This was my second shot at Escape From Alcatraz, having done the race last year (www.facebook.com/#!/note.php?note_id=91151859422) on Jack's 3rd birthday. Due to some infighting in the world of triathlon, the race was moved up 6 weeks this year so instead of being held mid-June, it was time to jump off the boat in early-May. Last year's race was tough for me. I was a novice; I'm not a biker and was riding my cheap, HEAVY bike, and I was worried about making it home for Jack's birthday party. With all this in mind, I had set pretty lofty goals for this race:
1) to take 10 minutes off my swim time
2) to take 10 minutes off my bike time
3) to take 10 minutes off my run time
4) no walking on the run and
5) finish in under 4 hours.
I'm going to issue a warning right now-- parts of this blog are going to be "whiny" (yes, worse than usual) but the point of this blog is to capture the highs and lows of training so I'm going to attempt to be truthful.
The Pre-Race Battle
Saturday was a beautiful day in the San Francisco area. For those of you that follow my facebook accounts, you know this is a rare statement from me. . . John, the kids, John's father Russell and I spent morning at one of the playgrounds in the city (I took an hour "escape" to get my race numbers), had a lovely lunch, and stopped by one of my favorite places-- the sports basement- to stock up on Body Glide and nutrition.
As usual, as the day wore on, John became more and more frustrated with the amount of time this was taking from our family. He repeatedly commented that he wasn't bringing the kids down to the race (although it is a short 30 minutes away) and mentioned repeatedly that he would do things like this "if it didn't take away so much family time."
One of the reasons that I do this is my family. I love my two baby boys more than anything I can imagine and I want them to grow up knowing that their mommy is strong; and that a beautiful woman is one who is sweaty and gross coming across a finish line. Accordingly, it is pretty important to me to have them there.
Well, of course, before I could go to bed for a restful evening, John and I had to have our "discussion" of whether he would be willing to bring the kids down. And, as usual, after being made to feel guilty for hours for wanting them to come, I gave in. Despite the fact that the race was 20 minutes from our house and the kids could play in the sand of crissy field (and still see the race), they weren't coming.
I was packed; I was ready; now all I had to do was get up.
Waking up at 3:00 am is crazy
Always. Everytime I do something like this I wonder why these things can't start at a more humane hour. Although I was not a first timer anymore (and didn't have to be on the 430 am bus to the boat), I didn't want to be late and risk losing my window seat on the boat to sit in the middle with people all around me. So, I compromised and left the house at 4 am after double checking to make sure I had all the necessities.
Packing for a triathlon is something like assembling gear for an Everest Trek and packing for Escape from Alcatraz is worse than most due to the multi spot start and the extra run leg. For the swim you need your wetsuit, booties, goggles, two swim caps, body glide (to keep your wetsuit from chaffing your neck) and conditioner to pull the suit on with. For the bike-- your bike, your helmet, your GPS, your bike shoes, sunglasses, your socks, oh, and I've gotten in the habit of changing my shirt between the swim and the bike. The run-- you got it-- another shirt, a hat your number, and of course, your running shoes (and an extra pair of socks just in case). Oh yeah-- there is also the nutrition (gu's, gatoraid bottles, carbo pro) and, in Alcatraz's case, the extra pair of running shoes for the run between the end of the swim and the transition area.
This year I was smart-- having set up my transition last year in the dark, I brought my camping headlamp with me so I could see what I was doing. After dropping my "mini-transition" bag off at the truck and setting up my stall, I boarded the bus for the 20 minute ride to the boat clutching the bag with my wetsuit, goggles, booties, a snack, a drink, my body glide and my conditioner. (Yes, I left the kitchen sink at home).
I picked up my chip and got in line for the boat where I was joined by Ironteam's Swim Coach Sedonia who was racing today as well. We boarded together and carved out some prime real estate up against the windows where we could see the Pro triathletes jump off the boat. About 20 minutes later, we saw someone else wearing IronTeam's Flames, and, expecting Captain Tony, we stood up, put our hands in the air and started jumping around. You guessed it-- it wasn't Tony. Fortunately the guy took pity on us and joined our little circle anyway-- he'd done IronTeam last year (Kentucky) and knew Sedonia anyway. Finally, about 10 minutes before the boat was to depart, Tony joined us and our little 4 some chatted merrily until the boat shoved off and we started the wetsuit wiggle.
I started to get nervous pretty early on this year. I'd had a bad swim here last year (according to my dad, I'd gotten faulty information and swam 2 1/2 miles instead of 1 1/2). I'd gone slow; I'd had trouble sighting, I'd gone way off course, AND I'd been dizzy throughout. SO, despite being a strong swimmer, I was definitely uncomfortable. Didn't help that I was on the boat with my swim coach who was hoping to finish the swim in 25 minutes or less. Then there was the marine wildlife. . . Most people who swim in San Francisco Bay are afraid of the sharks. Me, however, I don't like the sea lions. While they won't bite you. They are somewhat like puppies-- 2 ton puppies-- that like to play with swimmers. As the boat pulled into position, a sea lion looked up at us and waived. GREAT.
Before I knew it-- it was time to jump and off we went into the water. I was much more prepared this time-- following a totally different line of sight all the way in. The trick here is to swim straight across from the boat to the shore-- the current (4 million gallons of water heading under the golden gate bridge per second) will pull you from left to right. I swam towards aquatic park until I floated past it, I swam towards Fort Mason until I floated past that. I swam towards the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts until I was past that. I swam towards the orange roof of the San Francisco Yacht Club until I found myself on the beach-- still about 20 yards to the left of the "official" exit point! I ran (with many others) along the shore and up through the exit to mini-transition.
It's About Family, Damn It.
Up in mini-transition I shed my wetsuit and booties and donned my old crappy running shoes. Of course, I'd forgotten to unlace them so there went a few minutes unlacing running shoes with frozen fingers. I headed out to run the 1/2 mile to my bike awaiting me at the real transition area and I heard, "GO PAULA." I looked over and there was Kevin Owens and his wife. Kevin was a Team in Training ("TNT") teammate of mine last year on the Lavaman team and he recently completed his 2nd lavaman with TNT this year. I waived, smiled and headed to transition.
I changed my shirt, donned my bike shoes and helmet and headed off on the bike. What a difference a year makes. This year the bike course was PACKED. There were so many people out there and I was being passed (nothing different there) left and right. In addition, the wind had started picking up already and we were riding into a pretty strong headwind.
Coming up the first hill by the bridge, at about mile 3, Captain Tony passed me with a "looking good Paula" (that was the last I saw of Captain Tony). About 6 miles in another Ironteam mate passed me on her way up the big hill to the palace of fine arts.
Fast forward to coming back up from Golden Gate Park. For me, the toughest part of this course comes after golden gate park when you turn and come back up the hill by the Cliff House and then go up Seal Rock Hill to Clement Street Hill. Clement Street Hill on that side is a KILLER. I've walked up that hill many a time and saw about 4 people walking up that hill as I stood on my bike and muscled up that hill ! ! !( for only the second time). No rest for the wicked as we were then headed up back to the Palace of Fine Arts. Coming up the last hill, I started talking to the girl next to me. She was from Oklahoma, she loved the beauty of the course even though it was hard etc. We chatted the whole way up that hill and, as I passed her on the way down, she thanked me, telling me that I "got her over that last hill."
Screaming (for me) down the home stretch, I heard, "Go Paula" and then again about 4 minutes later "Go Paula." I had no idea who it was, but I had a cheering section. I was back in transition, and headed out on my run just as the announcer said, "we have our women's winner."
Transitioning from the bike to the run is always difficult-- your feet feel numb. Your legs are used to moving in other directions. Even your running shoes feel bulky next to the relative compactness of the bike shoes. As I took the right turn out of transition, Coach Mike and some other Iron teammates calling out my name and cheering me on. (Solved the first question). About a 1/2 mile later, I saw Merla our team manager and some others cheering me on by name as well (ah-ha, the second mystery supporters revealed). Turning right onto the path by Crissy Field-- it was Kevin and his wife again. . . cheering for me again.
About this time, I started to feel so lucky and so loved. I know it sounds silly, but since my family couldn't make it out, it was so amazing to have people there who knew me and were cheering for me. Other than Falmouth (where my family lives and my dad and I race every year) I generally do most of my racing alone. To have so many people there watching out for me and caring about me brought me to tears. This is my 3rd season of TNT now and I've got to say that my TNT friends have become my family away from family. I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate them.
I headed up the first set of stairs, after mile 2, with a smile in my heart-- it was a beautiful day and I was having a great race. This set of stairs is narrow, and, on race day, a two way street. Athletes flew down the stairs as I struggled up them. The reward for getting to the top? A sweeping vista of San Francisco Bay, out over the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin Headlands and the Pacific Ocean. The sailboats had come out and the bay positively glowed with the sun glinting off their white sails (no one has colored sails here-- I think it is part of the austerity and coldness of the area).
I saw one of my boat mates headed back down the course towards home and, about 10 minutes later saw Sedonia heading for home. I ran over the hill and down to the soft sand of Baker Beach. At this point I started running with a woman named Rachel who was finishing up the relay leg for her team. She was amazing. We talked about how the sport of triathlon is about learning who you are and about seizing the moment by enjoying the day you are having in the body you have. By the time I reached the top of the sand ladder (read 400 steps of sand going straight up the side of a hill), I was all smiles-- This may have been Rachel; this may also have been that from that point, the remaining course is downhill.
It may also have been because I had been paying attention to my watch, although I haven't mentioned it here. I didn't have a swim time but I did have a bike time, and I was pretty sure that it was at least 10 minutes faster than last years. I was watching my run time, and it looked like I was on pace to be at least 10 minutes shorter than last year. In addition, it looked like I was going to make it home before 12:00.
At the end of the run, you spend about 2 miles on the flat road by Crissy Field. It was covered with regular folk out for a Sunday stroll. I took a few seconds to slap the hands of a few little kids who were there and to thank a few dads who'd brought their kids out to watch their mom's do the triathlon. As I approached the finish line, I heard my name again. It was Kevin, his wife, and another familiar face from my TNT Lavaman team, Gary. This year, Gary has been through hell-- prostate cancer, chemo, surgery, radiation, and seeing him there at the finish line looking AMAZING was one of the highlights of the race for me.
As I hit the finish chute, I saw the clock-- I was looking good. I'd definitely made my 12 cut off-- in fact, I was looking like I was going to make a 11:49 ! I heard my name yet again and it was Coach Mike, Maria and a few other Iron Teammates cheering me to the finish! I was done.
3 hours and 49 minutes or (more impressively) 43 minutes faster than last year. 24 minutes on the swim and about 10 each on the bike and the run. I'd run the whole course (except for the sand ladder of course) and achieved all of my goals. I can't even believe that I had such a good day.
After the race ended and I was waiting to pick up my stuff from the boat and the mini transition, Kevin and his wife joined me. I don't even begin to know how to express my gratitude to them for cheering me on, keeping me company, holding my big plate of food for the kids (I was bringing them home brownies), and on top of it all volunteering to carry half of my stuff to my car for me (I couldn't let them-- they'd done so much for me already).
What is next on this Iron Journey? Well, first off, I still desperately need to raise some more funds. My next TNT fundraising deadling is May 13th. . . I am about 1500 short right now, so, if you can help-- now would be a great time to click on my fundraising website and donate what you can (even $5 helps to save a life and push me towards my goal). http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
My next big training events: there are 3 that are worrying me
1) an 80 mile bike ride on 5/17
2) 3/4 iron weekend on 6/5 (2 mile swim, 100 mile bike, 20 mile run) and
3) Dipsea-- check this race out in this month's runner's world magazine.
As always, thank you for your love and support and for reading.
Paula
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
I know, I'll just go out an run a 1/2 marathon on Sunday for fun
I MAY NEED A 12 STEP PROGRAM
Somedays I think that there needs to be a 12 step program for endurance race addiction. Today is one of them. Last weekend, my running partner (who didn't get into the Dipsea race while I did) suggested that we run the Marin County Half Marathon together this weekend. With nothing better to do, I said yes. Registered for Sunday's event on Thursday without previewing the course or, frankly, having a clue what I was getting myself into.
Fast forward to Saturday-- the day started out with a brisk 50 minute open water swim at Aquatic Park. Water was warmer than I thought it was going to be-- at least once I got over the initial shock of getting my face in the water and I had a nice, easy swim. I came out of the water; helped both of my kids change their wet, sandy clothes (they had played in the sand while I swam), and headed home.
My running partner (and neighbor) Michele was going to pick up my race packet for me. Or at least we thought. She got to McNear's beach and found that the race organizers would not let her pick up my number without my picture ID. So, after a brief lunch, the kids and I headed up to McNear's to pick up my number. Interestingly enough, no one asked for my ID at all when they gave me my number. . . . HMMMM. . .. Fortunately it was a nice day and the kids and I walked the fishing pier (Jack now wants to be a fisherman) and played down at the beach for a few hours before heading home.
Disaster struck early-- WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? For those of you that know my running (and racing) history. I have worn the same Worcester Academy (my high school) tank top in every race I've done since 1991. Seriously. . . over 20 marathons, countless 1/2 marathons, and more 10K's than I can remember. . . WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? I can't find it anywhere. . .
Sunday morning dawned early-- Grandpa Russell had spent the night to watch the kids in the morning (since Daddy is in Los Vegas playing poker) and I got myself dressed. . . Unhappily might I say since I STILL CAN'T FIND MY TANK TOP. I wore one of my Falmouth Road Race Tanks, but it just isn't the same as my 20 year old, turned grey from repeated washings, seams fraying tank top from 1990. Michele and I met up and we headed out to the beach. Arriving early, we debated what to wear for about 30 minutes before we finally left the car, and our cover-ups.
We were lead to the start line by a Scottish Bag Piper-- bringing back memories of both my college graduation and our early morning wake up call at 1/2 way to iron wildflower weekend. At the start line we waited and waited until finally the race could start-- what were we waiting for? The race organizers needed to plant a tree. Tree planted, we started at 8-- about 20 minutes later than we were supposed to start.
Michele took off like a start-- she doesn't participate in races often, and this was the longest distance she has done in a few years. . . I let her go. There was no way I was starting out 2 minutes faster than our usual pace--I've been around the rodeo a few times and know what happens to people who start out too fast to early. Out and back for a few miles on the road and then to some new territory.
HOW THE HELL LONG IS THIS RACE ANYWAY?
Heading up the hill into China Camp Park it was getting hot. . . we had a few miles of rolling hills before we were to transition onto trails. I was watching my Garmin pretty closely. I wanted to make sure I was on pace for the first 10K and then would see what happened. Well, at what my Garmin called the 6.2 mile split, I was right on track. Then we passed a volunteer who called out,
"Mile 5 right ahead--Looking Good." HUH? Mile 5? My GPS says 6.2 miles. OK.
Same thing happens at the 6 mile marker-- my watch reads 7 miles. Which one is right? Basically, I started to get stressed. . . OK, I got pretty stressed. How long is this race? Did I miss a turn? Why is my watch so far ahead? Are we going to run over 14 miles (instead of 13)? What is going on? I'd better slow down because I have no idea how long this race is going to be.
This panic stayed with me for the rest of the race. At the bottom of Hammer Hill (which was advertised to be at mile 11), the sign said mile 9. I hit the switchbacks on the trail, enjoyed the shade, and found myself enjoying the run. That being said, I had no idea how much longer I was going to be running. At the top of Hammer, we headed back out onto the roads. The volunteer standing there said that we had less than a 1/2 mile to go. At this point, however, I was afraid to believe her.
Turns out she was right. I was almost done. There probably wasn't more than a 1/2 mile to go. I made the turn into the beach and could see the finish line. At the end I saw my friend Michele-- she had finished 6 minutes ahead of me. . . and had hated every minute of it-- she was miserable-- hard run . . . wanted to stop at mile 6. I on the other hand had enjoyed my run. I hadn't gone very fast but I had finished and finished strong. I felt ready to take on the rest of the day and felt like I could probably have run another 10 miles easily (or at least run another 10 miles and still felt OK.)
So as stops on the road to Iron go, this run was good. I felt strong. I took my time and paced it out appropriately. I ran the entire run as a nice training run (even running the trail hills where there were long muddy stretches). My time wasn't stellar and since I can always find an excuse for that I mention the fact that I had no idea where in the race I was; we were on trails and going uphill through mud, oh, and I want to have enough energy to complete this week's workouts and my next race. That being said-- my time could have been a lot worse, and my first 10K was wonderful.
Next stop-- The Rock. Next Sunday is Escape From Alcatraz-- a race I did last year (and was terrified of before I did it). It is funny that I'm not scared of this race at all this year. . . At least I'm not scared of it yet-- maybe by next Sunday I will be afraid to jump off the boat, but right now I'm looking forward to it.
Thanks for reading, for donating, and for passing on your words of encouragement.
Paula
To learn more about TNT or to donate in my fight against Leukemia, Lymphoma, and other blood cancers click:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Somedays I think that there needs to be a 12 step program for endurance race addiction. Today is one of them. Last weekend, my running partner (who didn't get into the Dipsea race while I did) suggested that we run the Marin County Half Marathon together this weekend. With nothing better to do, I said yes. Registered for Sunday's event on Thursday without previewing the course or, frankly, having a clue what I was getting myself into.
Fast forward to Saturday-- the day started out with a brisk 50 minute open water swim at Aquatic Park. Water was warmer than I thought it was going to be-- at least once I got over the initial shock of getting my face in the water and I had a nice, easy swim. I came out of the water; helped both of my kids change their wet, sandy clothes (they had played in the sand while I swam), and headed home.
My running partner (and neighbor) Michele was going to pick up my race packet for me. Or at least we thought. She got to McNear's beach and found that the race organizers would not let her pick up my number without my picture ID. So, after a brief lunch, the kids and I headed up to McNear's to pick up my number. Interestingly enough, no one asked for my ID at all when they gave me my number. . . . HMMMM. . .. Fortunately it was a nice day and the kids and I walked the fishing pier (Jack now wants to be a fisherman) and played down at the beach for a few hours before heading home.
Disaster struck early-- WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? For those of you that know my running (and racing) history. I have worn the same Worcester Academy (my high school) tank top in every race I've done since 1991. Seriously. . . over 20 marathons, countless 1/2 marathons, and more 10K's than I can remember. . . WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? I can't find it anywhere. . .
Sunday morning dawned early-- Grandpa Russell had spent the night to watch the kids in the morning (since Daddy is in Los Vegas playing poker) and I got myself dressed. . . Unhappily might I say since I STILL CAN'T FIND MY TANK TOP. I wore one of my Falmouth Road Race Tanks, but it just isn't the same as my 20 year old, turned grey from repeated washings, seams fraying tank top from 1990. Michele and I met up and we headed out to the beach. Arriving early, we debated what to wear for about 30 minutes before we finally left the car, and our cover-ups.
We were lead to the start line by a Scottish Bag Piper-- bringing back memories of both my college graduation and our early morning wake up call at 1/2 way to iron wildflower weekend. At the start line we waited and waited until finally the race could start-- what were we waiting for? The race organizers needed to plant a tree. Tree planted, we started at 8-- about 20 minutes later than we were supposed to start.
Michele took off like a start-- she doesn't participate in races often, and this was the longest distance she has done in a few years. . . I let her go. There was no way I was starting out 2 minutes faster than our usual pace--I've been around the rodeo a few times and know what happens to people who start out too fast to early. Out and back for a few miles on the road and then to some new territory.
HOW THE HELL LONG IS THIS RACE ANYWAY?
Heading up the hill into China Camp Park it was getting hot. . . we had a few miles of rolling hills before we were to transition onto trails. I was watching my Garmin pretty closely. I wanted to make sure I was on pace for the first 10K and then would see what happened. Well, at what my Garmin called the 6.2 mile split, I was right on track. Then we passed a volunteer who called out,
"Mile 5 right ahead--Looking Good." HUH? Mile 5? My GPS says 6.2 miles. OK.
Same thing happens at the 6 mile marker-- my watch reads 7 miles. Which one is right? Basically, I started to get stressed. . . OK, I got pretty stressed. How long is this race? Did I miss a turn? Why is my watch so far ahead? Are we going to run over 14 miles (instead of 13)? What is going on? I'd better slow down because I have no idea how long this race is going to be.
This panic stayed with me for the rest of the race. At the bottom of Hammer Hill (which was advertised to be at mile 11), the sign said mile 9. I hit the switchbacks on the trail, enjoyed the shade, and found myself enjoying the run. That being said, I had no idea how much longer I was going to be running. At the top of Hammer, we headed back out onto the roads. The volunteer standing there said that we had less than a 1/2 mile to go. At this point, however, I was afraid to believe her.
Turns out she was right. I was almost done. There probably wasn't more than a 1/2 mile to go. I made the turn into the beach and could see the finish line. At the end I saw my friend Michele-- she had finished 6 minutes ahead of me. . . and had hated every minute of it-- she was miserable-- hard run . . . wanted to stop at mile 6. I on the other hand had enjoyed my run. I hadn't gone very fast but I had finished and finished strong. I felt ready to take on the rest of the day and felt like I could probably have run another 10 miles easily (or at least run another 10 miles and still felt OK.)
So as stops on the road to Iron go, this run was good. I felt strong. I took my time and paced it out appropriately. I ran the entire run as a nice training run (even running the trail hills where there were long muddy stretches). My time wasn't stellar and since I can always find an excuse for that I mention the fact that I had no idea where in the race I was; we were on trails and going uphill through mud, oh, and I want to have enough energy to complete this week's workouts and my next race. That being said-- my time could have been a lot worse, and my first 10K was wonderful.
Next stop-- The Rock. Next Sunday is Escape From Alcatraz-- a race I did last year (and was terrified of before I did it). It is funny that I'm not scared of this race at all this year. . . At least I'm not scared of it yet-- maybe by next Sunday I will be afraid to jump off the boat, but right now I'm looking forward to it.
Thanks for reading, for donating, and for passing on your words of encouragement.
Paula
To learn more about TNT or to donate in my fight against Leukemia, Lymphoma, and other blood cancers click:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Sunday, April 11, 2010
8 Transitions and 3 flats? You've got to be kidding me!
Boot Camp weekend #2. As usual, I can't go both days; John is in Miami and I can't justify a babysitter for both days. So, after asking my coach which day would be better; I got a sitter and planned for Saturday. The weather was supposed to be great and the workout looked like fun. . . repeated sprint distance triathlons for 5 hours. I was pretty excited about this one-- Sprint distance triathlons are not too challenging at this point; I'd raced at this park before so was familiar with the course and area; and I had such a good bike ride at Wildflower that I was feeling invincible. I even convinced a few people to pledge 5 or 10 bucks per sprint triathlon I completed to the cause (http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann).
Found myself in Pleasanton, at Shadow Cliffs Regional Park at 7:45-- not leaving myself very much time to get my transition area set up and wiggle into my wetsuit before our alleged 8am start. I set up my transition stall-- taking extra care to make sure that I'd put my back brake on properly after having to replace my back tire on Thursday (See the 1/2 way to Iron report). Lathering up with my $1 Suave Coconut Conditioner, I pulled on the wetsuit and got zipped in. Along the way, Coach Mike even agreed to donate 10 dollars each as well. I was pumped and ready to go.
At the athletes meeting we learned of the first snafu: Our use permit had fallen through-- we had no lifeguards and couldn't go open water swimming. (were we not going to be swimming-- that would be terrible-- no cold water swim? Shucks. I would so miss the 55 degree water). But no, swimming we would be: There was a single-- 6 foot wide, 300 yard lane marked off in the water. Since there were 60 of us hitting the water-- we would go in starts-- 10 at a time. Swim the 40 yards out the the lane, duck under the rope, swim the 300 yard lane, swim back to shore, then RUN back to where we started and go again and again, and again-- for a total of 4 "laps". I hit the water with the second group. Not surprisingly, it was cold but out I went.
Before I had time to pee in my wetsuit, it was time to get out of the water and do the sand run back to the starting point. IN again. Cold again. No time to pee in the wetsuit again. And out again. Yes, I'll spare you the other two times, but I did this a total of 4 times. Although I probably could, I'm not counting these run breaks in my transition counts.
Transition #1: Meet the Flat Fairy
After climbing out of the water for the 4th time, I ran into transition where the 5 or so swimmers out ahead of me were moaning.
"You've got a flat" said Mentor Margaret.
"WHAT! Which tire?"
"Your rear one." says Margaret.
"You mean the one I changed YESTERDAY? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"NOPE-- the coaches went around and let the air out of all of our back tires-- you have to take out the tube, show it to the coach and put it back in."
"THOSE RAT BASTARDS."
Did I mention that I wasn't out of my wetsuit yet?
Pulling off the wetsuit and getting into my bike shirt and arm warmers, I mentally rehearsed the fun of changing a rear tire. I was really glad that I had done it the day before (for the first time) instead of paying the guys at the bike shop to do it for me-- (very temping). Get the wheel out; Move the derailleur and the chain; use your tire irons to get off the tire; pull out the tube, show to coach; put tube back in; put tire back on, pump up tire-- OK. I can do this.
And do it I did. While others struggled with getting the wheel off or getting their tire off-- I cruised. Jumped on the bike and took off. Oops-- helps if you put your chain back on after changing the tire. OK-- now up the hill and out on the course.
Click. Click. Click. Click. What the hell is that noise?? I have no idea; Margaret has no idea. No one has an idea. Oh well, its only 9 miles. click, click, click. Oh well, its only 8 miles. Wait a minute-- why does it feel like my legs don't want to work today. Oh well, its only 7 miles. Good Grief-- why am I so slow today. Oh well, its only 6 miles. Holy Moly, that 15 mile per hour headwind sucks. Oh well, its only 5 miles. ARE WE THERE YET? Eventually, I got there. This was not a good bike ride. Still not sure why? I need to check my bike cadence computer and see if this ride was as slow as it felt but part of me doesn't want to know. I thought I'd conquered the bike monster last month. Had Coach Dave taken the rocket boosters off my bike when he'd let the air out of my tires. Ahhhh.
Transition #2
Eventually I got myself back to transition. Yipee. Off on the run. Its a beautiful 3.5 mile run on trails around lakes and wildflowers. Some little rises. Most not. I passed a few teammates on the way out and pushed over the first rise. This felt wonderful-- nothing at all like my horrid run at Wildflower. Before I knew it I was back to transition and ready for
Transition #3
In between tri's, we were doing core: While not really a surprise, what was a surprise was I had to wait for about 5 people to finish and people to catch up so that we could have a group start together. Core exercises finished, it was time to move into
Transition #4
This was the biggie: Pulling on a wet, cold wetsuit. Anyone who has ever put on a wetsuit knows that it is difficult. Add to it the wetsuit being wet and you are in for a real treat. We used plastic grocery bags to cover our feet as we pushed them into the neoprene that had been hanging on a hanger (the better to get the full effect of the wind and, now, cold wet rain drops that had begun to fall from the sky). Wet neoprene is COLD. Cold and clammy. And basically, just yucky. off to the water.
At least this time we didn't have to swim, run, swim, run, swim, run, swim. We could just SWIM. 6 laps of the 300 yard line (1800 yards or so) plus the swim out to the land and back in. Pretty uneventful except for 2 things: my head to head meeting with our swim coach Sedonia (sight Paula-- Sight) and my very tactless smacking of one of my teammates from the South Bay in the back of her head ("wow, what a powerful stroke you have" "eh-- sorry about that"). I've got no defense for the smacking; but in my defense-- the lane line was inconsistent in that lane-- other swimmers agreed with me-- that is why I couldn't swim in a straight line.
Transition #5-- out of the wetsuit-- into the bike shoes-- and by now, the sun is COMPLETELY GONE. while I'd started my first bike loop in short sleeves and arm warmers, this time it was short sleeves with my full coat. The wind had picked up as well-- the headwind was expected to be stronger than the 15 miles per hour we'd experienced on the way out.
The clicking sound was gone-- turned out it was only the magnet from my cadence meter hitting my gear but my legs weren't any happier to be on the bike. Maybe they were cold? Nice excuse-- I may run with that one. . . oh wait-- speaking of running, if it was cold legs? Why did the run feel so strong? I don't get it.
Coming back in I saw one of my south bay teammates on the side of the road trying to change her flat. Aware of the great cosmic Karma rule of biking, I stopped to see if she needed anything. Turned out she was unable to get her tire off the rim. I borrowed one of her tire irons and couldn't get it off either. After trying for about 10 minutes to get her darned tire off-- I gave up-- transition was about 600 yards away-- I'd go get a coach and send him back. Attempted Tire Change #2-- incomplete.
Transition #6-- off the bike-- grabbed coach mike and sent him back to help the failed tire change (by the time he got there-- another good Samaritan (non TNT) had come by and gotten the tire off for her). Pulled on the running shoes. Heading out on the path I heard Coach Dave say: ONE HOUR AND 15 minutes left.
Is he kidding? Having raced on this course before, I know that it generally takes me about 1 hour and 30 minutes to complete the full sprint distance triathlon. That would mean that I should have been able to complete TWO full triathlons in 3 hours. Where did the time go? I still had at least a half hour before I could even say I finished 2? I was NEVER going to make my goal of 3. I was hoping to make at least 100 bucks for the cause-- I wasn't even going to come close. CRAP. Oh well, I was off on the run. Gonna at least finish 2 triathlons really, really strong. And, at least from a mental training philosophy, I was able to have another really strong run.
Transition #7-- Back into the wet wetsuit. Didn't get any warmer-- didn't get any easier. The swim didn't get any shorter or any longer. Out of the water. Trying to go as fast as I can-- want to finish another sprint distance triathlon before the coach won't let me race any more. . . gonna do it. . .
Transition #8-- Hey, no one said not to stop-- I'm heading out on this bike. Not sure how much time is left-- wind has picked up again. Its cold. I hate the freaking bike--- I'm going. Oh no-- there is one of my teammates on the side of the road. When I asked if she needed any help she asked if I knew how to use a CO2 gun. (I do actually). SO-- over I pulled for
Flat Tire #3
I'd never seen a CO2 dispenser like hers before so I pulled mine out and grabbed my cylinder. I put it down on her tube and pulled the trigger-- out came the CO2, but her tire didn't inflate. . . OK. . . I thought I knew how to use this thing. Let's try cylinder number 2. Same result. OK-- plan B. Maybe there is something wrong with the tube. Maybe we should start over.
Off with the wheel-- off with the tire-- out with the tube--Guess what-- the valve was broken and the tube had a big hole in it. Well, glad we figured that out-- wish we'd found that out before we'd wasted 2 CO2 containers on that faulty tube. New tube, replace the tire and now lets figure out how to use the other CO2 system. Oh SHOOT-- here comes Captain Tony. Time is UP. It is time to head home. I didn't finish my 3rd triathlon today.
Some stretching; putting my gear in the car. Admitting to Coach Mike that he only owes me 20 bucks was disappointing. Generally, I'm really frustrated by this day of training. I'm not sure why I could only do 2. Did we start late? Was the swim thing that much longer (most swims there are 400 yards)? Was my biking that much slower? I can't imagine that my run was bad but was it? How much time did I lose doing core? Was it unreasonable to assume I could do 3?
On the upside I felt as strong during the second triathlon as I did during the first. I felt as strong during the 3rd swim as I did during the first. I felt as crappy during the 3rd bike as I did during the first. So I figure I can take some good from that at least.
For those of you that pledged an amount of money per triathlon completed-- you owe me 2X what ever you pledged. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and I appreciate your donation:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Found myself in Pleasanton, at Shadow Cliffs Regional Park at 7:45-- not leaving myself very much time to get my transition area set up and wiggle into my wetsuit before our alleged 8am start. I set up my transition stall-- taking extra care to make sure that I'd put my back brake on properly after having to replace my back tire on Thursday (See the 1/2 way to Iron report). Lathering up with my $1 Suave Coconut Conditioner, I pulled on the wetsuit and got zipped in. Along the way, Coach Mike even agreed to donate 10 dollars each as well. I was pumped and ready to go.
At the athletes meeting we learned of the first snafu: Our use permit had fallen through-- we had no lifeguards and couldn't go open water swimming. (were we not going to be swimming-- that would be terrible-- no cold water swim? Shucks. I would so miss the 55 degree water). But no, swimming we would be: There was a single-- 6 foot wide, 300 yard lane marked off in the water. Since there were 60 of us hitting the water-- we would go in starts-- 10 at a time. Swim the 40 yards out the the lane, duck under the rope, swim the 300 yard lane, swim back to shore, then RUN back to where we started and go again and again, and again-- for a total of 4 "laps". I hit the water with the second group. Not surprisingly, it was cold but out I went.
Before I had time to pee in my wetsuit, it was time to get out of the water and do the sand run back to the starting point. IN again. Cold again. No time to pee in the wetsuit again. And out again. Yes, I'll spare you the other two times, but I did this a total of 4 times. Although I probably could, I'm not counting these run breaks in my transition counts.
Transition #1: Meet the Flat Fairy
After climbing out of the water for the 4th time, I ran into transition where the 5 or so swimmers out ahead of me were moaning.
"You've got a flat" said Mentor Margaret.
"WHAT! Which tire?"
"Your rear one." says Margaret.
"You mean the one I changed YESTERDAY? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"NOPE-- the coaches went around and let the air out of all of our back tires-- you have to take out the tube, show it to the coach and put it back in."
"THOSE RAT BASTARDS."
Did I mention that I wasn't out of my wetsuit yet?
Pulling off the wetsuit and getting into my bike shirt and arm warmers, I mentally rehearsed the fun of changing a rear tire. I was really glad that I had done it the day before (for the first time) instead of paying the guys at the bike shop to do it for me-- (very temping). Get the wheel out; Move the derailleur and the chain; use your tire irons to get off the tire; pull out the tube, show to coach; put tube back in; put tire back on, pump up tire-- OK. I can do this.
And do it I did. While others struggled with getting the wheel off or getting their tire off-- I cruised. Jumped on the bike and took off. Oops-- helps if you put your chain back on after changing the tire. OK-- now up the hill and out on the course.
Click. Click. Click. Click. What the hell is that noise?? I have no idea; Margaret has no idea. No one has an idea. Oh well, its only 9 miles. click, click, click. Oh well, its only 8 miles. Wait a minute-- why does it feel like my legs don't want to work today. Oh well, its only 7 miles. Good Grief-- why am I so slow today. Oh well, its only 6 miles. Holy Moly, that 15 mile per hour headwind sucks. Oh well, its only 5 miles. ARE WE THERE YET? Eventually, I got there. This was not a good bike ride. Still not sure why? I need to check my bike cadence computer and see if this ride was as slow as it felt but part of me doesn't want to know. I thought I'd conquered the bike monster last month. Had Coach Dave taken the rocket boosters off my bike when he'd let the air out of my tires. Ahhhh.
Transition #2
Eventually I got myself back to transition. Yipee. Off on the run. Its a beautiful 3.5 mile run on trails around lakes and wildflowers. Some little rises. Most not. I passed a few teammates on the way out and pushed over the first rise. This felt wonderful-- nothing at all like my horrid run at Wildflower. Before I knew it I was back to transition and ready for
Transition #3
In between tri's, we were doing core: While not really a surprise, what was a surprise was I had to wait for about 5 people to finish and people to catch up so that we could have a group start together. Core exercises finished, it was time to move into
Transition #4
This was the biggie: Pulling on a wet, cold wetsuit. Anyone who has ever put on a wetsuit knows that it is difficult. Add to it the wetsuit being wet and you are in for a real treat. We used plastic grocery bags to cover our feet as we pushed them into the neoprene that had been hanging on a hanger (the better to get the full effect of the wind and, now, cold wet rain drops that had begun to fall from the sky). Wet neoprene is COLD. Cold and clammy. And basically, just yucky. off to the water.
At least this time we didn't have to swim, run, swim, run, swim, run, swim. We could just SWIM. 6 laps of the 300 yard line (1800 yards or so) plus the swim out to the land and back in. Pretty uneventful except for 2 things: my head to head meeting with our swim coach Sedonia (sight Paula-- Sight) and my very tactless smacking of one of my teammates from the South Bay in the back of her head ("wow, what a powerful stroke you have" "eh-- sorry about that"). I've got no defense for the smacking; but in my defense-- the lane line was inconsistent in that lane-- other swimmers agreed with me-- that is why I couldn't swim in a straight line.
Transition #5-- out of the wetsuit-- into the bike shoes-- and by now, the sun is COMPLETELY GONE. while I'd started my first bike loop in short sleeves and arm warmers, this time it was short sleeves with my full coat. The wind had picked up as well-- the headwind was expected to be stronger than the 15 miles per hour we'd experienced on the way out.
The clicking sound was gone-- turned out it was only the magnet from my cadence meter hitting my gear but my legs weren't any happier to be on the bike. Maybe they were cold? Nice excuse-- I may run with that one. . . oh wait-- speaking of running, if it was cold legs? Why did the run feel so strong? I don't get it.
Coming back in I saw one of my south bay teammates on the side of the road trying to change her flat. Aware of the great cosmic Karma rule of biking, I stopped to see if she needed anything. Turned out she was unable to get her tire off the rim. I borrowed one of her tire irons and couldn't get it off either. After trying for about 10 minutes to get her darned tire off-- I gave up-- transition was about 600 yards away-- I'd go get a coach and send him back. Attempted Tire Change #2-- incomplete.
Transition #6-- off the bike-- grabbed coach mike and sent him back to help the failed tire change (by the time he got there-- another good Samaritan (non TNT) had come by and gotten the tire off for her). Pulled on the running shoes. Heading out on the path I heard Coach Dave say: ONE HOUR AND 15 minutes left.
Is he kidding? Having raced on this course before, I know that it generally takes me about 1 hour and 30 minutes to complete the full sprint distance triathlon. That would mean that I should have been able to complete TWO full triathlons in 3 hours. Where did the time go? I still had at least a half hour before I could even say I finished 2? I was NEVER going to make my goal of 3. I was hoping to make at least 100 bucks for the cause-- I wasn't even going to come close. CRAP. Oh well, I was off on the run. Gonna at least finish 2 triathlons really, really strong. And, at least from a mental training philosophy, I was able to have another really strong run.
Transition #7-- Back into the wet wetsuit. Didn't get any warmer-- didn't get any easier. The swim didn't get any shorter or any longer. Out of the water. Trying to go as fast as I can-- want to finish another sprint distance triathlon before the coach won't let me race any more. . . gonna do it. . .
Transition #8-- Hey, no one said not to stop-- I'm heading out on this bike. Not sure how much time is left-- wind has picked up again. Its cold. I hate the freaking bike--- I'm going. Oh no-- there is one of my teammates on the side of the road. When I asked if she needed any help she asked if I knew how to use a CO2 gun. (I do actually). SO-- over I pulled for
Flat Tire #3
I'd never seen a CO2 dispenser like hers before so I pulled mine out and grabbed my cylinder. I put it down on her tube and pulled the trigger-- out came the CO2, but her tire didn't inflate. . . OK. . . I thought I knew how to use this thing. Let's try cylinder number 2. Same result. OK-- plan B. Maybe there is something wrong with the tube. Maybe we should start over.
Off with the wheel-- off with the tire-- out with the tube--Guess what-- the valve was broken and the tube had a big hole in it. Well, glad we figured that out-- wish we'd found that out before we'd wasted 2 CO2 containers on that faulty tube. New tube, replace the tire and now lets figure out how to use the other CO2 system. Oh SHOOT-- here comes Captain Tony. Time is UP. It is time to head home. I didn't finish my 3rd triathlon today.
Some stretching; putting my gear in the car. Admitting to Coach Mike that he only owes me 20 bucks was disappointing. Generally, I'm really frustrated by this day of training. I'm not sure why I could only do 2. Did we start late? Was the swim thing that much longer (most swims there are 400 yards)? Was my biking that much slower? I can't imagine that my run was bad but was it? How much time did I lose doing core? Was it unreasonable to assume I could do 3?
On the upside I felt as strong during the second triathlon as I did during the first. I felt as strong during the 3rd swim as I did during the first. I felt as crappy during the 3rd bike as I did during the first. So I figure I can take some good from that at least.
For those of you that pledged an amount of money per triathlon completed-- you owe me 2X what ever you pledged. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and I appreciate your donation:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Monday, March 22, 2010
A Wild-flower weekend becoming Half Iron
For those of you unfamiliar with the sport of triathlon-- (or the high level version practiced here in California); the community has a saying "the One and Only Wildflower". The Wildflower Triathlon Festival is a yearly event; and, having visited there last year for the Olympic Distance Triathlon, I had a good idea what to expect. (See www.facebook.com/#!/note.php?note_id=77390889422) I also had a healthy dose of terror. This is NOT my favorite course. It is hilly, hard, hot and horrible-- at that was just the Olympic Course. I was headed out for the LONG COURSE-- 1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles of hill biking, and 13.1 miles of hill trails in the sun. Hence, it is known as the "One and Only Wildflower."
Wildflower weekend is located at Lake San Antonio, in Bradley, California-- about 100 miles from nowhere. Thus, packing for the weekend involves a tent, a sleeping bag, and a lantern in addition to your triathlon gear and nutrition. For those of you that know me, or at least have known me in the last few years, my idea of camping has morphed into staying anywhere other than the Four Seasons; so as you can imagine, I was thrilled to be borrowing a tent and sleeping bag and heading down for a night on the hard, cold ground. But pack up I did, my bike, my wetsuit, my running shoes, appropriate other parts of the uniform, nutrition, and my camping gear for the four hour drive to the lake.
Most of my team had elected to rent RV's and were set up on the other side of the road in "uptown"; those of us who were staying in down town were scurring around setting up our tents and getting ready to for the gear check being performed by our coaches.
Melissa and I got in line at Coach Dave's Bike Shop, where the music was bad and the smell was worse. One of the inhabitants of his RV had forgotten to pull the handle of the porta-potty back up after she had used it and, shall we say, that cup had runneth all over the ground. The chemical toilet smell made the NWA music (F- the Police) coming from the boom box good. I got to the front of the line, and told coach that my bike had been self shifting. He made a few minor adjustments and then found that my rear tire had a small gash in it-- he said not to worry too much-- there was only a 30-40% chance that it would blow during my ride and end my day. With something new to worry about (other than the hills coming up on the bike course and the time cut off), I headed back to the other side of the tracks to wait for our athlete's meeting.
There was a LOT of talk about the time cut offs and whether you were going to be able to make them. With my prior experience on this course (2 hours 20 minutes to go 24 miles), I knew that the 2:15 pm bike cut off was going to cause me some problems. While our coaches promised not to end our day if we didn't make a cut off (which is what will happen in the actual ironman), they promised to SAG us forward if we didn't make the cut off. So, I was worried about not getting to see "Nasty Grade" or "the Pit". In hindsight, why I cared whether I saw these features I don't really know.
Fast forwarding to the next day, we were awakened to the sound of Scottish Bag Pipes at 4:45 am. By 5:00 those bagpipes had morphed into the Imperial March from Star Wars and we were up. It was FREEZING. My hands turned to ice blocks and I packaged up my tent and I found myself holding them over Margaret's coffee pot as I tried to warm up.
After breakfast and a quick drive down to the lake and it was time to set up transition.
Using my camp lantern to see, I laid out my bike, my bike shoes, my running gear, and manuvered my nutrition into position: 2 bottles of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to each), 4 Gu's, and 6 Cliff Shot Blocks (gummy bears with extra calories), and a Cliff bar for the bike, 1 bottle of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to it), and 3 Gu's for the run. I picked up my number: 747 and with the appropriate jokes about being a widebody, I got body marked. (to the volunteer who wrote 46 instead of 36 on my leg, thanks).
After that, there was nothing to do but start the wetsuit wiggle. Lathering up with conditioner, I started pulling on the suit-- this is akin to pulling pantyhose over your entire body-- but at least it was warm in there. Coach Mike came up and gave me one of his famous "wet suit wedgies" (a way of ensuring that you have enough suit to cover the motion of your shoulders) and I headed down to the lake.
I wasn't looking forward to diving into the lake for my 1.2 mile swim. It wasn't the swim I was dreading, it was the jump into the water which I figured would be freezing. With a sense of forboding, I jumped in. To my DELIGHT, it was warm; compared to the air outside and I was able to stop shivering and actually feel good about the start of the swim. Once in the water, however, we had to hold the start of the race-- the ambulance hadn't arrived yet.
On your mark, get set, go. . . and we were off-- five cigarette bouys down on the right-- turn around and the orange bouy and head back to the dock. The swim felt good-- I saw about 10 people ahead of me and just followed them down to the turn around point. I made a sharp turn and headed around towards home. The sun was coming up over the mountains at this point, making it hard to see. But I followed the other people until I could get a good view of the dock. That was when I started to get worried--how on earth was I going to pull myself back up onto the dock? While it was a floating dock like the one I grew up with, I didn't think I was going to be able to get up there coated in neoprene.
As I approached the dock, I found my answer-- coaches from the teams were pulling us up onto the dock by our arms. Two of the South Bay coaches grabbed my arms and pulled me onto the dock--where I landed like a combination between a fish and a seal. . . Barking for air and flopping for balance, I rose to all fours and headed out into transition.
My swim time was about 35 minutes.
As most of you know by now, the swim is, by far, my strongest event in the triathlon-- in fact, if I were designing the sport, the swim would be much longer-- what would be significantly shorter is that damn bike ride. So, as I head into transition after the swim, I'm generally pretty nervous-- when you add in the dizziness that comes from running after a swim AND the fact that I'm freezing from the water out here, it is one of my weakest mental points in the whole adventure. So there I was, stripping off my own wetsuit (I avoided the "stripper" who was there to help us), and pulling on my cycling jersey, arm warmers, bike shoes, helmet and sunglasses.
I was off-- here I recieved my second pleasant surprise of the race-- Instead of heading directly up Lynch Hill like the Olympic Course, the Long Course goes down by the lake for about a mile before you begin the long climb out of the park. This mile "warm up" made all the difference in the world-- where last year I'd ended up walking Lynch, I found myself powering up to the top of Beach Hill, passing one of my teammates on the way out.
From that point on I was on my own. Mile 5 went by, and no one had passed me. Mile 10 went by, no one had passed me. Mile 15 went by and I stopped to fix my helmet which, in the rush at transition, had gotten caught on my ponytail holder and was falling into my eyes whenever I got down into the aero position. After that short break, I was at mile 20, and still no one had passed me. Approaching mile 25, I started to get excited. I was on pace for my best bike ride ever, I was also a little scared-- I'd never felt like any bike ride was this easy. . . when was it going to get ugly?
The best (and most commonly uttered) advice about the Bike Long Course at Wildflower is "take it easy until mile 40 and then see how you feel." Why is this the best advice? Well, at mile 40, you take a left turn (your first), and start the ascent of "Nasty Grade." Yes, that is the name of the hill. It is a 5 mile long ascent that covers more than 1000 feet. It ends in "Heart Rate Hill" where the grade is approximately 7.5%. After "Nasty" you have another 10 miles or so of rolling hills before you get back to transition and start the run.
I pulled onto mile 40, and began the ascent. I still hadn't been passed by anyone and was still feeling pretty good. In fact, I had already decided that this was the best bike ride I'd ever had. I was blessing Coach Dave for the rocket boosters he must of installed on my bike at the Bad Tunes Bike Shop. As the hill got steeper, our team honorees had put signs thanking us for helping to find a cure along the side. As usual, these signs made me start to cry. Just so you know, crying while attempting to climb a 7% grade is NOT the best combination.
As my tears were drying up, the coaches took over. A few of the coaches had "volunteered" to ride up and down that Nasty Grade all day long and chat with us as we got ourselves to the top. They were amazing. One of the South Bay coaches picked me up and started chatting. I was so high on my good bike ride that I was telling him this was the best ride of my life and I didn't care if I had to walk the last 16 miles home I was going to be proud of myself when he asked me if I wanted to know where I was in the order of things. To my muddled brain, I thought he was asking me if I knew where I was. . . Yeah-- halfway up freaking Nasty Grade and 44 miles into a 56 mile bike ride. But no. He was telling me that I was the 11th person to make it to the top of Nasty Grade-- 11 th!!!!! WTF??? I swear-- rocket boosters on my bike today.
I stopped at the aide station at the top of Nasty to savor my accomplishment for a few minutes and was finally caught by one of my teammates. Rocky and Coach Doug got to the top of the hill and we all chatted for a few minutes before heading back out to finish the last part of the hill and "enjoy" the down hill. I kept up with them for the rest of the ascent, but, as we approached the downhill I told them to go on. Many cyclists approach 50 MPH down the backside of that hill and I knew there was NO WAY I was going to let that happen. In fact, I was passed by at least 3 cyclists as we went down Nasty. It didn't dampen my spirits, however, being passed around mile 55, instead of being passed at mile 3, was all right by me.
To say that people were surprised to see me down in transition in 4 hours and 8 minutes is an understatment. Although Coach Mike tried to cover his surprise, my excitement and idiotic rambling about the rocket boosters Coach Dave had put on my bike made everyone in transition laugh--probably at me.
Savoring that bike ride (by far the best of my life), I pulled on my running shoes, pulled off my cycling jersey (didn't want a farmer tan) and pulled on my hat. With a quick pit stop at the potty (it even was a flushing potty), I was off on the run.
And right then I knew I was in trouble.
I couldn't get my waist pack (carrying a water bottle and some Gu) to get comfortable-- my insides hurt (not my legs, but my insides)-- I wasn't feeling the usual LOVE of getting off the bike and onto the run (maybe because for once my bike didn't suck).
But I motored on. I set a 10 minute run, one minute walk schedule for myself hoping to get myself feeling like running after the first 10 minutes. . . Nope, 20 minutes. . . Nope. . . at three miles in I got to the first aide station. While I was still crowing about my bike (couldn't wait to tell Dana about how well I'd biked), I knew that this run was going to be LONG.
Having done a fair bit of intelligence before the race, I knew that this course was a monster-- it has a reputation for "eating uber-athletes for breakfast" and for "elite runners to have to walk." I wasn't expecting much out of the run in the first place. I figured that if I did the half marathon in 3 hours (instead of my usual 2-2:10) I'd be pretty happy. About mile 3, while still working on my 10 on 1 off plan, I knew that 3 hours would be great for how today was going to go. We were on trails and we were going uphill. . . consistantly uphill. In fact, I knew I was in real trouble when one of the South Bay team members passed me WALKING up the hill-- I was running (or so I thought). As she went by she mentioned that there was no shame in walking up these hills-- and, for better or worse, that little bit of advice was all I needed.
I started to walk-- promising myself that I would walk the uphills and run the downhills-- sounds like an excellent strategy, however, since the course is approximately 9.5 miles of uphills, it may not have been the best one. I walked, and walked and walked, passing wildflowers, the beautiful lake, and the wild pigs that make the lake their home--in one of my weaker moments I wondered if one of them could carry me home. I kept moving forward but found my running moments getting fewer and fewer as time went on.
Finally I was off the trails and onto the road. This would be great except that the arrival of the road meant the beginning of the descent into "the Pit." This area of the course starts with a mile descent. Then, you hit the bottom of the hill-- run another 20 yards and are confronted with a yellow arrow painted on the road-- the yellow arrow tells you to turn around and climb right back up the mile long hill you just descended. It is, to say the least, the pits.
I saw my fellow teammates struggling out of the Pit as I headed down into it. I was still heartened to realize that not too many (3 or 4) teammates had passed me even as slow as I was going on the run. I thought about turning around. Oh did I think about turning around. Only the aid station that we had set up down at the bottom of the Pit kept me moving forward at that point.
The concept of an aid station takes on a new meaning in the concept of Iron Man. In my marathoning "career" an aid station was a place to grab a cup of water as you ran by, maybe 2 if you were feeling frisky. It was a place to avoid the banana peels, orange rinds, donuts (for those of you familiar with Peachtree), and smashed cups that turn that area into a hazard zone. In the context of Iron Man (or Half Iron Man) the aid station is an oasis in the desert. There is food: pretzels, gummy bears, nutterbutters; there is water: gatoraide, poweraide, carbopro, electrolite tablets; THERE IS AN EXCUSE TO STOP!
As I got to the bottom of the hill, I noticed that they had set the aid station up 30 feet from the turn around arrow. I told the staff, including one of our honorees, who were working the aid station that there was NO WAY I was going to walk that extra 30 feet to get to that arrow. The response: "oh yes you are. There is NO WAY you aren't going to go that extra 30 feet at this point." No cheating. They even offerred, I assume jokingly, to carry me those 30 feet. Giving them the fish eye, I carried my tired ass the extra 30 feet and started to go back up the hill.
On the pavement someone had written (in flour for your enviro-nazi's out there) "I smell Iron" and, as often happens to me in these events, the tears started again. Never sure why I cry as I get close to the finish lines but I often do. . .
Finally I was coming down Lynch Hill (you may remember my description of Lynch from the first paragraph-- I won't bore you with it again). The mile descent was agony. There was the lake-- there were the cars-- where was the finish line? I couldn't find it. . . I weaved amongst the cars until I heard Captain Tony on the bull horn calling my name and telling me not to give up until I got there. I broke the (duct) tape and finished. My run time-- 3 hours and 30 minutes (SAD, SAD, SAD).
8 hours and 27 minutes and 70.3 miles. Wow. That is a long time and a long way. On my way home from the lake, I saw 2 signs-- the first said San Francisco 130 miles-- right about there I realized just how far the real iron man was going to be. Then, later on in the drive I saw the one that said Oakland 68 miles. . . HMMMM.
Post race started with the reciept of my "medal" a shot glass to be used at the team party that evening. Then it was a trip back down to the lake for the obligatory post-race ice bath-- there was no ice there but jumping into the 60 degree water after biking and running for 8 hours was the best I could do. Then it was time to drive home and see my baby boys.
Overall I can't tell you how excited I am about being Half-Iron. (the other half is currently lactic acid). I loved my swim. I loved my bike ride. I do realize that I sacrificed my run for the bike and need to work on that as the year progresses, but I couldn't be happier. For the first time I can see myself finishing an iron man-- and making all the time cut offs.
I'm also 1/2 way to Iron with my fundraising. I hit the 50% mark last weekend and am in need of help getting to my next milestone 6,500 by the middle of June. If you can help, I'd really appreciate it. To all of you who have already donated; your words of inspiration and confidence in me really do keep me going out there-- I can't imagine if I had to write a race update that said-- well, you all have supported me, but I decided not to run those extra 30 feet (or 3 miles) and didn't finish the race.
Thanks again to all: To donate or read shorter updates on my training click http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Paula
Wildflower weekend is located at Lake San Antonio, in Bradley, California-- about 100 miles from nowhere. Thus, packing for the weekend involves a tent, a sleeping bag, and a lantern in addition to your triathlon gear and nutrition. For those of you that know me, or at least have known me in the last few years, my idea of camping has morphed into staying anywhere other than the Four Seasons; so as you can imagine, I was thrilled to be borrowing a tent and sleeping bag and heading down for a night on the hard, cold ground. But pack up I did, my bike, my wetsuit, my running shoes, appropriate other parts of the uniform, nutrition, and my camping gear for the four hour drive to the lake.
Most of my team had elected to rent RV's and were set up on the other side of the road in "uptown"; those of us who were staying in down town were scurring around setting up our tents and getting ready to for the gear check being performed by our coaches.
Melissa and I got in line at Coach Dave's Bike Shop, where the music was bad and the smell was worse. One of the inhabitants of his RV had forgotten to pull the handle of the porta-potty back up after she had used it and, shall we say, that cup had runneth all over the ground. The chemical toilet smell made the NWA music (F- the Police) coming from the boom box good. I got to the front of the line, and told coach that my bike had been self shifting. He made a few minor adjustments and then found that my rear tire had a small gash in it-- he said not to worry too much-- there was only a 30-40% chance that it would blow during my ride and end my day. With something new to worry about (other than the hills coming up on the bike course and the time cut off), I headed back to the other side of the tracks to wait for our athlete's meeting.
There was a LOT of talk about the time cut offs and whether you were going to be able to make them. With my prior experience on this course (2 hours 20 minutes to go 24 miles), I knew that the 2:15 pm bike cut off was going to cause me some problems. While our coaches promised not to end our day if we didn't make a cut off (which is what will happen in the actual ironman), they promised to SAG us forward if we didn't make the cut off. So, I was worried about not getting to see "Nasty Grade" or "the Pit". In hindsight, why I cared whether I saw these features I don't really know.
Fast forwarding to the next day, we were awakened to the sound of Scottish Bag Pipes at 4:45 am. By 5:00 those bagpipes had morphed into the Imperial March from Star Wars and we were up. It was FREEZING. My hands turned to ice blocks and I packaged up my tent and I found myself holding them over Margaret's coffee pot as I tried to warm up.
After breakfast and a quick drive down to the lake and it was time to set up transition.
Using my camp lantern to see, I laid out my bike, my bike shoes, my running gear, and manuvered my nutrition into position: 2 bottles of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to each), 4 Gu's, and 6 Cliff Shot Blocks (gummy bears with extra calories), and a Cliff bar for the bike, 1 bottle of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to it), and 3 Gu's for the run. I picked up my number: 747 and with the appropriate jokes about being a widebody, I got body marked. (to the volunteer who wrote 46 instead of 36 on my leg, thanks).
After that, there was nothing to do but start the wetsuit wiggle. Lathering up with conditioner, I started pulling on the suit-- this is akin to pulling pantyhose over your entire body-- but at least it was warm in there. Coach Mike came up and gave me one of his famous "wet suit wedgies" (a way of ensuring that you have enough suit to cover the motion of your shoulders) and I headed down to the lake.
I wasn't looking forward to diving into the lake for my 1.2 mile swim. It wasn't the swim I was dreading, it was the jump into the water which I figured would be freezing. With a sense of forboding, I jumped in. To my DELIGHT, it was warm; compared to the air outside and I was able to stop shivering and actually feel good about the start of the swim. Once in the water, however, we had to hold the start of the race-- the ambulance hadn't arrived yet.
On your mark, get set, go. . . and we were off-- five cigarette bouys down on the right-- turn around and the orange bouy and head back to the dock. The swim felt good-- I saw about 10 people ahead of me and just followed them down to the turn around point. I made a sharp turn and headed around towards home. The sun was coming up over the mountains at this point, making it hard to see. But I followed the other people until I could get a good view of the dock. That was when I started to get worried--how on earth was I going to pull myself back up onto the dock? While it was a floating dock like the one I grew up with, I didn't think I was going to be able to get up there coated in neoprene.
As I approached the dock, I found my answer-- coaches from the teams were pulling us up onto the dock by our arms. Two of the South Bay coaches grabbed my arms and pulled me onto the dock--where I landed like a combination between a fish and a seal. . . Barking for air and flopping for balance, I rose to all fours and headed out into transition.
My swim time was about 35 minutes.
As most of you know by now, the swim is, by far, my strongest event in the triathlon-- in fact, if I were designing the sport, the swim would be much longer-- what would be significantly shorter is that damn bike ride. So, as I head into transition after the swim, I'm generally pretty nervous-- when you add in the dizziness that comes from running after a swim AND the fact that I'm freezing from the water out here, it is one of my weakest mental points in the whole adventure. So there I was, stripping off my own wetsuit (I avoided the "stripper" who was there to help us), and pulling on my cycling jersey, arm warmers, bike shoes, helmet and sunglasses.
I was off-- here I recieved my second pleasant surprise of the race-- Instead of heading directly up Lynch Hill like the Olympic Course, the Long Course goes down by the lake for about a mile before you begin the long climb out of the park. This mile "warm up" made all the difference in the world-- where last year I'd ended up walking Lynch, I found myself powering up to the top of Beach Hill, passing one of my teammates on the way out.
From that point on I was on my own. Mile 5 went by, and no one had passed me. Mile 10 went by, no one had passed me. Mile 15 went by and I stopped to fix my helmet which, in the rush at transition, had gotten caught on my ponytail holder and was falling into my eyes whenever I got down into the aero position. After that short break, I was at mile 20, and still no one had passed me. Approaching mile 25, I started to get excited. I was on pace for my best bike ride ever, I was also a little scared-- I'd never felt like any bike ride was this easy. . . when was it going to get ugly?
The best (and most commonly uttered) advice about the Bike Long Course at Wildflower is "take it easy until mile 40 and then see how you feel." Why is this the best advice? Well, at mile 40, you take a left turn (your first), and start the ascent of "Nasty Grade." Yes, that is the name of the hill. It is a 5 mile long ascent that covers more than 1000 feet. It ends in "Heart Rate Hill" where the grade is approximately 7.5%. After "Nasty" you have another 10 miles or so of rolling hills before you get back to transition and start the run.
I pulled onto mile 40, and began the ascent. I still hadn't been passed by anyone and was still feeling pretty good. In fact, I had already decided that this was the best bike ride I'd ever had. I was blessing Coach Dave for the rocket boosters he must of installed on my bike at the Bad Tunes Bike Shop. As the hill got steeper, our team honorees had put signs thanking us for helping to find a cure along the side. As usual, these signs made me start to cry. Just so you know, crying while attempting to climb a 7% grade is NOT the best combination.
As my tears were drying up, the coaches took over. A few of the coaches had "volunteered" to ride up and down that Nasty Grade all day long and chat with us as we got ourselves to the top. They were amazing. One of the South Bay coaches picked me up and started chatting. I was so high on my good bike ride that I was telling him this was the best ride of my life and I didn't care if I had to walk the last 16 miles home I was going to be proud of myself when he asked me if I wanted to know where I was in the order of things. To my muddled brain, I thought he was asking me if I knew where I was. . . Yeah-- halfway up freaking Nasty Grade and 44 miles into a 56 mile bike ride. But no. He was telling me that I was the 11th person to make it to the top of Nasty Grade-- 11 th!!!!! WTF??? I swear-- rocket boosters on my bike today.
I stopped at the aide station at the top of Nasty to savor my accomplishment for a few minutes and was finally caught by one of my teammates. Rocky and Coach Doug got to the top of the hill and we all chatted for a few minutes before heading back out to finish the last part of the hill and "enjoy" the down hill. I kept up with them for the rest of the ascent, but, as we approached the downhill I told them to go on. Many cyclists approach 50 MPH down the backside of that hill and I knew there was NO WAY I was going to let that happen. In fact, I was passed by at least 3 cyclists as we went down Nasty. It didn't dampen my spirits, however, being passed around mile 55, instead of being passed at mile 3, was all right by me.
To say that people were surprised to see me down in transition in 4 hours and 8 minutes is an understatment. Although Coach Mike tried to cover his surprise, my excitement and idiotic rambling about the rocket boosters Coach Dave had put on my bike made everyone in transition laugh--probably at me.
Savoring that bike ride (by far the best of my life), I pulled on my running shoes, pulled off my cycling jersey (didn't want a farmer tan) and pulled on my hat. With a quick pit stop at the potty (it even was a flushing potty), I was off on the run.
And right then I knew I was in trouble.
I couldn't get my waist pack (carrying a water bottle and some Gu) to get comfortable-- my insides hurt (not my legs, but my insides)-- I wasn't feeling the usual LOVE of getting off the bike and onto the run (maybe because for once my bike didn't suck).
But I motored on. I set a 10 minute run, one minute walk schedule for myself hoping to get myself feeling like running after the first 10 minutes. . . Nope, 20 minutes. . . Nope. . . at three miles in I got to the first aide station. While I was still crowing about my bike (couldn't wait to tell Dana about how well I'd biked), I knew that this run was going to be LONG.
Having done a fair bit of intelligence before the race, I knew that this course was a monster-- it has a reputation for "eating uber-athletes for breakfast" and for "elite runners to have to walk." I wasn't expecting much out of the run in the first place. I figured that if I did the half marathon in 3 hours (instead of my usual 2-2:10) I'd be pretty happy. About mile 3, while still working on my 10 on 1 off plan, I knew that 3 hours would be great for how today was going to go. We were on trails and we were going uphill. . . consistantly uphill. In fact, I knew I was in real trouble when one of the South Bay team members passed me WALKING up the hill-- I was running (or so I thought). As she went by she mentioned that there was no shame in walking up these hills-- and, for better or worse, that little bit of advice was all I needed.
I started to walk-- promising myself that I would walk the uphills and run the downhills-- sounds like an excellent strategy, however, since the course is approximately 9.5 miles of uphills, it may not have been the best one. I walked, and walked and walked, passing wildflowers, the beautiful lake, and the wild pigs that make the lake their home--in one of my weaker moments I wondered if one of them could carry me home. I kept moving forward but found my running moments getting fewer and fewer as time went on.
Finally I was off the trails and onto the road. This would be great except that the arrival of the road meant the beginning of the descent into "the Pit." This area of the course starts with a mile descent. Then, you hit the bottom of the hill-- run another 20 yards and are confronted with a yellow arrow painted on the road-- the yellow arrow tells you to turn around and climb right back up the mile long hill you just descended. It is, to say the least, the pits.
I saw my fellow teammates struggling out of the Pit as I headed down into it. I was still heartened to realize that not too many (3 or 4) teammates had passed me even as slow as I was going on the run. I thought about turning around. Oh did I think about turning around. Only the aid station that we had set up down at the bottom of the Pit kept me moving forward at that point.
The concept of an aid station takes on a new meaning in the concept of Iron Man. In my marathoning "career" an aid station was a place to grab a cup of water as you ran by, maybe 2 if you were feeling frisky. It was a place to avoid the banana peels, orange rinds, donuts (for those of you familiar with Peachtree), and smashed cups that turn that area into a hazard zone. In the context of Iron Man (or Half Iron Man) the aid station is an oasis in the desert. There is food: pretzels, gummy bears, nutterbutters; there is water: gatoraide, poweraide, carbopro, electrolite tablets; THERE IS AN EXCUSE TO STOP!
As I got to the bottom of the hill, I noticed that they had set the aid station up 30 feet from the turn around arrow. I told the staff, including one of our honorees, who were working the aid station that there was NO WAY I was going to walk that extra 30 feet to get to that arrow. The response: "oh yes you are. There is NO WAY you aren't going to go that extra 30 feet at this point." No cheating. They even offerred, I assume jokingly, to carry me those 30 feet. Giving them the fish eye, I carried my tired ass the extra 30 feet and started to go back up the hill.
On the pavement someone had written (in flour for your enviro-nazi's out there) "I smell Iron" and, as often happens to me in these events, the tears started again. Never sure why I cry as I get close to the finish lines but I often do. . .
Finally I was coming down Lynch Hill (you may remember my description of Lynch from the first paragraph-- I won't bore you with it again). The mile descent was agony. There was the lake-- there were the cars-- where was the finish line? I couldn't find it. . . I weaved amongst the cars until I heard Captain Tony on the bull horn calling my name and telling me not to give up until I got there. I broke the (duct) tape and finished. My run time-- 3 hours and 30 minutes (SAD, SAD, SAD).
8 hours and 27 minutes and 70.3 miles. Wow. That is a long time and a long way. On my way home from the lake, I saw 2 signs-- the first said San Francisco 130 miles-- right about there I realized just how far the real iron man was going to be. Then, later on in the drive I saw the one that said Oakland 68 miles. . . HMMMM.
Post race started with the reciept of my "medal" a shot glass to be used at the team party that evening. Then it was a trip back down to the lake for the obligatory post-race ice bath-- there was no ice there but jumping into the 60 degree water after biking and running for 8 hours was the best I could do. Then it was time to drive home and see my baby boys.
Overall I can't tell you how excited I am about being Half-Iron. (the other half is currently lactic acid). I loved my swim. I loved my bike ride. I do realize that I sacrificed my run for the bike and need to work on that as the year progresses, but I couldn't be happier. For the first time I can see myself finishing an iron man-- and making all the time cut offs.
I'm also 1/2 way to Iron with my fundraising. I hit the 50% mark last weekend and am in need of help getting to my next milestone 6,500 by the middle of June. If you can help, I'd really appreciate it. To all of you who have already donated; your words of inspiration and confidence in me really do keep me going out there-- I can't imagine if I had to write a race update that said-- well, you all have supported me, but I decided not to run those extra 30 feet (or 3 miles) and didn't finish the race.
Thanks again to all: To donate or read shorter updates on my training click http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Paula
Monday, March 15, 2010
100 KM Bike Ride-- Yes, that is 60 miles
and this morning I am feeling almost everyone of them. What a great experience. Sort of. I woke up at o'Dark 30 on Sunday morning to meet my friend Sandy on the route. We were starting an Hour earlier than everyone else so that we could get done (and home, and back to the kids, and so that we were not the last ones to finish since I'm so freaking slow).
I was terrified. Not only was this the longest bike ride I'd ever done by about 30 miles, it was also advertised on the Marin Metric Century website (that was the course) as "not for beginners" GREAT-- no stress here. Then I started talking to people who had done the course. HA Lots of great big hills. Lotsa distance and few potties. . . sounds like a great combination.
After finding the start line, Sandy shared that she had been so nervous that she'd been throwing up all morning. . . at least we were feeling the same way about this upcoming ride. We started with a short potty stop at Safeway-- where, not surprisingly, the potties were broken and we had to explore the entire grocery store's backroom in order to find the employee backroom. You'd be shocked how your milk is stored before you get it.
Off we went. Headed out Lucas Valley Road (named after a little place you may have heard of called Skywalker Ranch. . . ) and up "Big Rock Hill" aptly named for the large white rock at the crown. It was the first climb of the day, and probably one of the toughest. I always seem to find the climbs harder when I'm cold. . . And BOY was I cold. The weather was supposed to heat up into the 60's, but it started out in the 30's. My fingers were frozen in my cycling gloves as we started up that hill. Although at the top, when Sandy stopped to give a facebook shout out to the team letting them know that we had conquered that first hill, I was feeling plenty warm.
The warmth was not to last however as we began the 11 mile decent into the town (my British Friends would call this a hamlet) of Nicasio. Down the hill we went, into the redwood forest and out past the reservoir. We stopped for a break after passing the reservoir and found that my Power Bar and Sandy's Camelback pack had frozen. Yummy.
After a short stop at the porta potty (the last porta potty to be seen for 40 miles) we were off. Here was was where Sandy had warned me about the first "big" hill just after the Cheese Factory. Yes, seriously, that was the description. I started climbing, waiting for the hill to get bigger and to get tired, but to both of our surprise, we were suddenly at the top of the hill-- no stress, no heavy breathing. We were beyond happy with ourselves as we took the turn onto Hick's Valley Road and headed out towards Wilson Hill. According to the MMC website, Wilson Hill is the killer-- it comes at about 25 miles into the ride and is very steep. So, with a great deal of trepidation, I began to climb.
And Climb. And Climb. I'd fallen behind Sandy on the flat, but I found myself catching up to her as we ascended Wilson. I looked up and noticed that she had dismounted and was walking her bike up the last 1/2 of the hill. Despite the temptation to join her, I kept going. God was it hard to keep going. It wasn't a physical pain, it was a mental pain. She was walking up that hill. She wasn't breathing like a freight train as she struggled to get up that monster. WHY was I too stupid to get off my bike and walk?
Pretty soon, I found myself at the top-- with a view of what seemed to be half of Marin County as my reward. I waited a few minutes for Sandy to catch up (and laugh at me because she'd been listening to me hooting and celebrating my "victory" for the last 1/4 of the hill). As we were regrouping, three guys came up the hill--our "victory" celebration was somewhat muted by their appearance-- they weren't even breathing hard.
Down we went, and off went Sandy-- by the end of the ride, we had come to the conclusion that together we made one complete biker-- she is faster than I am on the flats and the downhills, and I'm, in her words, a hill goddess. We wound through Petaluma--with a few rolling hills and one nice little detour--read, getting lost-- where we missed the porta-potties that were supposedly on the course. Finally, we were over 30 miles and on our way back home.
Heading home, we knew we had to face Flat Rock Hill again, and we knew we needed to go over the "killer" hill that we had handled with ease on our way out. . . what we didn't know, and soon realized, was that the "killer hill" was NOT the hill that Sandy had been anticipating. In Fact, we had to go over the REAL KILLER HILL before we got to that point.
Maybe it was because I wasn't expecting it; maybe it was because it was at mile 40+; maybe it really was that hard but that hill SUCKED. It went on forever. I caught up and passed Sandy about 1/2 way up that hill again. She started to walk, and again I had a mental battle with myself-- to walk or not to walk. I didn't and made it to the top where I stopped to wait again for my partner. She came up and was feeling pretty down because she had had to walk the two big hills. We had a bit of a tete-a-tete at this point.
Neither of us had every ridden over 30 miles before. . . Both of us have had trouble on our bikes since day one. Here we were-- almost 40 miles into this ride-- which is know to consist of "Mostly Rolling Hills and Steep Climbs" with 20 miles to go. We were going to make it. We were going to do it. There was nothing to feel bad about-- were we running or swimming, we wouldn't have even tried to increase our mileage this way-- we were going to do it.
Pep talk over-- we were off again-- some stops at the SAG stop and the porta-potty in Nicasio again (looked better than a 100,000 shopping spree at Tiffany's at this point), and we were on Flat Rock Hill again. We were up-- and we were down and it was only a quick 5 miles back to our cars.
Coming across the last stoplight, I'd pulled slightly ahead of Sandy again. . . We both waited together at the light and we were off-- crossing the last street, 400 yards from home, when BANG-- a noise like a gunshot went off causing me to actually scream and start shouting out Sandy's name. I jumped off my bike and turned around to see Sandy-- standing by her bike-- she called out that she was fine but that she'd blown a tire-- gotten a flat with 400 yards to go before we got home. I started to laugh like I've not laughed in a LONG time. It was unbelievable-- slightly over 60 miles and her tire blows NOW. Thank God. I can't imagine if we had had to change a tire while we were out there as well-- I know we could have done it-- but I think it would have been a morale killer.
We made it back to basecamp where our teammates were waiting. We must have looked a site-- me walking my bike next to Sandy carrying her bike-- both of us laughing our fool heads off.
We were done-- we had done it! 5 hours of riding time-- 60 miles and a lot of laughs. I'm so glad I did it-- and I'm so glad that I was able to ride with Sandy-- she made everything better and really gave me the motivation and confidence to finish that ride.
I was terrified. Not only was this the longest bike ride I'd ever done by about 30 miles, it was also advertised on the Marin Metric Century website (that was the course) as "not for beginners" GREAT-- no stress here. Then I started talking to people who had done the course. HA Lots of great big hills. Lotsa distance and few potties. . . sounds like a great combination.
After finding the start line, Sandy shared that she had been so nervous that she'd been throwing up all morning. . . at least we were feeling the same way about this upcoming ride. We started with a short potty stop at Safeway-- where, not surprisingly, the potties were broken and we had to explore the entire grocery store's backroom in order to find the employee backroom. You'd be shocked how your milk is stored before you get it.
Off we went. Headed out Lucas Valley Road (named after a little place you may have heard of called Skywalker Ranch. . . ) and up "Big Rock Hill" aptly named for the large white rock at the crown. It was the first climb of the day, and probably one of the toughest. I always seem to find the climbs harder when I'm cold. . . And BOY was I cold. The weather was supposed to heat up into the 60's, but it started out in the 30's. My fingers were frozen in my cycling gloves as we started up that hill. Although at the top, when Sandy stopped to give a facebook shout out to the team letting them know that we had conquered that first hill, I was feeling plenty warm.
The warmth was not to last however as we began the 11 mile decent into the town (my British Friends would call this a hamlet) of Nicasio. Down the hill we went, into the redwood forest and out past the reservoir. We stopped for a break after passing the reservoir and found that my Power Bar and Sandy's Camelback pack had frozen. Yummy.
After a short stop at the porta potty (the last porta potty to be seen for 40 miles) we were off. Here was was where Sandy had warned me about the first "big" hill just after the Cheese Factory. Yes, seriously, that was the description. I started climbing, waiting for the hill to get bigger and to get tired, but to both of our surprise, we were suddenly at the top of the hill-- no stress, no heavy breathing. We were beyond happy with ourselves as we took the turn onto Hick's Valley Road and headed out towards Wilson Hill. According to the MMC website, Wilson Hill is the killer-- it comes at about 25 miles into the ride and is very steep. So, with a great deal of trepidation, I began to climb.
And Climb. And Climb. I'd fallen behind Sandy on the flat, but I found myself catching up to her as we ascended Wilson. I looked up and noticed that she had dismounted and was walking her bike up the last 1/2 of the hill. Despite the temptation to join her, I kept going. God was it hard to keep going. It wasn't a physical pain, it was a mental pain. She was walking up that hill. She wasn't breathing like a freight train as she struggled to get up that monster. WHY was I too stupid to get off my bike and walk?
Pretty soon, I found myself at the top-- with a view of what seemed to be half of Marin County as my reward. I waited a few minutes for Sandy to catch up (and laugh at me because she'd been listening to me hooting and celebrating my "victory" for the last 1/4 of the hill). As we were regrouping, three guys came up the hill--our "victory" celebration was somewhat muted by their appearance-- they weren't even breathing hard.
Down we went, and off went Sandy-- by the end of the ride, we had come to the conclusion that together we made one complete biker-- she is faster than I am on the flats and the downhills, and I'm, in her words, a hill goddess. We wound through Petaluma--with a few rolling hills and one nice little detour--read, getting lost-- where we missed the porta-potties that were supposedly on the course. Finally, we were over 30 miles and on our way back home.
Heading home, we knew we had to face Flat Rock Hill again, and we knew we needed to go over the "killer" hill that we had handled with ease on our way out. . . what we didn't know, and soon realized, was that the "killer hill" was NOT the hill that Sandy had been anticipating. In Fact, we had to go over the REAL KILLER HILL before we got to that point.
Maybe it was because I wasn't expecting it; maybe it was because it was at mile 40+; maybe it really was that hard but that hill SUCKED. It went on forever. I caught up and passed Sandy about 1/2 way up that hill again. She started to walk, and again I had a mental battle with myself-- to walk or not to walk. I didn't and made it to the top where I stopped to wait again for my partner. She came up and was feeling pretty down because she had had to walk the two big hills. We had a bit of a tete-a-tete at this point.
Neither of us had every ridden over 30 miles before. . . Both of us have had trouble on our bikes since day one. Here we were-- almost 40 miles into this ride-- which is know to consist of "Mostly Rolling Hills and Steep Climbs" with 20 miles to go. We were going to make it. We were going to do it. There was nothing to feel bad about-- were we running or swimming, we wouldn't have even tried to increase our mileage this way-- we were going to do it.
Pep talk over-- we were off again-- some stops at the SAG stop and the porta-potty in Nicasio again (looked better than a 100,000 shopping spree at Tiffany's at this point), and we were on Flat Rock Hill again. We were up-- and we were down and it was only a quick 5 miles back to our cars.
Coming across the last stoplight, I'd pulled slightly ahead of Sandy again. . . We both waited together at the light and we were off-- crossing the last street, 400 yards from home, when BANG-- a noise like a gunshot went off causing me to actually scream and start shouting out Sandy's name. I jumped off my bike and turned around to see Sandy-- standing by her bike-- she called out that she was fine but that she'd blown a tire-- gotten a flat with 400 yards to go before we got home. I started to laugh like I've not laughed in a LONG time. It was unbelievable-- slightly over 60 miles and her tire blows NOW. Thank God. I can't imagine if we had had to change a tire while we were out there as well-- I know we could have done it-- but I think it would have been a morale killer.
We made it back to basecamp where our teammates were waiting. We must have looked a site-- me walking my bike next to Sandy carrying her bike-- both of us laughing our fool heads off.
We were done-- we had done it! 5 hours of riding time-- 60 miles and a lot of laughs. I'm so glad I did it-- and I'm so glad that I was able to ride with Sandy-- she made everything better and really gave me the motivation and confidence to finish that ride.
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