Pulling a Double Move

Coachubby and I live together.
We won't when I go to school.
Therefore, he must move into a smaller apartment while my rent goes to school housing.
Therefore, we're moving him in this weekend--with all of my stuff!
Therefore, I will have to move twice within a month.
Ewwww.
Therefore, I am currently trying to purge our current place of as much stuff as possible in order to fit el remaining stuff-o into the tiny place.
I've thrown out a lot.
Now I'm staring at a box full of race t-shirts.
I am now stumped.
Please, Lord, give me strength!

And now some pics from our Race Down Oregon aka drive down Highway 1 back to Lalaland. (And one more RAO pic.)

Pimp-hubby.

Spac-E

Riding the Oregon dunes.


In compression tights. Stylin'.

Grin and bear it.

Lombard St., San Francisco

Alcatraz

Ghirardelli Chocolate!

Grandpa's 86th Birthday!

My...um...20somethingth birthday!

Race Across Oregon--A Bonk For A Better Brain

The good far outweighed the ugly in RAO, a fact that does not probably seem apparent from my first two race posts.

Shortly after the first checkpoint, when I felt like a roasting slug, I came upon Mr. Bonk, the guy with the "best name in cycling!" as race director George Thomas said at the pre-race meeting.

A skinny guy whose face I never really saw, Mr. Bonk decided at the last minute to do RAO, as evidenced by the handwritten name on his crew's van. (The rest of us got sleek, printed numbers with our names on them. I felt like a pro.) He was wearing what looked like either a homemade aero helmet, or the very first one ever created.

I rode up along side him for a few seconds--very important, sacred seconds--during which he said something to the effect of, "Those guys went out way too fast. I'll bet they all drop out. We'll see who's still around at 3pm tomorrow!"

"YEAH! YEAH!" I said. They went out way too fast. I'm pacing myself just perfectly. As long as I stick to my race strategy to not really stop ever, I'll be toasting my own victory by sundown tomorrow.

I was renewed.

I rode on for 200 glorious, happy, thrilling miles, through the 98-degree heat. Up countless climbs. Into headwinds. I was slightly irked to see a windfarm--obviously, this route was always windy. And somehow, it managed to always be windy in my face, with one notable exception: a 4-ish mile steeper climb. The wind was at my back, but I wished it was in my face, because it was hot!

I began to see other competitors. I rode up along side a very young man and we chatted for a minute.

"Is this your first time?" I asked.
"Yeah. My dad's doing it, too."
"Who's your dad?"
"He's riding a recumbent."
"Bananaman is your dad!" I blurted out.
Youngin' seemed confused.
But he won style points for having a Prius as a SAG vehicle.

I rode almost the entire day hopping around Mr. Bonk, and Doc Martin, known to my crew as "Beefcake". I choose "Doc Martin" because his van said "Martin" on it. They choose "beefcake" because his son, who was crewing for him, was huge, in an I-can-bench-press-half-of-these-skinny-cyclists kind of way.

The race was practically on the longest day of the year, and after 15 hours of riding, I was excited for nighttime. It would be cooler, and there would be less to focus on. Not that there was much in eastern Oregon to look at anyway.

We pulled into the check point around mile 206, which also happened to be one of the few places with a gas station along the route. It seemed like everyone in the entire race was there, filling up their cars and stomachs. I changed shorts, shoved enough potato chips into my mouth that my crew decided they should buy more, believing I'd finish off a bag right then. My "salty" stash of food had been raided. The "sweet" box had not even been looked at.

I was trying to stay on a mostly liquid diet, particularly because it was hot. And to my astonishment, I never once cramped, and I had to pee regularly--and at this point, I was in front of Mr. Pee-Bag! Every time I had to pee, someone had to hold up a towel so I wouldn't moon my competitors. All that time I spent squatting hadn't taken away from my race.

I felt rad. No pee-tube needed.

I hopped right back onto the Bullet, smoking competitors out of the gas station, and rode into the night.

There were several climbs, but they were peaceful, and the sight of the flickering orange lights of other peoples' support vehicles in the distance was encouraging; I was not alone.

A few teams passed me at some point.

My crew had to stare at my ass for 11 hours straight. (Mandatory riding within headlights from 7pm-6am.)

I was rocking it.

At some point, the scenery must've changed, because we were back into wooded mountains. It cooled off to a pleasant temperature, and we started to see deer everywhere! I was paranoid that I'd whack one on the very long descent before the next checkpoint.

Coming into Dale at mile 286, I was starting to get tired. My shoulders hurt like a biotch, which confused and surprised me. Shouldn't my legs hurt more than my shoulders? I had blisters on my palms.

I took a 15 minute pee/stuff-my-face break, and while I was stopped, Doc Martin blew through. That was it. I was going with him. I hadn't seen anyone for hours, and I enjoyed simply being within eyesight of anyone.

We zigzagged up mountains and into the morning.

I had planned on having a 300-mile party. It would be my first big stop. However, I'd already used my big stop in Dale, and 100 meters out of the 300-mile mark, a ridiculous storm blew--IN MY FACE! It started to rain, and the wind made it take an eternity to get to the 300 mark, where my crew threw a rain jacket on me, and took off--mandatory ass-staring was no longer enforced at that time.

I was ready to cry. The morning was beautiful--wherever I had ridden to was far more scenic than almost all of the first day's ride, but I was ready to fall asleep, the wind was trying to knock me over, and I had what the crew called "rollers" but were really mini-mountains for several more miles before I got the mental break of a right turn.

Just before the turn, I took my first nap by the river.

And that leaves us where I started the last post.

RAO was an epic adventure. I got to meet most of the people with whom I had been riding at the banquet on the 13th, and find out that Mr. Bonk made it 20 minutes before the cut-off. So did Sandy Earl. Doc Martin decided he'd finish no matter how long it took. It took him 54 hours.

And that's when I realized this: You're out there. Your crew is out there. You might as well finish, even if it's not official. Over 2 straight days of crispy-fry temperatures, cruel headwinds, and zero flat-recovery miles. Doc Martin turned out to be the most inspirational character of the whole pack. He credited his son, Beefcake, for getting him to the finish.

I told him I'd have to get one, then maybe I'd finish next time. ;)

Post Race (Across Oregon) Depression

I read about people getting down on themselves after competing in an Ironman. The newly depressed competitors had put all of their time and effort for months into achieving this goal, and once it's gone, they feel empty.

I had never experienced this.

Until now.

After my first Ironman, I had my wedding to look forward to. Then after the wedding, another Ironman. Then after that, RAO.

I have an exciting year at my dream grad school ahead of me now--one that will include competing in collegiate triathlon. This is my next big thing to look forward to.

But lately, I have been bummed. Super bummed.

I have never, ever quit a race before once I started (save for 1 xterra that I started with a broken foot. I didn't run). I have raced injured and sick, and I always made it to the finish line, often in good time.

Perhaps I had been setting my athletic goals too low, if they were always so easily achievable. But it has been haunting me that I dropped out of RAO with 141 miles to go and 14 hours in which to do it. Totally doable.

However my brain had never been asked to exercise for 48 hours straight, and at about 29 hours into RAO, it started to crack. I finally understood that it is entirely possible to fall asleep while riding my bike.

After a 30-minute "nap" that constituted laying down in the minivan around mile 310 while my crew sat by a creek and was subsequently eaten alive by mosquitoes (even while peeing...butt bites!), I decided I'd make it to the next aid station, then take a real nap.

I took a 5-hour energy, which did nada. "Oh shit!" I thought. (Only later did I realize there's no caffeine in normal 5-hour energys. D'oh.)

Close to 11am, I pulled into the Spray check point. It took me what seemed like (and was) an eternity to cover the downhill-sloped rollers to Spray. When I arrived, we checked in, parked the minivan under a tree, changed my clothes (yes, "we" changed my clothes. I couldn't do it alone.), and I lay back down in the minivan. For almost 2 hours.

I wish I could say I slept, but I'm not good at sleeping. And I had never considered that strategic napping was something a 48-hour racer should seriously consider.

My competitors started to trickle in.

My crew didn't know what to say to me at this point. I verbally bashed my Silver Bullet, who had been nothing but nice to me throughout the entire ride--I had no saddle sores whatsoever. I said he had a fat ass.

Finally, after my crew shoved ice down my pants and strung some more ice in a t-shirt around my neck, I climbed back on. My shoulders hurt more than any other body part.

My stiff knees took a few miles to warm up again, but they got into a nice rhythm. Other crews had weed-sprayers filled with water and doused me. I'd have rather jumped into the beautiful river to my left.

Then the sustained climbing began again.

I went one mile up the mountain. My legs stopped.

"I'm done." I told my crew.

"What!? You're hauling! Keep it up. Come on, let's make it to the next check point." I glared at them, then went another mile. My legs stopped.

"I don't want to climb another inch."

"What!? You're hauling! Keep it up. Come on, let's make it to mile 400!" I glared at them, then went another mile. My legs stopped.

""Why did you stop? You're hauling! Keep it up. Come on, let's make it to the top of this climb!"

"I don't give a shiz about this climb any more. Or mile 400. I'm gonna pass out."

Coachubby and my crew didn't know what to do. We stood there. My competitors slugged by. I was baking. My brain needed sleep and was trying to shut all systems down against my will. My legs were trying to keep going, but the Big Kahuna was continually trying to off them, cutting their power supply.

I had terrible asthma--excercise asthma that is induced only, it seems, after over 28 straight hours of exercise. I wonder how many people have this kind of exercise asthma and will never know it. I took several puffs of the emergency inhaler I picked up after experiencing the "tube breathing" phenomenon during the Eastern Sierra double.

I was coughing meaty, gross coughs. Like coughing up a lung. Who knows, maybe I was.

Finally, I came to a stop next to a mile marker.

"This is 376 miles into the ride, right?"
"Yes," said my crew.
"Done."
"What about 400?"
"I couldn't care less."
"I just don't want you to hate yourself later. I want you to know that even coming this far is an amazing accomplishment, you know that, right? We're behind you and proud of you whatever you want to do," said coachubby.

I handed him the Bullet.

And now, almost 3 weeks later, I hate myself for having done that.

Coachubby knows me too well.

This, too, shall pass. Soon, I hope. Being depressed is a motivational death sentence.This is why I haven't been blogging much recently. (Well, that, and coachubby and I had an awesome vacation driving down Highway 1 from Oregon back to LA the week after the race!)

So there you have it--the RAO race report sans the middle, which will come soon. The middle 240 miles were the absolute best ever. Heavenly cycling.

Race Across Oregon-- Mind vs. Body

Brain failure came approximately 376 miles and 34 hours into the race--I will not count my longest ride by 131 miles and 11.5 hours as an actual failure failure.

But let's back it up.

Date: July 11th, 2009. 0500 hours.
The plan was to wake up at 0400 hours, eat a Skinny Elvis, and roll to the race start in front of the beautiful Best Western in Hood River, OR.

That all went as planned, except I hadn't been asleep, a requirement for waking up. I was up all night with my stomach twisted in knots--a feeling I haven't had since racing on the swim team my freshman year of high school.

Hours earlier, Race Director and multiple RAAM finisher, George Thomas, asked me if I was nervous.

"I only get nervous when I have to go fast," I said. Don't ask me where I pulled that out from. What an asinine thing to say.

At that point, let's say 6pm on the 10th, I wasn't nervous. Nervous hasn't been a part of my race vocabulary for years. Excited to kick ass, yes. Nervous? No.

I got nervous the instant I lay down to sleep. Even Stacy and Clinton from TLC's "What Not to Wear" couldn't calm me through makeover magic.

And so I rolled up to the start in my pink arm warmers, bright blue hand-me-down jersey, and Frankenbike aka Silver Bullet ready for a nap.

Let's back that up even more.

I'm addicted to endorphins. And while my muscles and right knee very much appreciated and very much needed the three week taper I took after the Boggs 24-hour mtn bike race, my brain reeled from endorphin withdrawal.

Mr. Thomas led the pack of solo riders out the first 9 miles of the course in a neutral start. Evil, self-defeating thoughts that have never, ever entered my brain during a race were at the forefront of my mind the instant my right knee started to hurt like a biotch whenever we went uphill.

I was almost dropped on the little HC climb in the first mile.

However, the neutral start offered some happy-inducing perks, like picking handles for my fellow cyclists that these riders would unknowingly carry throughout the entire race: Mr. Pee-Bag, a young guy with a suspicious tube coming out of his pants, taped to his leg with an opening by his foot, and Bananaman, an older man on a recumbent with a huge yellow fairing.

A self-proclaimed Doctor riding to my right told me he did not find Mr. Pee-Bag's decision medically favorable. I agreed.

The peloton's camaraderie and the gorgeous, forest scenery began to pick up my spirits.

Then Mr. Thomas stopped, and the race started. Straight up a mountain. For over 20 miles.

When I spotted my crew for the first time, around 7am, I was ready to ask for a prescription-only dose of Advil. Not the best way to start any race. I took my mind off of the evil knee by studying other people's crews, their vans, their setups, and their peeps. The riders were still close together at this point, so there were crews cheering everywhere.

(My van & Crewmember Tom)

I pretended to be Lance on Mt. Ventoux, cutting through the crowds. Except this climb was probably hors catégorie négative--like so gradual it wasn't a graded climb. No matter, the endorphins were kicking in for the first time in 3 weeks, and I was rocking out.

(My crew on 1st climb: Coachubby, Robyn, Tom)

Then came an almost 40-mile descent during which I was crushed by everyone who lagged behind me on the climb. I pointed out one, VW Bug-sized pothole in the beginning, only to be skunked seconds later by at least 4 people. And I thought I had made my Bullet so stinkin' heavy with its aerobars and a honkin' 11-28 cassette.

I was sad, which was a huge surprise; why did I suddenly care where I was 4 hours into a 48 hour race? I'll be the underdog who comes from behind to take the win! No, you won't, you're descending like a slug! Stupid brain! Stop it!

I had told my mom, who drove to Oregon with me, that the race was going to be all mental--that it could only hurt so much, and we were all physically capable of finishing, but the mentally toughest would persevere.

She kindly listened to my pre-race babble, thinking I was a nut job mentally and physically for entering.

But I sincerely believed I was as mentally tough as they come...until this moment; my brain was being a twit and it was only 75 miles into RAO.

Race Across Oregon Didn't Kill Me--I'm Back!

And older.

As of yesterday.

But only in numbers.

OK, and maybe in joint mobility after attempting RAO.

Should you have been checking the time stations on the RAO website, you might have noticed that after Spray, OR (yes, some place along the route was called Spray. And yes, jokes were made. Hydration jokes.), I disappeared.

(Me and my superhot crew minutes before the race start.)

Well, I didn't actually disappear. I did keep going.

Just not all the way to the next time station.

Full report coming soon, including head winds in all directions, 98-degree heat, freak storms, and special nicknames for all riders within my vicinity. Like Mr. Pee-Bag, Bananaman, and Mr. Bonk. OK, that last one was actually someone's name.

Thank you for all of your support!

Race Across Oregon- All Systems Go!...

...except for one very stubborn, cruel knee who will be beat into submission with Advil and Bengay. The quads are coming around. My lungs are ready.

It's time to see Oregon. A lot of it.

We've picked up the minivan, organized a ton of stuff all over the living room, and given the Silver Bullet a final tune up and some color (blue bar tape and tires!).

Now all that's left is to load up the minivan, pick up my mom from LAX, and get going to Oregon early tomorrow morning.


Coachubby will be flying into Portland Thursday afternoon where my mom will be traded for him, then it's off to Hood River, to be joined by my crew, Robyn and Tom, Friday night.

It's showtime!

Tune in to the RAO blog for updates on rider position and fun race updates next weekend!

I'll be back on the 20th.

P.S. Getting ready for this adventure has made Ironman look like a bargain basement endurance event. Yikes!

24 Hours to Destroy a 25 Year Old Knee

Smart athletes can tell the difference between pain-pain and injury-pain.

Apparently, I'm smart on the inside, but have a tremendous ability to override reason with narrow, misguided focus.

The pain started somewhere around midnight during the Boggs 24-hour mountain bike race.

It was a 24-hour race, it was supposed to hurt, right?

Deep down, I knew it wasn't good pain. But I wasn't going to not ride for 24 hours. That was the point of the race.

I kept riding. My knee got worse.

I rode hills for the first time since Boggs today in an effort to gauge just how evil my knee is actually being.

I passed an older man on a fancy LeMonde in a fancy Ironfly kit while pedaling up a steep incline. I thought I was really chugging along, passing Mr. Fancy.

"Hi!" I said.
"You're doing great!" he said as he pulled up beside me, matching my effort.
"So are you!" said I.
"I'm 86!" says he.

Thus, I realized my 25-year old knee had gained approximately 60 years of wear and tear in 24-hours. (Either that, or my mtb saddle was too low...and the knee will heal.)

Now, 10 days after Boggs, I'm praying the lasting, point-specific pain in my inner right knee will somehow heal itself in the next 9 days, even though it hasn't in the past 10. 9 days are all it's got.

To prove my dedication to healing the rogue knee, I have iced it with peas, and done things against the very grain of my being, like taking Advil more than once a month, and sitting in icy-water. I hate cold. But I love my knee more. It should know that.

When the 9 days are up, it's showtime at Race Across Oregon. I'm asking my kneeright to at least hold off of the injured-pain until mile 526. Please, oh please.

And for fun, check out the only photos taken at Boggs. Coachubby spent the rest of the time making me pb&potato chip sandwiches.

Start!

Can you find me?

Just before the start.

Thank you, sir, may I have another loop?

Pre-race meeting. Spot the Erin?

Qeee chilling before getting dirty.

Race Across Oregon Racer Profiles

The Race Across Oregon 2009 route and rider profiles are up! Check it all out here. Sandy Earl wrote the ladies' profiles, and they're pretty hilarious.

Ultracycling Words of Wisdom from Race Across Oregon's Terri Gooch

If you’re looking into doing your first ultracycling race, there’s no doubt you have questions. Lots of questions. Some of them, you might even be afraid to ask. When races go over 24 hours, things chaffe, pop, swell, and do other ungodly things that would make anyone who’s naturally introverted wince at sharing his or her issues.

Lucky for you, Terri Gooch, two-time RAAM finisher, and co-race director with her husband George Thomas (6-time RAAM finisher), of RAAM qualifier, Race Across Oregon, is full of useful information. Whatever your ultracycling goal, she’s been there, done that, and is happy to share her knowledge.

Let’s say for argument's sake that your ‘A’ race this year is Race Across Oregon, a 48-hour, 527-mile extravaganza now entering its 12th year. Unlike the first 9 years, when RAO was held in the beginning of June, actually went across Oregon, and was plagued with snowstorms and terrible weather, RAO will begin on July 11th this year. The route has been redone for 2009 to keep cyclists off of busy throughways, and the weather, goodness willing, will be more favorable. Maybe even hot.

Do you sleep? How do you fuel? How should you pick your crew? What gearing should you have on your bike?

You (and I) have questions. Terri has answers.

SLEEPING
Me: RAO is 48 hours. So, about sleeping--
Terri: No sleep.

CREW
Me: And the crew?
Terri: Good planning by the crew is essential.

Make sure your crew knows what you want. Make sure that they’re nice but not too nice. Really nice crews can waste a lot of time just trying to make you comfortable instead of just saying, come on, just suck it up! You wanted to do this.

[Your crew must] make you be responsible for it. This is your dream, this is what you wanted to do. Because everyone’s gonna hurt during the race. Everyone’s gonna have a down time, everyone’s gonna have an upset stomach. Everyone’s gonna have a sore knee. Everyone’s crotch is gonna hurt. It’s gonna happen to everybody. It’s hard to ride 500 and something miles and not feel bad. You just don’t want to give up. You know, everyone’s going to throw up, so throw up and get back on.

Maybe that’s the most frustrating thing is when the crew just doesn’t have it together. They could effectively loose the race for the rider.

CREW CHIEF
Terri: It’s helpful to have an Excel spreadsheet wiz. Look at your training data, and try to have this person or you or both of you look at the terrain and how you’re riding and extrapolate the information to make time goals for all of your time stations.

That will help you too to stay motivated—making time goals for check stations.

NUTRITION
Me: We’ve all read about ultracyclists sticking to an all-liquid diet in an effort to promote intestinal flow, and keep the cyclists system from backing up. So is that true? No solids? I love to chew.

Terri: [re: all liquids] If it works for you.

I think it totally depends on your constitution and what you do well with and how much it slows you down.

Whatever you choose, you have to have a pretty good variety in the car, because you never know what’s going to happen. You love Gatorade, for example, and after 12 hours, maybe you’ve never gone on a training ride longer than 12 hours, so then after 12 hours you have total stomach mess and it’s not working. Now what?

The main thing is to try to find those foods that work for you that don’t make you slow down, don’t make you tired, and are easy to digest.

You gotta figure, it’s going to take you 36-48 hours, and you have to get in 250 [calories] an hour and if it’s really hot, and it’s pretty dry here, so what’s that turkey sandwich gonna taste like? Like sandpaper with some little slimy thing in there?

GEARING FOR RAO
Me: My bikes both have a double and a 12-25. Am I gonna die?

Terri: I don’t think anything’s wrong with a double—I did RAAM with a double, but I had probably a 12-27 on it. Are you a masher or a spinner?

Me: Mashed potatoes.

Terri: This course does, off the top of my head, have three 8-12 mile 6-8% climbs and those are all gonna be on the second day. So think about it that way. If you’re happy doing that…

(I shield my quads from listening to this conversation. I don’t think they’ll be happy climbing anything after having already ridden 300 miles. Then again, maybe they would. I’ve never done it before.)

On RAAM when we were climbing through the Appalachian mountains, there were sections I knew that had five million feet of climbing and it totally freaked me out. So I got a compact crank and I put on a mountain bike derailleur on the back and I got a 12-32 or something like that. I was probably going like 5 miles an hour, but it was nice to be able to spin sometimes, and go slow, and not crush myself.

So do I think you could do the whole thing with a 12-27? Yeah, I do. Or even a 12-25. Some people do it with compacts, some with triples.

(My quads heard. They now want me to buy a new cassette. Or two or three.)

THE BIG BAD LONGEST TRAINING RIDE
Me: I have an 18-hour ride planned. How should I maximize that training time?

Terri: Set up your van exactly like you’re gonna have at RAO. What I’ve found is really good is I get those little four drawer pull tub things and put all shorts in one and its marked and all jerseys in one and all of your arm warmers leg warmers and hats and whatever in another.

And have your nighttime sunglasses and have your cooler and have everything set up so [your crew] can get used to getting you stuff in the dark, giving you handoffs. Keeping track of the food that you eat and stuff like that on a spreadsheet or however you want to do it because that is really really great.

Work your light system and make sure all of that stuff is set up.

Test whether eating solid at night makes you sleepy. You might not want to have any caffeine all day long, start your ride at noon, and ride all night and see how the caffeine works.

PROBING INTO TERRI’S RACE DIRECTOR-NESS
Me: What’s the best thing about being a RAO race director?
Terri: It’s really fun to meet everyone along the way. It’s really cool to see people not give up.

Me: What’s the worst part about being race director?
Terri: What’s the hardest is people that you know should just finish, and you want to help them and give them some positive words of encouragement, and they don’t finish. It’s such a drag. It really is.

It’s also frustrating when I see people who brought crews who want to go for a ride or go for a run and I’m like, “You’re just here for 48 hours to help this person finish, so just focus. Don’t leave ‘em for an hour with no water!
*******************************************
TriDiva's final thoughts:
If you think, like I did, that someone who can complete RAAM as a 2-person mixed tandem with her husband, and again as a 2-person team with her husband, is superhuman and has superhuman focus, you’re right. She is, and she does.

But even Terri has her moments, which is encouraging for the rest of us ultrawoman wannabes.

Says Terri about her first RAAM, “I remember riding the tandem somewhere in Colorado and I was just like, why did I want to do this? And George was like, 'This is way too early to start having existential crises about why we’re here.'”

Of course, by the time she was in Colorado, she had to already have ridden 770 miles.

For more on Terri and George, click here.

Sandy Earl: From Soccer Mom to Ultracycling Superstar

Move over, Dara Torres, there’s a new mom in town poised to inspire women over 40 to achieve their athletic dreams, no excuses allowed.

Unlike Ms. Torres, who’s athletic success as a swimmer spanned over two decades before she became the poster mom for 40-plus women’s fitness, Sandy Earl was a self-professed soccer mom right through her early 30s. Now 45 years old with 19 and 21-year old children, Sandy holds records at many of the most prestigious ultracycling races across the United States, proving women who weren’t born athletic prodigies can still achieve seemingly insurmountable fitness goals.
Sandy’s choice of sport, however, is probably why, despite her accomplishments, she’s not the current inspirational figure to housewives across the country with dreams of achieving personal fitness goals.

Ultracycling is a relatively unknown, underground sport. Ultracycle.net defines an ultracycling ride as one that is at least 150 miles long, making allowances for climbing.

In 1999, Sandy chose the Furnace Creek 508 as her first major ultracycling race when her entry to Ironman Canada was not received on time. As the name indicates, the Furnace Creek race is 508 miles long. Sandy was the second woman to cross the finish line, finishing in 41 hours, 6 minutes, and 34 seconds, and qualifying for Race Across America.

She was hooked.

The next year, she took on Race Across Oregon, another 500-plus mile race during which she encountered innumerable snowstorms. She was the only woman to finish that year.
Sandy also set course records at a 24-hour race in Iowa in 2000 and 2001, and still holds the female course record at Calvin’s Challenge, a 12-hour cycling race in Ohio, at 249 miles. She also holds the 12 and 24-hour records at the Davis 12 and 24-hour challenge, setting the new female 24-hour record in 2008, at the age of 44.

Sandy has found her calling. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to complete such events—or the luck Sandy has had. In fact, the worst thing that has ever happened to her was taking in too
much caffeine at the 2001 event in Iowa. “I finished that race so cranky!” she says.

Ultracycling is far from risk-free, a fact Sandy knows all too well. The events are not held on closed courses, and traffic is not always respectful of cyclists. Particularly on the freeway, like I-10, on which Sandy rode when she attempted the 3,000-plus mile holy grail of American ultracycling, Race Across America (RAAM), in 2002. (Sandy rode 1,000 miles in 4 days before making the gut-wrenching decision to pull out.)

However, maybe even greater than the physical risk is the polarizing effect becoming an ultracyclist can have on the cyclist’s family.

The training and racing “has definitely brought my daughter and I closer together,” Sandy says. Her daughter, now in college, crews many of her events. But, she adds, “I blew a marriage over it.”

Sandy’s foray into the world of ultracycling, she explains, was “a symptom more than anything else” of a struggling marriage. Her rides made her feel good about herself, and her strength, and gave her a sense of personal accomplishment in difficult times.

Despite tough setbacks at home and on the road (Sandy took several years off from racing after feeling depressed about not having finished RAAM), Sandy has found strength and inspiration in the ultracycling community.

As Sandy explains, “You’re not doing [an ultra event] by yourself. And you’re doing it totally by yourself, which is the coolest part of the thing.” A competitor cannot compete without a solid crew, who makes sure the athlete has what she needs to make it through the event—clothes, food, water, helpful words, music, light at night, etc. But in the end, its up to the athlete to be physically and mentally prepared to race.

Acting as a crew member for friends in countless races, Sandy felt blessed to be “a part of a community of awesome people who do this too.”

After 2006, she did the math and realized that she’d done Race Across Oregon three times, and crewed for friends four times, so, she says, “that means I get to race it again to even the score!” Sandy is currently gearing up for this year’s Race Across Oregon, starting in Hood River, Oregon, on July 11th.

Sandy’s can-do attitude is positively infectious, and certainly part of the reason she’s been so successful as an ultracyclist. She is quick to point out that “the 50-plus women’s record [for RAAM] is out there, and you talk about a 5 year goal, I’m 45 right now. I can see doing that.”

The tale of Sandy’s transformation from soccer mom to elite ultracyclist should inspire women of all ages to pursue their athletic goals—no Olympic medals needed.

Endurance Training Question #1: Diabetes

It might not logically flow that I'd be concerned about becoming diabetic as a result of training for RAO (Race Across Oregon). So I'll let you in on the brain connection game that led to diabetic paranoia:

1. My dad, a runner, became a Type 1 diabetic within a year of running his first marathon.
2. If it skips a generation, I'd still get slammed from my mom's side.
3. If a list were made of the amount of food I shove through my face in a training week--or in a single, 200 mile ride day--the general population would be entirely grossed out.
4. Let me rephrase that, the general active and healthy population would be entirely grossed out.
5. My pancreas might have a genetic predisposition to becoming insulin resistant. Therefore, making it deal with 1000s more calories per day than a typical girl my size might catalyze the process of becoming insulin resistant.

In other words, I wanted to know if the massive workload of processing endless Powerbars, Gus, PB&Js, chocolate cake, etc... could possibly screw up my body's metabolic process.

Becci Twombley, Director of Sports Nutrition for UCLA, put my mind at ease when I spoke with her a few weeks ago.

Says Becci, "If you have a healthy pancreas, you have a healthy pancreas, and you can do a ton to it. The insulin resistance and stuff that we see is generally caused by weight gain."

Typically, excess fat alters the shape of the insulin receptors in the body, causing insulin resistance.

This was happy news to me, as the diminishing size of um...certain female parts that are the only female parts for which the motto, "Bigger is better!" usually rules, is proof I won't have issues with fat screwing over my body's ability to fuel monster workouts.

However, a MedecineNet.com article also cites a "strong genetic factor" as one of several causes of insulin resistance, along with stress.

I can't alter my genes, nor would I want to. I inherited some killer legs from padre, a fact that was confirmed today when I was hit on by a 70-year old German man while walking a friend's dog.

So I suppose the only thing left to do to ensure a safe continuation of monster workout fueling is to take up yoga. Or get one of those Pure Moods CDs.

Reaching a state of Zen will now be one of my RAO training goals, since doing "everything in moderation" (a practice that would keep my pancreas's abilities from ever being questioned) is obviously not.

The Race Across Oregon. It's ON!

I feel sick to my stomach.

Unusually, this has nothing to do with chocolate overload.

I just signed up for the Race Across Oregon ultracycling extravaganza covering 527 miles and 40,000 feet of climbing in 48-hours or less.

Why the hell would a girl want to do this?

3 reasons:

1. Cost consciousness. For approximately half the price of an Ironman, I can officially beat the crap out of myself for almost three times as long as Ironman would let me.
2. Time. I will never have as much time to train as I do now, considering I will start grad school next fall.
3. Fear. I have never ever signed up for a race I wasn't sure I could finish. When I first heard about Ironman, I thought, hell yea, I can do that! I have absolutely no idea if I can ride 527 miles in 48 hours. I love sleeping, suck at climbing, and am fully aware that most female endurance athletes hit their stride in their mid-30s to 40s, after pumping hundreds of thousands of miles into their legs.

Having owned a road bike for all of three years, I can safely say my legs have not been primed for a ride of this magnitude.

Neither has my brain.

Gordo Byrn, ultra athlete extraordinaire, once told me he thinks everyone who competes in ultra anything (triathlon, cycling, running) is searching for something. Having married my dream guy and found happiness, I can safely say the drive to spend endless hours pounding out this search for something has dwindled. The mental game will be tougher than it would've been three years ago.

And then there's the pain.

One ultracyclist rated the Furnace Creek 508 as infinitely more difficult than a 100 mile running race, which he had done. I ran 29 miles in two days last week, and couldn't move on Monday.

Therefore, I'm doing this thing. It's on. I'm officially going off the deep end into personally uncharted territory. Because really, if I don't try something that scares me once in a while, how will I grow?

I'll be tracking down the advice of the women who have gone before me, and sharing the mental and physical battles that come with training for this event, including a 24-hour race, and the requisite triathlons.

I am a triathlete, after all.

And hopefully after this event, Ironman will seem like a breeze. Kona, here I come!...in 2011?