the time trial

the time trial was the first race of the weekend. i had never done a time trail before and in fact, did not plan on doing it at all. it was the kenyans who told me i should do it. lets backtrack for just a moment:

cyclists are classified by category. the categories indicate the ability levels and experience of the cyslists. category 4 is a novice rider in their first season (this is me). category 3 is an intermediate rider with 1-3 years experience. and so on - 4,3,2,1. the lower the number, the more experience. almost all of my races are women open. that means all categories racing together. in all three races this weekend, i was the only cat 4 rider. it's like lining up at the start of a marathon with the kenyans. and trying like hell to keep up. one of the women that i line up with at every race is a national champion racer, she is a category 2. or 1/2 pro or something like that. ditto her husband. they live in town and i was at their house the day before we all left for the stage race. and as we chat about bikes, riding, racing, strengths and weaknesses (mine) and i am soaking up every bit of advice like a sponge, they tell me that i would be a fool to skip the time trial. they said i had nothing to lose and everything to gain. and because i am so easily swayed, and because they are, you know - kenyan; i totally heed their advice. time trial it is. sign me up.

i was nervous as hell for this race. more nervous than i have ever been for any bike race. it was a ramp start and i was trying to recall the section on "ramp starts" from my bike racing 101 book. (you think i'm kidding? i have that book. i have highlighted the hell out of it). i stood in line with the other women waiting to enter the trailer, and hearing the riders cross the finish line while shouting obscenities about no corner marshalls at a busy intersection did nothing to dissuade my anxiety.

so there i was at the top of the ramp. i had 30 seconds. get on my bike. clip in on the right, clip in left. my pedals had to be parallel to the ground. i had my left foot in front. shit, that's wrong, i want the right foot forward. there was a guy holding my seat post and the official was standing next to me with his timer and i could see and hear the clock right in front of me. beep. beep. beep. holy fucking nerve wracking. i just stared at the ramp. i hear the official say 20 seconds. 10 seconds. then he starts to count down. 10, 9, 8. i was skeered. i tried to remember from the book: will they push me? or do i pedal? i will be the laughing stock tool can when i fall off this ramp. 7,6,5. holy shit. dude, i feel a little crooked (i remember from the book that you can tell the official that you are slanting). 4,3,2. i'm still slanting. he does nothing. 1. go!

holy shit! i made it down the ramp! pedal! pedal! pedal! my heart is racing. everyone told me a time trial is supposed to hurt. the book said that too. totally highlighted that part. ok. make it hurt. haul ass.

around mile 9.5, i threw up a little bit in my mouth. this thrilled me. i figured it meant i was totally working hard enough. at mile 9.87, my calculator thingy suddenly went to zero and stayed there for the rest of the 17 miles. i had no idea how fast or how slow i was going, or much distance i had covered and how much more i had left. i was completley in the dark but settled into something that i felt hurt enough but not so much i couldn't make it to the end.

i got a little taste of what the finishing racers were upset about when i was lined up at the trailer for the start: there were corner marshalls at the busy main intersection by the time i came through, but it was still jacked up and confusing. there was an ambulance, a fire truck, 2 policemen and a corner marshall volunteer. i watched the cop screaming at a car to stop and i saw the corner marshal waving me left, and i just hoped to hell the driver was going to heed the cops warnings as i made a left turn directly in front of it.

i went into this 17 mile time trial with one goal: to maintain a 20 mph average. and this is huge for a girl who loves her draft (i don't mean beer). mission accomplished: i made it hurt, i hauled ass and averaged 20 mph. i narrowly missed my other goal of finishing in under 50 minutes by 38 seconds. i crossed the finish line legs shaking, totally spent and overjoyed at my time and having completed my first time trial.

next up: food, recoverite, water and a nap. i came across the finish line around noon and had another race at 3:45.




photo: shari parker

red river gorge

i am on cloud nine.
the kind of cloud that is lined with shiny, fast flash point wheels,
and a shit hot new upgrade of a carbon fiber bike.
i just got back from my first-ever stage race.
a three part race report forthcoming.
three races in two days.
i gotta lot to say.
but first, and most importantly,
i love love love love love
racing
my
bike.

cast of characters

ok. so i'm on a club ride, my regular tuesday night gig. and once again, i learn the hard way that i have got to roll out of the parking lot with the front group (i.e. my team) or i am hosed. suffice it to say, i did not roll out with my people. and i found myself somewhere near the middle. but as we rolled through the park, i slowly made my way up towards my people. i was getting closer, and quite proud of myself for maneuvering through the mass of riders. but we arrive at an intersection and immediately, traffic splits the group in two. so i think maybe i'll catch my people at the next light. nope. maybe the next one. and now my mantra as i chase them is: 'i need a draft, i need a draft' - and i'm not talking about a beer, although i suppose that would have been nice too. i was dying to just catch someones draft and hope to get pulled up to my group. but there was no one ahead of me. so i look behind me and see that i am the draft. there is a huge long line of dudes behind me in my skinny little draft. well dammit. this wasn't how i wanted this to work.

now, here is where the cast of characters come in. and because i know that some of my faithful running reader friends are now trying out the bike thing & riding the occasional club ride, i'll give you a few tips if you haven't already figured it out the hard way: when you are on a club ride, you learn to look out for the people that you want to stay away from. the people who might make your nightmare of learning what road rash feels like come true. now, i am sure that when i started on the club rides, i was one of those people to stay away from. but i'd like to think i am not anymore.

anyhow, the people i tried to stay away from would include: hairyback racerback tanktop man, neon bike shifters on the down tube man, crazy spin man, random erratic braking in a pace line man, basketball shorts and sneakers with toe cage dude, mr. big ol' t-shirt flappin' in the breeze and ms. red shorts (nothing wrong with red shorts, she just tried to run me off the road cause she wasn't even aware that i was there - hello, you are on a club ride, there are other people all around you honey. and, disclaimer #2: nothing wrong with shifters on the down tube - i started on a bike like that. i have fond memories of having to think way the hell ahead of time before i made a shift. and nothing wrong with neon. it's good to be highly visible on the bike. i just didn't like being on his crazy ivan wheel. although i'll say this: neon bike man is strong). not that there is anything wrong with any of this - separately. but put it all together on a club ride and it makes up for one jacked up ride.

then there are the people you want to be with (that is, if you can't be with your teammates who smartly rolled out of the parking lot first). you seek out a rider with a smooth spin, someone who can ride in a straight line and someone not wearing basketball shorts. (i totally get that everyone has to start somewhere. i mean, maybe he hasn't made the commitment to cycling yet and bought the cycling shorts or the clipless pedals. i was in this place once. i totally get it. but good god. dude was just a danger to society - albeit a damn strong one. the dude could not be shaken).

now, the people i wanted to be with? i could have followed mr. big ass fans (it said that, right across his ass - 'big ass fans') anywhere; but then i'd be a cradle robber. and his ass wasn't big at all. it was just perfect. omg. i digress. where was i? oh yeah, and there was a totally cool bike racer chick who looked fit and strong. i wanted to be her friend and suck her wheel. but i think she could have kicked my ass standing still. and i never got her wheel, cause other people were hogging it. and then there's the ambassador of the club ride. his saddle bag might sound like he has an entire tool box in there, (i always imagine its probably like mary poppins' carpet bag - i'd bet anything he could pull an entire bike out of that saddle bag if you were in need of one) and his bike might make freaky squeaky noises; but he is the goodwill ambassador of the ride. every club ride needs an ambassador - he looks out for everyone and he'll bridge any gap. he'll even point out any jacked up riders you may have missed scouting out on your own and warn you to stay away. so there. three people i wanted to stick with and about twenty that i had to get away from.

back to my jacked up ride: as i said earlier, ms. red shorts almost ran me off the road. i had to pull out of the draft more times than i can count to save myself from ramming right into erratic braking in a pace line man. don't even get me started on basketball shorts and sneakers in toe cages dude. that guy was all over the friggin place. dude. do you not see we are in a line? i thought i'd be better off just pulling out of the line and falling to the very far back, or pulling out of line and hauling ass to get up front and then weasel my way back into the paceline further up. i pulled out and even though i was feeling good & strong, the line was long and i knew i didn't have the strength or power to make it up front alone and i couldn't find the ambassador to escort me up there. i was thrilled every time i did drop basketball shorts dude, and hairy back guy. and then completely dejected every time they were somehow back in my general vicinity again. then there was a point at which the paceline fell completely to shit and everyone was all over the place - moving in a weird chaotic mass.

i knew it wouldn't be much longer before i could drop all their crazy jacked up asses when we turned off river road onto a long, gradual climb. usually on this ride, people drop like flies upon turning here but i was surprised that once we turned, the group was still going at a good clip. it wasn't long though before i started to count them off one by one as i passed. i think it was about sixteen, and there were still 5 people in front of me, 5 people that i knew would be tough to catch: the ambassador, cool racer chick, mr. big ass fans, neon bike guy, and - to my very great dismay: basketball shorts dude. (i didn't think he would be tough to catch, but dammit he was). at the very tippy top i got cool racer chick, but mr. basketball shorts got away from me. i even held off from out of nowhere tri girl with her tricked out tri bike who tried to pass me on the hill. um, i'm sorry, but that aggression will not stand.

now here's the thing: while i was busy smugly judging my fellow riders, and joyfully picking them off one by one on the long hill; they all passed me - every damn last one of them on the very last tiny little hill: basketball shorts boy, neon bike guy, hairy back guy, and i think some others i hadn't even noticed. damn. that jacked up cast of characters was strong.

needless to say, i was a little bent out of shape upon returning home. but the redeeming spin of the night came when my husband and i came home from our respective rides and headed out on another one with our three kids, who now all can ride their two-wheelers. in addition to my growing list of rides - club ride, pancake ride, skirt ride - i can add playground ride; it'll be a regular gig now too.

we rode with the kids to a local playground where on the way, our youngest almost took us out more than once. that girl cannot hold her line. it's gotta be hard though, when your flip flop keeps falling off and your webkinz bounces out of your basket. she'd have fit right in on tonights' club ride. i actually would not have been surprised if someone was riding in flip flops and had a basketful of stuffed animals.

buzz kill

its a total buzz kill to be all excited about a race,
and travel sort of far for said race
and pull into town the night before and hear all the tornado sirens going off.
and to hear the rain and watch freakishly scary lightning light up the sky all night
and to wake up race morning to more
rain and cold and lightning.
but still. we were there to race.
we travelled far. we bought the gas.
we were ready.
we even got special permisson from race director to park the team bus (a.k.a marathon mobile)in the high school parking lot (a.k.a the race start/finish)
we fueled, we hydrated
we skipped wine at the big dinner the night before.

and sure, when we woke up this morning it may have been daunting to see the lightning flash and the rain pour down from our relatively dry spot under the airstream awning while we warmed up on the trainers. but the numbers were pinned on our jerseys. we're racing, right? ok it was slightly nerve wracking to think of racing in that weather, but my race didn't start until later in the morning, i thought at least i might be in the clear. my husband and other teammate who was bunking with us weren't going to be so lucky. i just kept thinking about a running race. i mean, if it rains on marathon morning, the show must go on, yes? you just do what you came there to do. while we may not have really wanted to ride in the deplorable conditions, we were forging ahead. it was race day after all.

then we heard the start was delayed 15 minutes.
then it was delayed 30 minutes.
and then,
$150 worth of gas
$60 worth of race fees
$50 worth of dinner later
the race
is cancelled.
wha????

kits off, crank the tunes, make a new pot of coffee, bitch & moan for a bit - okay, longer than a bit - get the bikes back on the rack & head home.
disappointed, mad and with a whole lot of unused race energy.
on the drive home, we call all the other team members who were going to race and plan to get together and have a good hard, our-race-totally-got-cancelled-ride when everyone gets back into town.
but the long hot ride home zapped some of our energy.
fourteen measly miles into the ride, i was nano-seconds away from throwing up,
and i could feel the vice-grip of a headache start to take hold.
i had already been depleted my water bottles.
the damn weather was still totally killing my buzz -
it wasn't lightning and rain this time, but
the
oppressive
heat.
it just took whatever was left of my istillsototallywanttogetahardrideintoday buzz,
and squashed it into the ground.
and then i think it spit on it.
or maybe i threw up.

i'm not ready for this heat.
and being at a race, ready & raring to go -
and it gets cancelled?
total buzz kill.

the comeback

no, i'm not talking about a running comeback. as a matter of fact, i have been thinking of making my sabbatical official and taking a full year off from running (not including my occasional cross-training forays into the trails) - but that's another whole post and not the one i wanted to write today. the post i want to write today involves a lot of girl talk. gentlemen readers, consider yourselves warned.

i'm talking about a little T & A. as in mine. they have comeback. in the two years that i spent diligently training for three marathons in the hopes of a BQ, my T and my A gradually wasted away into nothingness. and by nothingness, i mean weensy. tiny. get a microscope. we're talking pygmy boobs people. and my ass? flat as a pancake. gone. incapable of even remotely respectably filling out a pair of jeans.

now, i have never, ever in my life been well endowed. i have never really had to wear a bra and actually find them to be a complete useless nuisance. i feel silly in them, like a little girl playing dress up. on one particular and very rare bra-buying occasion several years ago, i went into victoria's secret and announced i needed a bra; when asked what size, i shrugged and said i need your smallest size - she looked my tiny girls right in the eye and said "you certainly do". one might think a comment like that would crush me, but i never cared - i loved my tiny boobs. until they turned into pygmy boobs; then they were something that even their mother couldn't love.

and while i never had any junk in my trunk either, there was something there. enough to hold up some pants, look good in a skirt and fill out a bikini bottom. and it was nice. until two years and three marathons later when my ass went flat and my boobs were sad little flaps of skin and i looked like a 12 year old boy, and while i'm on the subject of more than you ever wanted to know about me, i may as well add in the fact that i hadn't had my period in two years. i practically was a 12 year old boy. there was nothing girly about me. i was skin and bones.

i had always hated thinking about or talking about my weight. i guess i was blessed and lucky in that it was never really an issue for me - i've always been relatively thin and perfectly happy with my weight, so i never did think about it. when i first started running i was still carrying around a little post pregnancy weight and when the training really stepped up, it was fun to see how quickly those last few pounds dropped off. but when the pounds didn't really stop dropping, and it became a struggle to keep weight on during training, and i was embarrassed by my protruding hip bones and the fact that my chest took on a caved-in look and i wound up on the sidewalk at my second marathon; it wasn't so fun anymore. i had reached a new level of skinny. i wasn't the skinny i had been my whole life, this was a new skinny and it wasn't a good or particularly attractive one. it wasn't a skinny that could sustain my own damn self, i was literally running on fumes. enter jen and her magical nutritional mojo. i learned how to eat properly while training for another marathon and watched the numbers on the scale go up ever so slightly and ever so slowly. i got my body back into balance and the crowning achievement of knowing everything was back in balance was when my period came back. i know that some women would love to never have their period; but when i lost mine, i lost touch with my body. i had always been uber in tune with my highly regular cycle and when i started running that awareness was gone. i was overjoyed the day it returned. it meant i had a touchstone again.

i've been pleasantly surprised these past few non-running months to see my T & my A slowly comeback and fill things (okay, small things) out properly. even though i am riding 150 miles a week and burning god-only-knows-how-many calories; i am able to maintain a healthy, normal weight. people i haven't seen in a while tell me i look great - they say i look fit and healthy. which is code for: you were too thin, we were worried about you. (actually, its not really code. they said that). i look good in my jeans again. my cycle has stayed and is as regular as ever. and i have boobs again. they may be tiny. but they are darling, glorious little boobs. and they are back.

i feel normal again. i feel like a girl. and i look like one. i have never felt stronger than i do now. (granted, i totally wish for more strength when me and my bike are hauling ass on the flats or desperately trying to stick to someone's fast wheel); but i love finding the thing i think my body was built for - i feel like a girl blessed with a body that was built to climb hills with her bike. a healthy girl with tiny little T's and a little A.

ahhh. i love a good comeback story.