It has been less than 2 months. 7 weeks. 49 days since my race, and I think about it every day. I wrote about the first part of the day, the glorious 3 mile swim in frigid 62 degree water that left me disoriented, slurring my speech, shivering harder than I ever have, and exulting in what a fabulous swim it had been. Onto the bike, shivering and hoping the lack of sensation in my hands and feet didn't make me crash before I got out onto the main road and into the sun.
It was a glorious day. As perfect as anyone could have wished. The sky was the bright blue that is a signature of the high desert. Heading out into the 138 mile bike course my legs were feeling leaden from the cold, but warmed up quickly. I felt great. My energy after the swim was good. I stuck to the plan and only consumed water for the first 20 minutes or so of the ride, then took a shot of honey. My game plan for energy on the bike was simple: Water, honey, and electrolyte capsules. I had experimented with different gels, chews, drinks, bars, and dried fruit through my training season and kept coming back to cold water, honey, and Salt Sticks. Simple. I had a few mocha Clif Shots and Blocks to break the monotony, knowing that after 9 plus hours on the bike I might get a little tired of honey and water. Anyhoo, on with the ride.
I had visited this route several times, the Cascade Lakes Highway where it rambled between Wickiup Reservoir and up the backside of Mount Bachelor. It is a road with no flats. There is a 2000' elevation gain in one 20 mile section, with one 5 mile section that is a solid climb. I felt fantastic. My energy was good, my legs felt strong, my lungs were happy. I couldn't have asked for better health and conditioning (given the time I have been training for ultra-endurance... next season I will be stronger and faster). There were a few points in the ride where I hit a bit of a wall, but I didn't let myself slack and pushed through. There were aid stations about every 20 miles with gloriously cold water, I fell in love with every one of the volunteers handing out this delectable ambrosia. At the first aid station I found out they were handing out bananas. BANANAS!! My favorite energy bar. My battle cry for the day became, "Woo hoo! Bananas!! Fuck yeah!!" The volunteers thought I was hilarious (so did I).
The glory of the the country I was cycling through was undeniable. Again and again I thought to myself, "I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do."
About 80 miles into the ride I finally looked at my watch (purchased just for this day). Doing a little quick calculation I realized that my concerns over being able to finish in 9-1/2 were coming to become fact. I was pushing myself to the point of leg cramps, and flirted with asthma a few times, and knew in my heart that at any given point I riding to the best of my capabilities, and I was still about 30 minutes behind where I needed to be. So I pushed harder, even though I knew it would not be enough, but I was not going to give up. I cycled on, though the gorgeous high desert day.
Halfway up my second trip up the backside of Mount Bachelor (the course was 1-1/2 times around the mountain, then down into Bend) I saw the medic van, and a scruffily handsome man stepping out to talk to me.
"Is this where you tell me I won't make the bike cutoff?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said apologetically, "I have a call in to the race director to see if you will be able to do the run course though."
"Okay, I'm going to keep cycling until you pull me from the course," I grinned at him and pedaled on.
"I will be leap-frogging you, if you don't mind," he said to my backside.
I knew this likely meant I was the last cyclist. I didn't care, this competition was against no one but myself. I pedaled on, grinding my way up that 5 mile stretch of first gear, head down, constant incline. The medic leap-frogged me as promised. Finally, about 1 mile from the summit, with less than 30 minutes left to the cutoff time, and a solid 20 miles left of the course, he passed me, and got out of his van.
"The race director said that if you ride in with me, and get to the run start by 7 you can still do the run course. Or, you can finish the bike and not do the run."
I pondered for a brief moment. I had covered the hardest part of the bike course, I was one mile from hitting the long downhill into Bend, and I had really been looking forward to that particular stretch. I also knew there was no way I could cover that 20 miles in 30 minutes. Having covered 118 miles of a tough bike course, I really wanted my chance to run the 14 miles of the final leg.
"Okay, I'll ride in with you."
We put my bike in the van and took off. He told me there were several other cyclists on the road that weren't going to make the cutoff, but they were opting to finish the bike and skip the run. I was disappointed that I couldn't have eked out an extra mile per hour to cover the course in time, but I also knew I had cycled my best. I took a shot of honey, drank some water, and pushed aside any self-flagellation as I prepared my mind for the run.
We passed a number of cyclists, and I really did wish I was riding with them, but I had made my choice.
Once we got into the race venue I unloaded my bike and trotted to T3 to leave my bike gear and change to running gear. I had to relinquish my timing chip at this point, and accept the fact that I would get a DNF (did not finish). Okay, no time to dwell on that, I parked the bike and slipped into running shoes.
The run course was unexpected. It started out normal enough; sidewalks through a residential area, with aid stations every mile. The first surprise was that the flaggers and guides at intersections and course changes had packed up and left at sundown, so it felt like a bit of a crapshoot to stay on course. The second surprise was when the course turned onto a black asphalt path that led off through undeveloped land, with no street lights. That's right. No lights. None. At first, running through the gloaming, there was plenty of light to see. And by plenty I mean it wasn't pitch dark, yet. I came to an aid station, manned by teenagers who said, "The next aid station has head lamps." So I drank some water and ran on. I have good night vision, so was able to differentiate the path from the surrounding ground because it was a darker shade of black. At one point I saw the shapes of a doe and fawn wander across in front of me, since I was dressed all in black, they didn't see me until I was about 6 feet from them, and then they bounded off into the dark. I got to the next aid station and inquired about a head lamp. "We don't have any, but we heard the next station does." This was the story of the night. The lure of the elusive head lamp spurring me on from one aid station to the next.
Running by starlight I again had the thought, "I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to be doing." It was a glorious night, moonless, but with the Milky Way spread out above me. The air was mild, but cooling rapidly, as it does in the High Desert. I ran on. My legs felt strong, my energy was great, my breathing was good. After about 4 miles I did have that realization that I was running through unknown land, with no lights, and no one around me. I was alone in the night. And the thought niggled its way into my brain and I started to get just a little spooked. I didn't have my cell phone, and didn't know where I was. If I ran off course, I could wander all night, as temperatures dipped to the 40's or lower. And then there was the paranoia that I had no idea what or who might be lurking behind every bush and rock. I ran as quietly as I could. My reassuring though on this point is that I am tall, broad shouldered, and relatively flat-chested when squashed into a sport bra. Maybe any would-be assailant would think I was a dude and let me run on past.
Then the asphalt disappeared, turning into an 18 inch wide gravel path. I ran on for a bit until I realized I was having such a hard time seeing the path I was likely to stray and roll an ankle. I slowed to a fast walk. The crunching of gravel underfoot made it sound like there was another set of footsteps behind me. I would stop, listening for my would be stalker. Nothing. Of course. At this point I had been laboring for more than 12 hours, and I think my brain was getting a little tired from the constant need to stay focused on the task at hand. Brain was wandering down loopy paths, populating them with the boogeyman.
Okay, this had to stop. I decided I would risk getting hit by a car, since there was no traffic anyway (I really did feel alone), and run on the road. I needed the security of smooth asphalt beneath my feet. On the road I realized I could make out the 6 inch wide, white fog line painted on the shoulder of the road, I kept my feet on the white line.
Now is when the run became even more surreal. It was so dark around me that the white line really was all I could see. Even my body, clad in black, was invisible. I felt like a Ninja, and focused on silent footfalls. The only sound I could hear was my own breathing. In the distance I could see the lights of the high school where the halfway point and finish line were for the run, but they were more of a hindrance to my night vision than a help. It did give me the comfort of knowing now that I wouldn't get lost and wander through the sage brush all night. But at this point I was feeling like the run was actually riskier than it should be. About a mile from the halfway point another runner caught up with me. She was even more dismayed at the lack of lighting and the disappearance of any on course guidance besides the aid stations manned by 15 year olds. We both knew that what little help there was now would likely be gone all together on the second lap.
I decided that I would only run one circuit. I was disappointed, with myself and with the race designers. I knew I had the physical energy to finish the race. I had the mental strength to finish the race. But I could not squelch the nervousness of the possibility of going off course and getting lost in the dark. And honestly, I think it was a justifiable fear.
As I ran the last bit towards the finish line I rounded a corner and heard my Mom call out my name, cheering me on. It brought tears to my eyes. As I ran towards her I told her I wasn't going to run the second lap. Even as I spoke the words they tasted bitter, I wanted to finish, but had to give myself permission to put my safety first.
At the very end I took an early turn and skulked down a side street to the area where my dry, clean clothes were waiting. It was not the glorious finish I had imagined, but I was proud of how far I had traveled that day: 3 mile swim, 118 mile bike ride over mountain roads, and a 7 mile run. 128 miles. Shy of my dream, but pretty damned good anyway.
Even while I was racing I was thinking ahead to next year, and what I need to do to improve my performance. My endurance and power were good all day long. I had the endurance to do the course, I just didn't have the speed. Next year I will have the speed. And a head lamp. I am definitely taking a head lamp.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Off-Season
Oy vey. Life is busy and chaotic, as usual (I must like it this way, because it does seem to be the norm). I feel a bit ashamed that I haven't had time to write about the bulk of my day in the Epic 250K, because it was epic. Sadly, today is not the day to write it out either, it is late and I just have a few minutes to touch base and get some words spilled out onto the page.
It is officially the "Off Season" now, and I can't say I am liking it all that well. I did manage to take a full week off from training, and that was a certain level of suckage, lemme tell you. I don't take well to rest periods. With the closure of my local aquatic center I was without a pool, and I knew I needed to get back in the water sooner rather than later. After much searching and researching I settled on the gym at the local golf course/country club. Yes, I do feel a bit like that girl from the wrong side of the tracks, with my '94 Honda Civic with its geek-girl window stickers, my short skirts and combat boots, hair in pigtails, and a bag full of swim gear. But, it has a pool, narrow but the requisite 25 yards, and a jacuzzi to warm my bones after my swim. It also has a weight room, and a separate workout room with free weights, and yoga gear that I usually have all to myself. I have backed off of bike and run miles and am amping up on the weight training and plyometrics.
The hardest part of the off season is trying to reconfigure my food intake. I have managed to keep my weight down to what it was on race day, although I did dip a few pounds below for nearly a month after the race. I am trying to cut back on my carbs now that I am not putting in long hours of endurance training, but that is hard for me to do when I am on a plant based diet. I do eat a lot of whole grains, and carb laden fruits and veggies (bananas, yams, and potatoes... yum). I need to sit down and really research some new recipes for high protein, lower carb vegetarian dishes that I can pack for lunch. Dinners are easier, I tend to mold them around spinach, avocado and eggs.
It is so hard to shift gears after months and months of training a specific way. I am such a creature of habit, and don't make changes easily (or gracefully). But for now, I will focus on the training aspect, and reconfiguring my workout regimen, find a new rhythm and schedule to get me through to January when I can start into base building again. I need to find cold weather running gear, I don't want to lose my hard earned running base, but am not too keen on running in the cold and rain. Cycling is now relegated to the living room again, and there won't be any more century rides until spring. Swimming laps and drills are all good and well, but I am desperately missing my swims in The Cove. My wetsuit hangs in my bedroom and it makes me sad to see it unused and lonely. So, shifting gears, reinventing my training schedule, heading into winter training mode, and trying to not lose my mind. And it is only October.
It is officially the "Off Season" now, and I can't say I am liking it all that well. I did manage to take a full week off from training, and that was a certain level of suckage, lemme tell you. I don't take well to rest periods. With the closure of my local aquatic center I was without a pool, and I knew I needed to get back in the water sooner rather than later. After much searching and researching I settled on the gym at the local golf course/country club. Yes, I do feel a bit like that girl from the wrong side of the tracks, with my '94 Honda Civic with its geek-girl window stickers, my short skirts and combat boots, hair in pigtails, and a bag full of swim gear. But, it has a pool, narrow but the requisite 25 yards, and a jacuzzi to warm my bones after my swim. It also has a weight room, and a separate workout room with free weights, and yoga gear that I usually have all to myself. I have backed off of bike and run miles and am amping up on the weight training and plyometrics.
The hardest part of the off season is trying to reconfigure my food intake. I have managed to keep my weight down to what it was on race day, although I did dip a few pounds below for nearly a month after the race. I am trying to cut back on my carbs now that I am not putting in long hours of endurance training, but that is hard for me to do when I am on a plant based diet. I do eat a lot of whole grains, and carb laden fruits and veggies (bananas, yams, and potatoes... yum). I need to sit down and really research some new recipes for high protein, lower carb vegetarian dishes that I can pack for lunch. Dinners are easier, I tend to mold them around spinach, avocado and eggs.
It is so hard to shift gears after months and months of training a specific way. I am such a creature of habit, and don't make changes easily (or gracefully). But for now, I will focus on the training aspect, and reconfiguring my workout regimen, find a new rhythm and schedule to get me through to January when I can start into base building again. I need to find cold weather running gear, I don't want to lose my hard earned running base, but am not too keen on running in the cold and rain. Cycling is now relegated to the living room again, and there won't be any more century rides until spring. Swimming laps and drills are all good and well, but I am desperately missing my swims in The Cove. My wetsuit hangs in my bedroom and it makes me sad to see it unused and lonely. So, shifting gears, reinventing my training schedule, heading into winter training mode, and trying to not lose my mind. And it is only October.
Friday, September 26, 2014
The Big Day (Part One)
Okay, my Epic 250K is now 6 days in the past. I've had time to ruminate, but not a moment to sit down and write, until now. I will start at the beginning.
Of course I had a hard time sleeping the night before, but fortunately had gotten in a solid 9 hours the previous night. The morning of the race I had my alarm set for 4:00 am, so I would have plenty of time to have a light breakfast of smoothie and toast (Oudi's gluten free white bread, almost zero fiber).... Okay, I think I need to step back even a bit earlier. For a sold 48 hours before the race I ate a high energy, low fiber diet. As a matter of fact, the last few weeks leading up to the race I dialed in my nutrition to near perfection. I ate nutrient dense foods, plenty of fresh fruits and veggies, raw almonds, eggs, good carbs, little sugar, no refined foods. Every meal, every snack was consumed with the knowledge that I was pumping my body with rocket fuel. The only slight flaw in my planning was the day before the race, there was so much running around to be done that I did not eat quite as regularly as I could have wished. Yes, I had a specatularly large breakfast of French toast (again, Oudi's GF bread) with agave nectar, and a high protein smoothie. Then, with foresight, I packed a bag with bananas, almonds, Clif Mojo Bars, a few electrolyte capsules, and plenty of water. So, although I could have eaten a bit better, I definitely did myself no harm.
Okay, back to race morning. With my alarm set for 4:00 am, of course I woke at 3:15, after a night of decent, though fitful sleep. I felt good, started coffee, made myself eat, and was out the door and headed for the school that was both the launching point for the bus ride to T1, and the start and finish for the run. I was on the second bus out, and had a pleasant seat mate, a woman from Moscow, Idaho who was doing the Epic125. We chatted for a while, as did most of the other athletes on the bus. About halfway through the 45 minute ride though, we all fell silent. I know I was inside my head, focusing inward, keeping calm, letting my mind roam over what my day would be like, and I am sure that the 40 other athletes were all doing the same. Just as we approached the turn to Cultus Lake there was a weird light through the fog ahead of us. Only 6 of us saw it. It looked like headlights coming up behind a hill, reflecting on the fog, but that is not what it was. We had no idea what it was, really, we joked about UFOs coming to steal us out of the water. I took it as a good sign.
Once we arrived I went and checked Joshua, making sure his tires had stayed inflated overnight (not everyone was so lucky). I filled my bento bag with the tube of honey, salt sticks, chap stick, and eye drops, and put my water bottles in place. My bike was ready.
Then I went into the changing tent, a gloriously warm accommodation that was a pleasant new addition this year. Since there were only 8 women doing the 250K and we had plenty of space we made the decision to lay out our cycling gear, instead of having to dump it out of a bag and sort through it after the swim. Then it was time to gear up. I felt a tiny bit sheepish with all my extra gear to fend off the cold, I was definitely more heavily dressed than anyone else there. As a matter of fact, one woman did the swim without a wetsuit. I was stunned to see her and wondered if she would make it, but she had a good swim and finished the race in good time. The water was colder than I had expected, and I had expected it to be cold. We had to swim out about 100 yards to the swim start, and I needed every bit of that time to adjust. There were 85 of us, so I was told, a nice crowd. The sky was pale blue with wispy orange clouds, the sun had yet to show itself over the eastern mountains when the starting horn blared. We plunged into the frigid, clear mountain lake and swam. The water was crystal clear, I could see the bottom of the lake with absolute clarity. At one point I swam through a cluster of volcanic boulders that seemed a bit too close for comfort, but were beautiful and gave me a sense of strength. About halfway down the length of the first lap the sun crested over the surrounding pine trees and blazed gloriously, turning the water golden. It was a breathtaking moment, and I knew that there was no place else in the whole world that I would rather have been than right there, at that very moment. I took that feeling and held it in my heart and mind for the rest of the day.
The swim, 5K, 3.1 miles, was glorious. I felt strong and smooth. There were a few very brief moments when I lost my rhythm for a split second, either from getting hit with a wave up the nose, having another swimmer run into me, or having to reorient myself on the next buoy. The buoys seemed few and far between, making it difficult to stay on course a few times. And the first 1/4 of the swim seemed the longest (doesn't it always?). I barely remember finishing the first lap, when we had to come out of the water and cross the electronic sensor that would guarantee that we did our second lap. I do remember getting back into my rhythm though, and feeling smooth and easy as I headed out for the second lap. I felt a bit cool, but not cold,. Not for one split second did I regret my extra gear. I felt really strong in my swim, and my pacing seemed perfect. I never felt fatigued or stressed. I did stay with the pack, though towards the rear. It was a truly great swim for me. As I headed down the homestretch, I did have a little trouble finding the swim out and had to keep popping up to find out where I was exactly, then once I saw it for sure I made a strong beeline for the ramp. I do know there were about a dozen 250K swimmers behind me, so I felt damned good to not be the last one (as I have been in the past). As my feet hit solid ground and I started climbing out of the water I realized that I was far colder than I had thought during my swim. In the early stages of hypothermia I was disoriented and off-balance, what we would refer to as "an altered mental state" in EMS terms. As I slow jogged towards the changing tent I began to shiver, and my teeth started to chatter. By the time I got to my cycling gear I was shaking so hard I could barely get out of my wetsuit. There was another woman changing gear and she was in a similar state. We talked, kind of checking up on each other, and I realized that I was slurring my speech. As I fumbled into my gear I decided I needed some fuel so grabbed a Clif Shot, my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold onto the little packet of sugary goo. Part of my mind was appalled, and part of it was fascinated. I have never been so cold in my life. I did have the concern that now I was going to have to get on a bike and ride, without crashing, with my brain and body in such a state. The muscles in my neck and shoulders were tightening so hard from the cold and exertion that I could barely turn my head. The next few minutes would be interesting.
I did manage to get fully dressed, without forgetting anything, get all my swim gear stuffed into the red bag so it would be transported back to Bend and be waiting for me after the race, and get to my bike. All without damaging myself or breaking anything. Once I was on Joshua I focused all my mental energy on relaxing, cycling easy to let my muscles warm up, and trying very hard to not crash. It took about 8 miles for my teeth to stop chattering, and another 20 before I was warm enough to shed a layer of clothing. But I felt great. My energy was high, my body felt fantastic, and it was a gloriously beautiful, perfect day. But with another 110 miles of cycling ahead of me, my favorite Star Wars quote for such a situation kept popping into my head, "Don't get cocky, kid."
To be continued.....
Of course I had a hard time sleeping the night before, but fortunately had gotten in a solid 9 hours the previous night. The morning of the race I had my alarm set for 4:00 am, so I would have plenty of time to have a light breakfast of smoothie and toast (Oudi's gluten free white bread, almost zero fiber).... Okay, I think I need to step back even a bit earlier. For a sold 48 hours before the race I ate a high energy, low fiber diet. As a matter of fact, the last few weeks leading up to the race I dialed in my nutrition to near perfection. I ate nutrient dense foods, plenty of fresh fruits and veggies, raw almonds, eggs, good carbs, little sugar, no refined foods. Every meal, every snack was consumed with the knowledge that I was pumping my body with rocket fuel. The only slight flaw in my planning was the day before the race, there was so much running around to be done that I did not eat quite as regularly as I could have wished. Yes, I had a specatularly large breakfast of French toast (again, Oudi's GF bread) with agave nectar, and a high protein smoothie. Then, with foresight, I packed a bag with bananas, almonds, Clif Mojo Bars, a few electrolyte capsules, and plenty of water. So, although I could have eaten a bit better, I definitely did myself no harm.
Okay, back to race morning. With my alarm set for 4:00 am, of course I woke at 3:15, after a night of decent, though fitful sleep. I felt good, started coffee, made myself eat, and was out the door and headed for the school that was both the launching point for the bus ride to T1, and the start and finish for the run. I was on the second bus out, and had a pleasant seat mate, a woman from Moscow, Idaho who was doing the Epic125. We chatted for a while, as did most of the other athletes on the bus. About halfway through the 45 minute ride though, we all fell silent. I know I was inside my head, focusing inward, keeping calm, letting my mind roam over what my day would be like, and I am sure that the 40 other athletes were all doing the same. Just as we approached the turn to Cultus Lake there was a weird light through the fog ahead of us. Only 6 of us saw it. It looked like headlights coming up behind a hill, reflecting on the fog, but that is not what it was. We had no idea what it was, really, we joked about UFOs coming to steal us out of the water. I took it as a good sign.
Once we arrived I went and checked Joshua, making sure his tires had stayed inflated overnight (not everyone was so lucky). I filled my bento bag with the tube of honey, salt sticks, chap stick, and eye drops, and put my water bottles in place. My bike was ready.
Then I went into the changing tent, a gloriously warm accommodation that was a pleasant new addition this year. Since there were only 8 women doing the 250K and we had plenty of space we made the decision to lay out our cycling gear, instead of having to dump it out of a bag and sort through it after the swim. Then it was time to gear up. I felt a tiny bit sheepish with all my extra gear to fend off the cold, I was definitely more heavily dressed than anyone else there. As a matter of fact, one woman did the swim without a wetsuit. I was stunned to see her and wondered if she would make it, but she had a good swim and finished the race in good time. The water was colder than I had expected, and I had expected it to be cold. We had to swim out about 100 yards to the swim start, and I needed every bit of that time to adjust. There were 85 of us, so I was told, a nice crowd. The sky was pale blue with wispy orange clouds, the sun had yet to show itself over the eastern mountains when the starting horn blared. We plunged into the frigid, clear mountain lake and swam. The water was crystal clear, I could see the bottom of the lake with absolute clarity. At one point I swam through a cluster of volcanic boulders that seemed a bit too close for comfort, but were beautiful and gave me a sense of strength. About halfway down the length of the first lap the sun crested over the surrounding pine trees and blazed gloriously, turning the water golden. It was a breathtaking moment, and I knew that there was no place else in the whole world that I would rather have been than right there, at that very moment. I took that feeling and held it in my heart and mind for the rest of the day.
The swim, 5K, 3.1 miles, was glorious. I felt strong and smooth. There were a few very brief moments when I lost my rhythm for a split second, either from getting hit with a wave up the nose, having another swimmer run into me, or having to reorient myself on the next buoy. The buoys seemed few and far between, making it difficult to stay on course a few times. And the first 1/4 of the swim seemed the longest (doesn't it always?). I barely remember finishing the first lap, when we had to come out of the water and cross the electronic sensor that would guarantee that we did our second lap. I do remember getting back into my rhythm though, and feeling smooth and easy as I headed out for the second lap. I felt a bit cool, but not cold,. Not for one split second did I regret my extra gear. I felt really strong in my swim, and my pacing seemed perfect. I never felt fatigued or stressed. I did stay with the pack, though towards the rear. It was a truly great swim for me. As I headed down the homestretch, I did have a little trouble finding the swim out and had to keep popping up to find out where I was exactly, then once I saw it for sure I made a strong beeline for the ramp. I do know there were about a dozen 250K swimmers behind me, so I felt damned good to not be the last one (as I have been in the past). As my feet hit solid ground and I started climbing out of the water I realized that I was far colder than I had thought during my swim. In the early stages of hypothermia I was disoriented and off-balance, what we would refer to as "an altered mental state" in EMS terms. As I slow jogged towards the changing tent I began to shiver, and my teeth started to chatter. By the time I got to my cycling gear I was shaking so hard I could barely get out of my wetsuit. There was another woman changing gear and she was in a similar state. We talked, kind of checking up on each other, and I realized that I was slurring my speech. As I fumbled into my gear I decided I needed some fuel so grabbed a Clif Shot, my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold onto the little packet of sugary goo. Part of my mind was appalled, and part of it was fascinated. I have never been so cold in my life. I did have the concern that now I was going to have to get on a bike and ride, without crashing, with my brain and body in such a state. The muscles in my neck and shoulders were tightening so hard from the cold and exertion that I could barely turn my head. The next few minutes would be interesting.
I did manage to get fully dressed, without forgetting anything, get all my swim gear stuffed into the red bag so it would be transported back to Bend and be waiting for me after the race, and get to my bike. All without damaging myself or breaking anything. Once I was on Joshua I focused all my mental energy on relaxing, cycling easy to let my muscles warm up, and trying very hard to not crash. It took about 8 miles for my teeth to stop chattering, and another 20 before I was warm enough to shed a layer of clothing. But I felt great. My energy was high, my body felt fantastic, and it was a gloriously beautiful, perfect day. But with another 110 miles of cycling ahead of me, my favorite Star Wars quote for such a situation kept popping into my head, "Don't get cocky, kid."
To be continued.....
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Slightly Scrambled, But Packed and Ready
I skipped my swim this afternoon, it would have been my last visit to The Cove this year (unless I sac up and do a cold weather swim). I decided I needed to be able to shop and pack without a time crunch. Yes, I am feeling a bit slovenly for not working out, but I needed to know all my gear was packed and ready. I can't believe it is down to the wire now. All my race gear, and most of my food is now packed in the car and ready, all else is incidental. I just have to get through work tomorrow, then drive to Bend, find my motel, get in a 30 minute spin session, eat, and collapse into bed. Friday will be sign in and packet pickup, then off to Cultus Lake to get Joshua set up in T2. Depending on the day, I am tempted to try and get in a quick swim, but then all my swim gear would be wet, and likely not dry in time for my 7:30 am race start. So many little, loose ends to keep from fraying, loose ends and nerves, all frayed.
It has been a tough week, with more than my fair share of external and internal stress making my focus be less than ideal. Too many things going on that have my head near to exploding. The stress seemed to hit its peak yesterday at work, drama coming at me, not my drama, but sucking me in. It was rough enough that it totally pushed my dodgy digestive tract totally over the edge. It left me teetering on the edge of nausea, and made me think I was coming down with a stomach flu, but no, it was just stress. I'm still feeling the effects, but at this point I am so used to my delicate system that I just keep dumping nutrient dense food into my gullet regardless of how I feel. I had an epiphany though, regardless of how much drama swirls around me I will not allow my focus to be ruined. I will rise above all else, keep my head in the moment, and make sure that I am doing the best I can at any given moment throughout the day. It will be a great day.
It has been a tough week, with more than my fair share of external and internal stress making my focus be less than ideal. Too many things going on that have my head near to exploding. The stress seemed to hit its peak yesterday at work, drama coming at me, not my drama, but sucking me in. It was rough enough that it totally pushed my dodgy digestive tract totally over the edge. It left me teetering on the edge of nausea, and made me think I was coming down with a stomach flu, but no, it was just stress. I'm still feeling the effects, but at this point I am so used to my delicate system that I just keep dumping nutrient dense food into my gullet regardless of how I feel. I had an epiphany though, regardless of how much drama swirls around me I will not allow my focus to be ruined. I will rise above all else, keep my head in the moment, and make sure that I am doing the best I can at any given moment throughout the day. It will be a great day.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Closer and Closer
24 hours left before I need to be packed to head out of town and I can't quite wrap my brain around everything that needs doing. Yes, I've made lists, and run through all the scenarios in my head a thousand times. Yes, I do have most of my gear packed into a convenient bin, each discipline with its own bag, and a separate bag for cold/wet weather cycling gear. Of course, since I invested about $50 into special gear for cold, wet weather it does look like the weather is going to be just about picture perfect: morning lows in the 40's, highs in the upper 70's. I can't ask for better, really.
I am winding down on my workouts now. Last night was my second to last swim in The Cove, and although only about 3/4 of a mile, it was a near perfect swim. I piled on all the extra gear I will need to fend of the chill, and even so, the water is now cold enough to make me gasp when I slip in. But the afternoon was hot and calm, the surface of the water was smooth as glass. The extra gear kept me deliciously comfortable as I slid through the water, feeling smooth and effortless. It was the perfect confidence boost I needed. I ran for a bit after, but a large forest fire burning about 20 miles to the east made for poor air quality, so I kept my run short, and filled in with plenty of stretching. I think I have perfected my swim gear, relieving me of the fear of freezing my ass off during the 5K swim. I will swim once more, tomorrow, another easy 3/4 mile swim, to keep my muscles loose, and my mind happy.
In 48 hours I will be settled into my motel room, likely fidgeting, feeling amped up, and possibly a little nauseous. I still can't quite wrap my brain around the fact that four days from now, from this very minute, I will be running the last few miles of the race, finally truly understanding what it means to "Give 100 percent." So close.
I am winding down on my workouts now. Last night was my second to last swim in The Cove, and although only about 3/4 of a mile, it was a near perfect swim. I piled on all the extra gear I will need to fend of the chill, and even so, the water is now cold enough to make me gasp when I slip in. But the afternoon was hot and calm, the surface of the water was smooth as glass. The extra gear kept me deliciously comfortable as I slid through the water, feeling smooth and effortless. It was the perfect confidence boost I needed. I ran for a bit after, but a large forest fire burning about 20 miles to the east made for poor air quality, so I kept my run short, and filled in with plenty of stretching. I think I have perfected my swim gear, relieving me of the fear of freezing my ass off during the 5K swim. I will swim once more, tomorrow, another easy 3/4 mile swim, to keep my muscles loose, and my mind happy.
In 48 hours I will be settled into my motel room, likely fidgeting, feeling amped up, and possibly a little nauseous. I still can't quite wrap my brain around the fact that four days from now, from this very minute, I will be running the last few miles of the race, finally truly understanding what it means to "Give 100 percent." So close.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Race Week
Six days and counting. I am now officially in Race Week and, as is apparently quite common, having minor panic attacks that I am not prepared. I remind myself that I have trained as much as my body could withstand, and have been very diligent in my training often to the exclusion of all else. The only way I could have trained harder is if I did not have to work for a living, but I am not that fortunate.
I have gone to the venue twice to ride sections of the bike course. It is a brutal course, viciously hilly, mountainous actually. My second trip over I rode the full loop around Mount Bachelor. There is a fabulously long downhill cruise, steep enough I flew along faster than I could pedal. Then it turned on to a forest service road of rough pavement and rolling hills. It was so rough the vibrations up through the bars was wreaking havoc on my hands, arms and shoulders. I decided to forego any thoughts of remaining aero and went more for an upright cyclocross style, but it was not speedy going. Then I hit a hill, not as steep, nothing like the long haul on the backside of the mountain, but long. I kept rounding corners, hoping to see the end of it, but it went on and on. I was running very low on liquids and knew I was dehydrating (it is nearly impossible to carry enough fluid for 70 miles of tough riding, at least with my standard setup). I admit, I almost wept out of fatigue, thirst, frustration and feelings of inadequacy. I wanted to stop. But I didn't weep or stop, I kept going, and now I know that hill is there and I am mentally prepared for it. Also, there are several water stations so I can replenish my supplies. It is not going to be easy, but if it were easy everyone would do it, right? Actually most people would say, "Fourteen hours, are you fucking kidding me? No way."
I am still concerned about keeping warm in the swim, but I have acquired some gear to help me cope. I have neoprene swim socks, not as thick as I wanted, but with the layering of wool socks, plastic bags, and swim socks, my feet stay decently warm. I have cut down the upper half of my old shorty wetsuit into a heavy neoprene vest to wear under my Selkie Suit. I swam with this setup on Saturday and it helped considerably. I did have some odd breathing restriction though, so trimmed down the vest even more. It changes my buoyancy a bit, but not in a bad way, I just need a few more swims to get the feel of it.
Yesterday I did what amounted to a Sprint distance Tri as my final "big" workout. I actually cut the ride back a little bit since the weather was hot and my legs still held some residual fatigue from my ride around the mountain seven days earlier. My legs felt great for a short run, I've been nursing a tender Achilles' tendon the last week or so, so haven't been able to run as much as I would like. But this late in the game staying healthy is more important than trying to add any endurance.
Now my focus is exactly that, staying healthy. Just a few more days. I have ramped up the quality of my nutrition, not that it has been lacking in any way, but I am dialing it up a notch. With my workouts winding down I do have to avoid overeating, but I also need all the building blocks I can manage to make sure my body is repaired and rested, and fueled to the max. My weight has been drifting between 153 and 155, and I want to keep it down there. It is all good and well to spend thousands of dollars to shave a few pounds off of your bike, but it is far better to shave weight off your body.
My mind is scampering about like a squirrel on crack, making packing (and writing) a challenge. My digestive tract has been giving me grief for several days now, making me fluctuate between nauseated and famished. I keep eating, despite what my stomach and intestines are doing. Race nerves. I think I will be fine once I hit the water. Race Week, dear gods I can't believe it is here already.
I have gone to the venue twice to ride sections of the bike course. It is a brutal course, viciously hilly, mountainous actually. My second trip over I rode the full loop around Mount Bachelor. There is a fabulously long downhill cruise, steep enough I flew along faster than I could pedal. Then it turned on to a forest service road of rough pavement and rolling hills. It was so rough the vibrations up through the bars was wreaking havoc on my hands, arms and shoulders. I decided to forego any thoughts of remaining aero and went more for an upright cyclocross style, but it was not speedy going. Then I hit a hill, not as steep, nothing like the long haul on the backside of the mountain, but long. I kept rounding corners, hoping to see the end of it, but it went on and on. I was running very low on liquids and knew I was dehydrating (it is nearly impossible to carry enough fluid for 70 miles of tough riding, at least with my standard setup). I admit, I almost wept out of fatigue, thirst, frustration and feelings of inadequacy. I wanted to stop. But I didn't weep or stop, I kept going, and now I know that hill is there and I am mentally prepared for it. Also, there are several water stations so I can replenish my supplies. It is not going to be easy, but if it were easy everyone would do it, right? Actually most people would say, "Fourteen hours, are you fucking kidding me? No way."
I am still concerned about keeping warm in the swim, but I have acquired some gear to help me cope. I have neoprene swim socks, not as thick as I wanted, but with the layering of wool socks, plastic bags, and swim socks, my feet stay decently warm. I have cut down the upper half of my old shorty wetsuit into a heavy neoprene vest to wear under my Selkie Suit. I swam with this setup on Saturday and it helped considerably. I did have some odd breathing restriction though, so trimmed down the vest even more. It changes my buoyancy a bit, but not in a bad way, I just need a few more swims to get the feel of it.
Yesterday I did what amounted to a Sprint distance Tri as my final "big" workout. I actually cut the ride back a little bit since the weather was hot and my legs still held some residual fatigue from my ride around the mountain seven days earlier. My legs felt great for a short run, I've been nursing a tender Achilles' tendon the last week or so, so haven't been able to run as much as I would like. But this late in the game staying healthy is more important than trying to add any endurance.
Now my focus is exactly that, staying healthy. Just a few more days. I have ramped up the quality of my nutrition, not that it has been lacking in any way, but I am dialing it up a notch. With my workouts winding down I do have to avoid overeating, but I also need all the building blocks I can manage to make sure my body is repaired and rested, and fueled to the max. My weight has been drifting between 153 and 155, and I want to keep it down there. It is all good and well to spend thousands of dollars to shave a few pounds off of your bike, but it is far better to shave weight off your body.
My mind is scampering about like a squirrel on crack, making packing (and writing) a challenge. My digestive tract has been giving me grief for several days now, making me fluctuate between nauseated and famished. I keep eating, despite what my stomach and intestines are doing. Race nerves. I think I will be fine once I hit the water. Race Week, dear gods I can't believe it is here already.
Monday, September 1, 2014
My First Trip To The venue
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.
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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