The race is getting closer. I can almost hear a giant clock inside my skull ticking away the minutes. I fluctuate between, "I got this," to "Oh my gods, this is going to kill me." I know in my heart that I can do each leg of the race without injuring myself. I even know I can do all three in one very long day. But I also know that I am going to have to reach deep and give it abso-fucking-lutely everything I've got. Everything. There will be nothing left when I cross the finish line. I am still worried over my ability to finish the bike leg before the 7pm cutoff time, but there really isn't anything that I can do about my average speed. I will do my damnedest, and I will not allow myself to waste any time in transition or in stopping along the route, but it will be a close shave.
This saturday I drove to Cultus Lake, the starting point of the race, to familiarize myself with the surroundings and the bike route. Of course it was the one day in the last two months with poor weather conditions. It rained during my drive through the Cascades, but dried out as soon as I got into Central Oregon. I assured myself that it would stay dry, after all, this is High Desert country. My ride started well enough, I decided to ride the steepest section, the back side of Mount Bachelor. This is the section of the route that will be done twice. And when I say steep, I am not even remotely exaggerating. As I rode, blissful in the quiet, the only sounds being the wind through the pines, the cadence of my pedaling, and my own breath, I knew that despite the arduousness of it, it was still a beautiful place to be. It did feel like a constant climb for 26 miles, with one 5 mile section being solid first and second gear, head down, and grinding hard. When I was done with the ride, I did check my sport tracker app, it was truly nearly 26 miles of climbing, going from 4450' to 6400' above sea level. During the outward, westward ride I had dark clouds ahead of me and the sun on my back. When I hit the turn around I decided to put on the thermal jersey I had tied around my waist "just in case." Good thing I did. Within the first mile of my return trip the wind shifted and blew hard and cold down off the mountain. Then the rain hit. Hard. I had hoped it would be a brief squall. But no, it was there to stay. I was quickly soaked to the skin, buffeted by cold wind, and making myself ride the downhill with as much energy as I had used battling my way to the summit. I pedaled hard, and was cruising the downs at a decently 28 to 35 mph. At one point I did have the thought, "Hmm, bike brakes do not work so very well when wet," just as a mule deer wandered onto the shoulder of the road about 100 feet ahead of me. I braked as best I could, the deer saw me and decided to flee, but I still gave the spot a wide berth as I passed, just in case. The cold was penetrating my extremities, and I realized that as cold as it was I was very likely going to do myself more harm than good if I extended my ride beyond getting back to my car. So I decided to let the cold light a fire under my ass and I pushed myself harder than I would dare during a longer ride. So many moments I had to remind myself to keep pushing, never let up, never stop. It was tough, and uncomfortable. My hands and feet were numb with cold, my thighs ached from the combination of massive exertion and severe wind chill. My shoes were full of water, rain pelted my face and ran in a steady stream off my helmet and down across my eyewear. I let myself grin in the face of it all, remembering one of my very first lessons as a firefighter, "It is only water." Despite the sense of victory in the face of adversity, I was so happy to get back to my little car. 54 miles in 4 hours, not my best ride, and definitely about 30 miles shorter than I had planned, but it did encompass one of my Worst Case Scenarios.
Back at the car there was no time to squander with pleasantries. I needed to stow the bike and get into my running shoes. I powered down an energy bar and took some large swigs of water while I dried my feet and tried to put on dry socks and shoes. My hands were cold, clumsy, and weak. My toes were so numb I couldn't feel them while pulling on my socks and got my pinky toe tangled up to the point that if I had been a bit less attentive I might have dislocated it. And the whole time my quads were shrieking at me, angry at the abuse I had heaped upon them, and threatening payback with a hint of muscle cramps. But I managed. Shoes on, I headed out for a short run. I had to really watch my footing because my feet were almost like dead lumps at the bottoms of my legs, I could not feel the ground beneath them, just the impact coming up my legs with each stride. But it didn't take long for the blood to flow and sensation to return. After that the run was easy and without incident. I only ran 2 miles, wanting to go more, but also knowing I needed to get out of my wet clothes to avoid making myself sick. Back at the car I stretched, my quads no longer angry with me, but still a bit chilly.
Then I wandered down to the dock, to look out across the stormy expanse of the large body of water that is Cultus Lake. Looking out over it I was a bit alarmed at how big it is, and how diminutive the Cove would look next to it. I know I will be doing two 1-1/2 mile laps around this lake in three weeks, and that scares me just a little. Looking at the enormity of the lake and trying to imagine swimming it's full diameter even once is intimidating. Then I reminded myself that very likely we are not swimming the full diameter, there will be buoys marking the course, as there always are, and it will be fine. I lay down on the dock to feel teh water, and it was much warmer than my mind had built it up to be. Yes, it will be a cold swim, but not horrifically so, my Selkie Suit will protect me.
I have decided to make one more trip to the site, next saturday, to ride that same uphill stretch, and come down the front side part of the loop around the mountain, then run, and finally put on the wetsuit and climb into thee water for a short swim. I will make this course my ally. I will connect with the earth, wind, and water. I can do this, one section at a time. I will keep my head firmly in the present, giving my best effort at any given moment. I will endeavor to not beat myself up over things that are out of my control, and I won't worry about what has yet to come. Head in the moment. I can do this.
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