighbhorhood Lolitas. Why not?

I now weigh 184 pounds.

The good news is that I'm back on my bike. I'll test the waters this weekend with a 40-mile ride, and then maybe I can get back into a rhythm of eating moderately, bursting a couple times a week, and going on a long, hard weekend ride. I'm also looking into a couple of other strategies, such as vomiting after especially large meals and using crystal meth to increase my metabolism. Don't worry. I'll never blood dope with EPO, because that's cheating.

If I Had to Do Leadville This Weekend - DNF at 40-mile aid station.

Projected Leadville Time - 13:05

Best Case Leadville Time - 11:59

Leadville Enthusiasm Rating - 3 out of 10

Betrayed!

In my previous post, I listed five things that could have prevented me from completing Leadville in under 12 hours: Elevation, Crashing Out, Bonking, Mechanicals, and Bad Weather. I realize now that the first item on my list should been been Slowness. I had no crashes, no mechanicals, and the weather was fine (it was hot, but the course was fast and a tail wind kicked up in the afternoon). I trained hard all year for one main purpose -- to ride the Leadville 100 in under 12 hours. I daydreamed about riding Leadville constantly. I pushed myself on long rides. I did bursts. When I was taking a shower, I would draw S-curves on the steamed-up glass to represent the switchbacks that go up Columbine Mine. I was obsessed.

It took me 12 hours and 30 minutes to finish the race.

Before I go into the awful blow-by-blow account of this disappointing day, I wanted to report a conversation I had with my psychologist, whom I called in a state of panic shortly after the race.

Me: I blew it, Doc. 12:30. I wasn't even close.

Shrink: It's not your fault.

Me: What do you mean?

Shrink: Blame the disease, not the patient. You suffer from what we in the medical community refer to as the, um, Speed Slowness Syndrome, or SSS.

Me: But I used to be fast enough to finish in under 12 hours. I did it twice, both times comfortably under 12.

Shrink: You have Adult Onset SSS. Listen to me. It's not your fault.

Me: I know.

Shrink: No you don't. It's not your fault.

Me: I know.

Shrink: It's not your fault.

Me: OK, now I'm depressed.

But where are my manners? Let's start from the beginning.

Pre-race jitters

A bunch of us caravanned down to Leadville on Thursday. Dug, Brad, and I stayed in a tent that we pitched on a little patch of grass in an RV park, while the guys who came down with their wives stayed at an old hotel a few blocks away. After we did the mandatory Friday morning check-in, we had nothing to do all day but sit around the camp picnic table and talk about the upcoming race. This was a fantastic day. No work to do, no responsibilities, justing talking and resting and jittery chit-chat. We did a quick warm-up ride along Turquoise Lake, ate a huge spaghetti dinner, and turned in early. I slept well, only waking up about 17 times.

The start

The alarms went off at 5:00am. While still in my sleeping bag, I ate a bran muffin, a banana, and some of Elden's Oatmeal Surprise. I packed up, took care of some personal business (dropped the boys off at the pool?), and rode over to the start, where riders were setting themselves up according to their projected finish. I had thought about putting myself in the 9-10 hour group with Nick, who passed me a dozen times or so at the STP, but I decided to ride in the 11-12 hour group where I really thought I belonged. To my surprise and delight, Dug was suddenly standing next to me with his trusty steed, a singlespeed with a handlebar basket and purple tassels. I noticed a guy a few feet away from us who looked comically intense. His jaws were clenched, he was wearing a Breathe Right strip on the bridge of his nose, and he was staring at a fixed point in space, as if he were expecting the Huns to charge over the hill any second. Before I knew it, the shotgun went off, and a thousand riders of varying expertise wound their way through the city streets.

I knew I didn't want to take it out too fast. It was going to be a long day, and I certainly didn't want to blow out my legs during the first few miles. My plan was to ride my own pace, stay on my bike, eat and drink well, and fight to a glorious finish.

The first 40 miles

The two climbs up up St. Kevin's and Powerline (see the course profile above) were actually pleasant, or at least they would have been if my stomach hadn't been gurgling. My legs felt strong while the rest of me felt weak, as if I hadn't eaten enough. The descent down Powerline seemed endless as I picked my way semi-cautiously through loose rocks and gulleys and slower descenders. At one point I saw a guy fixing a flat tire. As I skidded past him, I heard him say something like "heygottaxtratube?" As I continued to drop, I tried to figure out what he was saying. Tube. Extra tube. Do I got an extra tube? Why, yes I did, but now I was a hundred yards down from the guy by the time I figured it out. Too late. Still, I felt guilty, because that's how I'm wired. I finished the descent, joined a paceline, and felt good for the first time that day. I even took a long pull myself. At the first aid station, I stopped only to have my Camelbak refilled.

The next 15 miles down the valley went smoothly, but there was one nasty descent known as Clavicle Hill where a whole bunch of people were cautioning us to slow down. I noticed an ambulance at the bottom of the hill. One volunteer said that someone had broken his femur. As I rode past the guy, I was going to shout an encouraging word, but he was giving instructions to the EMTs. I heard him say, "You don't understand..." That seemed odd to me until I learned later that he was an orthopedic surgeon. I arrived at the 40-mile aid station feeling a little too worn out for the amount of effort I was putting in. I shouldn't have been that tired.

Columbine Mine

At the start of the climb up Columbine, I was on pace for an 11-hour finish. Perfect. I dropped into the valley and saw the turn to the road of the mountain. While I was choking down an energy bar, I noticed two riders flying down the hill. It was Floyd Landis followed by Dave Wiens, who'd won the last four times. This rattled me a bit. I've never seen the lead riders in previous years until I was halfway up the mountain, so either they were flying or I was dragging ass, or maybe a combination of both. I started to climb. I climbed and climbed and climbed up over the switchbacks, just as I'd drawn up on the shower door.

Then I bonked.

It happened all of the sudden. I just felt terrible. I was mentally prepared for working through a bonk, but not until well after Columbine. I dialed back to granny gear to try to recover, but that didn't work. I got off my bike and started pushing up a section that I should have been climbing easily in the middle ring. After a few minutes of this nonsense, I got back on my bike and tried to grind it out as rider after rider passed me. I'm not sure what the best way is to describe going up a long climb in a bonked state. The experienced is reduced too easily, kind of like saying, "Major Trapman was tortured for 36 straight hours." That doesn't sound too bad, does it?

As I pushed my bike up the climb, I noticed all my friends coming down. Chuckie was in about sixth place. Kenny was on a singlespeed in about 30th place. Brad was close behind him. Then I saw Elden and Bry and Rick S. By the time I got up to the 2-mile section above timberline where most cyclists push their bikes, I'd seen all my friends except for Dug. At long last, when I got to the top of the mountain, Dug was waiting for me. He too had crashed on Clavicle Hill. He'd injured his shoulder and elbow and messed up his crank so that it kept loosening ever mile or so. I don't remember the conversation we had at the top of Columbine because I was dizzy from the altitude, but we agreed to ride down the mountain together and then we'd see what would happen. If we both recovered and rode strong, we still had a chance to break 12 hours.

The unending bonk

I thought my bonk would go away if I ate and drank and dropped back down to a more reasonable elevation at 10,000 feet, but it didn't. Dug and I got crossed up somehow at the 60-mile aid station. I had to double-back because we'd passed the kiosk with all the water. When I returned to where I'd left Dug, I didn't see him, so I thought he kept riding without me. I took off. It turns out that Dug, for some crazy reason, didn't want to do the rest of the ride on a singlespeed with an injured elbow and shoulder, not to mention the fact that he would have to stop every mile or so to tighten his crank arm. At this point, I was jealous of Dug. He had a good excuse to drop out.

I rode way too slowly up the valley into the next aid station just before the dreaded Powerline. The volunteers, as usual, were fantastic. One person grabbed my Camelback, and another person grabbed my bike. I asked to sit down in a chair, even though it was out in the hot sun. Someone asked me if I'd rather sit in the shade, but I said no because I was too tired to move. I asked another person what time it was, I repeated the time she said to me, and then I couldn't remember what time we'd agreed upon. I cleverly decided to go sit in the shade, and I somehow forced down a banana chunk and a PBJ without puking. One volunteer told me I looked awful and asked if I wanted to drop out. I told him I'd be fine once the dizziness and tiredness wore away. Another volunteer assumed I was dropping out because I'd been sitting in the shade for fifteen minutes, and she told me and the guy sitting next to me that a car was waiting for us.

I was really hoping I could recover. I asked someone else what time it was, tried to do math, and failed again. I pulled out my iPod, got back on my bike, and hoped for a magic recovery. When I rode up the first little hill after the final aid station, my legs had no power. I'm not sure whether to write about what happened next because it's embarrassing. I realized at this point that I had no chance of making it in 12 hours. I needed a full recovery to ride up Powerline, but there was no way I could make it while feeling weak and dizzy. So I burst into tears.

I kept riding until I got to the section of trail that goes up the powerlines. I didn't have any leg strength to ride up the steep hill, so I got off and started pushing. Part of me kept saying that I was being stupid. I should have taken the ride into town. Another part of me was saying to shut up and push. I battled the bike in front of me and the demons behind me. The thought of my friends waiting for me at the finish line when 12 hours went by caused my eyes to well up again.

When I'd ridden down Powerline earlier in the day, I counted the number of sections that would appear to be false summits on the way back up. I counted five. Well, dear reader, it turns out that the Powerline section has one hundred and forty-three false summits. The sun was beating on me so hard that I stopped at one point to slap some sun block on my face, arms, and left leg. Then I decided to take some ibuprofen and Tums. I'd heard that it's dangerous to take ibuprofen in high altitudes or I would have taken it earlier, but I was desperate. I didn't want to be out on the course when the sun was setting.

I pushed my bike up pitch after pitch for a couple of hours until finally, mercifully, there was no more climbing to do. I rode recklessly down the long descent, part of me hoping that I'd crash hard enough to end this nightmare.

The Finish

The trail turned into the paved road that goes up St. Kevin's. Maybe it was the ibuprofen, or maybe it was the pavement, or maybe it was the fact that the worst part of the ride was over, but for whatever reason my bonk went away and I started to feel good again. I was able to ride hard. I felt tired but normal. I passed a dozen or so weary cyclists on the way to the top of the climb when the aid station appeared after what seemed like a few short minutes. I ate some food and drank some water, and then a volunteer told me I could still make it. What? Maybe my calculations were off! He said I had 38 minutes to ride 11 miles. I told him I'd give it a shot, so I hopped on my bike and sped off. When I thought about it, I knew there was no way I could do 11 miles in 38 minutes, not even on a road bike. Still, I wanted to try.

That thrilling 11-mile ride back into town made the whole ride seem worthwhile. I loved the feeling of being on a bike as I dodged downhill obstacles and powered up climbs. It was exhilarating. The only thing that brought me back down to earth was the fear that I would collapse in tears at the finish line. As I rode into town and heard the clapping and cowbells and shouts of encouragement, I thought tears were going to stream down my face. But when I got to the finish line, I was all smiles. I finished. It was a terrible day, but I finished.

Denouvement

A bunch of my friends were waiting for me at the finish line. I asked Elden how he'd done, and he said 9:14. Ouch. All that training, all that sacrifice for what may have been his last realistic shot at breaking 9 hours, and it just wasn't his day. Kenny and Brad finished second and third in the singlespeed category. Chuckie had two flat tires and still finished in the top 25. Dave Wiens pulled ahead of Floyd down the stretch and won his fifth title in a row. Dug was dealing with the remorse of having dropped out of the race. If I had been in his situation, I would have dropped out out of the race when he did, if not sooner, and I would have felt even more regret for having done so.

We all sat in chairs around our camp swapping stories and eating delicious bratwursts that Fish grilled. I felt drunk and delirious, happy and sad, ashamed and proud. Good times.

I'll be back next year, lighter and faster.

Top 5 Things That Could Go Wrong in Leadville

If you asked me what kind of shape I was in a few months ago, I would have said I'm in decent commuter shape but nowhere close to being in racing form. After training hard all spring and summer -- and especially after finishing the 206-mile STP in one day -- I started to think that I was actually getting into racing shape, even though I was still 10 pounds overweight (now 13 after the Alaska cruise). Until this morning, I had no way of comparing my fitness level to previous fitness levels. I do different rides now than I used to do, so I didn't have any benchmarks to guage my progress. This morning, when I met up with Elden, Dug, and Sam to do Tibble Fork, I would finally be able to compare apples to apples. The results aren't good. Compared to the apple of my former self, my current apple is soft and mealy. When I was in top form, I could do the ultra-steep first mile of Tibble Fork without having to stop and catch my wind. This morning, I had to stop every few hundred yards to avoid collapsing. Part of the problem was that I just flew in from Seattle the night before, so the elevation change from sea level to 7,000 feet may have played a factor. But I was still disappointed. To make matters worse, the little 6-mile ride wiped me out today. I took three different naps and still feel logy. Getting old sucks.

For this week at least, it feels like the only thing I care about in life is to finish Leadville in under 12 hours. Here are the top 5 things that could keep me from reaching that goal:

1. Elevation

The race starts at 10,000 feet and tops out at 12,600 feet. That's not exactly Camp IV at Mount Everest, but it's still pretty thin air for someone living at sea level. Even if I drink more water and go a little slower than usual, the high elevation could make me light-headed and weak. As I learned this morning, I'm nowhere close to being in top form, and the thin air is going to take just that much more out of me. Still, I think I can deal with it.

2. Crashing out

I've only been on a mountain bike a handful of times, which makes me tentative while downhilling. I'll be on a full-suspension bike known as The System, so I think I can stay away from trouble on the steep, washed-out sections around Powerline. What's more likely is crashing during the start. Both times I did this race back in the late 90s, I witnessed nasty crashes on pavement during the first mile of the race. I would really hate to have trained so hard to finish Leadville the past few months, only to end up riding the first five miles and then drop out with a separated shoulder.

3. Bonking too hard

I know I'm going to bonk. My fitness level isn't good enough to avoid a bonk on a 100-mile mountain bike race with that much climbing at high elevation. The only question is how quickly I can recover from the bonk. Or bonks. Here are the most bonktastic sections of the course:

Columbine Mine - This is the eight mile climb up to the top of the mountain. It's only at mile 50, but the altitude may get to me, especially if I take it out too fast.

Twin Lakes - This is where I first bonked the last time I did this race back in 1999. After getting to the top of Columbine, I had it in my head that the next 25 miles were all downhill or flat. The first ten miles or so were downhill, but then there were some nasty little climbs and hike-a-bikes that took me off guard and made me despair. And Satan enveigles those who despair.

Powerline - It's not a question of whether I bonk at Powerline. It's how bad I bonk. This is the steep, washed out section at around mile 75 that nearly everyone struggles with. I'm saving my iPod Shuffle to make it through this section. Attention other riders: if you see a fatish guy wearing an orange Fat Cyclist jersey on Powerline, don't talk to me.

St. Kevin's - If Powerline doesn't sap all my strength, this 4-mile road climb might finish me off. In both of my previous Leadvilles, I cruised up this section without too much damage.

4. Mechanicals

I'm not very good with a wrench, so a broken spoke, a jammed chain, or a bent derailleur could cause too big a delay to overcome. When combined with other misfortunes, even a flat tire could be my undoing. I don't even want to think about this anymore.

5. Lousy weather

A strong headwind in the afternoon would slow me down. The freezing late afternoon thunderstorms in the Rocky Mountains would dampen my enthusiasm. Still, I need to stay positive. I kind of like the sound of hail bouncing off my helmet.

Leadville: What's at Stake?

I promised earlier that this wouldn't turn into a training blog, but dammit, the Leadville 100 is less than three weeks away and I'm so excited I could tinkle. One of my favorite things about Leadville is the setup. Prizes are awarded for various categories and age groups, and most middling riders like me have no chance of winning any of them against hundreds of other riders. But here's what I like -- the belt buckles. Everyone who finishes in under 9 hours wins a gold belt buckle. Everyone who finishes in under 12 hours wins a silver belt buckle and a sweatshirt. Everyone who finishes in under 13 hours gets their time recorded. Anyone over 13 hours gets yanked off the course. Who cares if the sweatshirt will go in my "Clothes That I Never Wear" drawer? I still want it. And I want the silver belt buckle so that it can go in a random box in the garage -- unless I do the same thing with the belt buckle that I've been doing with the One Day STP patch, which is to place it in an annoying place until Wendy complains, and then move it to a different annoying place. Right now it's hanging from the lamp on her night stand.

A bunch of my riding buddies are doing the race. Here's what each person is riding for:

Elden - The Fat Cyclist has tried 11 times to break 9 hours, and the closest he's come to winning the coveted gold buckle is 9:13. This year, he hired a personal trainer, and despite the fact that his wife's cancer metastasized, he's whipped himself into the best shape of his life. Susan is a driving force behind his training, and Elden wants to break 9 hours for her. If it takes him longer than 9 hours to complete the race, I have it on good authority that Susan will divorce him. Elden is riding for his marriage.

Prediction: 9 hours, 2 minutes, but Susan will forgive him.

Dug - Dour Dug will try to complete Leadville on a single-speed bike for the first time, which reminds me of a conversation Dug and I had with some guy the day after the race in 1999, when we were looking at the times posted on a big board:

Dude: Brass balls. [Sniff]

Dug: Excuse me?

Dude: It takes brass balls to finish Leadville on a single-speed. And I finished 87th overall. On a single-speed. [Sniff]

Dug and I: [Silence]

Dude: Brass balls. [Sniff]

I think it would be a great accomplishment for Dug to just finish the race in under 12 hours on a single-speed, but he thinks he can finish in under 10 hours. That's crazy talk. I'd be surprised if Dug beats me at Leadville this year, and I won't finish under 11 hours.

Prediction: DNF

Kenny - Kenny will also be riding a single-speed, but he's in a whole different level than Dug. Kenny actually has a good chance of winning the Men's Single Speed category. Despite his most recent accident, he'll most likely break 9 hours. On a single speed. [Sniff]

Prediction: 8:52; Third in Men's Single Speed

Brad - Brad and Kenny race single-speeds together, so in theory they should finish in around the same time. Brad beat Kenny in a race earlier this year, but Kenny's a little better at long distances, and Brad's coming off a mysterious knee injury, not to mention a long trip to Costa Rica. Still, I'm taking Brad in an upset.

Prediction: 8:52; Second in Men's Single Speed

Floyd - I really think Floyd has a good chance of beating Dave Wiens, who's won the race the last several years. Floyd looked a little chunky to me when we last rode together, but he's still young and strong. If Floyd can manage to keep his testosterone levels high, I think he's got a fighting chance.

Prediction: 7:22; Second overall

Chucky - Racer's kid brother finished 4th overall a couple years ago. I don't think he's in top form right so, so I think a Top 10 finish is the best he can do.

Prediction: 7:55; Tenth overall

Lance - Lance isn't really one of my biking buddies. In fact, I've never even met him, if you can believe that. But I have rooted for him and against him in the Tour de France, so I feel like I know him. There is a rumor that he will ride Leadville this year.

Prediction: DNS

Ricky - Rick probably won't race this year because he has 4 boys between the ages of 8 and 4 (no twins) and a really important job. If he does race, he and I should finish around the same time, with me finishing ahead of him by a minute or two. That's how I see it playing out.

Prediction: DNS

Rick S. - Rick is in good form and has an outside chance of breaking 9 hours.

Prediction: 9:11

Rocky - I don't know which I'd rather see -- Elden break 9 hours or Rocky finishing the ride. He's tried several times, and he's never made it. One year, he became so dehydrated that he had to be removed from the course and taken away in an ambulance. Another year, he crashed and broke his handlebars after riding 88 miles. Maybe this year.

Prediction: 11:35; 2 bags of IV saline

Me - I was just hoping to break 12 hours this year, but I've gotten into decent racing shape. I slow but steady, like plowhorse.

Prediction: 11:45; 482nd overall

Leadville Training Update, Part II

I am excited to announce, dearest fans and casualest readers, that I now consider myself trained well enough to ride the Leadville 100 in under 12 hours. I refuse to end the previous sentence with an exclamation mark because I haven't actually completed the race yet. I just think I'm ready. Big difference! Here are the things I'm doing to get ready for the August 11 race:

Riding to and from work

I continue to ride my bike to work, only with a twist or two. I usually work in the office four days a week. On two of those days, I ride in casually, and then I do "bursts" on the way home. Burst riding is just what it sounds like. After I warm up, I'll pick an open stretch, shift into the highest gear, and sprint as hard as I can for about 45 seconds. Then I'll back off. When I get closer to home, I'll ride hard up several hills, backing off only when I get dizzy. On the other two days, I'll take a longer route in one of the directions so that I get in a 2-hour ride with a long climb -- at least by Seattle standards -- at the end.

Long weekend rides

Wendy and I take turns watching the boys on the weekend. On Saturday, she goes out and shops, sees a movie, gets a massage or hairdo -- that kind of thing. On Sunday, I go on a 4-5 hour bike ride and spend the rest of the day complaining about being tired. Earlier this year, riding just 30 miles would cause me to complain about tiredness for a couple of days. The first time I did a 70-mile ride this year, I spent four days complaining. A couple of weeks ago, the same 70-mile ride only wiped me out only for the rest of the day. By the way, I'm really looking forward to this Fall, when I can sit on a couch on "my" day and watch football. That's a lot more rewarding than cycling. Or just about anything else.

Dieting

The training has been going reasonably well, but dieting has been my downfall. When I started training in March, I weighed 190 pounds. Now I weigh 178. That's not bad, but I was hoping to be closer to 170. Leadville has several large climbs, so the extra weight makes it just that much harder.

You want to know what my biggest problem is? Honesty. That's right. And kindness. Whenever Wendy asks me if I want a cupcake she bought for me at the cupcake store (yes, West Seattle has a cupcake store), I say "Yes" because it's the honest thing to say. I do want a cupcake. I do, I do, I do! To say no would be to lie, and it would be unkind to reject the cupcake after Wendy's kind thought. If my character weren't so noble, I'd probably weigh 158.

Preliminary thoughts on the Leadville 100

I signed up to do the 100-mile mountain bike race in Leadville, Colorado this August. The race starts at 10,000 feet and tops out around 13,000 feet. Have no fear -- this will not become a training journal for the next, gulp, five months. No, dear fans, this is Bob's Web Log, and I am committed to writing an entry on practically any topic at least once a month.

Leadville is my favorite race for three reasons:

1. The belt buckles. If you finish in under 12 hours, you get a belt buckle and a sweatshirt with your name and time on it. Personally, I'd prefer the sweatshirt without my name and time on it, because the name and time are dorky in a Hey, look at me, I'm kind of a mediocre jock way. Still, it's a trophy that you can earn. In most races where you finish in 352nd place out of 630 riders, there's no reward. You lose. And for the fast, fast guys who train year-round wearing heart monitors but aren't quite fast enough to vie for overall victory, they can win a bigger belt buckle by finishing in under 9 hours. My friend Elden even hired a personal trainer so that he can break the 9-hour barrier. It's a simple strategy, but as far as I know Leadville is the only race that offers goal-oriented rewards for the masses. I don't even know where my belt buckles are from previous races, and no one really cares whether I finish, but when I'm training for the race, I need that buckle. I don't even wear belts, let alone big ugly buckles. They don't go well with my stretch pants.


2. It's a big event. Leadville is about 20 miles from Vail, but it's basically an abandoned mining town (they used to mine lead there). It struggles to make it as a resort town. Riders have to be there the morning before the race, so the town fills up with giddy cyclists wanting to eat pasta and drink beer and chit-chat. And this year, Lance Armstrong signed up for the race but had to drop out, probably because Floyd Landis also signed up for the race. The three of us account for the last 8 Tour de France victories.


3. The unrivaled support. When you're struggling like a little camper, volunteers try to buck you up. There's an odd sense that you'll let people down if you don't finish.

Back when I was in my 30s, I did the race a couple of times. I was never in any danger of not making it in under 12 hours, but I was thinner, younger, and in way better shape back then. I weigh 184 pounds now (down from 189), I rarely ride my mountain bike, and I've been on exactly two rides this year longer than 20 miles. And here's the worst part. When I push it to get in better shape, my body breaks down. I can't just do a few hard 50-mile rides anymore to top off my training. I'm not sure if this point has ever been brought up, but getting old sucks.

So here are my goals. I want to weigh no more than 170 pounds by race time. I want to be in good enough shape so that if I ride well under good conditions, I can finish in under 12 hours.