Chronicles of my insanity

Sunday, July 22, 2012

From Mars to Markleeville and Beyond

I've tried writing this post a few times in the past week, but haven't gotten too far.  In part it's because the Death Ride did a number on my right hand and all fine motor skills, which has prevented me from typing, holding a fork, signing my name, and opening a beer without much pain for the last 7 days. Injury aside (more on that later), it's mostly because I'm having a hard time mustering the right words to describe the event.

In social media short form, I've described it as:  "I did it!  11 hours of awesome and 4 hours of suck."

But all of you, my faithful blog followers, supporters and donators deserve a bit more.  So here's my attempt at the long form. And by long, I mean grab some popcorn and settle in. 

The Course
Here's what the day had in store for us:
  • 129 miles
  • 15,000 feet of vertical climbing
  • 5 mountain passes through the Sierras
  • All to be accomplished within 15 hours or so hours with various time cut offs along the way.
  • We start around 6,000 feet in Markeleeville.  Each pass tops out above 8,000 ft.
  • As you can see, a fact that maybe I didn't fully register until late in the game, over 2/3 of the climbing happens in the first 70 miles (nearly 12,000 feet).


The Weather
Weather plays a major factor in this event.  Luckily, we had a near perfect day.  It probably topped out at 86 or so.  Winds weren't bad, and not a cloud in sight.

The Start
Alarm goes off at 2:50am (seems better than 2:45am, don't you think?). Suzette and I fumble around the room, unaccustomed to functioning at this hour.  I forced a cup of coffee and a smoothie into my body.  Though I was aware of not sleeping much, my body felt strangely rested. 

At 3:30am, our team of 4 ladies and Coach Phil load our gear and drive to Markleeville.  It's pitch dark and quite at this hour. After all it's the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.  As we approach the start, we see a line of red bike tail lights blinking in the distance.  Tons of people had already started!   We hop on our bikes and roll around 4:30 am. 

I'm feeling nervous, determined, and nauseated.

Mars and Monitor x 2 (#1 and #2)
I've never ridden in the dark, and I was pretty apprehensive about it, even while I was doing it.  The blackness envelopes you, and all you can see is a small circle of 10-15 feet in front of you.  I just concentrated on my breathing, pedal strokes, and the red light in front me.  Periodically, I'd ask Suzette if she was still there.  After 7 or 8 miles we make the turn to start climbing Monitor.  I remember it's steep at the bottom, so just settle into the climb.  Soon I start to relax and even look up a bit.  I see all of those amazing mountain stars twinkling above me.  And to the right, following me the whole time is a crescent moon and Mars hanging off to its left.  These are the views I normally only see when we're backpacking in the mountains and I get up in the middle of the night to pee.  Even though there were hundreds of riders already out there,  I felt a moment of peaceful solitude as I made my way up that mountain in the dark.

Soon, I am treated to the slow, gentle bath of peachy light spreading as the sun rises to the east over the White Mountains and the Sierras.  It's breathtaking (or maybe that was just the altitude).  My teammate Lisa stopped and took this picture, and I am forever thankful to have a representation of this morning because it was one of the best moments of the day.

I reach the top, and receive my first sticker of the day.  For each pass you get a little sticker put on your number.  If you get 5 stickers, you are eligible for getting the coveted 5-pass finisher jersey.  I smash the sticker hard onto my number.  Don't want to loose it!
As I zoom down the backside, I am treated to the sun high in the sky bathing a mountain ridge on the east side.  I also see lines and lines of people not smiling climbing back up the backside.

We are really lucky to have our honored teammate Becky and Chris and Suzette's mom waiting and cheering for us at the bottom.   It's now probably around 7am and I am ravenous for breakfast.  I force some food into me, and we hop back on our bikes to climb what we had just descended at 48 mph.  Humbling to go back to a 4-5 mph speed.  

At the top, after getting my second sticker,  I see Suzette is over at the mechanical tent getting a new tire.  She had a bunch of flat tires already.   Wasn't a great start to the day for her, but I was happy to see that it was a fixable problem.  Next up was my favorite descent of the day.  It's 8 miles long and fairly straight.  I remember when Chris told me about his first experience on this road during the Death Ride in 2007.  He said he flew down at 50 mph and was screaming, "Left! Left!" as he passed riders all the way down.  I also remember thinking he was insane.  But today, I suddenly find myself hitting 49 mph. I'm not even scared, but rather having an absolute blast, and yelling out "Left! Left!"  I'm also wondering who I've become.

Ebbetts x 2 (#3 and #4), Ellie, and Eternity

Corinne, Me and Suzette on Ebbets
Next up is Ebbetts, a 13 mile climb up to 8,700 ft.  It's the longest and highest climb and the one I really struggled with during training camp.  But by now I had lots of company out on the roads.  Tons of my teammates were around, so it was a huge boost to hear even a little "Go Team" sputtered out between heavy breathing. I hit some real mental low points along the way on the front side climb.  I also started to get
"hot-foot," where it feels likes daggers in your feet on every pedal stroke.  My injured foot started flaring up, and my saddle sore was rearing it's ugly head.   I had to use some good mental gymnastics to remind myself that the pain was temporary and the mental anguish would pass.  I thought about everyone who donated to me, and remembered why we were doing the event with Team in Training.  It helped a lot. 

About 3/4 of a mile from the top is a beautiful alpine lake.  I see our head coach soaking his legs in the lake, and handful of other teammates resting in the shade, looking a little pale.  It seems I wasn't the only one having a bad stint.  

Ellie and Laura.  Our TNT Crew!
I knew, though, that our friend Laura and her cutie pie 19 month old daughter, Ellie, would be waiting for us at the bottom with ice and snacks.  As  soon as I arrived, I hear their cheering voices and spot Ellie covered in dirt.  That quick glimpse, the ice, and the chamois butter I applied seemed to re-energize me.    I was feeling good again at mile 65!  Okay maybe I can do this.

As I rolled out, our coach reminded us that we need to start watching our time.  It was 1.5 hours later than I had expected us to be at this SAG stop, and all of us were looking a little haggard. I looked at my watch and started to worry a bit, so moved quickly to get back on my bike.

Awesome Jersey design
Up the backside of Ebbetts for 5 miles.  Along the way, we received a lot of comments on our jerseys, which our teammate Betsy designed.  They are awesome, and it was a nice boost to have someone tell me I looked great, especially when I felt like hell.  The nausea that I had at 4:30am has not left all day.  I am uninterested in eating but forced myself to consume calories as we climbed.  I knew I would need the fuel for what laid ahead.

Woodfords, Picketts, Carson (#5)
Finally we roll into the lunch stop at the bottom after pass #4.  It's now 2 hours later than I had expected, after 2 pm.  I haven't really eaten anything substantial all day and I've been on my bike for nearly 10 hours at this point.  I know we should probably keep moving, but I really just wanted to sit in a real chair for a minute and eat some food.  The lunch lines were long, but I managed to get a sandwich and a soda fairly quickly.  Phil, Kristie and I sat for about 10 minutes while I inhaled my sandwich. I'm nauseated and hungry all at once.  My body is clearly confused.

I checked my watch again and started doing bike math.  It was 15 miles to Woodford's and the cut off was 4pm. We had 1:40 to get there.  Up to this point, I had been averaging about 10 mph on my bike.  After 5 minutes of some slow mental bike math (hey, I was tired!), I panic.  I toss my soda and head for my bike.  I really had to pee, but bodily functions would have to wait.  I yell to Suzette, who just rolled in,  "I'll wait for you a Picketts!" and I feel awful for abandoning her.  But we had agreed if time became an issue, we would just push on without the other.

Beth cooling off.
The 15 miles is mostly flat, and I knew that would work to our advantage.  We stayed in a paceline most of the way there, and I was able to watch the miles tick by.  We were pushing pretty hard at this point, but I was still mentally together.  We roll through Markleeville, pick up some more ice (was probably 86 at this point) and snacks from awesome TNT peeps, and keep on rolling. We hit Woodford's at 3:30, with 30 minutes to spare.  There's a guy in a grim reaper outfit greeting us and handing out ice cold V-8s. This seems absolutely normal to me.  


At this point I hear someone say that we still have a 15 mile climb ahead of us, and I feel utterly defeated from this news.  Until this point, despite some low moments in the previous 11 hours,  I never doubted that I could finish this. In fact, I was mostly in good spirits.  But now?  Now I was on the verge of tears and ready to give up.  Everyone is scampering around me, in a rush to move on.  I'm finding myself in a haze and starting to spiral down into the deep, dark land of self-doubt and self-pity.  I turn to my friend Todd and say, "I need a hug. I don't think I can do it."  He gives me a big bear hug, squeezes me, and assures me I can do it.  I hold on to his words and pick up my bike.

Crawling up Carson
Suzette and I are together again.  She had forgone lunch and all bathroom breaks to get there in time (talk about commitment!).  We leave Woodford's together.  We have 1.5 hours to hit the last cut off at Pickett's.  It's a 5 mile steady climb into the wind.  I know this climb is the least steep of all of the climbs, but after 90 miles and 12,000 ft of climbing, it feels like a vertical wall.   My stomach is feeling awful, and I truly want to vomit.  I push down all of the pain and vomit and apply the key lesson from 6 months of Death Ride:  "You can push through the pain.  Just put your head down and ride your own ride."  (Everyone was passing me at this point.)  The other key lesson is:  "Don't look up too much least you get discouraged by the hill."  I sort of forgot that lesson and had to talk myself down off a few ledges over the next hour.

As an added bonus, over the course of the last 11 hours, my right hand started acting strangely.  At first it was just aching.  Then my 4th and 5th fingers wouldn't straighten out fully.  Then they became incredibly weak. By the time we were at Woodfords,  shifting down was becoming a chore.  I was having to lean my whole body weight into the levers to change gears.  My triceps were shot and could barely hold me up, so I had to mostly climb with my hands on the tops of the handle bars.  I avoided shifting as much as possible, so just stayed in my low gear.  Thankfully, my gross motor skills were still with me, so braking was still in my repertoire.  Things were falling apart quickly now.

I roll into Picketts at 4:45.  30 minutes to spare.  (You have to leave this stop by 5:15 or you don't "get to" finish the course.)  Here, I sit down in the shade and have a long talk with myself.  My nausea is awful.  My energy is low. And I don't feel like putting anything else into my mouth.  My feet are swollen and I have some awful mosquito bites.  Someone mentions we have 10 miles of climbing ahead of us, and I sink further into my chair.  Am I really tough enough for this?  Am I willing to waste 6 months of training and bail out now?  Is this really worth it? Maybe . . . 

At 5:05,  a group of the team starts to get on their bikes.  I'm waiting for Suzette.  I know she's going to make it, but I'm getting nervous for her.  Right as they roll off, she arrives!  She grabs some water and food, and we roll out of there are 5:10.  From here on out, we can stop as much as we want. We just have to get to the top before 8pm.

About 250 feet from Pickett's, we see our teammates Libby, Lisa, and K.Sue stopped at a car.  We pull over so Suzette can get a proper rest (and so I can rest more).  Turns out Lisa's family has set up an amazing stop for them and they share the bounty!  We eat ice chilled watermelon.  They give us cold wash cloths for our face.  They spread out a towel on the ground so we can stretch.  They fill our water bottles with ice.  It's like a bike spa!

Today also happens to be Suzette's birthday (longest birthday ever).  We sing her happy birthday, and I break out my noisemaker I've been carrying all day for the occasion.

20 minutes later, we feel somewhat refreshed and head out for the final push.  We now have 5 strong women in matching jerseys pushing up the hill.  We work as a team, pulling each other in the wind, encouraging each other, and just being there for each other. I latched on to their wheels and pounded out the last 10 miles.  We stopped a few times to rest, and though I thought I was going to throw up,  I managed to keep it all together.  

Libby had described the final climb as 3 horseshoes, right, left then right.  After the first horseshoe, I lost track in my counting.  That's how delirious I was.   We pass people walking their bikes, people resting on the ground with their head between their knees, people in various states of disrepair.  I am inspired by one man who walks his bike the last 4 miles.  He has the determination to finish and keep moving forward.  After what seemed an eternity, we reach the final bend.  I know its not far, but I refuse to believe it until I actually see the finish.  Around the final corner and there it is!  It's a downhill sprint to the end, but because my fingers are so weak and I can't shift, I spin wildly out of control and nearly fall off my bike as we arrive.  We get the last sticker, and I drop my bike and run to the bathroom.  Stupid nausea.

After I recuperate a bit, we sign our names on the finishers board and the reality of what we have done just hits me.  I am over the moon!   We are in the last group of people to finish.  We have been on the course the longest of anyone out there, and are all exhausted.  There is a guy in the parking lot who has collapsed. Medics are swirling around him.  The ice cream is long gone. The SAG food is soggy and cold from waiting for us all day.  The volunteers are breaking things down and itching to go home.   But none of this matters because we did it!   Now we just have 20 miles back down the hill.  I muster all of my remaining strength, shake out my right hand, and try to focus.  I am keenly aware that I am very tired and not fully present.  It's a long, fast decent and I just want to get home in one piece.  We roll down for 20 miles and see the sun starting to set. We've come full circle on the day.  I feel the 5th or 6th wave of exhaustion roll over me as we come to a stop at the bottom.  It's about 7:30 when we finish.  15 hours on the bike.  15,000 feet.  5 mountain passes in Sierras.  Holy crap!

Post Ride Thoughts
I'm still in awe of the whole experience.  I can't believe I did that.   Still have rushes of joy when I think about it all.  It was definitely the hardest event I've ever done, and I enjoyed most of it.

Our team did amazingly well.  Most did 5 passes, and others made 3 or 4 passes.  Time cut offs, aside, I'm sure they would have finished.  And best of all we raised over $120,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  The funds will go to fund research for a cure and to support patients and their families.  It has been an honor to train and ride with this group.  And I'm getting a little itchy this Saturday morning as I sit on my sofa, and not on my saddle. I'm gonna miss the gang!

I'm still pondering the questions of "Who have I become?"  I'm definitely a different person than I was 6 months ago.  I've gained 30 new friends, some wicked tan lines, and 3 new stretch marks from growing muscles.  I have improved immensely as a cyclist, no longer scared of climbing or descending. I'm just happy to be able to bike.  Dare I say, I've improved as a person?  That might be pushing it a bit, but I am, more than ever, acutely thankful for my health and happy to have been on this journey.  Although this chapter had ended, the story will continue on  . .  .

The whole team at our victory brunch the next day.

Our Ride Group:  Team Estrogen + Phil


Next up:  


Stay tuned!




Sunday, July 1, 2012

Minor Set Backs; Major Mindshift

Tape to get me through.
Two weeks ago, I set out on my long run along the Embarcadero and Crissy Field.  My friend Eileen joined me for the first 5, which was delightful.  Great to have company on these runs.  I then parted ways with her and continued on with my run-walk regime.  I was feeling great for the first 8 miles.  And then suddenly, I started to feel blisters coming on, which was odd.  My shoes have very few miles on them so it didn't seem right.  But I pressed on, knowing I could deal with a few blisters for 5 more miles.   1 more mile passed and the blisters were the least of my worries. I suddenly had sharp shooting pain in the right foot and could barely walk. Stretching and resting did not seem to help.  I had no cash with me for a bus, and  unfortunately, I was still 4 miles from home.  So I hobbled home at a rate that got me back to the gym just before dark.  By the time I got off the BART my foot could barely take any weight.  So I had to call Chris to come pick me up to drive me home 3 blocks.

At the time, I just dismissed this all as potentially related to my re-occurring plantar fascitis.  I stuck my foot in an ice bucket, and dismissed it as no big deal.

I woke up the next morning though, and could still not walk at all. So I called my doctor, who has gotten me through many a training mishap.  As soon as he looked at me, unable to bear weight on my foot, he quickly said that it might be a stress fracture.  As I heard those words come from his mouth,  I could feel a wave of panic roll over me.  Stress Fracture = no walking = no running = no riding = no Death Ride and no Barb's Race.  What have I done to myself?  I ruined the whole Death Ride with one stupid run.  20 weeks of training and now nothing.  The pit in my stomach grew.

Kristie and me slogging up a hill.
My MRI was scheduled for the next morning.  That night Chris did his very best to make me feel better. He gave me the old well-intended "getting injured is part of endurance event training" speech, which helps only marginally.  I spent the evening trolling the deadly internet for information on anyone who had a miraculous recovery from a stress fracture and could do something like the Death Ride.  Medical info trolling was not what I needed at the time.  I found no tidbit of info that indicated I could do the Death Ride. And I also had convinced myself that I had some rare tropical disease where your tendons and bones start to decay, calcium deficiency, and host of other tragedies.

By the time I got to the MRI, I was raging, depressed mess.  After the scan, they told me they would send the results to my doctor immediately.  I spent the next 6 hours at work staring at my phone, which apparently does not make it ring.  So I finally gave up and drove home.  And of course, as I was driving, Dr. R calls.  I nearly kill myself trying to pull over.    The verdict:  No Stress Fracture!!

To shorten this already too long post, it was a pulled tendon in my foot.  I was to ice aggressively for the next few days, stay off my feet, and stop running completely.  I was allowed to do short rides.   I rode 30 miles with the team on Saturday (they were doing 70), and a few 20 milers the following days.  It hurt just a bit while riding and continued to hurt when I walked.  Some progress but not what I wanted.

Yesterday (Saturday), the team was doing our peak ride - 120 miles and 12,000 feet of climbing.  I told this to Dr. R when I saw him on Friday.  He said, "This is going to be psychologically hard for you, but no riding more than 60ish miles." Ugh.  I have already been out one week and now this -- the last hard ride cut in half?

Using every ounce of restraint, I more or less followed his orders.  I ended up riding 72 miles, but my excuse is that the last 8 were downhill and flat. . . .  But the good news is that it didn't hurt at all while I rode.

Artsy rid moment.
I got back from the ride several hours before the rest of the team.  As I waited I started to reflect on the last few months. I started to internalize all of the hard work we've done training for this event over the last 22 weeks.  I realized that I am now so much more comfortable on my bike than I was when I began.  I've gotten over my fear of descending.  I can actually participate in a paceline effectively.   I can do a 13 mile climb and still be conscious at the end of it. I have tried every brand of chamois butter available and discovered the perfect pair of bike short.  I can also eat, take off pieces of clothing, and shoot snot rocket while riding.  And I have the most wicked tan lines you've ever seen.

And mostly what I realized was that I felt strong.  After 72 miles and a lot of climbing, I felt like I could have done it again.  I realized I was ready for the Death Ride, even if I had to cut short the last few rides.   And I realized what a major mindshift this was for me.  22 weeks ago, even 4 weeks ago, I would have not even imagined feeling like this.  Something clicked over in my mind along the way when I was busy complaining about a ride.  I guess I am ready!

Two weeks to go.  One easy ride next weekend and then we're off.  It has been an amazing journey so far.  And I can't wait to see how it ends.

And you can help me finish strong with a final fundraising push!  Please can you help us find a cure for blood cancers?




Wednesday, June 13, 2012

How to Get Free Pie

I love pie.  Pie of any sort.  I particularly like Cherry Pie, Chicken Pot Pie, Lemon Meringue Pie, Blueberry Pie, Chocolate Cream Pie, and Shepard's Pie, to name a few.  And of course pizza pie.  I also like cake, and have had minor obsession with cakes in the last month, but that is another story for another time.  This is a story about how to get Free Pie.

Climbing Jamison Creek. 

First, you sign up for the Death Ride with Team in Training.  You will be nervous and excited and a little apprehensive at first.  But that's okay.  This is natural.   Just keep your eye on the prize.

Then you will need to do some training.  Not just any training, but Death Ride training, which of course involve climbing every hill known to man in the Bay Area on you bike.  Along the way you might experience the following:
  • Saddle sores
  • An increase in expense of bike gear
  • Deep hatred for volcanic activity that created the hills you are riding
  • Ravenous bouts of hunger that drive you to make 2nd breakfast and 2nd lunch parts of your normal eating vocabulary.
  • Ability and desire to eat a whole avocado with only a spoon at your desk.
  • Deep cravings for carrot cake, coconut cake, and ginger cake, for example.
  • Amazing abilities to endure pain and suffering, and in the end being able to say, "It wasn't that bad."
  • Strangely long conversations about nothing in particular with the same folks for 4 months straight.
  • Forgetting what a "normal" Saturday looks like. 
  • And a longing to be on your bike whenever the weather is nice.
So you do that for 19 weeks straight.


Snarky, mean, big-hearted friend.
Then you go on a ride around Big Basin State Park and Santa Cruz that is 113 miles long and involves 12,000 feet of climbing.  It's not advisable to do this until you have done all of the above.

You need to make sure that you have a snarky, mean-spirited friend providing SAG (support and gear) for you, following you in a car least something happens to you or your bike along the way.

Be sure to climb a good 7,000 feet before you bike into the gnarliest 20mph + head-winds you might ever experience on Hwy 1 near Pescadero, CA around mile 75.  As you are pulling your team in a paceline, you will point longingly at a sign that says, "Slow for Pie" next to Pie Ranch.  Be sure to exclaim how you would normally slow for pie and how you would kill to have one.  But then put your head back down into the headwind and keep pulling your team.

At this point, its fairly imperative that your snarky, mean-spirited friend take a break and go to Pie Ranch, purchase a pie, and what apparently is excellent coffee.  He should then go outside and sit on a hay bale right by the road, as your teammates ride by in the headwind.  Be sure,  and this is critical, he says "Cheers!"  as the bikes pass by.

Then, continue riding your bike up a series of long steep hills in the headwinds until you reach mile 96, where very kind volunteers await you with water and snacks.  Then be sure your snarky, mean-spirited friend shows up to ask you if you're having "fun."  At this point, its completely appropriate to curse him and berate him repeatedly for not bringing you pie.  Remember you are very tired, your bum hurts, and you've been on the ride for 10 hours.  And you still have another 2000 feet and 15 miles to go.  Also, its nearing dinner time and you're highly cranky.  So make sure when you lay into him, you do it really well.  This is also critical for your plan to work.  You need to make sure you will appear to be overly dramatic,.

Finally, you may finish your ride, at a perfectly respectable pace and time with your awesome teammates.  You may also drink a beer as soon as you arrive in the parking lot.

And if you have done everything correctly, you will find a beautiful free berry pie awaiting you in your car, delivered to you by your snarky, mean-spirited friend who intends to both make you feel bad for laying into him about not bringing pie, and also really pleased that he is big-hearted enough to give you a pie.

 And then, sit back and enjoy eating the whole pie by yourself.  Because your master plan worked and you earned it.



PS.  You know what would be even better than pie?  Curing cancer.  Can you help me reach my goal of $5000?  My deadline in coming up in a few weeks!




Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Chapter 16: This One Goes to 11

This Saturday morning, our trusty Death Riders find themselves gathered around a Pumpkin Patch.  How exciting!  But there are no pumpkins because the patch is closed.  And it is May.  And how would we carry pumpkins on our bike?  So off we go!

First up on our adventure is up Mines Road.  This is a very pretty road, winding up the hills of the San Antonio Valley.   But why is it is called Mines Road?  Is there a Mr. Mines?  Was there a Mine?  Was it Gold?  So many questions asked and no answers because we are on our bikes.  And Googling While Riding (GWR) is a no-no.

Sometimes, when you are tired and feeling a bit blue, all you need is a viking to cheer you up.  Aren't we lucky!  This ride is getting better and better!  Hello Mr. Viking!

Even though there was a viking, we are actually in a remote area.  Remote means not a lot of people.  But there are lots and lots of ground squirrels.  So it's not remote for the squirrels.  Maybe it's like New York City for squirrels.

On our way to our next hill, we saw lots of dead squirrels on the road.  I saw four in a row.  I imagined that the squirrels were in a dual.  Maybe over some prime squirrel property.  Or a lady squirrel's honor.  They met a dawn and stood back to back.  Each walked 10 paces and were ready to draw their little squirrel guns, but then a car came fast down the road and killed them all.  Poor squirrels.

Now that the squirrels were all dead, we decided to head up to Mt. Hamilton.  Up, up, up we go!  Sometime we like to chat while we bike.  And sometimes we just grunt when the hills are steep.  Grunt grunt grunt.   We are not being mean.  We just don't have enough air in our lungs to talk.  So we think alot, and ask questions like,  Why is it called Mt. Hamilton?  Is it after President Hamilton?  Which president was he?   Why is Coach Jim so mean?  What exactly is at the top that we really want to see?

Again, since we have a No GWR rule, many questions are left unanswered.  But at the top, we did find the Lick Observatory!  How pretty!  The building has a round top and marble floors, which feels nice on your sock-footed feet.  There is a No Cleat Rule in the Observatory.  There is a sofa in the bathroom, but we know that we are not allowed to nap in the bathroom because that is kind of gross.  And coach Phil would not be happy with us.  This ride has many rules.

After we have a snack of soda and potato chips (mom would not be happy), we ride down, down, down!  Weeeeeeee! It's very fun to go fast.  I like the feeling of the wind on my face and the sweat stinging my eyes.  It makes me feel happy or like that time I sprayed sunscreen in my face.  On my way down, I hit a big bump.  Boom!  I see my water bottle fly off of my bike and go bump bump bump along the road.  But when I look down at my bike, my water bottle is still there.  Uh oh.  Must be something else, like my phone.  Good thing Coach Phil was with me.  We go on a safari in the weeds on the side of the road.  I pretend I am a wild animal hunting for prey.  I search high and low and far and wide, but cannot find the phone.  I decide that hunting is taking too much time and our teammates will be annoyed with me.  So I give up and go back to my bike.  When I pick up my bike off the ground, I see my phone hiding under the rear wheel.  Tricky phone!

Onward! Soon we are somewhere deep in San Jose.  We are headed for our last climb of the day. It is very hot outside and I am very tired already.  So the best thing to do in times like this is to climb the hardest, steepest f'ing hill of your life.  Sierra Road is 4 miles of hardness. On a scale of 1-10, it is an 11, like they say in that funny movie about fake rock stars.  I learn that I can go 2.7 miles per hour and not fall over.  It's sort of like a science lesson.  Only I'd rather be in science class dissecting the intestines of a rat then on that hill.

Sometimes you have to have talks with yourself.  Tell yourself you are allowed to stop, if you make it to the next spot of shade or the next tree.  Or tell yourself you are allowed to vomit, but only after you make it over this bump in the road.  Or that your stupid, sick husband who is at home and napping on the sofa is the lamest person there ever was and you are way cooler than he is, but only if you don't walk your bike.  All the talking works, and we arrive safely at the top of the hill!  Hooray!


And finally, we get to go down down down all the way home back to the pumpkin patch.

The End.

PS.  Do you like my story?  If so, consider making a donation to my fundraising effort.  All this storytelling is not just to entertain you, after all.  It's so we can cure cancer!  I'm trying to read $5000, can you help?  Maybe I'll even write another chapter if we get to $5000!











Monday, May 14, 2012

Children's Book Part 2

Up up up!
More long rides and more chapter titles for my children's book:

[Previous chapters:
  • The Sorting Ride
  • A Llama with a Sweater
  • Fish Granola
  • Rainy Day Death
  • Let's Design a Jersey!
  • Popsicle Angel
  • My Angry, Angry Ass]
New Chapters:
  • My Longest Ride Ever (Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4)
  • The Sad Tale of No Beer
  • Making Friends with Tunitas 
  • A Confusing Day: Jim and Sam Wear the Same Jersey
The chapters themselves are HI-larious as I write them in my head. Perhaps one day I'll remember enough of one to write it down.


Refueling with Chris at GPC

Anyhow, the last few weeks has been busy and momentous on the training front. Two weeks ago we completed the Grizzly Peak Century.  102 miles and 8500' of climbing all mostly on familiar territory.  It was like stringing 4 rides I've done together into one long, long day.  Our ride group did well and kept a good pace.  12.5 mph on average, which is pretty good for me.  This has helped me think through my timing of the Death Ride event. I've had many concerns about being too slow and not meeting the cut offs, but knowing that I can average this pace makes me realize it is actually doable.   I still have some doubts as to whether we can add 30 more miles and 7000' more feet of climbing, but we'll see how it goes.

Another nice milestone was that I hit 42mph on a decent, which wasn't even terrifying.  I'm definitely making progress on both my descending and climbing.  One of my old coaches from my first bike team two years ago was riding with us for a while.  He came up to me and told me I looked very comfortable on my bike, which at the time, seem ridiculous --- because there's nothing comfortable about sitting on a saddle for 8+ hours.  But his kind point was well received after I got off the bike.  I have made a lot of progress since he saw me last and definitely feel more adept as a cyclist.

Stage Road, one of my favorite roads!
And this past weekend we did an amazing ride.  Maybe one of my favorites of the season.  93 miles and 8500+ feet as well.  We revisited two hills we had done earlier in the seasons - Page Mill Road and Tunitas Creek.  The first time on both of them was terribly humbling.  But this time, it wasn't so bad.  Boosted my confidence quite a bit.  I actually really enjoyed the 8 mile climb up Tunitas.  Felt strong, managed to enjoy the amazing Redwood forests, and kept a nice steady pace to the top.   We've got 2 months left in our training and it was really nice to measure my accomplishments on the training front.

And on the fundraising front, I'm doing very well!  I've hit $3000 ($2000 more for my goal) for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and surpassed my goal for Barb's Race and the Vineman Charities.

It's amazing what one can accomplish in a few short months.  Thanks to everyone who has kept me going so far.  2 more months to go!

Monday, April 30, 2012

One of these days I'll just be crazy

So,  I've done something possibly stupid.  But good stupid. I think.   I've signed up to do Barb's Race, a half ironman distance triathlon on July 28th.    This is a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike ride, and 13.1 mile run.  I did this race two years ago -- it was hard, but doable.  So not such a bad idea. . . except that its exactly 2 weeks after the Death Ride, on July 14th. 

And because the challenge of seeing if I can walk normally after the Death Ride, let alone do this triathlon, isn't enough, I've committed to fundraising $500 for the Vineman Charity, an organization that donates to local groups that supports cancer patients, their families, and research to find a cure. 

 The real challenge for me in this double adventure is to figure out how to do the swimming and running training, while still focusing on the Death Ride.  The timing has been tricky.  The last thing I want to do is bust out my legs on a long run a few days before a long bike ride.  So that only leaves doing long runs on Sundays, the day after our epic Saturday training days. 

The last few weeks, I've woken up very stiff legged on Sunday morning.  Sometimes hobbling around the house and feeling very sore.  And now. . .now I get to run on these legs.  So far, I've managed to squeak out the runs, but it has not been pretty.  I'm hoping at some point it will get easier and that the running will be great cross-training for the Death Ride.  Right now it still feels like a big challenge and maybe still a bad idea.

But I'm going to keep at it . . . training, fundraising, training some more and fundraising some more.    One of these days, I will get to do one of these events just to be crazy and not because we need to find a cure.

Wish me luck!


A Children's Book

So when you ride 80+ miles, you have a lot of time to think.  Much of the time, you spend trying not to think about how hard the ride is. So you set you mind on various tasks that you can really chew on.

Last week my teammate Kristie and I spent a good amount of time thinking about different foods one could wrap in a tortilla and would be tasty on a bike ride.  I settled on a sushi type wrap with sushi rice, scrambled egg, cucumber, soy sauce and maybe some sesame.  Wrapped in seaweed and then wrapped in the lavash for good carb measure.   We had a good 1.5 hour climb, so there were lots of variations.

Anyhow, the most recent mind-distracting project has been a "children's" book about the Death Ride.  But since it's hard to remember whole paragraphs at a time, I've only been able to write and remember chapter titles.   Here's what we've got so far:

  • The Sorting Ride
  • A Llama with a Sweater
  • Fish Granola
  • Rainy Day Death
  • Let's Design a Jersey!
  • Popsicle Angel
  • My Angry, Angry Ass
Stay tuned to see how the book turns out!  Like a chapter?  Why not donate to a good cause?  Or better yet, why not donate to two good causes

And for good measure a picture from our ride last week.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Metacognitive Strategies

So part of my job for the last 15+ years has involved designing of learning experiences.  One set of strategies I often think about are metacognitive strategies, which are basically mental tools for thinking about your own thinking.  It's sort of a hyper-heady and kind of annoying concept, but also is pretty powerful set of tools when you're learning.  Most people use them all the time without realizing them, like when you're reading, you check for your own understanding or paraphrase in your mind.  But sometimes you need to consciously be aware of the way you think in order to improve or learn.

These past few weeks I've finally tuned into the way I think when I'm cycling.   I described it to a teammate of "being aware of my downward spiral of misery."  It's a phase that I always get to on these long rides.  But what sort of clicked recently was just being aware that it's happening, letting it happen, knowing I will be miserable for a while, and realizing I will re-surface on the other side at some point with some insights on my self and my riding.  The more I am aware it's happening the more likely I can control the duration of the spiral.  It doesn't necessarily make the cycling easier, but it makes the emotional barriers I've been dealing with a little easier to push through.

Rolling up Pescadero Creek in the rain.
So this past ride,  the downward spiral was long, slow, and hard. . .   We rode 73 miles and 6800 feet of climbing.   It started off with a few sprinkles and a good ride up Old La Honda, one of my standard favorite climbs.  The rain picked up as we did a very cold long 17 mile decent down to the coast.  We stopped for a snack break and I got a cup of tea which warmed me up a bit. My hands were very cold and I was pretty soaked, but so far, I was hanging in there mentally.

Next up was 2 serious climbs.  This included a good, hard 7.5 mile climb up Alpine Road from the coast.  Chris and I had driven that stretch a few weeks ago and I knew what was in store -- some grueling climbing.  The funny thing was, though, on that day,  I didn't even notice the climbing because I was distracted by the complete and utter misery of the weather.   All I remember is being really wet and cold, and thankful that I was climbing because it kept me warm.

And then we had a 7 mile descent, which was the most miserable and terrifying ride down a hill I've had.  It was about 45 degrees outside, raining. Then as you descend you pick up speed which makes it so much colder and the rain starts to pelt your face like little frozen stings at 20 mph.  My fingers were numb to the point where I had to stop several times just to shake them out because I couldn't shift or tell if I was breaking.   My face and lips were numb to the point I couldn't talk coherently.  I might have been crying but who could tell with all the rain.  This was an unsupported ride, so there was no one to call to come pick me up if I wanted to bail -- and I really really did.  There was no choice but to press onward.  There were no cars or other cyclists (shocker!) out there, so there were times I was completely alone out there.    In my downward spiral of misery, I had images of myself crashing and falling into a ravine and dying of hypothermia. 

Gritty backs on all of us.
We survived the descent and stopped at a public park that had an open shed type room and bathrooms with warm water.  I soaked my hands for several minutes to get feeling back in them.  I was shivering to my core and could not keep my hands still.  I wished I had a wetsuit on so that I could pee in it to warm me up.  We all huddled in the shed, gave each other long bear hugs to warm each other up, and then pushed on for the final 10 miles.

As we got to the last stretch on Cañada road, I felt a sense of relief.  I finally felt like I wasn't in peril of dying. I know this is overly dramatic, and while I admit I have a tendency towards hyperbole in my storytelling, this is really how I felt yesterday.

I don't think I did a very good job with my mental management, but I was able to, at a few brief moments, to step out of the miserable experience and realize I was improving my cycling and my emotional fortitude for the 7 hours we were out there.   And to remember that I was doing all of this for a good cause.   The moments of clarify were brief, and quickly pushed out by bouts of cursing.  But they were there. . . and that's something.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Complexities of Challenges

Over the last few weeks, I've meet up with lots of folks who ask me, "How's training going?"  I always pause and try to figure out if I should be positive . . . or honest.   The usual answer is, "It's really, really hard.  Oh, but I love it."    This is mostly honest, except maybe the part about loving it.    I don't hate it or even dislike it.  I might even Facebook "like" it, but love's not the word I should use right now.  But most folks are just being nice, and don't want to hear about my mental break downs and tales of woe.  So I just love it, and move on.

The reality is that it's not so easy to describe this journey.  Last week we did the hardest ride I've ever done.  It was only 65 miles, but it was 6500' or so of climbing, more than I've ever done.  In the middle of it was a 8 mile climb up Page Mill Road, which is windy and steep.  The GPS said we topped out at 22% grade during that climb.  I am sure those were the times when I thought even while standing up and lunging forward, I was still going to roll backwards.
The team going up Page Mill!

My ride group was small, just 4 of us, and we stuck together pretty well.  We were pretty much all silent on the entire climb.  I kept trying to start a conversation, but you can't get very far with 2 words at a time between gasps for air.  So I was left alone with my thoughts on the 1.5-2 hour climb.  And let me tell you, that was a not a good place to be.   During this time, I:
  • quit the team at least 3 times
  • convinced myself I was too weak to finish the climb
  • wondered if getting hit by car would be better than trying to get to the top of the hill
  • swore I would never ride my bike again
  • cried alot on the inside
  • cursed anyone who every said to me "It's only going to get harder."
  • decided cancer wasn't worth curing
  • cursed Chris for ever putting the stupid idea in my head that I could do this
  • plotted ways to get my money back from registering for the event
  • etc. etc. etc
By the time we finished, I was a raging, exhausted mess. And this was only a training ride.  I kept thinking, how on earth am I going to make it through the season and do the Death Ride, if  "It's only going to get harder?"  I still don't know the answer to that.

But when I got home, Chris said to me, "You don't look like the ride killed you physically.  You're walking around just fine.  You energy level is good. You don't seem like you bonked at all."  I was too tired to respond and a little annoyed, truthfully.

The next day, after a good nights sleep and a lot of food, I woke up with tired legs, but generally felt fine.  I went on a short 3 mile run to loosen my legs up.  And while I was running, I realized that Chris was right.  I was physically fine.  It was hard, but I was physically fine.  The real challenge the day before was mostly an emotional one -- a challenge so great that it really got in the way of me enjoying the ride at all and in fact, made the ride even harder than it was.  I'm starting to really understand the saying I often hear around endurance sports that it's 99% mental.

I signed up for this event because I wanted a challenge, which is a weird psychological thing.  I like the feeling of working towards a goal and pushing my limits, but it's also really hard and sometimes not fun.  But that's okay -- I don't have to love it all the time.  It's a type of satisfaction that builds over time -- it's not a quick win. That's what challenges are all about.

So I'm learning still.  Learning that I need to be in a positive mental space, that I find strength and motivation in encouragement and success, not in fear driven approaches, which I need to learn to ignore.  I need to remember that training is hard, but that it makes me stronger -- which will in turn make things easier, not harder.  I need to appreciate the improvements and success I have had.

To that end, here are some thing I should have focused on from last weekend:
  • I felt like I improved my descending skills on that ride.  I managed to keep up with our coach on one of our more technical descents.  Granted, he likely slowed down for me, but I felt fast and in control and was not scared.  So that's huge!
  • I ate and drank well.  I didn't bonk and my stomach was a-okay.
  • The fish-granola bars were tasty (though  no one else wanted them)
  • I did the hardest ride I've ever done and I survived!
So that's the update.  It's really, really hard.  And I sometime love it.  Sort of.

PS.  Can you help me cure cancer? I changed my mind.  It totally is worth curing. :-)
And I'm 30% to my goal!

Friday, March 9, 2012

Parallel Journey

So here we are about to embark upon our 6th Death Ride training ride this season.  One of the big challenges (aside from the obvious) is figuring out my nutrition on these rides.  We are out there for about 5+ hours right now so making sure I am getting enough calories into me is important to avoid running out of energy.  Many of the energy foods available are sweet -- too sweet for me.  Of course the sugar is what is partially giving you energy.  But I've been finding that I max out on sweet fairly early and just don't eat because it's unappealing.  So now I'm on parallel quest to the Death Ride to create my own savory energy type bar.  Also store bought energy bars add up in price when you're as hungry as we are.  Anyhoo. . .

Attempt #1:  Thai-inspired Energy Bar
As a preface, I have lots of other ideas that are probably better than this, but I was too lazy to go to the store.  So this is made solely from what is available in my pantry.  I realize these sound potentially disgusting, but I love fishy and peanuty flavors.  So maybe not for everyone. 

Dry Stuff
  • 1.5 cups of oats
  • 1/2 cup of whole wheat flour
  • Sunflower seeds
  • Pumpkin Seeds
  • Peanuts
  • White pepper
  • Dried ginger
  • Dried shallots
  • Sesame Seeds
  • Furikake

Wet Stuff
  • Peanut Butter
  • Molasses
  • Vegetable Oil
  • Fish Sauce
  • Egg
Mix dry stuff and wet stuff separately.  Combine well.  Press in to greased cookie sheet.  Bake at 400 for 20 min or so.  Cut.  Bake at 250 for 15 more min.

Revision Ideas:
  • Add in brown rice of some sort (puffed or cooked).  Less wheat flour.
  • Some preserved lime or some such citrus.
  • Maybe add in some dried cuttle fish for a bit more protein.  Maybe weird?
  • Coconut cream
Other Ideas:
  • Brown rice, egg, bacon   (based on this http://feedzonecookbook.com/2012/01/05/how-to-make-and-wrap-allen-lims-rice-cakes/ )
  • Fried Rice  ideas . . .dried veggies, egg, ginger, green onion, soy sauce and some sort of rice

Monday, February 20, 2012

3 weeks of what?


So we're in week 3 of our 5.5 month training season. The first few weeks of any season are usually exciting.  I get to buy more gear (woot!).  I start to organize and structure my weeks to get the right workouts in (Type A personality loves structure. Woot again!)  I slowly come out of exercise hibernation and start to feel strong.

But yesterday, while limping along on a recovery run I had a brief moment, where I thought, "what have I done signing up for this event?"  I can say right now, as I mentally scan my body, about 3/4 of it is aching or is sore.  The other 25% is exhausted.  This is not necessarily a new feeling for me, but to get to this stage on Week 3 was slightly disturbing.   I know everyone said this would be hard.  I know Chris warned me.  And I fully expected it to be hard, but maybe after 2 or 3 months -- when we're riding 80+ miles and climbing 10,000 feet.  Not in week 3 of the season.

I've also had this 3 week unpleasant relationship with biofeedback data, which has contributed to my questioning my decisions.  So generally, I love data.  I love spreadsheets (Type A personality again). I love maps and visualizations of information.  A few weeks ago I went to get my bike fit.  The lady who was doing it hooked up my bike to a computer so I could see my power output and analyze my pedal stroke.  Turns out I'm left-legged.  I didn't know you could be legged, first of all.  Secondly, I was astonished to see that I use my left leg to power me about 85% of the time.  My right leg limps along at 15% power.  Furthermore, all I use is my left quad.  Apparently my hamstrings and glutes are completely dead to me.

This was fascinating information at first -- great feedback.  I have some concrete steps to work on.  I could, potentially improve my cycling efficiency significantly.    But then as I started to think about it, and in my own hyper-sensitive way, started to interpret the data to mean that I've been cycling wrong these past 6 years.  The basic thing that a child does at play, I do wrong.

So while that is festering in my psyche, Chris starts really getting into learning about Lactate Threshold training.  This is a way to train that relies heavily on you monitoring your heart rate and not going above a certain level.  He even helps me get his old heart rate monitor set up so I can use it to monitor my heart rate, which was very nice of him.  Yesterday, I strapped on the monitor and went for a short recovery jog in our neighborhood.  Within in a few minutes of running, the watch is beeping and flashing all sorts of warning at me basically telling me I am training too hard, that I am in the danger heart rate zone.  So I slow down.  And it keeps flashing.  And I slow down some more.  And it keeps flashing.  So I slow to walk.  Still flashing.  Then I start strolling, slowly, hardly walking.  Finally get my heart rate into the "zone."  Turns out, I shouldn't be running at all. Or even walking briskly.  And again with the self-destructive talk, I interpret this to mean that I don't even know how to run correctly.

Crystal Springs Reservoir.  It's pretty but the wind was fierce.
OK. So I know this is all silly and batty.  And maybe more than you wanted to know about my psyche.  But this is what bio feedback data seems to have done to me these past 3 weeks.

But I finally got a good nights sleep and am taking a day off with no exercise to rest and recover.  And I'm realizing that I always do this.  The first weeks of training are always hard, and I always beat myself up about thing I shouldn't especially when the going gets tough.  The reason I continue to push myself and train for these types of events is because I like getting through the hard stuff.  I like improving. 

I may never be a super cyclist or runner, and those damn machines may always beep at me, but I don't really do it to win or even be fast.  I do it because I love being outside, being healthy, challenging myself and helping support an important cause.

On to a new week of new challenges!

Monday, January 30, 2012

Recency Effect

I've always liked climbing hills on my bike.  Like is a loose term, I'll admit.  But I do enjoy the effort, the struggle, and mental games it involves.  I say all of this, of course, before I am about to embark on training for the Death Ride (5 Sierra Mountain passes, totally 15,000 feet of climbing).  Check back with me in a few months . . .

As part of the ramp up, yesterday (last week -- a week late in publishing this), my friend Todd and I set out for a ride that included climbing Old La Honda, which is a 3.5 mile windy and steep-at-times climb. Yesterday was a terrible, classic January winter day here. It was cold, windy, and pouring rain. After the ride, I was literally pulling twigs out of my hair and picking mud from behind my ears. My socks were dripping wet.  While I was riding my shoes were full of water and I could hear the squish every time I pressed down on my pedal.  Todd and I chatted for the first 2/3 of the climb.  And then the conversation slowly faded.  And then all I heard was the squish squish squish of my shoes interspersed by my heavy breathing.  And then finally, a big whoop when we arrived at the top.  We proclaimed ourselves bad ass for riding in the rain and high fived all around.

The rain started to pick up, so we quickly turned around to head back down.  Normally, this is a fun decent, but with all the storms, there was so much crap in the road.  Add in pouring rain and wet brakes on a windy road with traffic, and the decent is slow going and fairly miserable.  Then toss in a bit of speed to the 46 degree weather and suddenly you're freezing all the way down what seems an eternity.  My hands are tired and numb by the time I meet up with Todd at the bottom.

As we race out onto the flat road trying to warm up, I declare that the decent was worse than the climb.  Todd tells me it was the recency effect, and in fact, the climb was worse than the decent.   We're both probably right -- they were both miserable yesterday, but it got me thinking about how our mind plays tricks on us. We have this ability, probably a good thing, to block out past bad memories and move on with life.

I think perhaps this is why I've signed up for the Death Ride.  I've forgotten how miserable it can be to climb a 10 mile hill for hours, how miserable it can be to be on your bike for half the day sitting on a tiny saddle, how terrified I am descending at high speeds.  And all I remember is the joy of conquering the hills, spending all day with friends in the sunshine,  putting you mind to something and achieving it, and seeing the beauty of the Bay Area at the average speed of 12 mph. 

Next week, we commence the series of mind torture and suffering that I some how end up describing as fun. The mind is indeed a beautiful thing.

Wish me luck (and support me in my endeavors!)