In times like this, my body is speechlessly pissed it got my brain for a partner. But deep down inside, it also likes the challenge.
And so coachubby and I are driving to Show Low, Arizona, tomorrow to participate in the Deuces Wild 1/2 ironman triathlon (DeuceMan), then follow it up with the Deuces Wild XTERRA on Sunday--just 5 days after riding 300 miles in less than 40 hours, massacring my quads and any ounce of focus my brain had left.
Smart? Probably not.
Fun? Definitely.
Plus, I'll get to see some of my favorite people (Xterra buddies) as well as two more of my favorite people (my parents) throughout the weekend.
The true test of just how much my quads can take, and how far I can go without inhaling caffeine in any form, will be under way at 6:30am on Saturday.
If you're in AZ, come cheer! The weather calls for highs in the mid-70s. Fabulous.
See you out there!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Heartbreak Double Century--Have You Thanked Your Lungs Today?
Most cyclists like to give thanks to their quads and bum for getting them through 15,000+ feet of climbing in 200 miles of straight riding.
I propose we give these body parts their due respect, but not at the expense of an even more important, often overlooked participant in these types of ultra excursions: the lungs. (OK, and the heart, in unison.)
Upon completing the Planet Ultra Heartbreak Double Century this past Saturday, Coachubby, Robyn and I sounded like chronic smokers. Our lungs had had it with us, and wanted a break. But with no inhalers, and no way to massage the little airbags, they had to continue their air-transfer duties while inflamed and fatigued.
Whoda thunk a non-asthmatic athlete could reach a point where her lungs began to rebel? Breathing too much is not something most people worry about...unless they're SCUBA diving.
But our lungs were happy to make the sacrifice to allow the rest of our bodies to ride 200 mmiles of peaceful, beautiful, rolling back country roads with clean air, little traffic, and the most blessedly perfect weather a cyclist could ask for.
Unlike riding on PCH in LA, which induces heart palpitations every few minutes when some arrogant psycho in a Hummer drives into the shoulder, there was only one heart-stopping shoulder intruder on this ride: a ginormous rattle snake.
Thankfully he made his suicidal appearance on a big downhill, so his presence was felt for only a second as we descended right by at 20+ mph.
Well-spaced, well-stocked aid stations with friendly volunteers were also much appreciated. However this event is run in conjunction with the Heartbreak century ride, which starts from the double's 50-mile aid station and ends at the same place, 150 miles into the double (the course is like a lolly pop with the Heartbreak hundred as the sucker part, and the extra 100 as the stem.)
When we arrived back at the hundred's home base, the century riders had consumed all of the coke. Coachubby, upon realizing this travesty, literally looked like someone had punched him in the gut and told him his bike was ugly.
Thankfully the last aid station had the most spunky, helpful volunteers I've ever seen at an aid station in any race-- Nancy Baisch and Karla Johnston--who literally ran out from behind their table of goodies to grab our water bottles and fill them with whatever we wanted.
Coachubby chose Mountain Dew.
In an effort to give my heart and kidneys somewhat of a break, I attempted to not use any caffeine or Advil for the entire ride, but caved at 30 miles left, eating a beloved Chocolate Mint Gu and downing 2 Advil--my big toes felt like they were severing themselves off.
Robyn, ever the climber and amazing ultracyclist, forged ahead after I told her at mile 50, where she'd been waiting for my slow bum for quite a while, not to let me hold her back any more. Coachubby, on the other hand, is married to me. He had to stick by my side.
We triumphantly rolled in just after 8pm, just at the end of twilight, successfully riding without the need for any serious lighting, save for a blinky and a mini head light.
Robyn whooped us by a good 40 minutes.
I highly recommend this double to anyone considering one. Don't let the "15,000 feet of elevation gain!" make you think it's impossible. I'll gladly trade the stress of traffic and urban riding for hilly, barely trafficked terrain. It's also nice to change up your position going up and down. Our first double, Camino Real in Irvine, led us down the freaking 5 freeway and was relatively flat for very long, painful stretches. Palmdale is just as easy to get to from Los Angeles, as long as you don't leave on the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend.
Do the Heartbreak Double Century! Just be prepared to be yelled at if you drop off your bike light for the race directors to take to the 150 mile point, then don't pick it up because you're making good time. They haven't figured out how to get it back to you politely.
And don't get lost. They're not too keen on coming to find you either, even if your wife calls them while she's desperately searching for you.
Ride on!
P.S. And if you're really crazy, you'll jump back on your bike for another hilly 100 miles the next day, then remain unable to move for two more days...and counting.
I propose we give these body parts their due respect, but not at the expense of an even more important, often overlooked participant in these types of ultra excursions: the lungs. (OK, and the heart, in unison.)
Upon completing the Planet Ultra Heartbreak Double Century this past Saturday, Coachubby, Robyn and I sounded like chronic smokers. Our lungs had had it with us, and wanted a break. But with no inhalers, and no way to massage the little airbags, they had to continue their air-transfer duties while inflamed and fatigued.
Whoda thunk a non-asthmatic athlete could reach a point where her lungs began to rebel? Breathing too much is not something most people worry about...unless they're SCUBA diving.
But our lungs were happy to make the sacrifice to allow the rest of our bodies to ride 200 mmiles of peaceful, beautiful, rolling back country roads with clean air, little traffic, and the most blessedly perfect weather a cyclist could ask for.
Unlike riding on PCH in LA, which induces heart palpitations every few minutes when some arrogant psycho in a Hummer drives into the shoulder, there was only one heart-stopping shoulder intruder on this ride: a ginormous rattle snake.
Thankfully he made his suicidal appearance on a big downhill, so his presence was felt for only a second as we descended right by at 20+ mph.
Well-spaced, well-stocked aid stations with friendly volunteers were also much appreciated. However this event is run in conjunction with the Heartbreak century ride, which starts from the double's 50-mile aid station and ends at the same place, 150 miles into the double (the course is like a lolly pop with the Heartbreak hundred as the sucker part, and the extra 100 as the stem.)
When we arrived back at the hundred's home base, the century riders had consumed all of the coke. Coachubby, upon realizing this travesty, literally looked like someone had punched him in the gut and told him his bike was ugly.
Thankfully the last aid station had the most spunky, helpful volunteers I've ever seen at an aid station in any race-- Nancy Baisch and Karla Johnston--who literally ran out from behind their table of goodies to grab our water bottles and fill them with whatever we wanted.
Coachubby chose Mountain Dew.
In an effort to give my heart and kidneys somewhat of a break, I attempted to not use any caffeine or Advil for the entire ride, but caved at 30 miles left, eating a beloved Chocolate Mint Gu and downing 2 Advil--my big toes felt like they were severing themselves off.
Robyn, ever the climber and amazing ultracyclist, forged ahead after I told her at mile 50, where she'd been waiting for my slow bum for quite a while, not to let me hold her back any more. Coachubby, on the other hand, is married to me. He had to stick by my side.
We triumphantly rolled in just after 8pm, just at the end of twilight, successfully riding without the need for any serious lighting, save for a blinky and a mini head light.
Robyn whooped us by a good 40 minutes.
I highly recommend this double to anyone considering one. Don't let the "15,000 feet of elevation gain!" make you think it's impossible. I'll gladly trade the stress of traffic and urban riding for hilly, barely trafficked terrain. It's also nice to change up your position going up and down. Our first double, Camino Real in Irvine, led us down the freaking 5 freeway and was relatively flat for very long, painful stretches. Palmdale is just as easy to get to from Los Angeles, as long as you don't leave on the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend.
Do the Heartbreak Double Century! Just be prepared to be yelled at if you drop off your bike light for the race directors to take to the 150 mile point, then don't pick it up because you're making good time. They haven't figured out how to get it back to you politely.
And don't get lost. They're not too keen on coming to find you either, even if your wife calls them while she's desperately searching for you.
Ride on!
P.S. And if you're really crazy, you'll jump back on your bike for another hilly 100 miles the next day, then remain unable to move for two more days...and counting.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Should Triathlon Companies be Held to Lower Standards During the Recession?
After hearing many triathletes, particularly Xterra participants, express their frustration at the cancellation of races and changes made to race dates long after athletes had already gotten airfare, I wondered: are we allowing companies some slack due to the economy? Should we?
Xterra 29er recently posted this grievance about XTERRA racing this year:
I want to love you but you make it hard when:
Eric commented on my blog that he's "seriously bummed about no Xterra races in SoCal. I'll probably do only two total races this year and not make it to USA Champs or World'd like I wantd to. :("
Getting angry at companies like Xterra for canceling races and changing dates late in the game is tricky, since Xterra franchises its events to independent race organizations. It seems like the parent company lending its name does not have much control over what happens to our favorite races when the economy goes south.
What do you think? Should we just roll with it and expect some faulty race scheduling, or should we hold companies like Xterra to the high race production standards they've set for themselves in years past?
Xterra 29er recently posted this grievance about XTERRA racing this year:
I want to love you but you make it hard when:
- You cut a bunch of races from the 2008 to the 2009 season
- You list races for 2009 and then cancel them
- You list races for 2009 and then change their dates
Eric commented on my blog that he's "seriously bummed about no Xterra races in SoCal. I'll probably do only two total races this year and not make it to USA Champs or World'd like I wantd to. :("
Getting angry at companies like Xterra for canceling races and changing dates late in the game is tricky, since Xterra franchises its events to independent race organizations. It seems like the parent company lending its name does not have much control over what happens to our favorite races when the economy goes south.
What do you think? Should we just roll with it and expect some faulty race scheduling, or should we hold companies like Xterra to the high race production standards they've set for themselves in years past?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A Tacky Move--Etape Caledonia Sabotaged by Grumpy Old Man
And you thought Hummer-loving Americans were the fiercest cycling haters in the world...
If you're an American who spends most of your time fantasizing about riding in France or Italy, you might've overlooked the Etape Caledonia, an apparently very famous charity ride Scotland. The 81-mile ride, put on by IMG events, raises money for Macmillan Cancer Support and hosted about 3,500 riders this past Sunday.
It's special claim to fame is its closed course--a change from most centuries, where open roads create traffic anxiety that detracts from the scenery.
Like in a cartoon, a cycling saboteur threw thousands of carpet tacks over large stretches of the course, forcing event coordinators to halt the ride for over an hour to get the roads swept while hundreds of competitors pried tacks out of their flat tires.
Who would do such a thing? What sparks such a hatred of the two-wheeled contraption that allows grown men to shamelessly don neon spandex when mounted on top of it?
According to BikeRadar.com, the man was none other than 62-year old Alex Grosset, the chairman of the Rannoch and Tummel Community Council.
One can only speculate about his motives at this point. However, he's not old enough to claim old-man insanity--the disease that also allows little old men to grab womens' behinds without reprimand.
On the bright side, the Etape Caledonia couldn't have asked for better media coverage. Now every cyclist in the world knows about it. As proof, registration for the 2010 ride is filling up 6 times faster than at this point last year.
Mr. Grosset must be shoving tacks under his fingernails right now--his plan to ruin the race backfired royally.
If you're an American who spends most of your time fantasizing about riding in France or Italy, you might've overlooked the Etape Caledonia, an apparently very famous charity ride Scotland. The 81-mile ride, put on by IMG events, raises money for Macmillan Cancer Support and hosted about 3,500 riders this past Sunday.
It's special claim to fame is its closed course--a change from most centuries, where open roads create traffic anxiety that detracts from the scenery.
Like in a cartoon, a cycling saboteur threw thousands of carpet tacks over large stretches of the course, forcing event coordinators to halt the ride for over an hour to get the roads swept while hundreds of competitors pried tacks out of their flat tires.
Who would do such a thing? What sparks such a hatred of the two-wheeled contraption that allows grown men to shamelessly don neon spandex when mounted on top of it?
According to BikeRadar.com, the man was none other than 62-year old Alex Grosset, the chairman of the Rannoch and Tummel Community Council.
One can only speculate about his motives at this point. However, he's not old enough to claim old-man insanity--the disease that also allows little old men to grab womens' behinds without reprimand.
On the bright side, the Etape Caledonia couldn't have asked for better media coverage. Now every cyclist in the world knows about it. As proof, registration for the 2010 ride is filling up 6 times faster than at this point last year.
Mr. Grosset must be shoving tacks under his fingernails right now--his plan to ruin the race backfired royally.
Monday, May 18, 2009
You Know You're a Triathlete When...Ladies' Edition!
- You weigh 15 lbs more than you did at your senior prom, but the bra you wore then is too big.
- You seriously consider asking your doctor if you can stick mole skin and/or duct tape on your bum to prevent chafing while cycling.
- Your body during high-volume training--tired, muscle crampy, irritable, and fish-like memory--mirrors that of someone with a serious thyroid problem. But you're doing it to yourself.
- Your bike seat has spent way more crotch time with you than your boyfriend probably ever will.
- The number of men
you can date based on the following single factor is so far reduced, it'll be a miracle to find just one man meeting your expectations: he must eat more than you do.
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