So, I had a moment today. I finished the Oakland Marathon a week ago on an injured leg then promptly managed to get sick for 3 days. So, needless to say, my training has been a little.. . well. .. lame for the past 8 days. So today, to try to just get out there and do something, I went out for an "easy spin" ride.
Well, my easy spin ride was boring as hell. A simple little out and back. No real hills. I probably didn't sweat. I know I didn't my heart rate up into the higher regions of zone 1, much less zone 2. I was out there for an hour reminding myself to "lift lift lift" on my pedal stroke.
Then I got home and realized that my Garmin had recorded a pace of 11.7 mph on the ride (that includes stop light time). This got me to thinking about my older races so I looked back at some times.
My first Alcatraz? 11.4 mph; my second? 12.6 mph. My first Wildflower? 11.3 mph. My second? 11.9 mph. (different WF courses).
Now I know, that those of you in the know are thinking. . . Yeah-- those two courses are really hilly and that slowed you down. True. Totally, completely and undeniably true. But what was so amazing was remembering how hard I'd worked to post those comparable times. I remember being EXHAUSTED at all of those races. Feeling liked I'd busted my ass to get there just being wasted before ever starting out on the run. Today I felt I hadn't really worked out at all.
Just some thoughts. .. but it is amazing what a few years of practice can do.
Now get out there and do something.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
BAD ATHLETE: The Oakland Race Report
Let's start with the following:
I LOVE OAKLAND CALIFORNIA. There. I said it. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area in that toniest of suburbs, Mill Valley, this is not a popular sentiment but it is one that I mention often. The diversity, the neighborhoods, the vibe on the street, the grit, everything about Oakland feels good to me. Now, I know, its got some serious problems, but overall, the city is AMAZING and gets a bad rap.
The Oakland Running Festival was started 3 years ago to help work on Oakland's image and bring a world class running event to Oakland. Due to other commitments, this was the first year that I was able to participate and I am so glad that I was! Oakland throws an amazing race. The course is pretty-- for an urban marathon-- challenging--with the run up through the Oakland Hills-- offers stunning view of BOTH Oakland and San Francisco. Like the city it promotes, the course has its challenges-- hills, tough pavements, tough neighborhoods; but it does an amazing job of showcasing the City of Oak.
The Devil Within
I should not have run this race. There. I said that too.
I was injured going into the race. I'm managed to do "something" to my right leg such that I was unable to walk or run a step without mild pain. Nothing screaming STOP RUNNING NOW, mind you. But a general Ow, that hurts. Gee that doesn't feel right.
So, I've finally met you, the devil within. You all know him. He's that guy who says, "oh just run the race." when you say, "there are other races and I'm injured and should save myself for those races."
He's that guy who says, "if you don't run you are fat and ugly and pathetic and a loser and not an athlete" when you say, "gee, I probably should concentrate on my A race later on." He says, "you can't just do the 1/2. that would be lame" when you say, "I could drop and do the 1/2; that would be better for me than nothing."
Who did I listen to?
Coach Jeremy. For those of you who have read earlier posts (Wildflower 2010 for example); you know that one of my old TNT coaches has just some way of motivating me. Maybe its his sarcastic sense of humor, maybe its the fact that he is young and fast and amazing and I sometimes feel like he looks at me with this "this old, slow, fat lady can't conceivably run on the same course as me" set of 30 year old eyeballs. But something about his taunt that I was "just looking for an excuse to sleep a few more hours" got my fat, slow, old ass to the marathon starting line. Or maybe he just gives a face to my devil within. . .
Anyway, I found myself on the starting line standing to another old Ironteam Alum, Belinda. When we finally do move from the Bay area, I can only begin to describe how I am going to miss my TNT family. Every race I go to. Every time. There are TNT alums on the course. Every race I go to. Every Time. There are TNT family posts on Facebook wishing us on. For those of you who scoff at the "charity runners" (like I used to in my pre-enlightened state) YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE MISSING. My TNT family ROCKS.
Off goes the gun. ..
and were off.
Prior to my injury, I'd been hoping to run a 4:45. (post injury I was hoping for sub 5:15) So I'd put myself just behind the 4:45 pace group thinking I'd try to stick with them for the first 1/2 of the marathon and then let them go in the second half if I needed to. A 4:45 marathon is just under 11 minute miles.
At mile 1 I looked down at my Garmin. They were posting a 10:09. Or, about 50 seconds faster than they needed to. I slowed myself down and let them roll into the distance.
About mile 6; the 5 hour pace team passed me averaging 10:30 miles. Or about a minute faster than you need to for a 5 hour marathon.
A little demoralized, but knowing I was doing the right thing, I headed out into the Oakland hills.
Miles 5-11 are a hill. Not even really a series of hills. Pretty much one, long, continuous hill. Never all that hard. Never all that easy. . . just pretty constant. When you get to the top, there is an amazing view of both cities and you start the down hill. What that constant hill does, at least for me, however, is tire you out. Granted I had the injury issue, but I found that on the way down hill from miles 11-13, my legs felt tired and out of sorts. The injury was screaming all the way down hill (more so than on the flats) and I was thinking OMG another 13 miles of this??? NO WAY.
Interesting enough, I got to the 1/2 marathon mark in PR time. . .
The second half of the marathon was flat. Here is where the supports really started to make a difference. Residents of Oakland dressed in their Sunday best. Residents of Oakland in their jammies. Kids. Old Folk. Fabulous support from Oakland Police Department and Oakland Fire Department and wait. . . who is that under that overpass. IT IS!!!!
OMG it is Mr. P. The original Oaktown Pirate who sits next to us at Raider's Games!!! HOW COOL IS THAT!!!! Represent Raider Nation! Just a shout out to Mr. P. but having you recognize me as the lady who sits next to you with the Patriot's cap put a spring in my step for about 3 miles!
Coming onto the finish line, I log my only complaint. ONE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TO RUN UP HILL TO GET TO A FINISH LINE. ENOUGH SAID. A hill at mile 26.1 is adding insult to injury.
I finished. Got my named called out. Got waived in by the Raiderettes and grabbed my HUGE finisher's medal. That was when the endorphins ran out and the injury kicked in and when I must give thanks to the absolutely amazing bag of ice that Kaiser handed out. I think there were 3 pounds of ice in there. . enough to ice my entire right leg from hip to knee. PERFECT.
I tied it on with my space blanket and kicked back to watch some finishers. One thing about Oakland. .. It throws a hell of a diverse marathon. Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian. Tiny to Great Big. There they were doing the damn thing and coming across the finish line. It was awesome to watch and awesome to be a part of.
I LOVE OAKLAND CALIFORNIA. There. I said it. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area in that toniest of suburbs, Mill Valley, this is not a popular sentiment but it is one that I mention often. The diversity, the neighborhoods, the vibe on the street, the grit, everything about Oakland feels good to me. Now, I know, its got some serious problems, but overall, the city is AMAZING and gets a bad rap.
The Oakland Running Festival was started 3 years ago to help work on Oakland's image and bring a world class running event to Oakland. Due to other commitments, this was the first year that I was able to participate and I am so glad that I was! Oakland throws an amazing race. The course is pretty-- for an urban marathon-- challenging--with the run up through the Oakland Hills-- offers stunning view of BOTH Oakland and San Francisco. Like the city it promotes, the course has its challenges-- hills, tough pavements, tough neighborhoods; but it does an amazing job of showcasing the City of Oak.
The Devil Within
I should not have run this race. There. I said that too.
I was injured going into the race. I'm managed to do "something" to my right leg such that I was unable to walk or run a step without mild pain. Nothing screaming STOP RUNNING NOW, mind you. But a general Ow, that hurts. Gee that doesn't feel right.
So, I've finally met you, the devil within. You all know him. He's that guy who says, "oh just run the race." when you say, "there are other races and I'm injured and should save myself for those races."
He's that guy who says, "if you don't run you are fat and ugly and pathetic and a loser and not an athlete" when you say, "gee, I probably should concentrate on my A race later on." He says, "you can't just do the 1/2. that would be lame" when you say, "I could drop and do the 1/2; that would be better for me than nothing."
Who did I listen to?
Coach Jeremy. For those of you who have read earlier posts (Wildflower 2010 for example); you know that one of my old TNT coaches has just some way of motivating me. Maybe its his sarcastic sense of humor, maybe its the fact that he is young and fast and amazing and I sometimes feel like he looks at me with this "this old, slow, fat lady can't conceivably run on the same course as me" set of 30 year old eyeballs. But something about his taunt that I was "just looking for an excuse to sleep a few more hours" got my fat, slow, old ass to the marathon starting line. Or maybe he just gives a face to my devil within. . .
Anyway, I found myself on the starting line standing to another old Ironteam Alum, Belinda. When we finally do move from the Bay area, I can only begin to describe how I am going to miss my TNT family. Every race I go to. Every time. There are TNT alums on the course. Every race I go to. Every Time. There are TNT family posts on Facebook wishing us on. For those of you who scoff at the "charity runners" (like I used to in my pre-enlightened state) YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE MISSING. My TNT family ROCKS.
Off goes the gun. ..
and were off.
Prior to my injury, I'd been hoping to run a 4:45. (post injury I was hoping for sub 5:15) So I'd put myself just behind the 4:45 pace group thinking I'd try to stick with them for the first 1/2 of the marathon and then let them go in the second half if I needed to. A 4:45 marathon is just under 11 minute miles.
At mile 1 I looked down at my Garmin. They were posting a 10:09. Or, about 50 seconds faster than they needed to. I slowed myself down and let them roll into the distance.
About mile 6; the 5 hour pace team passed me averaging 10:30 miles. Or about a minute faster than you need to for a 5 hour marathon.
A little demoralized, but knowing I was doing the right thing, I headed out into the Oakland hills.
Miles 5-11 are a hill. Not even really a series of hills. Pretty much one, long, continuous hill. Never all that hard. Never all that easy. . . just pretty constant. When you get to the top, there is an amazing view of both cities and you start the down hill. What that constant hill does, at least for me, however, is tire you out. Granted I had the injury issue, but I found that on the way down hill from miles 11-13, my legs felt tired and out of sorts. The injury was screaming all the way down hill (more so than on the flats) and I was thinking OMG another 13 miles of this??? NO WAY.
Interesting enough, I got to the 1/2 marathon mark in PR time. . .
The second half of the marathon was flat. Here is where the supports really started to make a difference. Residents of Oakland dressed in their Sunday best. Residents of Oakland in their jammies. Kids. Old Folk. Fabulous support from Oakland Police Department and Oakland Fire Department and wait. . . who is that under that overpass. IT IS!!!!
OMG it is Mr. P. The original Oaktown Pirate who sits next to us at Raider's Games!!! HOW COOL IS THAT!!!! Represent Raider Nation! Just a shout out to Mr. P. but having you recognize me as the lady who sits next to you with the Patriot's cap put a spring in my step for about 3 miles!
Coming onto the finish line, I log my only complaint. ONE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TO RUN UP HILL TO GET TO A FINISH LINE. ENOUGH SAID. A hill at mile 26.1 is adding insult to injury.
I finished. Got my named called out. Got waived in by the Raiderettes and grabbed my HUGE finisher's medal. That was when the endorphins ran out and the injury kicked in and when I must give thanks to the absolutely amazing bag of ice that Kaiser handed out. I think there were 3 pounds of ice in there. . enough to ice my entire right leg from hip to knee. PERFECT.
I tied it on with my space blanket and kicked back to watch some finishers. One thing about Oakland. .. It throws a hell of a diverse marathon. Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian. Tiny to Great Big. There they were doing the damn thing and coming across the finish line. It was awesome to watch and awesome to be a part of.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
It was the best of (bike) times. . .
And it was the worst of (run) times. In other words, the IMAZ Race Report . . .
One year ago today, I signed up of Ironman Arizona. When you sign up for an event, you have so many goals, so many hopes, so many plans. And then, over the course of 365 days, you have so many opportunities to make them come true. When I started this journey, I hoped to 1) drop 3 minutes off my swim; 2) drop 30 minutes from my bike and 3) drop 30 minutes from my run from IM Louisville.
But then life got in the way. I agreed to be fundraising chair for my kids school-- responsible for raising over 112,000 in the months of September, October, and November; I agreed to coach not one, but 2 soccer teams with weekly practices and weekend games; I agreed to teach 6th grade religious education on Monday nights, and I agreed to help run Soccerfest again. Needless to say, life happens and sometimes gets in the way of your best made plans.
With that background, I found myself on an airplane, headed to Phoenix, Arizona for Ironman Arizona. Had I trained? Sure I had. I'd done a lot of medium length workouts. Bike rides of 80 miles. 2.5 mile swims. 22 mile runs. VERY FEW longer rides. Almost no combination workouts-- where I combined bikes and runs or swims and bikes. Was I worried? YES. I really was. I knew how hard it was to get to the finish line at Louisville. I knew how bad I'd felt. And, most importantly, I knew how much harder I'd trained. Multiple workouts of over 10 hours. Many, many over distance swims. Many combination workouts. I had no real race plan-- in fact, I didn't develop a race plan until Saturday Night before the race. I wasn't 100% certain of my nutrition plan. In fact, I was pretty certain it was going to be a long hard day and was under no delusions as to the likelihood of my finishing the race.
The folks in Tempe were amazing. I got to athlete registration and it took me about 37 minutes to pick up my number, my swim cap, my timing chip, my "swag" bag, my bike and my gear bag. I found myself back in my hotel room with some wondrous free time before the Welcome Dinner. At the welcome dinner, I got my first eyeball of the AMAZING Arizona skyline at dusk and marveled at the beautiful colors-- thinking to myself how much I was going to enjoy seeing those colors as I headed out onto the run--presuming I made it that far-- which I wasn't guaranteeing. By far the best part, however, of the welcome dinner was getting to see my IronTeam Mates from 2010. Susie, Mary, Phil, Nate, Michelle, Nick and some new Iron Team friends were all competing. Just being around them started to ease my nerves.
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| This is just one of the places the all Iron Family cheer Team had written my name in chalk on the course. I think all told, they chalk-fetti'ed about 1/2 the course with inspiration! |
Saturday Morning started with the practice swim. I'd heard so much about how cold the water was going to be in Tempe Town Lake, so with much trepidation, I wiggled into my wetsuit-- one of my least favorite things to do. Walking down the stairs (which would be our exit stairs on Sunday), I silently cursed Sandy Shepherd and Margaret Mackey for getting me into this nonsense! With one hand on my goggles, I took a deep breath and jumped in.
It was cold-- no San Francisco Bay Cold, but chilly non-the-less. The good news was it wasn't as cold as I thought it was going to be-- the bad news? I couldn't keep my goggles from fogging up AND I managed to get that super dizzy vertigo feeling that is associated with having your ears in cold water. .
Great-- after about 5 minutes I pulled my dizzy self out of the water, was so dizzy I tripped on the way to get out of my wetsuit, and started worrying that I wasn't even going to make it past the swim!
Transition was like family time. Sedonia, Dana, Mike K, Kristie, Helen and so many others from IronTeam who had come out to cheer us on and volunteer to help out were everywhere. Mike K applied my number to my arms and my age to my calf and gave me a zip into my wetsuit. Sedonia stood in line at the port-a-potties we me. Kristie was there securing the starting line. It was amazing. There was no way to get too nervous-- everyone was there to calm me down. I borrowed a sharpie one last time, remembering at the last minute that I needed to bring my passengers with me: writing Jack on my right hand and Will on my left. Before I was ready, I was in the water.
I had been worried about the swim start. There were 2500 people pushed to one side of the lake. This is called a deep water start. And I wasn't sure I was going to like it. Sedonia had advised me to lie flat on my front (i.e. dead man's float) to take up more space. SO I did. But, one of the things that I noticed was that there was a lot more space in the water than I was anticipating. I looked over and saw that about 2/3 of the field had positioned themselves sitting on the wall on the right hand side of the lake. As my brain started to work, I realized that once that cannon went off, and all those people pushed in from the right hand side, it was not going to be much fun for anyone. So, I tried to move towards the center of the lake. And as I moved left, BANG-- the cannon went off. I changed direction and started moving forward.
My fear was realized when I saw the 1000 people converging from the right hand side. Holy Rugby match. I've got a dandy bruise on my right hand shoulder from someone's foot. I fought my way down to the turn around-- probably never taking more than 2 strokes at a time without getting some part of my body clawed (legs, back, feet-- some guy (or woman, hard to tell in the water) grabbed my breast as they clawed by). It was not a swim to get a rhythm going.
The way back was slightly better. I found some room to swim and the bridge that started far in the distance slowly got closer until it was time to exit.
Upon reaching the stairs, I pulled myself out of the water and climbed up. I pulled off my caps and goggles and pulled down the strap of my wetsuit-- I found the strippers, sat down, and they pulled my wetsuit off me and handed it to me. I was on my way to T1.
Off with the Bikini bottom; on with the bike shorts, socks and shoes. The little old lady who was helping me get dressed was befuddled by my toe socks. . . Helmet, Chin Strap and out the door-- stopping only to get a quick hug from Ironteamer Dana (who was applying sunscreen to participants as we exited transition). A volunteer brought me my bike and I was off to the races.
If there is one place I always struggle, it is on that damned carbon torture contraption. So, I dread this part of the race. I hopped on, and headed out, making sure to turn my Garmin on so that it would remind me to drink, let me know how far I'd gone, how fast I'd gone, and, most importantly, how long I had until the cut off time (after which, I'd be pulled from the course and not allowed to finish--given my lack of long rides, this was something I was VERY concerned about). About 5 minutes in, my front tire started to make a funny noise. . . thunk, thunk. thunk. . . and then BANG a gunshot went off-- or, more accurately, my front tire blew out. Over to the side of the road. Take off the water bottles (because otherwise when you turn your bike over the liquid spills out-- done that before). Pull out the spare tube, CO2, and tire levers.
As I sat there changing my tire, at least 200 people whizzed past me. About 100 of them uttered the following: "dude, that sucks" or some variation there of. I sang to myself as I changed the tire: "nice and slow, nice and slow, nice and slow is the way to go," reminding myself that haste makes waste and all that good stuff. About 8 minutes later (maybe 10-- I don't know how anyone changes a tire faster than than), I was off again.
I fought a headwind on the way out to the turnaround. On top of that, it was also slightly (very slightly if you are from the Bay Area) uphill. The MPH on my Garmin averaged about 12 MPH -- or, as I translated for myself-- not making the bike cut off. Not even coming close. But I felt OK, just grumpy about the flat and worried about the time. Finally, I saw the turn around. I turned, grabbed some water at the stop, used the port-a-loo and headed back towards town. Now I had a slight downhill AND a tailwind. Now my Garmin read 28 MPH. Yes, I'm serious. I averaged about 25 miles back into town. It was like an E ticket ride all the way back down. Needless to say, by the time I got back into town, I had the biggest smile on my face. Which only got bigger (and caused a few tears to roll down) when I saw the humongous cheering section set up calling my name.
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| Note the HUGE smile on my face!!! |
I was doing a full change in transition. So I grabbed my bag; pulled off my bike shorts, pulled on my run shorts and got myself out of my bike shoes and into my running ones. I pulled on my Worcester Academy Tank Top-- Veteran of I'm Not Sure How Many Campaigns. I grabbed my waist pack with my calorie source and I was off. 7 minutes in T2 (instead of 14 like last year). I was pretty surprised by
how good I felt. It was still daylight (which I hadn't been anticipating) and I felt good. I started out on the run-- knowing the first few miles would be rocky, and started my run/walk strategy. 4 minutes of running followed by 1 minute of running. I had no Garmin to tell me how fast (or how slow) I was going. But, I felt strong. Not FAST, but strong. My legs didn't feel wobbly (like they had at Louisville). My stomach felt a little wonky (which would continue throughout) but not terrible. I was ready to go. And off I was. Notice in the picture that I'm still smiling. I have a lot of time, and I am feeling good!!! How is that for 2/3 of an Ironman?!? (when I hadn't trained as much as I wanted to). I kept going with my run/walk strategy but felt like I was getting stronger as I entered into lap 2. My friend Flick, on her way to a 10:41 finish patted my on the shoulder as she turned left to the finish line while I turned right to begin my second loop. The sky got darker, my pace probably slowed some (but who can tell with no Garmin) but I was still having fun. In the picture I'm telling Sedonia that I feel GREAT!!! (as we walked up the only hill around). Strong legs, Good Heart. Good deal!
Needless to say, it wasn't to last long. I started out on my third, and final loop and immediately my stomach started rebelling. I could not, could not take another sip of lemon-lime Infinite sports drink. REALLY I couldn't; wouldn't. I spent the rest of the run choosing coke and cookies (and dipping the cookies into the coke) to get my calories in without causing my stomach to rebel. Aside from some fairly unlady-like burps, this strategy at least worked!
The second rebellion came from my right shin and calf. Basically, an instant shin-splint. Felt like my calf muscle was separating from my shin bone.
Rebellion #3 came from my right baby toe. I've been wearing toe socks for 2 years-- no blisters no matter what I did to my feets. But, there formed, and popped the biggest blister I've even gotten.
I wasn't smiling any more. Oh-- and did I mention I was tired???
The good news was I had given myself enough time to walk the last 8 miles if I needed to and still make the midnight finish deadline.
About this time I heard, for the first time, the whine of an ambulance siren. I noticed it, mainly because it wasn't the constant drone of ambulances that I heard last year at Louisville. In fact, now that I think about it-- the one ambulance and EMT I saw on the bike course was sitting on a chair outside his ambulance looking bored. What a huge difference 30 degrees makes.
As I came up on the last .5 miles, I ran into my own cheering section AGAIN. As I finally made the left hand turn into the finisher's chute, I was smiling again.
Swim: 1:19
T1: 0:07
Bike: 7:02
T2: 0:06
Run: 6:48
Total time is 30 minutes faster than my Louisville Ironman time!
I'd done it-- I was an Iron Man again. I'm happy with my swim (faster that Louisville, slower than Vineman-- I've got some to learn about how to manage that funky swim start thing); MORE THAN HAPPY with my bike. I never thought I'd potty 3 times, get a flat and still beat my bike time by more than an HOUR!!! and increase my MPH from 13.6 to 15.9. Disappointed in the run. Knew I wasn't going fast, but wish I could have held on to the 14 MPH pace I held between miles 1 and 11. I slowed to 16.5 over the last 15 miles. BUT, given that when I started I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to finish; Given I was not as trained as I wanted to be (and had planned to be); Given I had been fundraising chair, Given I'd coached 2 soccer teams, Given I'd chaired SoccerFest, Given I'd taught religious education AND am mom to two amazing boys, I'm proud to call myself a 2 time Iron Mom!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Going Home To Falmouth
SO SOMETIMES. . . YOU HAVE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR HOW BADLY YOU SCREWED UP A RACE.
And this is one of those times. As faithful readers know, I'm not fast. Never going to be fast. At this point, don't even really want to be fast. BUT, for some reason, Falmouth is the one race where I feel like I've got a yardstick for how much better at this I've gotten from where I started.
My earliest Falmouth times were REALLY pathetic. 1 hour 36 minutes to cover the 7.1 miles comes to mind. I also remember the one race where I had to walk before I reached the 1 mile mark. (those may have been the same race, I don't remember). The race where I saw the girl passed out on the side of the road around mile 2 and decided that walking was good enough for me at that point! Then, as I "got more serious" to the extent I'm ever serious, I watched my times slowly improve. From the 1:36 minute to the 1:28 minute to the 1:24 minute and finally, last year in 2010 to my best Falmouth time ever.
As we do every year, my "family" met up at the flagpole down by the school to board the buses to the start line. New friends, old friend, new friends that feel like old friends, cousins, my dad. . we all board the bus and head up to Woods Hole to wait for a few hours. This year was nothing new, other than new race management not realizing that adding 1200 runners and reducing the number of buses by 30 probably was not a good idea. . .
Long after we were ready (due to a 15 minute delay caused by the fact there were not enough buses), it was time to go. I had in my head I need to beat 1:17 minutes to improve on last year's time as my primary goal and as a secondary goal: to finally beat my dad !! I headed out at a steady pace and was right on track as I climbed up the hill by the Nobska Lighthouse to the music from Rocky (I think that music has been on constant replay up that hill for the past 20 years).
Still feeling good, and on pace as we pulled out of the shade and down to the beach. Starting to get hot and sticky (it always does down there by the beach) but otherwise enjoying the music and the amazing amount of spectators who made it out this year. I enjoyed the "Worcester" cheers-- spoken in the proper accent for once-- as I hit the west end of the harbor.
At this point every year, I wish that this was a duathlon. You could have a choice-- run the additional 1.4 mile up and around the Harbor OR take a quick swim of about 200 yards across the mouth of the harbor and be less than a 1/2 mile from the finish line. Just saying. .. its an idea. . . (although those that go around the Harbor are often treated to Tedy Bruschi sightings-- which may just make it worth it).
Around the harbor-- no Tedy, but the ability to kiss a blow up copy of Lord Stanley's Cup and up the final hill to the finish. I'd taken no walk breaks and was feeling strong. My watch had me right on pace to cruise in just around 1:17. All was right with the world.
I got to the top of the hill and there was the real reason I come home to run Falmouth every year-- my mom with the two boys. I've chronicled at length my trials and tribulations with getting my kids to my events, but at Falmouth, Grandma doesn't allow any other options. There they were-In their running shoes and ready to cruise across the finish line with mommy-- Down the hill we ran-- checking ourselves out in the great big jumbotron as we made our way under the giant American Flag.
I hit my watch and saw 1:17:04. Ohh-- it was going to be close-- did I make it?
Hours later-- after the family reunion party that follows every Falmouth-- I jumped online to see my results: 1:17:09-- Did I make it?? Well, my did ran a 1:22:03 so I beat him. I checked the Falmouth 2010 stats to see if I had run over 1:17:09 last year. . . and realized that I'd been wrong. I had run a 1:13 last year. I WAS 4 MINUTES OVER!!! and had no one to blame but myself. By letting myself think that I had to run a 1:17-- I paced myself to run a 1:17-- and ran a 1:17.
Could I have run the 1:13? Probably so if I'd been smart enough to realize I needed to. . . but there is always next year.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: Or I REALLY Hope There Is Something To The Old Adage About Mechanical Problems in Training,
Amongst triathletes, there is an old adage passed around that goes something like this. . . "Its a good thing to have mechanical problems in training because that means you won't have them in your race." Well, after yesterday, I hope that that is the case.
THE GOOD:
Last year, while training with TNT for Ironman Kentucky, we had 3/4 to Iron Weekend. This year, since I wasn't able to be a member of the team, I didn't have one. So, I decided early on that I was going to do the Vineman Aquabike as a training race. The Aquabike is 2/3 of a triathlon. It is the full 2.4 mile open water swim followed by the full 112 mile bike ride. It was supposed to be a training weekend. Really. A training weekend.
Until about a month ago, I was not remotely concerned about this weekend. I kept thinking that it was "no big deal" and "just the aquabike" How hard could it be?? As last week wore on, I started to get more and more nervous. I started thinking about the year people last year on IronTeam who trained for 9 months in order to do the aquabike. . . Then, I started getting pretty nervous. I'd been "training" for months, but I'd just started with a new coach last month, she'd dropped my swimming yardage and I hadn't swim over 2 miles in the last month. I hadn't ridden over 84 miles yet this season (although I'd never ridden a hundred at 3/4 to iron weekend).
Thus, I was pretty nervous going in. I was also unprepared, but we will get to that later.
I picked up my packet on Friday and it was already like old home week. I ran in to Mary, Dana, and Susie from IronTeam last year. I ran into David Parks, a neighbor who was competing in the full Vineman. I ran into one of TNT's honoree's Laura Warren-- a truly amazing person. I heard that the water temperature was about 71 degrees-- well within USAT's guidelines for wearing a wetsuit but given that I don't love my wetsuit, really couldn't make a decision whether to wear my wetsuit or not.
Getting home; getting through the disappointment of John not wanting to bring the kids up to the race; getting to sleep was hard. Nothing like Louisville where I'd been in a hotel alone for 3 days before the race. I was EXHAUSTED when I got up at 255 am to get ready. I picked up David and we headed up to Gernsville. To say that Gernsville is a small town is an understatement. To say it is in the middle of no where is also an understatement. But there we were at 530 am in advance of David's 6:38 am start. Old home week continued as I saw Tony, Les, Jenn, Marina, Sandy and Nick from last year's team. Sedonia, swim coach extraordinaire, was there. Jeremy Schwab, absolute rock star coach from TNT's spring team was there; Mike Kyle, as always, was there with a big smile, a bike pump, and a wetsuit wedgie. Oh, by the way, I wore my wetsuit.
Finally it was time for the start. Another old friend, Jennifer Jay (JJ) and I entered into the water together. Wishing all the ladies around me a great race, the horn blew and we were off.
Anyway. I was 1:20 on the swim in Louisville. This number was in the back of my head as I started out pretty slow. Hard to get room to swim (a very congested course in the beginning) but the crowded course doesn't worry me. . . just slows me down. I was a little hyped up. Wondering if I was going to make it for the full 2.4 miles. Then, about 1/2 way down the first loop, the water got so shallow that my fingers were scraping the bottom of the river. NO, I'm not kidding. Like many others, I stood up and walked until my fingers were no longer hitting the bottom.
Actually, this break gave me some perspective, I'd caught up to a lot of men, who had started more than 10 minutes before me, and I felt pretty good. After having to walk again at the turn around (same reason), and coming back down on lap 2, I noticed that I was not seeing a whole bunch of green swim caps like those that my wave was wearing, so I figured I was either a) flying or b) so slow it wasn't even funny.
As I rounded the turn around on the second loop, I was feeling really good. I went under the bridge and knew that the swim end was close. I was hoping to see 1:41 on the clock as I came out of the water here. . . That would mean that I had gone no slower than I had at Louisville. As I ran under the clock, I thought I saw a 1:31-- or 10 minutes faster than Louisville. . . Turns out (by race results, I swam a 1:13. . . still 7 minutes off my Louisville time. (I was hoping to take 2 minutes off the 1:20 for Arizona, so we may want to reevaluate that goal). I ran up the beach and found Mike Kyle standing there to strip off my wetsuit-- considering the number of wetsuits that he'd help me get in to over the years, it was just fitting. . . I had a decent T1-- 5:16-- that included packing up all my swim gear since T1 goes away after the last swimmer leaves the beach. Not professional level, but good enough and a four minute improvement over my Louisville transition.
One of the places I shaved time in transition was in the change. In Louisville, I'd changed out a bikini bottom for bike shorts. Here, since there was no changing tent and public nudity is a USAT penalty, I was headed out onto the bike course in nothing but a pair of triathlon shorts. You know, the one with the minimally cushioned liner. This would later, and still, prove to be a mistake.
THE BAD
Onto the bike. I was feeling pretty happy so far as I left T1. Then all hell broke loose. Seriously. NOT 5 FREAKING MINUTES INTO THE BIKE I GOT A REAR FLAT. Seriously, Garmin said 4:46. I stopped. Fixed the flat with my only spare tube, blew my CO2, packed back up, and got on my bike again as the 15 minute timer went off on my garmin saying "nutrition." There was 10 minutes gone.
Well, I must admit I was somewhat demoralized. But onward and upward. About 10 minutes after that I realized that anytime I coasted (wasn't pedaling) my chain would wobble left and right so violently that it would hit both my spokes and my bike shoe. I stopped. I messed about with the chain. I couldn't fix it. I wasted about 5 minutes. Made a decision to keep riding until it:
a) stopped;or
b) broke.
This did not do much for my mood. I felt like I couldn't stop pedaling. Coming on every water stop, I thought about quitting. I really thought about quitting at mile 56 where the 1/2 ironman distance bikers turned into the finish line. I was, however, pretty happy to get to the mile 56 water stop at slightly under 4 hours (14 minutes ahead of my 56 mile time at Wildflower, AND, remember I'd wasted about 15 minutes mucking with the bike). That knowledge gave me a first, second wind. I switched out my nutrition bottles, hit the potty and off I went.
THE UGLY:
My chain was still wonky, but I was doing OK. Then it hit me. . . no, not the wall (that comes later) or the second flat (that too came later) but the pavement. A chunk under my left eye. Still have a sexy bruise. At least this reminded me that I should put on my sun glasses (now that the sun had materialized).
Then came, at mile 72, the second flat. This time it was the front tire. Seriously. Now, here is where my lack of preparation (i.e. not taking this race seriously) comes in. Instead of having stocked my special needs bag with extra tubes, I was EMPTY. So, I hung on the side of the road for a bit until a passing cyclist took pity on me and threw me his tube. About 10 minutes here. . . maybe a few more. . . not sure. This is an easily fixed mistake and one that I won't be making again.
So then I was back on my way. Coming down Canyon Road, my wonky chain finally bit me in the ass. OK-- really all it did was finally fall off my crankset causing me to pull over (AGAIN). This time, however, it turned out to be a blessing. One of the lovely course officials cruised up on his motorcycle to see if I was OK. I was, but I asked him if he knew anything about how to fix my chain. . . He not only diagnosed the problem. . . rear cassette was grabbing my chain and causing my wheel not to spin freely --- good to know I'd been fighting that for 75 some miles. We took my tire off and mucked about with it for a while and somehow he fixed it. I was on my way again. I'd like to say that knowing the bike was fixed really picked up my spirits but it didn't. I was
D
O
W
N
Mentally. I was begging for a SAG wagon. I was seeing friends on the course (TnT folk) and they would make me cry. I was saying out loud how much I didn't really want to do this. . . that it was a training weekend. That it would be OK if I quit because I'd already gone farther that I had all season. I was mentally quitting. BIG TIME.
But, (and this is the good thing). I knew it was all in my mind. I knew that my body felt pretty good (other than tight shoulders and sore girl parts). The working parts of my body didn't feel bad at all. So, every time I would tell myself to quit, I'd then give myself a reason not to quit. At one point I listed the reasons: Will, Jack, bringing them home a medal (not that they care); I'd never not finished; I'd be embarrassed; David was going to finish; Flick was going to finish; Marlene was going to finish; I'd already gone 86 miles, how much farther is a 112 really? (OK wise ass, I know its 26).
One of the biggest reasons I kept going was Laura Warren. Laura is a Leukemia Survivor and TNT Honoree who's 1980's chemo gave her breast cancer,. I knew Laura was sitting at mile 99--3/4 of the way up Chalk Hill (the only big hill on the course-- it comes at mile 44 and 99) waiting for me to get there in her shirt that says "you think an Ironman is hard? Try Chemotherapy" and her IronTeam jacket. God Bless Laura Warren. I can tell you that had she not been there, I may really and truly have given up. As I rode by, I told her that having her there was going to make me cry today. Her response? "Pull it together Paula and get up the fucking hill." I credit her for the reappearance of my workout tourettes. And, I've got to admit that the workout tourettes actually helped. Perhaps I should have tried it earlier, but at that point, I was at 100 miles and I was feeling great. I did get a second wind or maybe a third. I passed people who had passed me. One of them even mentioned "Oh-- you must have gotten a second wind!" I felt pretty good. I actually thought I might be able to equal my Louisville time (8:04) even though I'd had so many problems. I had just enough in my legs for a final push to the finish line.
I didn't, but I wasn't all that far off. . . I finished in 8:14. Not a great bike time by any stretch.
Sitting here now, I'm not sure how I feel about the day. I probably could have done a faster swim. I learned some lessons on the bike. I pushed though my longest ride of the year (by about 30 miles-- In contrast, I'd done about 6 100 milers before Louisville last year); I feel like I did a good job with my nutrition and I'm glad that I knew enough to realize that it was my MIND saying stop and not my BODY saying stop. All that being said, I'm disappointed with both my times. My swim only because I thought I'd done the 1:10. On my bike it is somewhat more complicated. If my bike split had been 7:54 (i.e without the conservative 20 minutes I've allocated for the flats and mechanical problems), I would have been thrilled. I recognize that I probably should be thrilled to have pulled together an 8:14 under those circumstances and with my head playing so many games on me, but I'm also disappointed. I wanted to do better. . . be better. . . even though this was a training weekend and I wasn't ready yet. Does it give me a good baseline for Arizona? yep, sure does. Do I have a lot of work to do? Yep. I sure do. Have I had my mechanical problems for the season? God I hope so.
THE GOOD:
Last year, while training with TNT for Ironman Kentucky, we had 3/4 to Iron Weekend. This year, since I wasn't able to be a member of the team, I didn't have one. So, I decided early on that I was going to do the Vineman Aquabike as a training race. The Aquabike is 2/3 of a triathlon. It is the full 2.4 mile open water swim followed by the full 112 mile bike ride. It was supposed to be a training weekend. Really. A training weekend.
Until about a month ago, I was not remotely concerned about this weekend. I kept thinking that it was "no big deal" and "just the aquabike" How hard could it be?? As last week wore on, I started to get more and more nervous. I started thinking about the year people last year on IronTeam who trained for 9 months in order to do the aquabike. . . Then, I started getting pretty nervous. I'd been "training" for months, but I'd just started with a new coach last month, she'd dropped my swimming yardage and I hadn't swim over 2 miles in the last month. I hadn't ridden over 84 miles yet this season (although I'd never ridden a hundred at 3/4 to iron weekend).
Thus, I was pretty nervous going in. I was also unprepared, but we will get to that later.
I picked up my packet on Friday and it was already like old home week. I ran in to Mary, Dana, and Susie from IronTeam last year. I ran into David Parks, a neighbor who was competing in the full Vineman. I ran into one of TNT's honoree's Laura Warren-- a truly amazing person. I heard that the water temperature was about 71 degrees-- well within USAT's guidelines for wearing a wetsuit but given that I don't love my wetsuit, really couldn't make a decision whether to wear my wetsuit or not.
Getting home; getting through the disappointment of John not wanting to bring the kids up to the race; getting to sleep was hard. Nothing like Louisville where I'd been in a hotel alone for 3 days before the race. I was EXHAUSTED when I got up at 255 am to get ready. I picked up David and we headed up to Gernsville. To say that Gernsville is a small town is an understatement. To say it is in the middle of no where is also an understatement. But there we were at 530 am in advance of David's 6:38 am start. Old home week continued as I saw Tony, Les, Jenn, Marina, Sandy and Nick from last year's team. Sedonia, swim coach extraordinaire, was there. Jeremy Schwab, absolute rock star coach from TNT's spring team was there; Mike Kyle, as always, was there with a big smile, a bike pump, and a wetsuit wedgie. Oh, by the way, I wore my wetsuit.
Finally it was time for the start. Another old friend, Jennifer Jay (JJ) and I entered into the water together. Wishing all the ladies around me a great race, the horn blew and we were off.
Anyway. I was 1:20 on the swim in Louisville. This number was in the back of my head as I started out pretty slow. Hard to get room to swim (a very congested course in the beginning) but the crowded course doesn't worry me. . . just slows me down. I was a little hyped up. Wondering if I was going to make it for the full 2.4 miles. Then, about 1/2 way down the first loop, the water got so shallow that my fingers were scraping the bottom of the river. NO, I'm not kidding. Like many others, I stood up and walked until my fingers were no longer hitting the bottom.
Actually, this break gave me some perspective, I'd caught up to a lot of men, who had started more than 10 minutes before me, and I felt pretty good. After having to walk again at the turn around (same reason), and coming back down on lap 2, I noticed that I was not seeing a whole bunch of green swim caps like those that my wave was wearing, so I figured I was either a) flying or b) so slow it wasn't even funny.
As I rounded the turn around on the second loop, I was feeling really good. I went under the bridge and knew that the swim end was close. I was hoping to see 1:41 on the clock as I came out of the water here. . . That would mean that I had gone no slower than I had at Louisville. As I ran under the clock, I thought I saw a 1:31-- or 10 minutes faster than Louisville. . . Turns out (by race results, I swam a 1:13. . . still 7 minutes off my Louisville time. (I was hoping to take 2 minutes off the 1:20 for Arizona, so we may want to reevaluate that goal). I ran up the beach and found Mike Kyle standing there to strip off my wetsuit-- considering the number of wetsuits that he'd help me get in to over the years, it was just fitting. . . I had a decent T1-- 5:16-- that included packing up all my swim gear since T1 goes away after the last swimmer leaves the beach. Not professional level, but good enough and a four minute improvement over my Louisville transition.
One of the places I shaved time in transition was in the change. In Louisville, I'd changed out a bikini bottom for bike shorts. Here, since there was no changing tent and public nudity is a USAT penalty, I was headed out onto the bike course in nothing but a pair of triathlon shorts. You know, the one with the minimally cushioned liner. This would later, and still, prove to be a mistake.
THE BAD
Onto the bike. I was feeling pretty happy so far as I left T1. Then all hell broke loose. Seriously. NOT 5 FREAKING MINUTES INTO THE BIKE I GOT A REAR FLAT. Seriously, Garmin said 4:46. I stopped. Fixed the flat with my only spare tube, blew my CO2, packed back up, and got on my bike again as the 15 minute timer went off on my garmin saying "nutrition." There was 10 minutes gone.
Well, I must admit I was somewhat demoralized. But onward and upward. About 10 minutes after that I realized that anytime I coasted (wasn't pedaling) my chain would wobble left and right so violently that it would hit both my spokes and my bike shoe. I stopped. I messed about with the chain. I couldn't fix it. I wasted about 5 minutes. Made a decision to keep riding until it:
a) stopped;or
b) broke.
This did not do much for my mood. I felt like I couldn't stop pedaling. Coming on every water stop, I thought about quitting. I really thought about quitting at mile 56 where the 1/2 ironman distance bikers turned into the finish line. I was, however, pretty happy to get to the mile 56 water stop at slightly under 4 hours (14 minutes ahead of my 56 mile time at Wildflower, AND, remember I'd wasted about 15 minutes mucking with the bike). That knowledge gave me a first, second wind. I switched out my nutrition bottles, hit the potty and off I went.
THE UGLY:
My chain was still wonky, but I was doing OK. Then it hit me. . . no, not the wall (that comes later) or the second flat (that too came later) but the pavement. A chunk under my left eye. Still have a sexy bruise. At least this reminded me that I should put on my sun glasses (now that the sun had materialized).
Then came, at mile 72, the second flat. This time it was the front tire. Seriously. Now, here is where my lack of preparation (i.e. not taking this race seriously) comes in. Instead of having stocked my special needs bag with extra tubes, I was EMPTY. So, I hung on the side of the road for a bit until a passing cyclist took pity on me and threw me his tube. About 10 minutes here. . . maybe a few more. . . not sure. This is an easily fixed mistake and one that I won't be making again.
So then I was back on my way. Coming down Canyon Road, my wonky chain finally bit me in the ass. OK-- really all it did was finally fall off my crankset causing me to pull over (AGAIN). This time, however, it turned out to be a blessing. One of the lovely course officials cruised up on his motorcycle to see if I was OK. I was, but I asked him if he knew anything about how to fix my chain. . . He not only diagnosed the problem. . . rear cassette was grabbing my chain and causing my wheel not to spin freely --- good to know I'd been fighting that for 75 some miles. We took my tire off and mucked about with it for a while and somehow he fixed it. I was on my way again. I'd like to say that knowing the bike was fixed really picked up my spirits but it didn't. I was
D
O
W
N
Mentally. I was begging for a SAG wagon. I was seeing friends on the course (TnT folk) and they would make me cry. I was saying out loud how much I didn't really want to do this. . . that it was a training weekend. That it would be OK if I quit because I'd already gone farther that I had all season. I was mentally quitting. BIG TIME.
But, (and this is the good thing). I knew it was all in my mind. I knew that my body felt pretty good (other than tight shoulders and sore girl parts). The working parts of my body didn't feel bad at all. So, every time I would tell myself to quit, I'd then give myself a reason not to quit. At one point I listed the reasons: Will, Jack, bringing them home a medal (not that they care); I'd never not finished; I'd be embarrassed; David was going to finish; Flick was going to finish; Marlene was going to finish; I'd already gone 86 miles, how much farther is a 112 really? (OK wise ass, I know its 26).
One of the biggest reasons I kept going was Laura Warren. Laura is a Leukemia Survivor and TNT Honoree who's 1980's chemo gave her breast cancer,. I knew Laura was sitting at mile 99--3/4 of the way up Chalk Hill (the only big hill on the course-- it comes at mile 44 and 99) waiting for me to get there in her shirt that says "you think an Ironman is hard? Try Chemotherapy" and her IronTeam jacket. God Bless Laura Warren. I can tell you that had she not been there, I may really and truly have given up. As I rode by, I told her that having her there was going to make me cry today. Her response? "Pull it together Paula and get up the fucking hill." I credit her for the reappearance of my workout tourettes. And, I've got to admit that the workout tourettes actually helped. Perhaps I should have tried it earlier, but at that point, I was at 100 miles and I was feeling great. I did get a second wind or maybe a third. I passed people who had passed me. One of them even mentioned "Oh-- you must have gotten a second wind!" I felt pretty good. I actually thought I might be able to equal my Louisville time (8:04) even though I'd had so many problems. I had just enough in my legs for a final push to the finish line.
I didn't, but I wasn't all that far off. . . I finished in 8:14. Not a great bike time by any stretch.
Sitting here now, I'm not sure how I feel about the day. I probably could have done a faster swim. I learned some lessons on the bike. I pushed though my longest ride of the year (by about 30 miles-- In contrast, I'd done about 6 100 milers before Louisville last year); I feel like I did a good job with my nutrition and I'm glad that I knew enough to realize that it was my MIND saying stop and not my BODY saying stop. All that being said, I'm disappointed with both my times. My swim only because I thought I'd done the 1:10. On my bike it is somewhat more complicated. If my bike split had been 7:54 (i.e without the conservative 20 minutes I've allocated for the flats and mechanical problems), I would have been thrilled. I recognize that I probably should be thrilled to have pulled together an 8:14 under those circumstances and with my head playing so many games on me, but I'm also disappointed. I wanted to do better. . . be better. . . even though this was a training weekend and I wasn't ready yet. Does it give me a good baseline for Arizona? yep, sure does. Do I have a lot of work to do? Yep. I sure do. Have I had my mechanical problems for the season? God I hope so.
Monday, June 20, 2011
On the Road Again. . .
"Just can't wait to get on the road again. . . seeing places that I might never see again. . . I can't wait to get on the road again."
Saturday Morning, 4:45 AM. Shocking. Its 445 am and guess what I'm doing? Sleeping? NO. Of course not. Who needs sleep? I'm packing up my bike, getting the magic potions out of the refrigerator and hitting the road. The agenda for the day? Best of the Bay Century. I was headed to Orinda and would be retracing some (but not all) of the Tour of the East Bay Alps--you know, the ride where I cried almost the last 50 miles last year. You know, my favorite ride. There were 4 options: 83 miles, 99 miles, 106 miles, and 123 miles.
Why do I always have to make these choices? I got the Bart station and made my way over to the starting line. Now I admit, when I signed up for this thing, I was thinking about doing the 123 miles. I really was. . . and, I probably could have done all 123-- maybe. But, as I did more research on the ride and I factored in that my longest ride to date was 60--- I decided that maybe I shouldn't do the 123 miles. That left me with 3 options: 83, 99, and 106.
The 83 mile ride was a straight shot from Orinda t0 Fremont. The 99 was the straight shot from Orinda to Fremont and then added a loop that included a Category 1 climb up Sierra Road (I like to climb remember)? The 106 added a loop BEFORE the trek to Fremont-- the first loop visited Happy Valley Road and the 3 bears. The 99 and 106 milers both had the same elevation-- about 2000 feet more than the 83.
So what to do? I really couldn't make up my mind. I would feel like a wimp for the 83. I didn't know if I could do the 106. The 99 looked like a good distance but there was that CLIMB where you went up 2000 feet in 3 miles. . . .No idea what to do.
I decided I wasn't going to do the 106. I would have had to make my decision at mile 2 if I was going to do that and I wasn't ready to make the decision yet. So I took the route sheets for 83 and 99 and decided that I would make the decision at mile 66 whether to head for home or head up Sierra. . .
The route started off with a quick little flat through Orinda, but by mile 2 I was into the first climb of the day. Over the next 5 miles, I gained 1500 feet until I reached Inspiration Point. Now like most East Bay cycling, the views are unbelievable-- except for at 700 am. . . there was nothing but FOG as far as the eye can see. From there it was up to Grizzly Peak and onto Skyline Drive (both of these I was familiar with from TOEBA last year). I actually felt pretty good at this point as I rode along, imagining the vistas to my right-- the view is over the top of Oakland to San Francisco and is amazing-- if there is no fog. From the top of Grizzly it was down, down, down to the little town of Canyon and the cutest elementary school I've ever seen.
Let me say right now that these cyclists have got it figured out. Runners, we call our events races and our water stops serve. . . water and, if you are lucky, some version of Gatorade. Swimmers? Seriously, ever tried to eat while you are swimming? Didn't you mother tell you that you aren't supposed to swim after eating? Triathletes? Water stops on the bike; water stops on the run. Iron Distance-- admittedly there is a huge selection of food on the run. . .everything from cookies to fruit to Coke to chicken broth but for most of the day its been yucky carbohydrate drinks and, remember-- you are running a marathon after 112 miles on a bike and 2.4 miles in the water. . . There is always a start time, a start line, and you wear a chip to tell you your time.
A Century Ride-- note that its not called a race. The start time was anywhere between 6-8 am. There were no cut off times. The REST stops were amazing-- everything from deviled eggs to chocolate macaroons. THERE WAS A LUNCH STOP. The "ride' finished at a restaurant and your all you can eat buffet was included. Did I mention that these cyclists have got it figured out?
Unfortunately, I was using the ride as a prep for an Iron man. SO I ignored all that good food and stuck with my Infinite. . . (still not sure if I like it better than Carbo Pro by the way).
Rest stop #1 out of the way, it was time to climb again.
Now lets climb some rollers. I must admit-- I still don't know what rollers are. People use the term all the time-- little hills that come right after another? Here the "rollers" were twin gains of 500 feet. A wild turkey ran across my path causing me to hit the brakes hard. I didn't hit it-- which surprised me. . . seriously? A freaking wild turkey? Are you kidding me? For the next 10 miles or so I thought about all the funny things I was going to write about "hitting the wild turkey" but, lucky for you Gentle Reader, I don't remember any of them any more.
Came down into the second rest stop at mile 33 feeling pretty good and pretty strong. I also am happy to admit that I was able to pick up a dropped chain while rolling down hill!! I'd never don this before and I must give a big thank you to Mike Kyle for teaching me how to do it last year.
This was where the fun was to start-- I was about to venture off the course I'd done before and into new territory. So I no longer knew what to expect.
284 Feet Above Sea Level. . . to 1207 Feet Above Sea Level-Really, do I have to say much more than that? Well, maybe I do. At the second rest stop I picked up someone to ride with. She was prepping for the Death Ride and this 83 mile ride was to be her shortest ride of the season so far (did I mention that 83 would be 23 miles greater than my longest ride of the season so far?) She was afraid of riding on Hicks Valley Road at the end of Palomares by herself-- apparently a number of cyclists have been hit on Hick's Valley but what she thought I was going to do about it I DON'T KNOW. . maybe just having the extra rider out there with her decreased her chances of getting hit by 50%? Anyway, after my multiple warnings that I was really slow--can't people take a hint-- she and I pulled out together.
At mile 33.1 we were at 284 feet---by 38.8 we had reached the top of that climb. I was in front of her-- but I was struggling. I was breathing hard and my legs were getting tired. I was looking forward to getting to the lunch stop-- even if I wasn't eating.
The backside there was one of those long "bomber" hills and of course my riding "partner" blew by me on the downhill. She was, however, kind enough to wait for me at the stop sign before the left turn onto the scary road. And it was a pretty scary road. That being said, I probably would have felt better alone since my "friend" decided that that would be a good place to chit chat about life.
At the lunch stop, I lost my partner. And I've got to admit, I wasn't unhappy about it. She stopped to eat-- I didn't. I headed out down Caliverdes Road. I was 49 miles in and a little tired but generally feeling good. I still hadn't made my decision about whether to do the 99 or the 83. . .
Caliverdes Road was where the rubber hit the road-- OK, not literally, that came later. . . Essentially a 15 mile climb. I kept seeing signs saying "curvy road" 10 miles and thinking. . . at least 5 must be the down hill portion of that -- right?? WRONG-- so very wrong. A deer jumped out in front of me. Not surprisingly I got around him pretty easily since its like the 5th time that has happened this season. At the top of the first hill-- where I was REALLY 12 miles in and REALLY REALLY ready to start going down, the ride organizers had set up a bare bones water stop-- and god bless them for it. I pulled over, filled up, and chit chatted. A few people caught up to me up at point. I asked if were were headed down yet?? The response. . Yep-- but its a working descent. . .
WTF is a working descent? I don't know what a working descent is. . . I still don't know what a working descent it . . . BUT I do know that there was another what felt like hour of climbing and VERY LITTLE descent. . . As in, all I could think was that I WAS STILL GOING UP and UP and I was really, really ready to not be going up anymore. It was about here I started seriously realizing that I was NOT climbing Category 1 Sierra. My legs were tiring. I was hitting my mileage top for the season. I was ready to be home. I wasn't hurting... my breathing was OK. . .but mentally I was done. I convinced myself that I was better off only increasing my mileage by 23 miles. I told myself that I was a beginning cyclist and probably wasn't ready to get to the top of Sierra. . .I told myself that I probably could get to the top (and, frankly, I probably could have) but that, with such a long season to go, I didn't want to take a chance of getting injured. I was also getting mentally fatigued as well as the physical fatigue.
Zipping into the last rest stop at Mile 66, I was fairly confident in my decision to skip Sierra. As I was pulling in, some guy commented "you look good on that bike." I'm still not sure if he was kidding. . . but I will admit that it made me uncomfortable. It also made me feel like I was being lazy. That feeling was only increased with the same guy pulled out with me. He again commented on how strong and muscular my legs looked on the bike and asked me if I was "doing Sierra." Shamefacedly, I admitted that I was not "doing Sierra" and blamed my relative novice status on the bike, my lack of preparation this season, the blue moon, and everything else I could think of. . .
I turned right, he turned left and I was alone again on my way home.
AND THAT IS WHEN IT HAPPENED. CLANK, PFFFT, POP. OK-- I have a flat. I can't believe that I have a flat. Did I mention it was a rear flat? On my new bike? I was in a pretty good place so I pulled over to the side and started the procedure. I took off my water bottles (having ended up with empty bottles in the past after setting my bike on its side); I took out my bike tools. . . they were all there thank goodness. . .; I took off my tire. I am happy to report that I was able to get the tire off the rim in about 2 minutes. I was able to get the old tube out and the new tube in about 2 more minutes. Another 2 minutes to get the tire back into the rim, make sure that there was no pinch (thanks coach dave) and get the darn thing inflated. . . NOW I HAD TO PUT IT BACK ON. I've got to admit-- I've changed rear flats before. BUT on my new bike the brake is in a weird place and it took me about 9 minutes to get that think back on and settled. . . I could not believe it. But, 1) I've had my flat for the year 2) I've changed a flat on the new bike; and most importantly 3) every time you change a flat is good practice-- or so I tell myself. In any event, it is always empowering to change a flat all by yourself.
After that, the little hills were just adding insult to injury. I was ready to be done. I was ready to be home. I was ready to see the restaurant. . . and eventually I got there. 83 miles; 7783 feet of climbing. All in all a good day. . . Now all that was left was to BART back home, pick up the car, and head to home.
Saturday Morning, 4:45 AM. Shocking. Its 445 am and guess what I'm doing? Sleeping? NO. Of course not. Who needs sleep? I'm packing up my bike, getting the magic potions out of the refrigerator and hitting the road. The agenda for the day? Best of the Bay Century. I was headed to Orinda and would be retracing some (but not all) of the Tour of the East Bay Alps--you know, the ride where I cried almost the last 50 miles last year. You know, my favorite ride. There were 4 options: 83 miles, 99 miles, 106 miles, and 123 miles.
Why do I always have to make these choices? I got the Bart station and made my way over to the starting line. Now I admit, when I signed up for this thing, I was thinking about doing the 123 miles. I really was. . . and, I probably could have done all 123-- maybe. But, as I did more research on the ride and I factored in that my longest ride to date was 60--- I decided that maybe I shouldn't do the 123 miles. That left me with 3 options: 83, 99, and 106.
The 83 mile ride was a straight shot from Orinda t0 Fremont. The 99 was the straight shot from Orinda to Fremont and then added a loop that included a Category 1 climb up Sierra Road (I like to climb remember)? The 106 added a loop BEFORE the trek to Fremont-- the first loop visited Happy Valley Road and the 3 bears. The 99 and 106 milers both had the same elevation-- about 2000 feet more than the 83.
So what to do? I really couldn't make up my mind. I would feel like a wimp for the 83. I didn't know if I could do the 106. The 99 looked like a good distance but there was that CLIMB where you went up 2000 feet in 3 miles. . . .No idea what to do.
I decided I wasn't going to do the 106. I would have had to make my decision at mile 2 if I was going to do that and I wasn't ready to make the decision yet. So I took the route sheets for 83 and 99 and decided that I would make the decision at mile 66 whether to head for home or head up Sierra. . .
The route started off with a quick little flat through Orinda, but by mile 2 I was into the first climb of the day. Over the next 5 miles, I gained 1500 feet until I reached Inspiration Point. Now like most East Bay cycling, the views are unbelievable-- except for at 700 am. . . there was nothing but FOG as far as the eye can see. From there it was up to Grizzly Peak and onto Skyline Drive (both of these I was familiar with from TOEBA last year). I actually felt pretty good at this point as I rode along, imagining the vistas to my right-- the view is over the top of Oakland to San Francisco and is amazing-- if there is no fog. From the top of Grizzly it was down, down, down to the little town of Canyon and the cutest elementary school I've ever seen.
Let me say right now that these cyclists have got it figured out. Runners, we call our events races and our water stops serve. . . water and, if you are lucky, some version of Gatorade. Swimmers? Seriously, ever tried to eat while you are swimming? Didn't you mother tell you that you aren't supposed to swim after eating? Triathletes? Water stops on the bike; water stops on the run. Iron Distance-- admittedly there is a huge selection of food on the run. . .everything from cookies to fruit to Coke to chicken broth but for most of the day its been yucky carbohydrate drinks and, remember-- you are running a marathon after 112 miles on a bike and 2.4 miles in the water. . . There is always a start time, a start line, and you wear a chip to tell you your time.
A Century Ride-- note that its not called a race. The start time was anywhere between 6-8 am. There were no cut off times. The REST stops were amazing-- everything from deviled eggs to chocolate macaroons. THERE WAS A LUNCH STOP. The "ride' finished at a restaurant and your all you can eat buffet was included. Did I mention that these cyclists have got it figured out?
Unfortunately, I was using the ride as a prep for an Iron man. SO I ignored all that good food and stuck with my Infinite. . . (still not sure if I like it better than Carbo Pro by the way).
Rest stop #1 out of the way, it was time to climb again.
Now lets climb some rollers. I must admit-- I still don't know what rollers are. People use the term all the time-- little hills that come right after another? Here the "rollers" were twin gains of 500 feet. A wild turkey ran across my path causing me to hit the brakes hard. I didn't hit it-- which surprised me. . . seriously? A freaking wild turkey? Are you kidding me? For the next 10 miles or so I thought about all the funny things I was going to write about "hitting the wild turkey" but, lucky for you Gentle Reader, I don't remember any of them any more.
Came down into the second rest stop at mile 33 feeling pretty good and pretty strong. I also am happy to admit that I was able to pick up a dropped chain while rolling down hill!! I'd never don this before and I must give a big thank you to Mike Kyle for teaching me how to do it last year.
This was where the fun was to start-- I was about to venture off the course I'd done before and into new territory. So I no longer knew what to expect.
284 Feet Above Sea Level. . . to 1207 Feet Above Sea Level-Really, do I have to say much more than that? Well, maybe I do. At the second rest stop I picked up someone to ride with. She was prepping for the Death Ride and this 83 mile ride was to be her shortest ride of the season so far (did I mention that 83 would be 23 miles greater than my longest ride of the season so far?) She was afraid of riding on Hicks Valley Road at the end of Palomares by herself-- apparently a number of cyclists have been hit on Hick's Valley but what she thought I was going to do about it I DON'T KNOW. . maybe just having the extra rider out there with her decreased her chances of getting hit by 50%? Anyway, after my multiple warnings that I was really slow--can't people take a hint-- she and I pulled out together.
At mile 33.1 we were at 284 feet---by 38.8 we had reached the top of that climb. I was in front of her-- but I was struggling. I was breathing hard and my legs were getting tired. I was looking forward to getting to the lunch stop-- even if I wasn't eating.
The backside there was one of those long "bomber" hills and of course my riding "partner" blew by me on the downhill. She was, however, kind enough to wait for me at the stop sign before the left turn onto the scary road. And it was a pretty scary road. That being said, I probably would have felt better alone since my "friend" decided that that would be a good place to chit chat about life.
At the lunch stop, I lost my partner. And I've got to admit, I wasn't unhappy about it. She stopped to eat-- I didn't. I headed out down Caliverdes Road. I was 49 miles in and a little tired but generally feeling good. I still hadn't made my decision about whether to do the 99 or the 83. . .
Caliverdes Road was where the rubber hit the road-- OK, not literally, that came later. . . Essentially a 15 mile climb. I kept seeing signs saying "curvy road" 10 miles and thinking. . . at least 5 must be the down hill portion of that -- right?? WRONG-- so very wrong. A deer jumped out in front of me. Not surprisingly I got around him pretty easily since its like the 5th time that has happened this season. At the top of the first hill-- where I was REALLY 12 miles in and REALLY REALLY ready to start going down, the ride organizers had set up a bare bones water stop-- and god bless them for it. I pulled over, filled up, and chit chatted. A few people caught up to me up at point. I asked if were were headed down yet?? The response. . Yep-- but its a working descent. . .
WTF is a working descent? I don't know what a working descent is. . . I still don't know what a working descent it . . . BUT I do know that there was another what felt like hour of climbing and VERY LITTLE descent. . . As in, all I could think was that I WAS STILL GOING UP and UP and I was really, really ready to not be going up anymore. It was about here I started seriously realizing that I was NOT climbing Category 1 Sierra. My legs were tiring. I was hitting my mileage top for the season. I was ready to be home. I wasn't hurting... my breathing was OK. . .but mentally I was done. I convinced myself that I was better off only increasing my mileage by 23 miles. I told myself that I was a beginning cyclist and probably wasn't ready to get to the top of Sierra. . .I told myself that I probably could get to the top (and, frankly, I probably could have) but that, with such a long season to go, I didn't want to take a chance of getting injured. I was also getting mentally fatigued as well as the physical fatigue.
Zipping into the last rest stop at Mile 66, I was fairly confident in my decision to skip Sierra. As I was pulling in, some guy commented "you look good on that bike." I'm still not sure if he was kidding. . . but I will admit that it made me uncomfortable. It also made me feel like I was being lazy. That feeling was only increased with the same guy pulled out with me. He again commented on how strong and muscular my legs looked on the bike and asked me if I was "doing Sierra." Shamefacedly, I admitted that I was not "doing Sierra" and blamed my relative novice status on the bike, my lack of preparation this season, the blue moon, and everything else I could think of. . .
I turned right, he turned left and I was alone again on my way home.
AND THAT IS WHEN IT HAPPENED. CLANK, PFFFT, POP. OK-- I have a flat. I can't believe that I have a flat. Did I mention it was a rear flat? On my new bike? I was in a pretty good place so I pulled over to the side and started the procedure. I took off my water bottles (having ended up with empty bottles in the past after setting my bike on its side); I took out my bike tools. . . they were all there thank goodness. . .; I took off my tire. I am happy to report that I was able to get the tire off the rim in about 2 minutes. I was able to get the old tube out and the new tube in about 2 more minutes. Another 2 minutes to get the tire back into the rim, make sure that there was no pinch (thanks coach dave) and get the darn thing inflated. . . NOW I HAD TO PUT IT BACK ON. I've got to admit-- I've changed rear flats before. BUT on my new bike the brake is in a weird place and it took me about 9 minutes to get that think back on and settled. . . I could not believe it. But, 1) I've had my flat for the year 2) I've changed a flat on the new bike; and most importantly 3) every time you change a flat is good practice-- or so I tell myself. In any event, it is always empowering to change a flat all by yourself.
After that, the little hills were just adding insult to injury. I was ready to be done. I was ready to be home. I was ready to see the restaurant. . . and eventually I got there. 83 miles; 7783 feet of climbing. All in all a good day. . . Now all that was left was to BART back home, pick up the car, and head to home.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
At Least One of the Seven Sisters is a Bitch
I'm not sure which one. . . Actually, if the part of this ride that is called the "seven sisters" is the part that the other blogs say it is. . . its actually the easiest part of this stupid ride.
This really wasn't the ride I planned on doing this morning. I'd planned on doing the Marin Metric Century course that starts in San Rafael. It has some pretty big hills and is a fairly challenging 60 mile (ish) ride. I'd wanted to leave at 615-- or first light so that I could get home to the family before the kids spent the entire day playing video games, watching TV, and eating junk food. . . . But the more I thought about it, the more I started thinking that maybe a different ride. . one where I didn't have to drive to San Rafael and could leave right from home would be better. I decided to ride from Mill Valley to Ridgecrest to Fairfax-Bolinas Road to the Dam and then back to Mill Valley (detouring through Tiburon for a Paradise loop). Total anticipated mileage= 48. I mapped the route and knew, both on the map and in reality, that there was going to be a ridiculous amount of climbing on this ride. But I figured that it was all at the beginning and I'd be left with a pretty leisurely ride back home. . .
Well, best laid plans (or what was a hastily constructed thrown together hodge podge of last minute decisions) . . . I headed out at about 630. The first challenge occurred early in the ride. Montford to Molino. OH MY GOODNESS. I got about 1/2 way up the first stretch of that hill and had to turn around (thank god there were no cars coming). I got to the bottom, caught my breath, and headed back up again. This time I made it--but I will tell you. . . it wasn't easy. I was already chuffing like a freight train and I had about another 10 miles to climb before I found some somewhat level ground.
Grinding it out. One of the reasons people think I'm a good climber is that I'm generally able to get into a low gear and just grind it out. And grind it out I did. There wasn't a lot of traffic on the narrow, twisty road so I didn't have to worry about cars. There were also no other cyclists out there this morning. I was me, my bike and one really, really big hill.
My plan had been to pull into the Pan toll ranger station and take a little break. But when I got there I realized that I would have to make a left turn into the ranger station AND I was feeling pretty good. I was breathing hard but my freight train breath had subsided and I my legs were turning over fairly quickly. SO, I took the right hand turn and started up Pan Toll Road. This is another 1.3 mile hill. It isn't as steep as the Molino debacle but it is definitely a hill-- especially when you have been climbing for 9.2 miles (and 1500 feet). By mile 10.5 I'd gained another 500 feet. Here was the three way convergence of road that I'd been looking for. One way leads back down Pan Toll (effectively turning around); one road leads to the top of Mt. Tam; and the final road, Ridgecrest Boulevard, leads to my destination, Bolinas-Fairfax Road and the Alpine Dam.
I was feeling pretty good when what to my wandering eyes did appear but a great big orange barrier across Ridgecrest. SERIOUSLY?? I've climbed all the way up here-- done 10.5 miles and I'm going to have to turn around and be satisfied with a 22 mile bike ride??? How pathetic. I crept closer. . . hoping that I was mistaken. I wasn't-- BUT the sign said that Ridgecrest would open at 9:00 am.
Three Bad Choices:
I hit a few buttons on my Garmin and realized it was 8:06. I had 3 choices:
1) turn around and go home;
2) sit here and wait for 54 minutes until the road opened;
3) head on up to the top of Mt. Tam (3.2 miles away) and back. That should take about an hour. . .
And of course, guess which one I chose.
You guessed it-- I figured, "I'll just head out to the top of the mountain and back down. . . how bad can it be? I'm already almost there."
Yeah-- famous last words. At 11.8 miles I'd climbed to 2479 feet. By the time I reached the top (or in this case where the road ends and you must continue to the top on foot) I'd climbed and descended to 2341. I also had a long haired hare (ha ha) jump in front of my path. I love bunnies but the 2 ft tall version is a bit disturbing. This thing looked like what you'd envision the Easter Bunny looking like. I reached the parking lot and hopped off to use the port-a-potty. . .
In an only in Marin/only happens to those of us out at the crack of dawn moment, I caught a couple getting engaged as they walked down the mountain. AWWWWW. .
Enough sentimentality, I was back on my bike. And NOT feeling the love. This time it was up to 2500 feet before getting back to where I started. No cars, no more people, no more scary bunnies (I now know what Anya was talking about). I was thrilled to see that Ridgecrest was now open for business and I zipped on out to start riding the 7 sisters.
I've got to admit, I didn't really think that this part was all that bad today. Maybe because I was glad to be out of the mountain, maybe because I'd ridden this part before or maybe because I was delirious. . . your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, those 3.4 miles went pretty quickly and I was taking the right to head down Fairfax-Bolinas Road.
On the way down: Descending is not my thing. Never has been. Probably never will be. In fact, here I was passed by the only person who passed me all day long-- an Asian gentleman wearing a pink bike shirt and no helmet. On top of it all-- he passed my on the right. Some people. I arrived at the bottom (and the Dam) in one piece. I was glad to have made it down safely but I was not looking forward to the climb back out of the Dam. I was back down to 645 feet! But I had to climb back up to 1100 before I would be off the hills for good. I've got to admit-- I was over it. I was in that place where all I wanted to be was off my bike. But I was only about 26.4 miles in to the ride. ( you know, another 22 miles to go).
I made it to the top AND I survived the barking, charging dog as I finally entered the town of Fairfax. From there on it was all bike path all the time. Headed into town on the fairly flat, fast bike path was great-- except for all the stop signs. Trust me, when your legs feel like my did, the last thing you want to do is stop on put your foot down at the stop signs. BUT given that I was in Ross, Kentfield and Larkspur-- or, for those of you outside the Bay area, three communities where the cops have absolutely NOTHING better to do than ticket cyclists, stop and tap I did.
I had a decision to make. I'd planned on adding a Paradise Loop to the basic bike ride (about an extra 8 miles-- about 1.2 of them climbing miles). . . and I had plenty of time. . . so, I decided I'd head out that way. There was a bail out clause built in-- If I didn't think I'd make it, I could take Trestle Glen and head home effectively cutting out about 75% of the climbing. . . I hate to admit it, but I did. I'd been on the bike for 4 hours (which was about what I was planning on riding); my legs were tired and I was congratulating myself on getting to the top of Mt. Tam.
So was it a success?? Yes and no. I'm proud of the ride I did-- which ended up being 45 miles and 5900 feet of climbing (in my metric-- any time you climb more hundred feet than you rode in miles it is a pretty hard ride) I'm glad that I had a good ride and felt pretty strong but I'm also a little worried. I don't usually choose the bail out options. I also am worried that my longest (time not distance) ride of the season so far is only 4:45 (56 miles). I need to get back out on that bike soon and get a good ride in that will judge where I am. I've got to admit neither the 56 on the Wildflower course (into the wind and up those hills) nor the 45 today are good metrics.
Thanks for reading
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