If you can do what this guy did, you never need to do another crit again to practice your handling skills.
He (Christian Adam) set a world record when he sat backwards on his bike and covered a distance of 37.5 miles in 5:08 hours while playing his violin. Where? On part of the St. Gallen highway in Switzerland that was not yet opened for traffic.
Time to crack out those musical instruments from high school and get training!
Happy Monday!
Only a marathon left. This day was going fast!
Right off the bat, I had to use the porta potty. Luckily, there was one just after exiting transition. I felt like I wasn’t going very fast. I stopped at all of the aid stations to make sure I got all the calories I could from their cups of Gatorade (the yummy yellow kind now, horray!) and part of a banana ever 3rd aid station.
The thought of eating another gel made me want to puke.
The course was 3 figure-8 loops, which I liked. It made it mentally easy to break it down, and I got to see my cheer squad. A lot. And eventually I got to see all of my friends, too, as I lapped them.
My mantra for the first loop? Just chill. Enjoy the scenery and sneaking up on my cheer squad. I don’t believe anything is cooler than deciding to do a crazy workout and having thousands of people around to help you do it. Strategically placed porta potties. Gatorade when you want it. Water. Food. Everything’s out there so you can get what you need and continue on your journey. When I would go for long runs in Phoenix, I’d have to wait until it was dark outside, so if I had to use the bathroom, I could hide in someone’s hedges and go. Or, I’d drive around, figure out which houses were under construction, had porta potties in the front yard, then wait until Sunday, when nobody would be working, to do my long run. No fun at all.
After completing the first loop, I decided my mantra for the second loop would be: Just chill. Yes, the same mantra. I figured I was at a pace I could hold, and considering I had never ever run more than 20 miles before, I wasn’t sure if I could ever push it and finish. Better play it safe.
My cheer squad was all over the place. Just after I crossed the bridge at Scottsdale Road, where I had to put my visor on backward since the wind was trying hard to knock it off my head and I didn’t want to loose it to the lake, I saw them. Cheering like maniacs. Then I saw them again under the Mill Avenue bridge. Then I saw them again on the North side of the bridge. And then I saw two of my friends walking together. They cheered for me.
Coachancé gave me a double “high 5!” and, here’s where biotch, well, um, “in the zone” TriDiva comes in. My thought at this point? Please, don’t let him run along side me. I will then realize how dreadfully slow I am going and be sad. Don’t let him jog beside me. Shoo!
Not a very kind thought toward the love of my life and the man who was currently carrying my ring for me in his Camelback so I could stick it on my bloated pinky as soon as I finished.
As the final loop approached, I became pretty euphoric. I AM going to be an Ironman. No doubt about it. And the coolest part? I’m going to do it before sunset just like I wanted. As long as I don’t walk.
All of that training, my cool coachancé me-specific training plans, all of those psycho runs in the Santa Monica mountains. Including that one time where I freaked out because I got dehydrated and got the freezies, but was instantly restored when I saw my coachancé cheering for me by the car as I finished. He has been cheering for me for months, and has cheered for me during every workout. I am so blessed, and all of those moments are culminating to this point, and I only have less than 9 miles left! I want to cry.
But first, I have to poo. Every time I’ve eaten a banana, I’ve gotten the most horrendous stomach cramps about 2 minutes afterward, fart a minute after that and feel better. But I don’t really want to eat anymore. I don’t want to wait in line for a porta-potty, but I can’t help it. There’s no way I’ll make it another mile without one.
For heaven’s sake! Get out of the porta-potty! I’m on a mission! Don’t mess this up for me people!
I’m in! I go to the bathroom, then I’m back out on the trail. (See the pissyness coming through?) I smile for the camera I’ve passed 2 times already. The biggest, most victorious smile I can muster.
Hey! There’s my Ironcheersquad again! They’re everywhere!
Apparently, my padre was surprised that I was still running. Well, duh! I wasn’t going to walk. I did train for this!
The little inspirational quotes on all of the mile markers came in handy now. “Pain is only weakness leaving the body.” Hell yea! And I don’t know if any of them actually said this, but I like “pain is only temporary”, and my other mantra (besides today’s “just chill”): “it’s supposed to hurt”. So no wussing out! Bring on the pain!
I was a little sad I’d never be coming back around this part of the run loop again. This was the last time I’d pass the aid station with the man with the loud speaker under the bridge. The last time I’d come over Scottsdale road and almost get blown into the lake.
All of the volunteers and other Ironcheerers kept saying, “Good pace! Keep it up!” which made me incredibly happy. Even if they said it to everyone, I was only concentrating on me now. Oh! There’s my cheer squad again! I’m too tired to smile. It takes too much of the energy I need to drive to my legs. Sorry.
A volunteer near mile 24 asks me if it’s my last lap, after saying, “Great pace!”
YES! I say.
“You’re going to finish early!”
Woo hoo! Whatever that means. But yes, I’m going to finish before sunset, darn it! Push it TriDiva, you’ve only got 2 miles to go! I haul as much bum as I can. The last 5 miles, I couldn’t eat anything at the aid stations. My stomach was sick of eating. And sick of processing everything. And probably wanted to cross the finish line more than my brain at this point.
Then I begin to cross the Mill Avenue bridge. This is it. It's all over. Unless I trip and fall on my face and break my entire body, I'm going to be an Ironman.
I kick it in. The crowd gathered around the chute is going wild for everyone. It is amazing. I hear coachancé and hairystomach screaming. This is it. I am done. It’s all over. I am an Ironman. I didn’t pause to take in the crowd. Oh, no. I sprinted down that chute. The girls at the end barely had enough time to grab ahold of the tape after the guy in front of me blew through it so I could get my finisher photo breaking the tape as well.
Oh crap! What am I gonna do to cross the finish line! Coachancé asked me about it before and told me I should think about it. I do a very generic, but empowering fists in the air pose as I run through the tape.
It’s over. Done. Kaput. I am an IRONMAN!
It's coming...
The final portion of IM AZ.
Will TriDiva become an Ironman?
Will her stomach hold out on the run?
Will she make it before sunset?
Check back tomorrow to find out.
Happy training!
And now, for the bike!
Apparently Coachancé thought I was going to hit everyone riding out of the narrow chute that led to the road at the start of the bike. I’m way cooler than that. It felt great to get on Stealth Pinky and ride (for some reason the hammies didn’t want to swim anymore).
We went out past the “hot corner” where all the spectators stood. I was flying with zero effort! I was invincible! It is an out and back course, and I made it out in less than an hour. Could it really be true—I might actually do the bike in 6 hours or less! I rule! Taper rocks!
But no. As much as I would like to believe my athletic prowess got me out on the course with lightening speed, there was also, you know, a massive tailwind. That then, in turn, became a massive head wind. That effortless 22mph average very quickly became an effort-ful 9-10mph.
OK, no problemo, I thought. I’ll gladly fight this headwind for the fun of flying back out on the course. Just stick with my nutrition plan and keep eating those electrolyte tablets and I would be a-ok.
Honestly, nothing is greater than getting to ride a century without any inkling of fear that I will be smashed, maimed, or otherwise murdered by an idiot controlling a massive amount of steel. Because riding centuries in Los Angeles? Super not cool. In fact, people die every year on the roads I ride on. And it’s not always because they got “in the zone” and weren’t paying attention. Those idiots with steel battle-cages drive too fast, and try to paint their nails, eat, talk on the phone, and veer into the very narrow shoulder reserved for fit, awesome people, and thereby rid the world of its more highly esteemed members, one at a time.
So no matter what, this 112 miles was going to be awesome. Headwind or not. Bring it on.
My Ironcheersquad positioned themselves close to the turn around in a very conspicuous area, and were ready for me as I flew by. Coachancé’s white board read: Just Keep Spinnin’…
Good plan.
I flew out on the course again. This time, I had to go potty. Thus began the great internal battle: to pee myself or not to pee myself. This is a long race, and running in my own pee for the rest of the day might not be worth the minute or so it’d take to stop at a porta-potty. But it’s also a source or pride to pee oneself in a race. No joke.
What to do, what to do…
OK, now it’s not just pee. I’m going to have to stop. There are porta potties at the turn around, I’ll stop there.
But no! They are all taken, and there’s no way in heck I’m waiting in line! I’m on a 6 hour pace here.
Turning toward the head wind again, I try to turn my thoughts toward spinnin’ and “just chillin’” and try not to think about the intestinal rage that is developing. Then, I concentrate my developing anger on the riders who are obviously riding in packs as they blow by me. Constantly. Aren’t they going to go in the “penalty tents”. Nope. Nada. But I will not join on the back of them. I will never get a drafting penalty. I can do this all on my own. I am the greatest, I am a machine.
I need to poo. I skip the “special needs” station, because I have discovered that I really don’t care what I’m drinking, and as long as I have water to trade off with sips of the disgusting orange Gatorade I have somehow acquired, I’ll be fine.
Next porta potty: 5 miles out. I can do this. I can do this.
YES! I get there and nobody is in line. A very kind volunteer takes my bike and I run inside.
Ahhhh. Relief.
Back on the bike. I am kicking ass! I rock! The headwind sucks, but I get to fly out again! This is the best day ever!
Again, my awesome Ironcheersquad is waiting for me. Well, kind of, I yell at them and then they turn in astonishment as I whiz by. Guess I came in earlier than expected. Because I am that cool. I go out on my third loop at 4 hours of riding.
By this point, my crotch is ready for me to run, even if I’d like to bike all day. I can’t stay in the aero position for too long. Like for more than 30 seconds. But I figure sitting up and making myself into a sail can’t hurt—it’ll only help the wind push me out faster.
So out I go, passing supporters and aid stations. I can’t believe the bike is almost over! All of my crazy lonely century rides and intervals and early mornings when I came home and couldn’t feel my body for 2 hours after the ride—all of that comes down to this. All of that training, and now I am a human sail. And hey! Some girl in my age group is passing me! That’s ok. I’ll get her in the run.
I round the turnabout at just under 5 hours. Freakin’ sweet!
Then something not so cool happens. The wind picks up (as if it could get any stronger). Whatever, I think. I’m almost done! I rock! I see the camera guy and make a big goofy smile. I’m 2/3 of the way to becoming an Ironman! Woo hoo!
Just keep spinnin’…just keep spinnin’…I’m going 9 mph…but there’s no point in pushing it now, because it’s almost time to run my first marathon. Don’t try too hard against the wind, or you won’t be able to run…(Thoughts from inside my head…but I’m sure you guessed that already.)
I come in significantly over 6 hours. Coachancé’s sign, witnessed just before the last half mile, reads: Wind Blows. I’m with stupid. With an arrow pointing to our friend, who flashes his hairy stomach at me. Nice.
The bike was windy
it was indeed
but going out was fun
with the wind behind my knees
So coming back was just a minor
bump in the road
so I could fly out on the course again
and feel invincible
There were people cheering
and helping us along
there were even people out there
singing Ironman songs
It was a most fabulous ride
the best by far
because there was no chance in hell
I'd be hit by a car.
More on IMAZ's bike to come! Stay tuned!
Happy Tuesday!
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