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:  

• Barb's Race half ironman next weekend (ack!)
• Cycle Oregon in September.  

Stay tuned!

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?