10. They moved the bottle cage on this bike from my last one-- I can't reach it. Why would they do this and how was I supposed to know when I bought the new one? Along those lines, they removed the cage holder from the seat tube. . . only 1 cage??? Not cool. Gotta figure out one of those butt pack ones now.
9. Almost all the confidence I gained on my old bike did not transfer to my new bike-- took 18 miles (or so) to feel even close to comfortable on the new bike. Still not sure I like the new shifters either
8. My new bike needs a name. Problem is I liked the name of my old bike (see #6, below).
7. Double spin class (2hr) in the gym is nothing like 2 hours on the real bike. Nothing.
6. Who ever stole my old bike is really an asshole. And I'm not a big fan of whoever bought it and is riding it now either.
5. I still climb better than I descend. Why do I keep signing up for Ironman races with no climbing? IM St. George (Utah) still has spaces-- what am I waiting for?
4. I missed both of my better cycling halfs. . . Sandy and or Norma, we need to ride soon.
3, You can't tell from the first ride whether your aerobars are in the correct position (or at least I can't). . . Felt short for the first 18 or so, then started to be OK. . . think I need another good road ride to figure it out.
2. God bless my Adamo saddle.
1. Just because you rode 112 miles 4 months ago does not mean you can jump on a bike and ride 25 easily.
Who is on your dance card? Knowing that I'm doing Iron Man Arizona on November 21, 2011 leaves me with a long long time to figure out what, exactly, I want to do between now and then. My first temptation, sitting on my butt and hoping that I can just show up and have a good race probably isn't all that realistic, so I've been designing a training plan/race plan for the year.
So here is my dance card (definite races in bold-- tentative races in italics) Solvang Century Ride, March 9, 2011 (100 mile bike ride) Oakland Marathon, March 27, 2011 (26.2 miles) Wildflower Long Course Triathlon, April 30, 2011 (1.2 mile swim; 56 mile bike; 13.1 mile run) 100th Anniversary Bay to Breakers May 15, 2011(7.4 miles across San Francisco) Escape From Alcatraz June 5, 2011 (1.5 mile swim; 18 mile bike; 8.4 mile run) Dipsea Footrace June 12, 2011 (8.4 mile trail run) Peachtree Road Race July 4, 2011 (6.2 mile run) Vineman Aquabike July 30, 2011 (2.4 mile swim; 112 mile bike) Falmouth Road Race August 13, 2011 (7.1 mile run) San Francisco Triathlon @ Alcatraz August 21, 2011 (1.5 mile swim; 24 mile bike; 7 mile run) Nike Women's Marathon (or 1/2) October, 2011 (26.2 mile run)
Guess I gotta start training So I've got the races picked out-- and it looks like a pretty full year to keep me motivated. Now, gotta actually start training for those races. I've started back pretty slowly-- I'd not been doing nothing for the last two months, but I've definitely not been doing 100 mile bike rides either. So, this week-- with plenty of time to get my act together-- I started my run focused training with some brick workouts (a bike ride followed by a run) and some longer runs.
Monday's spin class at 6:45 am was great-- then, after getting the kids ready for and to school it was off to Blackie's Pasture for my run. I did a six mile "lollipop" loop and felt great-- I even made it back in time to make it to Reader's Workshop in Will's class.
On Wednesday it was another 6:45 spin class followed by an 8 mile run (after getting the kids off to school). The out and back to was a good run. The way out was nice and toasty-- my gloves came off; my shirt sleeves got rolled up I stopped to take a picture of the seal floating in the bay. Then came the turn around. Yikes-- Holy Head Wind Batman. It took me an extra 5 minutes to make it home the wind was so strong. All in all, however, it was a pretty strong run for my first longer run since November.
It was even colder on Friday. The temperature dropped to 39, and while not particularly cold for most parts of the world, it is pretty chilly for here. This is partially my own fault since I've managed to not acquire a lot of really cold weather gear. That being said, gloves, ear warmers, full tights and long sleeves on-- I headed out.
I'd decided to run a Dipsea Loop. Not the Dipsea Trail, but a loop through Mill Valley that includes the famous dipsea steps (you can check out other editions of my blog or www.runnersworld.com for a discussion of the famous Dipsea Footrace.
Anyway, this is a really up hill course and includes all 671 steps. Yes, 671 steps. They are steep. They are uneven. They are really hard to run. So, I ran the first set. . .
Walked the second set. . .
And ran the third. To say that I was sucking wind is an understatement. By the time you get to the top of that third set it is a "freight train" breath moment. . .
Followed by a three mile run down hill back into town and to my house. All in all-- a good training day.
Wow-- so last year, when I knew I was going to do an Iron man, I had the benefit of knowing that I was going to do it with Team in Training's IronTeam-- a group of folks dedicated to curing cancer AND training for distance events. I'd have coaches (three of them no less) to design workouts; team captains to provide routes, mentors and other captains to provide support on the courses. . . Basically, all was taken care of and I had nothing to worry about.
This year? I have nothing.
O.K. well, not completely nothing, I've got books with triathlon workouts in them; I've got 1/2- 3/4 of my season's materials from last year; I've got maps of good routes here in Marin county; I've got the Internet-- try a quick search for Iron man triathlon training. . . I'll wait right here. . .
See what happens? By my computer, there are almost 2.8 million articles, stories, plans, groups to train you, and coaches on the web. . . Yeah-- that helps. Not to mention that most of these coaches, plans etc cost money-- the one thing that (after having to pay the Foundation Fee to get my race entry) I'd rather not do.
Yep, you guessed it. I'm already feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of doing this all by myself.
That being said, I know that there are some things that I want to do this time.
If you've read my previous entries, you know that I was not happy with my run-- to the extent that you can call it a run. Throughout last year's season, I didn't feel like I was running enough-- never felt like I was going to be prepared for the run part of the course-- and I was right. Now, I think that the reasons for that are twofold-- first, we didn't run enough and second, no one (no matter how much they try) can fully mentally prepare you for the way you feel starting out on that marathon at 4 in the afternoon. So, one thing I want to do is improve my run (and my run time).
Most of you also know by now of my off again love affair with my bike. I've never been a biker. I'm generally terrified of my bike. BUT, at some point during last year's season, I developed a confidence on the bike. I was slow, but I was capable. I climbed some killer hills. I pedaled some killer distances. I was able to do this. By the time race day came around, I knew that I could complete the 112 miles on the bike. . . and I thought I could do it in the time limits. I was hoping to do the distance between 7hours 45 minutes and 8 hours. Due to the heat (103 degrees on the bike) and some problems with water (the race not having any at a few water stops) I pushed the higher end of that envelope and finished in 8 hours and 4 minutes. This year, I'd like to do better.
Finally, or more appropriately, first off, the swim. I'm generally pretty strong here and put forth a confident swim time. That being said, I do think I could do it a little faster next time-- I know that while I was in the water I kept thinking about one of my coaches, our swim coach, who left too much of her energy in the swim during her first triathlon and had a rough afternoon because of it. So, I don't want to change too much here-- maybe shave off a minute or 2.
I know my goals: Swim- 2 minutes off my time Bike-30 minutes off my time (8 to 7h 30 min) Run-30 minutes off my time (6 to 5h 30 min)
and now you do too. . . now we just have to figure out how to get there.
As an afterthought, the other think I'd like to do better is transitions. I spent about 5 minutes in the first transition (changed from bikini bottom to bike shorts, socks, and got shoes, bike helmet and sunglasses and bike)-- which was respectable. I spent 14 minutes or so in T2. Changed shorts, top, hat, socks, and got out the door. . . not sure what happened here. . . OK-- it had something to do with a 103 degree bike ride and a large (3 ft) fan in the changing tent . . . but I know I can do better here as well.
Well, I did it-- I can't believe that I talked myself into it! OK, it actually wasn't that hard. I've signed up to do another one! This time in Arizona. Iron Man Arizona to be exact. The questions abound:
WHY? Seriously? One wasn't enough? Are you Crazy?
Perhaps. I think what surprises me the most is how short of a time went by before I was thinking about doing it again. . . Only 4 days. . . 4 days is all it took to forget the stress of training, the annoyance of having to fit in workouts around family obligations, to forget how much I hate swimming laps in the pool; to forget all of the people passing out on their bikes during the race; to forget how much it sucked to leave that fan in T2; to forget how long that marathon actually is.
So 4 days. . . and about 2 more months for me to not let myself talk me out of it. The clincher came watching a number of my friends cross the finish line at IM Arizona 2010. The kids and I watched for hours as people poured across the line. Finally, OkK 12 hours into it) Flick hobbled across the line-- she'd been running 7th in her age group through the second run split-- but then clearly something had happened. As she limped across the finish line, tears rolled down my face and my kids cheered. About 54 minutes later, Sedonia made it across the line. . . followed about 4 hours later by Jen and Mike. Total amount of time spent watching my friends get across the line? About 5 hours. . . It was then that I knew I was hooked and so the next morning I begged John for some money and signed up again. (now, John said that the jury is still out on whether I will actually be allowed to train for it-- but we will show him-- I've already even booked a hotel room. )
The first step-- replace my bike-- as some of you know, my old bike was stolen sometime at the end of September. My new bike is finally here . . . and is looking good after being built out and fit-- unfortunately, the weather is not going to help me out this weekend and I doubt she will get on the road. . . she also needs a name. . .
Thanks for reading-- I'll be getting back to writing, and training soon. Just wanted to keep you posted.
T1: I started by running out of the water and grabbing my Bike bag from the volunteer. This took slightly longer than I expected. Then I found myself in the changing tent-- with a bag-- and no volunteer. For some strange reason, I couldn't get my fingers to open the strings on the bag. I pulled. I grabbed. I started to panic. Then it hit me (no, not the humidity-- that comes later), but the Big Idea-- I could simply rip into the plastic bag and pull my bike gear out! Pull and rip I did and out tumbled my bike shorts, socks, shoes, helmet and, the most important ingredient, Chamois butter. I pulled off my bikini bottom, remembering to put it in a separate plastic bag, and pulled on my bike shorts. I pulled on my shoes, snapped on my helmet, and applied vast quantities of chamois butter to the insides of my shorts.
At that point, I was ready to enter the sea of bikes in transition to find mine. As usual, about 80% of the bikes were in transition. Fortunately, they were racked by number and 446 was right where I'd left her-- ready for a ride. I walked to the mount line-got on my bike and headed out.
I was off. I reached down to start my Garmin--which I probably should have done earlier-- and was met with my first surprise--I'd forgotten to switch it out of run mode after the Falmouth Road Race. Duh-- So, with one hand, I started fiddling with it--trying to get it to 1) go into bike mode and 2) display my pace--i.e. I knew I had to average at least 15 mph, and I wanted Garmin to let me know how I was doing. Well, I did get it into bike mode but I never did get it to display my mph.
As I was fiddling with Garmin, I came across the remains of the first accident of the day. Somehow, someone's bike was lying in the ground in 3 pieces. Not sure how it happened, but the front wheel was in one place, the handlebars were in another and the remainder of the bike was in another. The cops were on the scene and the victim was no longer there so, taking my fingers off my Garmin, I kept rolling. No speed and more importantly, no every 15 minute reminder to take in nutrition.
Rolling. . . now that I mention it-- that is what the hills in Kentucky were supposed to be. Although, after training in San Francisco, I wasn't particularly impressed by the hills, many of my compatriots on the bike course were not agreeing with the description of the hills as "rollers." Maybe it was the heat? Many thought they were mountains.
I probably would have preferred mountains. It has always been hard for me to ride rollers-- I don't really like to go fast on the down slopes so I find myself with some creative shifting in order to make it back up the hill--- if I'd just let myself go faster on the downhill it probably wouldn' t be as much of an issue. . . That being said, I felt pretty good out there on the bike.
I'd set my watch for 1:00-- figuring that it would give me ample warning that I had an hour and 20 minutes to make it to the start of the second loop of the bike course. . . turns out-- I didn't need it. By the time the alarm went off, I was well past the beginning of the second loop of the bike course-- and well on my way to making the final bike cut off time. That being said, compared to many of my fellow competitors, I was standing still. The official statistics show that I was passed by 880 bikers during the time I was out there-- and it felt like more than that. Every time someone would pass me, however, I would think to myself (or say if it was a fellow TNT'r), "Why are you in such a hurry? We only get one day to actually be out here doing this. How lucky are we?" I was soon to find out what the hurry was all about.
That being said, all was not particularly well in Paula-city. I was getting hot. I was having a hard time choking down my "magic" potion of Cytomax and Carbo Pro. Warm, grape, sticky, sweet Carbo Pro and Cytomax is not something I'd wish on my worst enemy (you know who you are). I was waiting for the Special Needs station.
And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. For some reason, I thought that the special needs station was going to be right around the beginning of the second loop of the bike course. NOPE. In fact, it wasn't at the 1/2 way point of the bike. It was more like Mile 70. I finally got myself there (to replace my yucky bottles) and met my Special Needs Volunteer -- Wayne.
Wayne kindly held my bike (and chatted with me) while I switched out my water bottles (more yucky warm grape potion) and electrolytes. He watched me scarf down my Pringles-- high level Iron Man salt delivery system. He watched while I used my baby wipes to wipe the salt off my face and splashed water down the backs of my legs to rinse off the salt-- a little trick I learned after chafing at the triple brick behind my knees. He even managed NOT to tell me I looked like garbage OR that we were all crazy for being out here. Wayne, like many of the Special Needs volunteers were members of a Church that had cancelled Sunday services to come on out and support us aspiring Iron Men. I thanked him kindly, and, not having another reason to procrastinate, it was time to go on my way.
That was when I started noticing things. Like the heat (96 degrees) and the humidity (86%) and the heat index (103+). Not to mention the people sitting on the side of the road. The people lying on the side of the road. The people splayed out on the side of the road with their helmets thrown to the side. The folks who were lying in the hot sun-- to tired to drag their bodies to the nearest shade. The ambulances. Multiple ambulances. The sirens. The guy passing on ON HIS BIKE and, as he fell to the ground, knocking another participant (and his bike) to the ground.
It looked like the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan. Bodies, Bikes, Helmets and other assorted equipment everywhere. No one looked good. No one was smiling anymore. Maybe this was why they had all been hurrying? They wanted to get done before the heat index really climbed up there. Funny thing though, even though I didn't really pass anyone on the bike-- I must have passed a good 200 people sitting on the side of the road.
Those rollers had turned into mountains for some and I passed people walking their bikes up the hill. When I recount this story-- people are shocked. Walking your bike? In an Ironman? I think I was too tired to really think about it. But yes. It was true. I, on the other hand, felt pretty good. I was excited that I was going to finish the bike portion of the race well ahead of the 630 pm cut off time. I was tired; but was still feeling pretty strong. I was even hoping (up until the last 5 miles or so) to break 8 hours-- which would have been a great ride for me given the heat and humidity (my best 100 mile ride was 7 hours 41 minutes in much cooler weather).
I didn't break 8 hours-- I pulled into transition in 8 hours and 4 minutes. Little did I know it, but it was time for the real Iron Man to begin.
Waking (or not sleeping) bright and early, I headed down to check my bike in transition and get in line at the swim start. I was pretty nervous about getting there, pumping up my bike tires (since I hadn't brought a stand pump) and getting a good place in line-- since I knew that I'd need almost every minute of the day later on.
You see, unlike other triathlons, Ironman Louisville uses a time trial start where each person enters the water individually. That being said, however, the midnight countdown starts at 7:00 am regardless of what time you actually get in the water. SO, if you don't get in until 7:45 (the last athlete in), you still have 2 hours and 2o minutes to swim, but your bike and run cut offs will stay the same. Most importantly, you then only have 16 hours and 15 minutes to finish the entire event.
Thus, I wasn't so much nervous for the start of the race as I was getting a good spot in line so I could finish the race.
I walked down to transition as fast as I could (actually sharing sidewalk space with revelers from the bars the night before) and found someone to loan me their stand pump so I could pump up my tires-- no small feat when you think that we were all jockeying for starting positions in the scrum. (those that hadn't let the air out the day before were greeted by some unpleasant surprises when they found the heat had popped their tires). Four minutes later-- I was off-- half walking, half running to the line.
WOW was that a long line. Fortunately, I found Sandy, who had skipped transition (Maria was pumping her tires) and had been standing in line early. I jumped in with her-pretty happy with our position in the line. We hunkered down to wait for 2 hours.
About 20 minutes later, Coach Simon came by. Apparently, some of the LA team's spouses had come down to the line directly after the bars closed the night before. They had been in the line since about 230 am and and secured a spot about 30 people behind the pros (who, coincidentally, don't have to wait in line). Now we were cooking with gas. The 2 hours seemed to fly by and before I knew it we were standing down on the boat dock. Suddenly, like lemmings, we were following each other off the boat docks in 2 lines.
I hesitated briefly (you can actually see me if you look really closely at the end of the video-- I'm in a green top and a black and white striped bikini bottom -- the video wouldn't load, so I've added it as Chapter 3A) and then was in the water. The warmth again surprised me and I loved it. I started swimming out and around the island. I wasn't really getting jostled or kicked-- just enjoying my swim. I avoided the branches and the other low hanging things in the water and headed out past the island. Now, from looking at the course maps, one would think that the turn around was at the end of the island-- so as I sighted out, I was excited to see the end of the island not looking so far away. HOWEVER-- the actual turn around was about 2 buoys later. This little bit of the course seemed to take forever to navigate.
Coming back, I notice that the buoys all of a sudden went from yellow to orange? Was that the 1/2 way point already? I guess it was. I was feeling good and enjoying my swim. At one point I found a swimming buddy-- or someone that I kept bumping into repeatedly. . . over and over and over again. Nothing personal-- but we couldn't seem to stop bumping into each other. I'm not sure who got out of the water first, but I'm sure she was as happy to get away from me as I was to get away from her.
Around this time, I was swimming along and then found that I WASN'T MOVING! I swam 10 strokes and looked up for the buoys. I'm not sure what was going on but I didn't think I'd moved. So I swam 10 more strokes. . . same effect. What the heck was going on? The end of the swim was supposed to be DOWN RIVER (aka with the current), why was I not going anywhere? I was underneath the bridge to Indiana. This huge bridge (which we would run on later) apparently created its own current. It took about 30 really strong, hard, exhausting strokes to get myself out of its pull and get myself back on course.
The end of the swim came pretty quickly-- although my time was a little bit slower than I'd expected. I'd been "hoping" for an hour and 10 minutes or so-- but it came out to be an hour and 17 minutes (I'm blaming the chip mats, not my slow swimming)! I pulled myself out of the water-- Ironman has steps-- much easier than doing the fish flop on the dock-- and started out into T1.
