Open Water

I do not like swimming in open water. For those of you who are purists and will argue the semantics of what I refer to as ‘open water,’ let me clarify right now that I mean anything that isn’t a pool. Period. This includes lakes, rivers, reservoirs, oceans, any body of water where 1) you can’t see what’s below you, 2) there are microscopic organisms swimming around (other than those found in the pee from the kids at the Y’s pool), 3) there are huge organisms that want to eat me swimming around, and 4) any combination of numbers 1-3.

I’ve had friends and family remind me that I grew up swimming in lakes. This is true. I learned to water ski in Oklahoma lakes and upon occasion found myself taking a nose dive into said lakes after falling off/out of the skis. I always worried about a giant catfish opening its huge mouth just as I crashed below the surface of the lake, ready to swallow me in one fast gulp, but somehow I avoided this fate. I have incredible luck.

There is something particularly *special* though about freestyle swimming in Anything Besides A Pool (hereafter to be referred to as ABAP), when your face spends more time fully in the water than it does out of it. I do not like it. I do not like it one bit. I DO it, but it often involves panic, fast breathing, and may sometimes involve tears. In the interest of saving time during this type of a swim race, you exhale, cough, sneeze, pray for ABAP monsters to leave you the hell alone, all while your face is in the water. And because I can’t see what lies (or swims or wants to attack) beneath me, I tend to keep my eyes closed when my face is in the water. It’s true. Like a little kid, I squeeze my eyes shut until it’s time to breathe or sight. I once tried keeping my eyes open in my goggles when my face was in the water in a local lake, and the greenish-brownish-murkiesh-scary water was too much to take. I couldn’t see two inches down, and it scared the bejeezus out of me. You’d think this would make me swim faster, but mostly it just makes me want to cry. If I need to take a break while swimming, I also won’t let my legs and feet dangle vertically below me, for obvious reasons (things down there want to make a meal out of me…why make it easier?!).

I’m pretty sure I was smoking crack the day I registered for Ironman Louisville (with its 2.4 mile swim IN THE OHIO RIVER). Last year when I was a spectator for Wes at this event, nobody was eaten by the river monster that I am convinced lives in this river. Everyone emerged from that river, so I apparently ASSUMED it would be okay and that you just jump in and go. I had a nightmare about this a few months ago. In the nightmare, I was swimming in a river of what looked (but trust me, did not smell nor taste) like molasses and, defying science and logic, I was able to see a dead body underneath this water of molasses-like substance. It was horrifying and exactly what I expect on the day of the race.

To help me get over my fear of swimming in ABAP (get OVER it already!), I have begun to participate in more open water swims this summer, thinking that this will somehow help ease my panic when I actually swim in ABAP. Wrong. Okay, in fairness I’ve only done 3 or 4 open water swims so far this season. But every time, I mostly still want to cry and my breathing gets shallow and fast, at least in the beginning of the swim. I recently came to realize that for the first few strokes in ABAP, I in fact hold my breath while my face is in the water. This is a problem, since we naturally must exhale before we can inhale! It doesn’t take long before I remember to breathe-2-3-4, breathe-2-3-4, but it’s right about that same time that I also remember that the lake monster wants to eat me. It’s tough being me.

To facilitate the open water swimming (and since you shouldn’t do open water swims alone, because then no one would be able to document when the lake monster has made a meal of you), Wes and I have begun to swim with a remarkable group of triathletes who do an open water swim in Jordan Lake here in NC every Wednesday evening. The group is called RunSwimRun (RSR). We run about 3 miles from DG’s house (I’m using initials here to protect the innocent), swim around 1400 yards in Jordan Lake, then potentially run back to DG’s house for food, drinks, and good company (some folks drive down to the lake and just do the swim). I say we potentially run back, because last week I was so tired from the 3 mile run to the water and the emotionally exhausting 1400 yard swim (it’s hard to be on your game when you are mindful of lake monsters, TRUST ME) that I caught a ride back with DG and his wife to their house. Plus, we were the last ones out of the water, and the rest of the crew would’ve eaten all the food by the time I got back if I ran it.

As of this week, my training swims in the pool have bumped up to 3500 yards, so 1400 yards should be a piece of cake, even if they are in open water. Uh, no. They are the opposite of cake. They are more like fried liver or something yucky. But I will say, open water swimming seems to be getting a little bit easier for me. I didn’t cry last week, not even on the inside. Alright, full disclosure here. I haven’t cried yet this year in open water, but the panic feeling and fast, shallow breathing were not an exaggeration. The RSR group is very supportive, and I’ve met a few fellow open water scaredy-cats who know my anguish and believe in my lake monster theory. But rather than let the monster eat us, we just squeeze our eyes shut tightly, exhale when our faces are in the water, inhale when our faces are out of the water (very important to get this step right), and swim like we believe we are Dara Torres. ABAP monsters be damned.


Jordan Lake 1-Mile Open Water Challenge, June 12, 2011 (BEFORE)


Jordan Lake 1-Mile Open Water Challenge, June 12, 2011 (AFTER with my friend, Robin...so happy to be alive!)

The One That Started It All

Last weekend my dear friend and coworker, Candy, and I completed Ramblin' Rose Raleigh. RRR is the shortest of short triathlons I've ever done: 225 yard pool swim, 9 mile bike, and 2 mile run. It's a very novice-friendly race, as is one of its sister races, Ramblin' Rose Chapel Hill (RRCH is only slightly longer with a 250 yd pool swim). It's also a women-only race, and there is so much love and encouragement for and from fellow moms, daughters, sisters, and girlfriends. The Ramblin' Rose series races are great first triathlons to do.

RRCH was the first triathlon I ever attempted (and completed). It was in October, 2008. Wes had been dabbling in triathlons for a couple years by that point, and he'd convinced me to give it a try. It seemed like a lot to coordinate in one race (and it is...three sports and transitions... What?!), and after I completed RRCH I felt like a complete bad ass. I'm serious. I was slow; I worried endlessly about completing the swim (remember, it was 250 yards in the pool...my warm-ups for my current 3000 yard swim workouts are longer than that) and wasn't so sure I could run 2 miles after biking 9. For my friends who participate in long distance triathlons, that probably sounds laughable. But for first timers (and remember, we were all first timers at some point), even RR was daunting and a little intimidating. So after I crossed that finished line, with Wes cheering his head off for me, I indeed felt like a bad ass rock star.

A month or so later, Wes completed the inaugural Beach2Battleship iron distance race (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run). It was his first (but not last) iron distance event. I went with him and our good friend, Peng, and cheered my head off for them. And I swore (and I honestly meant it) that they would NEVER, EVER catch me doing a full ironman. Ever. Period. I had no interest (read that as nil, zilcho, not gonna happen) in ever pushing myself to those limits.

After that first RRCH in 2008, I decided to tri again. Over the course of the next year, I completed several more triathlons, going up to the Olympic distance Bandits Challenge. (*Funny note: I completed Bandits Challenge dead last that year and heard my name being announced as the last finisher, as the guy on the mike stopped the awards ceremony to declare my finish to cheers of dozens of gathered triathletes. I couldn't have been happier.)

By the end of 2009 I started to think about *maybe* registering for a half iron distance event, which would certainly be as long as I would ever go. No, seriously, not a step longer than a half. I registered for and completed Beach2Battleship half in November of last year. Before that event, however, I traveled with Wes to Louisville in August (last summer) for Ironman Louisville and fell in love. The energy and vibe of that race was like nothing I'd ever experienced. The elite, professional athletes were amazing to watch, but so were the regular athletes. The ordinary people. MY people. To watch those regular folks cross the finish line gave me hope. It inspired me and let me believe that if THEY could do it, then maybe I could do it. It would be hard, and the training would be grueling and time consuming. Some days, it would suck. I'd watched Wes go through training for two iron distance events, and it looked really, really hard. But yet, in spite of all the warning sirens going off in my head, there was something that pulled me in (incredibly...hadn't I SWORN I would never do an iron distance event?!). It was months before I figured out what that something was. At some point on that day in Louisville, I saw myself in those regular folks who were racing. I saw the anguish and pain of the day, and then I saw the delight, relief and near surprise on their faces as they crossed the finish line. They had a notion that they might be able to do the race when they registered. There was never any guarantee, just a possibility. And then they did it. Months after I registered I realized that on that day, the something that pushed me to register myself for this year's race was a belief in myself. If they could do it, maybe I could, too.

A couple months after I participate in Ironman Louisville this year, I will again participate in RRCH, the one that started it all for me. I will join hundreds of other women, the majority of them first-time triathletes, in the pool, on the bike, and on the run. By their mere presence at the race and desire to participate, they show that they at least believe they can. Really, what more can you ask for?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Rejection and Bouncing Back

Ever since my training started 14 weeks ago, I've toyed with the idea of hiring a triathlon coach to help me reach my Ironman goal.  As I've documented throughout my posts, I am s-l-o-w.  Generally, this doesn't bother me much at all.  I enjoy my activities and tell myself I get more bang for my buck in the paid events.  Honestly, often my goal in triathlons is just to meet the cutoff times.  For anyone in the Triangle area of NC who has done Bandits Challenge (Olympic distance, badass, hilly tri), you'll appreciate the fact that my only goal was to finish within the 4:15 time cutoff.  I finished in something like 4:19 or 4:20 but had a strong (for me) race, and the Setup Events guys did not pull me from the course because, as they told me, I was "running strong and looked good out there".  I was elated.  I was also the last person to finish the race.  Those are the stars I reach for.

I run *about* a 5-hour marathon (I've run Marine Corps Marathon in 5:11 and then 5:03 the following year...still hoping to break that 5-hour mark) and try to enjoy every moment I'm on the course.  I typically average 15mph on the bike (though I've been struggling for some reason to hit that so far this season), and I swam 1.2 miles in the Beach2Battleship half iron distance event last November in 43:15 (with a current).  As far as endurance events and long distance triathlons go, I'm slow.

Slow might be a problem in Louisville.  I feel pretty sure that I can meet the cutoff times, but there are those lingering, nagging doubts about ability and my triathlon prowess.  I can't type 'triathlon prowess' in the context of myself without a little chuckle.  Bottom line is that I have some concern.  In my training plan, speed work is incorporated but I wonder whether it will be enough.

So since the beginning of my training I've contemplated hiring a coach.  I recently mentioned this to the unbelievably fantastic massage therapist (Julie Barton at Advanced PT in Cary) I see about once a month to work out the kinks.  I began seeing her a little more than a year ago in conjunction with an equally awesome physical therapist at Advanced PT for a longstanding, chronic problem along my right shoulder blade, and I continue to see her because she is OUTSTANDING.  Julie gave me the name of one of her clients who is also a triathlon coach.  I took this recommendation and ran with it, deciding to stop thinking about hiring a coach and actually HIRE a coach.

I emailed the coach and explained my situation to her.  I went into detail about my aspiration to become an Ironman in Louisville this August and how I was worried about my pace being a limiting factor.  I also explained that I was most concerned at this point with my swim time, as my husband (pseudo-coach) was working with me on my biking, and I felt like I could handle the run on my own.  I sent my email to her on a Sunday and awaited eagerly for her response on Monday.  Monday turned into Tuesday, then Tuesday into Wednesday.  Did she not receive my message?  Did it get lost in cyberspace?  I was hoping to meet up with her by the end of the week, ready to stroke! stroke! stroke! in the pool towards a time that would make Ian Thorpe and Michael Phelps proud.

When her email arrived, I was delighted and excited, ready to become a new kind of athlete in the pool.  And maybe she could help me with my cycling and running.  I'd come this far in deciding to hire a coach, I might as well go all the way.  To hell with a 16-hour something Ironman time.  Maybe I could finish somewhere in the 15th hour!  Oh, the POSSIBILITIES!

I read beyond the first line of her message, in which she apologized for the delay in her response.  She went on to explain that she took three days to respond because she was mulling over whether she had time to add another athlete to her schedule.  Whaaaat?  Whether she had time?  Uhhh, this wasn't in my plan.  She HAD to have time for me.  She was recommended to me.  I was to be her star athlete, who would go from slow to fast.  I could elaborate here on my confusion and disappointment, but the point is this: I was confused and disappointed.  She rejected me.  She wished me well and told me to keep her in mind for "the next time".  THE NEXT TIME?!  THIS WOULD BE THE ONLY TIME, LADY!  I was rejected and dejected.  I have no plans to ever attempt an Ironman again.  And the one coach I'd approached had rejected me flat out.

I spent that entire day feeling crappy about the irony.  Maybe she'd rejected me because I am so slow (*perhaps* I am a little bothered by my slowness).  Maybe I went into too much detail and gave her too many reasons to kick me to the curb before we'd even gotten started.  Maybe I seemed too needy.  Maybe...I needed to get a grip.  At least that's what my wonderful and ever-so-supportive husband told me, but in different words.  I think what he actually said was something more like, "Honey, triathlon season is in full swing.  Maybe she just doesn't have time."  Huh.  Well, maybe.  I suppose that's a possibility, too.  But that doesn't really allow me time to feel dejected and sorry for myself.  In fact, that seems like a very matter-of-fact, business-like way to look at things.  Hmmmmm.

After a couple days, the sting was mostly gone.  I swung from a feeling of rejection to an attitude of defiance.  Fine...she doesn't want to help me?!  Then I'm going to do this myself.  I will become an Ironman ON MY OWN.  And a couple days after THAT gem crossed my mind, I came to the reality of my situation: in no way am I doing this on my own.  I may not be paying a coach to tell me exactly what workouts to do at what pace on which days, but I am following a very detailed training plan written by an Ironman (Don Fink).  I swim in a pool at the Y with Ironmen (and they have the M-dot tatoos to prove it) with whom I chat and talk about training.  And most importantly, I bike, run, eat, sleep, talk, and generally spend nearly all my free time with an Ironman who is the love of my life.  Wes is a never-ending source of support and encouragement.  When I am feeling low and incapable, he reminds me of my ability and desire to do this thing.  He is my original source of inspiration to attempt to complete Ironman Louisville, and he is my biggest fan.

With or without the expertise of a hired coach, I will jump in the Ohio River on August 28 knowing that I am as well prepared as I could possibly be.  And I know that when I exit the water (before the cutoff time...here's hoping!), my biggest fan and the best coach I could have asked for will be right there, waiting to cheer me on through the rest of the biggest triathlon day of my life.

Catching Up

It's been a few weeks since I've posted.  As I've mentioned before, life happens and other things take priority.  That said, I've been reminded by my most loyal fan (Wes) that my loyal fans are patiently waiting on a blog update.  Personally, I think that group consists of one (Wes), but nonetheless I'm back at it.  This post serves as an update on the past few weeks' activities.

The weekend after Mariana broke her hand, Wes and I found ourselves riding alone.  There is a world of jokes to be had there, but we prefer to believe that all our usual riding partners were just busy.  It was, afterall, Easter weekend.  So we changed things up a bit, hopped on our cross bikes, and hit the south side of the American Tobacco Trail.  The south side of the ATT is not really road bike friendly.  It's 11 or 12 miles of mostly gravel path.  There is a section of about 3 miles that is part paved, part crushed gravel, but to get to it you must ride on gravel.  The south section of the ATT is why we bought our cross bikes.  As it turns out, Wes commutes to work every day on his, and during the winter months when training began I rode mine on the trainer in the garage.  Now that the weather is nice, it's nice to get my cross bike rolling on the trail.

From our house, we ride 6 or 7 miles to get to the northern-most trail head on the south side of the ATT.  With 11 or 12 miles of trail to ride headed south, it's about 18 miles one-way from our house, making for a nice (read that as challenging) 36-mile ride roundtrip.  The trail is *generally* pretty flat (with some low-grade inclines) but on crushed gravel it's constant work.  There is little coasting on this type of terrain.  It's constant work and a really nice calorie burn.  It was a nice change of pace this day.

At the turn-around point, we paused for a quick snack of a power bar, and Wes took a picture of me in my FS Series bike jersey (I still need to send the pics to the FS Series guys).









As we were getting ready to head back, Wes decided to take off his leg warmers as the temperature had started to rise a bit.  He LOVES being the center of the paparazzi's attention. :)




The rest of the ride this particular day was fairly uneventful.  I felt pretty tired and depleted, which on the one hand was somewhat disappointing since it was a shorter ride but on the other hand was understandable since riding this trail on the cross bikes is more constant work.  As we rode through the 3 miles that are part paved, part gravel, I stayed on the paved part while Wes worked it on the gravel.  We FINALLY had found level ground.  My heart rate was staying around 150, and so was Wes's.  He commented about how I was working him, and then we realized he was working as hard as I had been working all day.  WELCOME TO MY WORLD, IRONMAN. Needless to say, I took some pleasure in the leveling of the playing field for those three miles.  For those who can't imagine it on their own, Wes kicks my butt on the bike, and then some.  I enjoy any time we are riding side by side when he feels like he is working as hard as I am.  It's a rare occasion, to be sure.

I ended my ride after the 36 miles roundtrip.  Wes went on that day to ride enough to total 73 for the day.  Yep, he's an ironman alright.

The next day was Easter Sunday.  Sundays are run days, and after our run Wes suggested we ride our bikes to Duke Gardens.  The Gardens are in full bloom this time of year, so we hopped on our bikes (I on my road bike and Wes on his cross bike) and rode through the streets of Durham to Duke Gardens.  It was a gorgeous, warm, and sunny Easter Sunday, and it was the perfect time to view the Gardens.  On the way, we stopped for lunch on Erwin street and then had a frozen yogurt at Local Yogurt.  The fountain outside Local Yogurt is inviting, and I nearly took a dip.




After we found bike racks on Duke's campus, we spent some time walking through the beautiful gardens, admiring the in-full-bloom flowers.  For those who have never walked through Duke Gardens in Durham, NC, it is so worth it if you are ever in the area.  There are so many beautiful things to see.  It's acres upon acres of color, shade, and bloom.  It is well worth the time.








Some of my favorite features are the shade plants.  I have a yearly, ongoing battle with deer that live in our neighborhood.  They've taken it upon themselves to relieve me of my 10 hostas in my front garden, eating them down to stalks every year.  It's been a springtime source of frustration for the past 8 years!  Wes gets a chuckle out of it every year, and every year it aggravates the you-know-what out of me.  I've tried everything I can think of, including chemical deer repellants,  praying to the garden gods, and this year planting marigolds all around the hostas.  I'd heard that deer don't like marigolds and will avoid the hostas if the flowers are near.  Well...not so, at least not in my garden.  Grrrr.  I'm open to any tried-and-true suggestions.

In any case, I was envious of the huge, still-intact hostas at Duke Gardens and long for the day when I can have my own that aren't eaten down to stalks!  I didn't get any photos of the largest ones, but this pretty little plant in the shade also caught my eye.




There are also plenty of water features and soothing sounds to be found and heard. 




On the way home, we rode a few miles on the north (fully paved) portion of the ATT, and Wes found a shopping cart someone had left on the side of the trail.  There is a grocery store in the shopping center that splits the north and south sides of the trail (along with interstate-40...there are plans to build a bridge to go over I-40 to connect the north and south sides, but we still patiently wait for that).  He is a good deed doer, so he literally rode with the cart back to the grocery store and deposited it safely where it belonged.  I ran interference from the back.





Last weekend, Wes and I decided to try something different for our long bike ride.  We rode with a local cycling club, the Tarwheels, and followed a nearly 50-mile path in and around Durham, Chapel Hill, and Pittsboro.  We crossed the Haw River a few times, and I took a moment to capture the view.  The ride was beautiful and pushed the pace for me just enough that I felt like I worked hard the entire ride.  It was a hilly 50 miles, and my legs felt it for the next few days.




Finally, this weekend our long ride started with a tour of local greenways sponsored by Eastcoast Greenway Alliance.  The morning consisted of a large group ride through 28 miles of local greenways in and around Durham.  We took off from the Durham Bulls Athletic Park, with a kick-off wish from Congressman David Price.  There were many, many more cyclists that participated than I'd expected.  It was great to see so much local support!  The photo below shows just a fraction of the folks who attended.



I had to pay photographic homage to the Bull at the ballpark across the lawn.




After the 28 miles were complete, Wes and I rode across the street to Mellow Mushroom for our typical Saturday ride lunch.  We then proceeded to add more miles by riding to Maple View Farm Country Store, where they have the most fabulous ice cream in the area.  MVF is obviously rural farm country.  It's a working dairy farm that has a very popular ice cream store.  We've ridden past it before but (shockingly and sadly) never stopped there to have a treat until yesterday.  I decided then and there that the only time we could ever eat their ice cream is when we've ridden our bikes to the store.  No driving for us!  It's way too delicious to not feel obligated to burn those calories!  We had a nice stop that included large waffle cones and the purchase of pecans and farm honey.  Wes packed those goodies into his pannier on his bike, and we were again on our way.  By the time we reached the house, we'd logged just under 73 miles for the day.  Though the ride was broken by lunch and ice cream stops, I'm still considering it "a ride".  That said, it was my longest ride EVER.  Nearly 73 miles!  So exciting.  The trouble is, I have to keep one-upping myself, so who knows what next weekend might hold?!

As I've been writing today's blog, I realize that I tend to focus on the bike rides.  I really do swim and run, as well.  In fact, a few weeks ago I upped my swims to three times a week (instead of the two my training calls for).  I'm now swimming 2500 yards each time I swim, and those workouts take pretty much exactly an hour.  Thankfully, I can swim 2500 straight yards in the pool a bit faster than an hour, but I still want my swim time to get better.  *IF* I can swim a straight line in the Ohio River in Louisville (which is extremely doubtful in open water), I'll be swimming 4,220 yards (2.4 miles).  At my current pace, I can expect to swim the Ironman distance in well under 2 hours, but that's not accounting for current, nerves/anxiety, and a whole lot of other flailing bodies vying for space and speed.  I finally sought out the assistance of a coach to help increase my swim speed, but I was denied (more on this in a future post).  So I keep working on it on my own in the Y's pool.  It's early mornings (I wake up just before 5am on swim days to swim before work) and a lot of effort, but I'm hopeful it will eventually pay off.

I've begun to fall out of love with running during this training, but I think it's because it's become an after thought.  I'm very focused on my swim and bike times, and I'm putting forth a lot of effort to get faster in those sports.  There is much more for me to gain by swimming and biking faster in this race.  As for the run, I just need to get to it (i.e., not get DQ'd for not meeting times on the swim and bike) and then get through it.  The thought of running (okay, let's be honest here, run/walking) a marathon AFTER I've swum 2.4 miles in the disgusting Ohio River and then biked 112 hilly miles in and around the countryside of Louisville is something I just can't imagine.  Having run 2 marathons, I can't fathom dealing with that kind of pain after what will be my longest bike ride.  I need to figure out how to reconcile that, because that's the plan.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of Week 15 of 30 for this training plan.  I am nearly halfway through this adventure, which is simultaneously frightening and exciting.  Will I be ready for Ironman Lousiville on August 28?  Time will tell.  I know I plan to give it everything I have.

Greensboro to Durham: This One's for Mariana

Wes and I woke this morning at 5am to get ready for our Greensboro to Durham bike ride.  Our friends, Kenneth and Mariana, met us around 5:45am at our house, and we hit the road pedaling around 6:10am, heading for downtown Durham and the Amtrak station.  The plan was to take the early train to Greensboro, roughly 60 miles away, and ride our bikes back to Durham.  The route back is a suggested route from North Carolina Bike Club (NCBC) and ends up being 71 miles, traversing more rural, less trafficky roads.  The short distance to the train station from our house is about 6.5 miles, so the ride in total would be close to 80 miles for the day.

We made it to the train station without incident with plenty of time to get checked in and ready for our train ride.  It was our first time in the Durham Amtrak station, which, by the way, is beautiful.  As the temperature was somewhere in the 40's this morning, we donned our warm biking gear, ready to roll.



There is just something about a train that is romantic and classy in and of itself.  As ours approached, we all felt excited for the day's adventure.  Our train was a beaut in all its blue North Carolina glory (arriving to the station below).





We enjoyed a very relaxing and comfortable 1-hour ride on The Piedmont train.  I was a little nervous about "giving up" my bike to be loaded into the baggage car (I adore my bike), but they had great bike racks upon which our bikes were all hung.  The 4 of us enjoyed chatting and relaxing all the way to Greensboro.  The horrible weather from yesterday (huge thunderstorms with terrifying tornadoes that killed 22 in NC alone) had thankfully passed, and the day was clear and bright.  We all had thoughts of the previous day's devastation on our minds and were grateful we'd rescheduled this ride from yesterday, as originally planned, to today.  All in all, the day looked very promising.




As our train pulled out of the station in Greensboro, we got our gear together and prepared for our day's adventure.  This was going to be a great day!

As we left the Greensboro train station on our bikes, we started off with some real climbs which eventually turned into more rolling hills.  I asked Wes how the rollers compare with what I can expect in Louisville, and he reported that it was a great route for preparation.  Good for us!  The scenery and landscape were gorgeous, and we were having a great time.  Mariana hadn't ridden with us in a few weeks, and the distance was going to be a new PR for her (and for me as well).  As such, we were trying to take it somewhat easy and be sure we paced ourselves for the entirety of the ride.  **It must be noted that Wes 1) rode his cross bike (as opposed to his faster road bike) so he wouldn't smoke us all, and 2) carried all of our extra gear in his panniers, which likely weighed around 20 pounds.  AND YET, he still flew up the hills way faster than all of us.  That guy's an animal.  Shouldn't some of that rub off just by virtue of the fact that I'm married to him?!

We made a couple rest stops as we needed and took full advantage of "the last gas station/place to buy any water or food for the next 40 miles" of our ride.  This was going to be a very rural ride.  Leaving the aforementioned last gas station, we saw the following sign: The Sword of Peace, Pathway to Freedom right next to the Chapel Hill sign.  I didn't realize the route to Chapel Hill was the Pathway to Freedom, but hey, that was our route so all the better.





Okay.  In case you missed it, this was a very rural route.  Rural to the point, we would later find out, that there are no leash laws for the dogs.  Part of why we decided on this route was precisely because of the rural-ness: fewer cars to contend with.  Win!  And in fact, there weren't many vehicles on the roads at all.  It was a delightful, unusual treat to be able to ride two across and have conversation with our friends without much fear of being hit by thoughtless drivers.  Of course, we remained on the defensive all the same, but it was generally a relaxing ride.

There were, however, dogs.  Three or four times we rode past houses that had dogs that ran nearly to the road (thank God for the invisible fence, I say!) and made quite a racket as we passed.  I nearly became used to this, until almost exactly halfway back to Durham (around mile 32 or 33) we encountered 3 large black dogs that came right onto the road, barking like mad, as if they were going to take us down.  We were riding single file at this point in this order: Wes, Rebecca, Mariana, and then Kenneth.  At the time, we were coming off a hill and probably rolling along somewhere around 18mph.  Wes avoided the dogs.  Fully expecting the dogs to move out of our way (naive assumption, I learned), I hammered and was surprised to clip one of the dogs (surprised because he did not back down at the mere sight of the speed demon I'd instantly become).  He seemed undaunted, and I was grateful not to have been bitten or knocked over by this black behemoth in our path.

Mariana, however, who was right behind me, was not as lucky.  As best as we can all surmise, she ran full force into one of the dogs as he ran across the street into our pack.  These were large black dogs (perhaps lab mixes of some sort) that had some real girth.  She was instantly stopped dead in her tracks thanks to the big, black dog-of-a-wall that her bike had just made contact with.  The dog yelped, and Mariana went flying, next making contact with the road.  Wes and I realized what was happening just as it happened and did a quick 180.  Mariana stayed down for what seemed like forever but was probably more like 30 seconds.  She was in A LOT of pain and had road rash all over her right side, including her shoulder, elbow, hip, and knuckles on her right hand.  After a few minutes, she removed her gloves, which revealed a magically-immediately-appearing humongous goose eggish looking *reaction* on her right hand.  For effect, I've included the immediate picture of her hand (directly below) and the hospital (yes, hospital) picture of the same hand a few hours post-impact.  Don't be fooled: the second photo below looks like a foot, but it is indeed Mariana's right hand.  OUCH.









The owners of the house we were in front of (and owners, as it turns out, of the dogs) came out to help.  They'd heard a commotion, looked, and saw us all in the road with Mariana.  As it turns out, they brought us an ice pack for Mariana's hand and first aid kit, peroxide, and ibuprofen to clean her up.  They were very helpful and accommodating.  In the end, their dogs weren't vicious at all (although how in the world could we have known that when they charged us the way the had?!).  They were just stupid.

Mariana could not have been braver.  Not a tear was shed.  I repeat this for emphasis: NOT A TEAR WAS SHED.  I later told her I would have been sobbing as soon as I peeled myself up from the road, but she was as brave as could be.  She is my new hero.  As best I could, I cleaned and bandaged her up.  At one point, she even entertained the idea of trying to ride with us to the next town (which was far away).    There would be no riding, however, for Mariana.  She was way too banged up, and her hand looked horrible.  We had to figure out what to do, as we were in the middle of basically nowhere (we hadn't yet gone the 40 miles to the next gas station, mind you).




The homeowners offered to give us all a ride to the nearest store (a Dollar General) about 5 miles away.  Don't be fooled, this wasn't really a town.  There was a Dollar General store, a restaurant, a gas station, and a fire station.  Period.  We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

We decided Mariana and I would take that ride from the nice people with the stupid dogs, and Wes and Kenneth would book it (and I mean, they BOOKED IT) back to Durham on their bikes to get a car to come back and pick us up.  We calculated it would be 2.5 or so hours at the Dollar General.

Wes and Kenneth took off, and Mariana and I rode with the wife homeowner to the Dollar General with our bikes in the back of her truck.  In the meantime, Mariana got in touch with a friend of hers who lived close-ish and was able to pick us up at the DG and drop us off at our house, around 30 miles away.  We arrived just after Wes and Kenneth.  The details of this timing aren't important.  What matters is that Wes and Kenneth beat us back to the house.  They were flying on their bikes.  FLYING.  How do I get some of that to rub off on me?!

Kenneth took Mariana to the hospital, and her husband (who is also an excellent cyclist but was at home doing homework on this fine day, as he is in law school and swamped with end-of-semester stuff) and her mom met them there.  We later learned that she had broken her hand, as depicted in the x-ray below (see the circled area).



Poor thing!  I told her to tell her husband that for her troubles, she deserves a diamond necklace.  Or an ice cream.

Today the ladies rode nearly 40 miles.  The guys, who took a bit of a more direct route home, ended the day with 67 miles.  I was happy to realize that, for the 38 or 39 miles Mariana and I rode, we averaged 14.7mph, and that was keeping an eye on the pace.  As Wes said, though, we never counted on *this much* adventure for today.  While the route may be one to try again, a more mundane ride with fewer dogs would be welcomed.

For her bravery and calm under duress, this one's for Mariana.  Best wishes for a speedy recovery, my friend.  Looking forward to riding with you again when you are able.

Note to Self...

Every 8 weeks, the American Red Cross bloodmobile comes to where I work to solicit blood donations.  Every 8 weeks, I donate blood.  I've been doing this now for the past few years and really take pride in doing so.  Okay, maybe I also like the free cookies afterward, but that's beside the point.

This past Wednesday was no exception.  I happily let the ARC vampires, as I lovingly refer to the workers, take my blood.  That evening, I had an hour-long run scheduled with pick-ups: five 1-minute accelerations in pace, each followed by a 1-minute recovery jog.  This sounded easy enough.  As I began the run, I felt pretty lousy...very tired and not at all interested in the run.  I ran the prescribed 10 minutes before starting my pick-ups.  I completed all 5 pick-ups, barely.  I had no gas left in the tank, no umph to my stride, no pep in my step.  Wes would later tell me that pick-ups can really take it out of you.  I quipped back, "so does blood loss".  I knew right away what the deal was.  My body needed more time to recover than (oops) 5 hours.  I'd run after giving blood plenty of other times, but the warm temperature, pick-ups, and of course, the blood donation all worked together to make me one tired, low-energy lady.  I cut my run short after 40 minutes, went home, and had a recovery drink.  Note to self: no more blood donations during Ironman training.

Last weekend, Wes and I rode just under 65 miles on the bike, my longest ride to date!  Our friend, Kenneth, joined us for part of those miles.  It started out as a cloudy, somewhat windy day but ended up being sunny, warm, and delightful.  Tomorrow we are taking an Amtrak train to Greensboro (about an hour's drive from where we live) and riding our bikes back home.  We'll have two friends joining us (Kenneth and Mariana) and will end up riding around 80 miles on the day, which will be my NEW longest distance on the bike.  Looking forward to blogging about that tomorrow.

And lest I forget to mention it, this week marks the 11th week of my 30-week training plan.  This is significant, as the 30-week plan is made up of 3 10-week phases: the base phase, the build phase, and the peak phase.  Week 11 begins the build phase (hence the pick-up workouts on the bike and run).  My swim distance has also increased from 1500 yards to 2500 yards.  The 2500 yard swim workouts take me exactly an hour (a straight 2500 will take a little less time).  I seriously need to improve my swim and bike times.  On our long bike rides we are still averaging 13-14 mph (because I ride more slowly than Wes).  For Louisville, I really need to be able to sustain 16-17 mph for the entire 112 miles.  Now that the base phase is over, I'm looking forward to working on my speed as well as my endurance.  The next 19 weeks promise to be difficult and grueling.  BRING. IT. ON.

Ride to Rougemont

I'll admit it: I'm behind with my blog posts.  Life gets in the way, and the blog, I'm realizing, suffers.  To that end, this particular post is in regards to a bike ride that Wes and I took two weekends ago.  THREE weekends ago, we'd gone for a 38 miler around Durham.  So TWO weekends ago, Wes suggested that we shoot for a 50 miler.  It sounded like a bit of a reach to me, but...okay, I agreed.  I can do 50 miles early in the season.

My friend, Candy, and her husband, Jeff, live north of Durham in a town called Rougemont.  Biking to Rougemont from Durham sounded impressive, I thought, after Wes suggested that we make this our 50 mile ride.  He'd mapped it out, and the distance looked perfect: 50 miles roundtrip.  I was a little worried about some of the hills we'd have to climb along the way, but with Louisville looming on the end-of-summer horizon, I agreed it would be great training.

We set out from our house and proceeded north to downtown Durham via the American Tobacco Trail, a former railroad track turned greenway that we love and use often; the ATT runs through our neighborhood.  The ATT is easy riding, but I was feeling sluggish that day.  We'd gotten a late start that afternoon, following a morning of volunteer activities related to the Tobacco Road Marathon that was to take place the next day.  We were somewhat conscious of the time, but surely we could make it to Rougemont and back before dark; we had about 5 or so hours to make this trek.  In previous years, when I'm on my game I can average 15mph without much difficulty.  This isn't fast enough (or at least isn't as fast as I want to be) for 112 miles in Louisville, but it will suffice for base training rides.  This ride would be a piece of cake.

Along the way during our ride through downtown Durham, we noticed the Durham bull had been dressed in a colorful frock.  When we would come back through downtown on our way home, the bull would be fully unfrocked.  Naked as a jay bird.  The previous week he'd been dressed in something different.  I decided this day I would start to keep a photojournal of the bull's attire throughout our summer and fall bike rides.

The ride to Rougemont was TOUGH for me.  We had to traverse Guess Road for a little while.  Guess Road is more heavily trafficked than we'd anticipated, and quite frankly many motorists are jerks to cyclists.  Wes superbly re-navigated our course to wind through some quieter, friendlier neighborhoods, which beat the heck out of riding on Guess Road.  We kept onward to the north.

And then...we came upon...Johnson Mill Road, which I now believe, is the hilliest, meanest road in the entire world.  I'm exaggerating.  A little.  It was super hilly (great training for Louisville, I tried to remember), and it felt never-ending.  I think the amount the we rode on it was something like 2 or 3 miles and honestly perhaps not even that far.  It felt like FOREVER.  What was even worse, though, was that I was fully cognizant of the fact that we would have to ride back over it to get home, unless we begged Candy to drive us back to Durham.  Hmmm, now there's an idea.  Except I don't think Ironmen-In-Training (IIT) beg their friends to give them rides home on bike rides.  DANG.

Now for a sentence of admission describing my mental state that afternoon on what felt like a tremendously difficult and long ride: Not far from Candy and Jeff's house in Rougemont, I had a mini mental breakdown, and there *may* have been a tear or two and there *may* have been a little (and I would like to emphasis a little) whining by yours truly.  We'd gone nearly 30 miles by that point (yep, do the math, and you'll start to see why yours truly, who had to agreed to 50 miles and not a pedal stroke more, was beginning to panic), and we still weren't quite there.  WE WEREN'T QUITE THERE.  I was not in a good place, quickly realizing our ride was turning into a 60 miler.  Looking back, I don't know why I was so freaked out by this.  On that particular day, panic and freaking out seemed totally appropriate.  IIT may not beg their friends for rides home so they don't have to bike, but I can tell you firsthand that IIT DO have moments of panic and freaking out when long bike rides that are tough to begin with turn longer to the tune of 20% longer.  It had been a slow slog of a first half to the ride, and I was tired, demoralized, and pretty worried about what such a slow training ride (and mini mental breakdown) might mean for my effort in Louisville in August.

We finally (FINALLY!) made it to Candy and Jeff's house.  They were very gracious hosts, presenting us with an array of cheese, crackers, fruit, and whatever beverages we might desire.  We settled on water, and had to keep our visit short, and the sun was threatening to set soonish, and I had decided I would not beg Candy for a ride home.  As it turns out, she offered.  But we declined, the way IIT do.

After about a 30-minute visit, we hit the road again, knowing full well what the road held for us.  I have just 4 things to say about the bike ride home:
1) Johnson Mill is as difficult going as it was coming (and a time or two (or three, dang it) Wes gave me a push by literally giving me a push as we slogged up those tremendous hills [picture both of us on our bikes, riding, Wes's right hand on my butt pushing me as I attempted to move my pedals while he continued to power us up the hills...not my proudest personal moment, but I have an awesome husband])
2) it is important to pay attention to the setting sun, because we finished this ride in the DARK;
3) I have an awesome husband; and
4) when pushed beyond the limits of what I think I am capable of, I can do more than I think I can do.

There's not a whole lot more to say about the ride home.  It was turning pretty dark by the time we hit downtown Durham, and it was very dark on the ATT.  Coincidentally, this was the same night of the so-called super moon that was supposed to be incredibly bright.  At 8pm in Durham, it did not light our way.  We'd brought our head lamps, and Wes had already installed lights on our bikes, so we had just enough light to see our way home.

I was surprised to learn that the ride home took about the same amount of time as the ride to Rougemont.  I was certain it would take 3000 hours to get home, given my level of fatigue and demoralization thanks to a real slog of a ride, but it actually only took just over two.  I hope I always remember that feeling of arriving home, safe and sound, albeit tired and a little sore.  There is no other word that comes to mind besides elated to describe how we both felt pulling into our driveway.  Which reminds me of the 5th thing I need to say about that bike ride home:

5) There's really no place like home.

I mustered just enough strength to smile for the homecoming photo.  What's in store for next week's ride...70 miles?