White Rock HM 2.0

White Rock Half Marathon. 13.1 miles through the heart of Dallas. I'm not a runner but nature, but here I was, set to give it a try. Again,

I first ran the White Rock Half Marathon in December 2006. I had entered the race fairly late. I'd had a frustrating year in this, my second year as a triathlete--6 races, 4 in which I missed the podium by just one place--and a stressful time in my personal life. I'd never been a good runner but conventional wisdom stressed that improvements could be obtained by running slow and long. Slow I had mastered. Long?

I think I trained 4 to 6 weeks for that race. The Sunday before race day, I completed a run-walk of 10 miles. Yes, run-walk. At that time I used a heart-rate monitor so I could keep in a recommended "zone", and the recommended zone for long-and-slow was Zone 2. For me at that time, that would require not exceeding 155 beats-per-minute (bpm). I could not run a minute without rapidly exceeding that upper limit, so the only way to stay "in the zone" was to walk until the rate dropped and then pick up again.

This is not a recipe for speed. Consequently, on race day, surrounded by hordes of faster runners, I decided to ignore the monitor and just run. I managed to run four miles without stopping. Thereafter, I ran as far as I could, walked until I recovered, then ran again. I finished the race in 2 hours and 47 minutes, with an average heart rate of 181.

That's right. 181. So much for zones.

Fast forward. It's 2009 and I had a great time in the summer riding my bike, but due to persistent pain in my upper back, I found riding longer than 90 minutes too painful. So when temps dropped this October, I "chickened out" on riding by running more. Looking for some new challenges, I decided I would have another go at White Rock.

Again, I had six weeks to train. More experienced, faster, and wiser (!), I decided that after my runs reached 7 miles, I would switch to running on a track, which I presumed would be kinder to my body than running on asphalt. I did my first long track run the day after Thanksgiving. I ran nine miles in sets of 2 miles, then did a 1 1/2 mile jog to cool down. Mid-week following, I went to the track again to run 10 miles. I noticed discomfort in my left foot straight away. But as something always hurts starting out, I ignored it. I managed 9 miles but the discomfort never disappeared. And then later at home, I experienced very sharp pains in my big toe. This pattern continued, even after I shortened my runs, until I decided 10 days out not to run again until race day.

I can't say this problem didn't undermine my confidence. Right up till Thursday I considered not going, but after giving in and running two miles--with predictable results--I thought, "In for penny in for a pound." If it's going to the same whether I run 2 miles or 12, then make it count. But my dreams of running an average of 10 mins/mile had to be shoved to a back burner. I just hoped now to beat my previous time by a few minutes--and not cripple myself in the process.

Saturday I left for Dallas after lunch. I was better prepared than in 2006, when I'd gotten terribly lost. I know lept carefully prepared maps of downtown Dallas and step-by-step instructions for getting to my hotel. It all went nearly to plan, except for the inexplicable fact that the city of Dallas, which sees fit to mark every area with a sign--"West End District" or "Main Street District"and offer signed directions to the zoo, the theater, the museum--did not see fit to designate any marker showing the way to the Dallas Convention Center, where runners had to pick up their race packets. Luckily, I didn't get too far afield before doubling back and getting it right the second time.

I didn't linger at packet pick up and the Expo. I didn't need to buy any running0related item. I have enough shoes to outfit a small village, and have at least tried every gizmo invented. (See previous reference to heart-rate monitors. Add also GPS, orthotics, compression garments, various hydration and nutrition combinations...) However, the clever little marketers designed the darned pick-up so one could not exit without passing all the way through the Expo--e.g., they put the packet pick-up on one side of the arena and the t-shirt pick-up on the opposite side. Nothing for it but to dodge my way through a mass of small and large bodies, masses of advertising, and a red carpet that instantly gave me retinal burn. Grrrrrr!!! I managed to pick up my t-shirt, but when I looked for an exit, the only way was--you guessed it!--back through the Expo. (Strangely, in a room of people dedicated to running fast, most people walked incredibly slowly.)

At last! Back out into the cold, moist, foggy air of downtown Dallas. With the map imprinted on my brain, I had remarkably little trouble in returning to Stemmons (I-35E) and even less trouble finding the Renaissance Hotel. (Try missing a 30 storey building amidst the sea of drab, warehouse-like buildings of the World Market Area.) Then I managed to find self-serve (free) parking. And right on time! Check in started at 3 p.m. and it was 3:15. Presented my credentials and got my room key. Room 15--.

15th floor? Do tell! I usually stay at one storey Super 8 motels or other motor hotels run by a variety of nice people named Patel. But concierge? Room service? Three restaurants and a bar? A sauna and gym on the 30th floor? Morning newspaper delivered to your door? In short, anything and everything you could want? For a price??

Okay, I knew the price factor going in and felt suitably cautioned by my own experience. In 1996 I had stayed at the Park Place Hotel in Chicago--a member of the Hilton family--and first encountered a novel thing called a "mini bar". Wow! An entire little refrigerator stocked with little bottles of champagne, scotch, bourbon, cheese crackers. I popped the wee bottle of champagne, spread some cheese on crackers and contemplated my good fortune from one of the two queen-sized beds. (I had been upgraded at the last minute to a business suite.) I just had to brag to my sister who, as an employee of a NASA contractor traveled all over the world, so I phoned her up. It was then that I learned that the "mini bar" was not free. As instructed I re-examined the inner door of the small fridge and saw a price list. I had just consumed $12 worth of champagne and and crackers! (That would be about $40 in today's currency.) So, yeah, I knew that I would not be free to indulge in many of these available amenities. I wouldn't need much aside from dinner and breakfast, and where can one go where there is not a fast food joint on the next corner?

One can go to the Renaissance Hotel in Dallas, Texas. Not a Jack in the Box, Burger King, McDonald's, or even a Food Mart in sight. (In Chicago I'd eaten at the fast food places on the other side of State Street at every meal.) As I contemplated my situation, I felt frustrated with myself for not bringing along my own food, which I usually do, even when staying with the Patels. I examined the room service menu. The cheapest item on it was a cup of soup for $5. (A bowl cost $9.) A house salad cost $12, a burger $15, a steak $32, with all sides $8 each. Looking at the breakfast menu, I saw with astonishment that a bowl of any cereal cost $7!! And all items automatically carried a 25% gratuity. I could hear Jim's voice conferring upon me his common view of hotels: "They nickel and dime you for everything." I could not help but agree, even as I saw that wireless Internet was available for $13! (Hey, folks, it's free at McDonald's!!) After an hour's contemplation, I finally decided to order an in-room cheese pizza for $12, figuring I could at least get breakfast out of it by setting aside a few pieces in the fridge overnight. (Who hasn't eaten cold pizza for breakfast at some point?) Still, this rationalization did not make me feel much better and I succumbed to an interlude of homesickness that quickly morphed, as it usually does, to an exercise in existential malaise in which I questioned why I was here at this hotel, why I was here on earth, and why didn't I just pack it in and go hide in a cave somewhere?

Then the pizza arrived. The snappy older gentleman in a bow tie carried in a wonderful tray with a covered dish, a glass of chilled water, and a cloth napkin, and set it down with aplomb on the desk. He waited while I signed the ticket and left. After consuming one piece, my existential woes melted along with the cheese. After three pieces, I couldn't remember any troubles at all. And for the rest of the night, the remainder of that pizza called to me from the mini fridge. I ate two more pieces before bed time.

But pre-race fidgets made it difficult to pass the rest of the evening. Even with HBO, I could find nothing on TV that interested me. I stared at a book, but found myself halfway down the page and unable to remember what I'd read, forcing me to start over. I could not focus on anything. Even the boxing after dark on HBO presented a very disappointing set of matches. Finally, I hit lights out at 11 p.m., expecting to wake with my alarm at 5:50. I was only a mile away from the American Airlines Center, so who needed to get up early?

I woke before the alarm. Checked my watch. 2 a.m. Sigh... Back to sleep. Woke again. 3 a.m. Back to sleep. Woke at 4 a.m.--and this time, no back to sleep. Still, I lay there until at least 5, when I decided nothing for it but to get up and get ready. 1-2-3 and I was dressed; 3-4, breakfasted on 1 1/2 slices of pizza (sans cheese--didn't think that would sit well after a few miles running); 5-6, down to the lobby to request an extension of check-out from noon until 12:30 so I would have time to come back and shower before driving back to Hawkins. 7-8-9, wending down the darkened streets to the ever-busy Dallas freeway and hop-skip to Victory Avenue and the American Airlines Center. The parking lots were pretty empty, so I pulled into the first one, paid my $5, and parked. I carefully noted the lot (E--easy to remember, as my Wave for the race was E), as well as the first cross street to the American Airlines Center, and even the gate, entering it all into my cell phone.

It was after 6 a.m., when the race materials said the Center would open for races, but dozens milled about outside. Burgundy-coated men and women looked at us through the glass as if we were potentially hostile gangs of Jets and Sharks--Crips and Bloods to you younger folks. Yeah, tough gangsters in spandex and shorts! But then again, we did, as a whole, look pretty lean and hungry... Finally they opened the doors and we spilled inside. I wandered around, looking for...something. The baggage area? Directions to the corrals? But none were obvious inside, and I had no desire to go outside into the cold air until I absolutely had to. So I found a corner, pulled out a book, and tried to read.

I began with my back against a wall and legs outstretched, but before long I had to pull in my feet as the ever-growing crowd threatened to tread on them. A few minutes later I examined this crowd more closely. Something was up. These weren't the earlier knots of friends and co-workers meeting up to discuss post-race plans. There was organization here. There was... There was... Was there a line to the MEN'S bathroom?? I blinked and looked again. There was no mistaking it. A line of men stretched off to the left and faded in the distance.

This was not a good sign. If there was already a line for the Men's restroom, and it only just after 7 a.m., the situation for the Ladies' must be grave indeed. I pondered this. I did not have to go, but every racer does anyway, because even with port-a-potties out on the course, who wants to stop? When I finished my chapter, I looked at my watch. 7:20. I decided I'd better make a start. And sure enough, the line for the Ladies' stretched equally into infinity. I knew there were restrooms further back near the North Entrance where I'd arrived so I walked back there. Infinity again. I searched for an end and could not find it, so finding a place where the "line" broke down a bit, I just drifted in and no one complained. Luckily, it moved pretty fast and I was out by 7:35.

As we were supposed to be in the corral at 7:40, there was little time to pause. I sent off one last e-mail to Jim, then headed out into the cold. I'd already taken off my warm-up pants so I just wore my jacket. It wasn't too bad. Lemming-like, I followed the others up the street, even as the PA announced runners should head for the corrals. I found the baggage check, stuffed my warm-up jacket into the knapsack, then handed it over. Clad now only in my long-sleeve crew-neck top, shorts, calf compression sleeves, and shoes, I headed out to search for "E" Corral. It took a while. There were 20,000 people signed up for the marathon and half-marathon and we all started together. At last I saw a woman holding a big sign with a red "E" in front of a police barrier and there I entered.

We were a diverse group, we "slow-pokes". Some wore Christmas-themed outfits or wore Santa hats. Others carried signs and balloons. (How were they going to run holding a sign?) Every third person had a cell phone and was texting, talking, or taking photos. (BIG change from 2006. I don't remember any cell phones then, only Ipods. Plenty of those around now, too.) I felt a twinge of regret, wishing I could snap a pic and send it to Jim, but even as I considered this I knew he would still be in bed, fast asleep. More importantly, I did not want to be encumbered by anything. As I looked at my compadres, I sagely noticed an excess of gear: bulging Camel Baks, fanny packs, jackets and tights and sweatshirts. In 2006, a novice myself, I had worn too much stuff, if only in the form of a heavy long-sleeved shirt, a vest, and tights, and hoped I had learned my lesson this time with a more minimalist approach.

Looking at my watch it was nearly 8 a.m. Recalling the race packet, I remembered we would ALL go off at the same time, just from different corrals, so I was ready. I heard a gun and a cheer, and prepared to move forward. Actual time would not commence until we crossed the start line (thanks to a timing chip worn on the shoe), but I was ready to move into the space.

If, as Shakespeare observed, the "readiness is all", then I was all ready--and remained so. We did NOT all go off at the same time. (Someone lied!) Indeed, we did move up, but only as far as the next corral, where we waited. Another shout and the next wave left. Repeat. And repeat. Finally, at 8:15, we moved up in sight of the start line. A signal emerged with a burst of confetti and some sparklers, and with a shout from both runners and crowd, and we hobble-stepped forth towards the red line.

That is how the race began. With a hobble-step. But as soon as my foot crossed the line, I broke into a jog. The crowd of runners remained thick and it proved difficult to gain momentum--even more so as one could clearly see a good number of folks who planned not to run but walk the entire distance. I spent the entire first mile dodging and weaving, sprinting and stalling, trying not to run over someone or be run over in turn. I was disappointed but not surprised when we hit the first mile marker and saw my first mile had taken well over 11 minutes. I tried to look on the bright side: I was not out of breath and hadn't even broken a sweat. At least I could sustain such a pace.

We wound around corners, past restaurants and well-wishers. I briefly ran up on the sidewalk with some others, trying to avoid the slower masses. On one downhill section I picked up the pace and let out my stride, trying to gain a bit of space. I found some, but not much. Still, at around the third mile we turned into the Turtle Creek area and things settled down. I found myself running behind two girl friends holding a length conversation on jobs and relationships. It helped pass the time as I waited to find out where the plot led next. Alas, our paces diverged and I was doomed to forever wonder if the canceled engagement would indeed produce greater happiness.

Another mile on and we passed nice houses with their owners standing out holding signs. One lady really deserved a prize for her poster featuring a picture of Tiger Woods and captioned: "Run faster, ladies! Tiger is chasing you!" Another couple stood in bathrobes and slippers, dog on a leash, providing a deliberate contrast to our sweaty, heaving horde passing by. I wondered myself how crazy we all seemed to "ordinary" people, out here on a Sunday morning voluntarily punishing ourselves in such a way. I wondered also at the dollar amount represented solely by the footwear of the 20,000 runners, not to mention all the other assorted encumbrances. (A good pair of running shoes averages about $90, so round that to $100 and you're looking at $200,000 in footwear. Vietnam and China must be very proud.)

The fact that I was wondering anything at all testified to my ease at this pace. Could it really be this easy? Should I try and run faster? But I knew it wasn't about running fast for 6 miles, but about running at all for 13, so I wisely held back. And at 6 miles, as the marathoners peeled off to begin their long loop of White Rock Lake, the Halves--as opposed to the "Fulls" (race officials calling, "Fulls to the left, Halves to the right!")--turned into narrower streets, less wealthy houses but still plenty of friendly folks, and the mood grew more somber. People who'd earlier run with a spring in their step now walked. At one point, a trim fellow sat disconsolately on the ground, surrounded by police, with his compression-clad leg extended outwards, in obvious pain, his race over.

We passed by the Granada Theater, with its always-great band playing outside, providing a bright note--the light before the storm, so to speak--as we turned into Mile 8. The double-down had begun. One line of runners headed down a long stretch of road as another ran back up. We could see our fate on their faces. That was one long damn hill, coming right at the point where the energy ebbs but there is no turning back. Well, nothing for it but to enjoy the downhill and try, if possible, to pick up some pace. Friends called to each other in passing, offering encouragement. Behind me someone pointed out a tall power line in the distance and noted this marked the turning point. Then a flashing red light, a cone in the road, and we turned back up the hill.

It didn't feel too bad, though I did feel the difference. Steadily now runners peeled off the road to the sidewalk or the grass, stretching a calf or a quad--or barfing their Gatorade. It wasn't too long, though, before the road flattened out again, but then there was the sign marking the end of Mile 8.

8 miles? We'd only run 8 miles? Gee, that had been a slow mile. But quickly I told myself to look only forward. 8 miles down meant only 4 more to go, and once I reached 3 miles to go, it would be a piece of cake. How many times had I run 5K? Recognizing, of course, that on those many occasions my legs were considerably fresher than now, but never mind the details. And so the 9th mile dragged forever onward. And the 10th. But at LAST we turned a bridge and entered the Katy Trail. It would be flat and steady from now on. Good thing, too, because my knees and hips were starting to hurt.

Did I say my knees and hips were starting to hurt? Yeah, they were. The foot? Forget the foot! It had ached those first few miles but I no longer noticed it. It had faded into the background, drowned out by a cacophony of new aches and pains. But I was not going to walk! No way! I had already run 11 miles without walking--further than ever before--and I would not stop now. So I pushed onward, trying to keep a reasonable pace. Once again I dodged between walkers and slower runners, and was passed by a few people who'd earlier walked. Guess they'd gotten their second wind. But a minute later, I'd pass them again as they dropped back to a walk. (No judgment here. I've been there. More power to them. Just get to the finish line!)

12 miles in. Bystanders increased. They shouted out, "The finish line is just around the corner!" I picked it up as best I could, dodging and weaving. At long last I could see the arch. I looked for the cameraman, pumped my fist, and crossed the line. Five seconds later I stopped my chronometer and looked at the time: 2 hours 22 minutes and change. I couldn't do the math in my impaired state, but I knew it was faster than last time, and that's what mattered. I stumbled off to the side as the PA urged us to clear out for the other runners. As I saw my 'mates standing around in their heat blankets I looked for where to go next.

Where I went was nearly down on my knees. Just as I'd suspected, the minute I stopped moving forward, my legs seized up. This wasn't a monster cramp, but my calves were solid stone and I couldn't feel my thighs. I forced myself to stand up straight, all energy suddenly gone. (Do you remember the old ABC Wide World of Sports opening? "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat"? They aren't always separate things, I see now.) I could see people with finishers medals, so I pushed through the nearly impenetrable, foil-wrapped mass in search of a volunteer. I found one and received my medal. Then another mass and a search for the proper size of finishers t-shirt. Am I done yet? No. I get my own foil wrapper. And then there's the finish photographer. Stand in line, put aside foil wrapper and try to smile, holding medal. Click, click! Grab stuff, stumble onwards.

It took my some time, but I did at last find the baggage claim area--things were so turned around from the early morning--and waited for my "dove gray, Keen, backpack" (I had to articulate that carefully, and it took a great deal of effort). Duly delivered, I dug out my warmups, put them on, found my car key... Someone reached for my foil wrapper I'd set aside. Unthinkingly, I grabbed it faster than a two year old grabs candy, mumbling "That's mine!" Instantly, I felt stupid as I no longer needed it, but then felt it represented one more thing I'd earned--hadn't I seen many veterans in the corral that morning keeping warm with wraps from other events?--and kept it in hand.

A few more steps and I had crossed over to Lot E. I walked like Frankenstein's Monster, but walk I did, retracing my steps to find my car. I clicked it, lights flashed, doors opened. I tossed in my "dove gray, Keen, backpack" onto the passenger seat and stumbled around to the driver's side. Yes, I did wonder how I could drive in such a state, but rationalized that once I got to the hotel and cleaned up I would be reborn. Only one last obstacle remained: getting out of the damned lot! The open avenues of the early morning had been replaced by barriers, one-way signs, and road closed signs. For the second time this day, I managed to "insert" myself into a line, but once onto the road, it didn't take five minutes before I was back on Stemmons and less than five before I was parked at my hotel. It was 11:05 a.m.

Posh guests were pushing their bags through the lobby as check-out time approached. I climbed into the first available elevator, all sweaty and dowzled, and pushed "15". A few more breaths and I emerged onto the burgundy and gold carpet of what I had dubbed the night before "a very expensive dormitory." (I was unused to the sounds of neighbors closing and opening doors, passing down the hall, or just talking in the next room.) I found my door, inserted the magnetic key, and entered the marble floored entry way. Closing the door behind me, I allowed myself a sight of relief. The fluffy white, embarrassingly thick duvet of the bed with it's red blanket looked oh-so-inviting. I tossed up my overnight bag and sat down next to it. I pulled out my clean clothes and laid them on the bed. But before I hit the shower, I hit the fridge. One more piece of pizza remained!! Ahh-ha-hah-hah! Smack, smack, gone! Ummmm!

Into the posh, marble floored bath with its nice Aveeno soaps--I had fallen in love with these very quickly, and not surprisingly, none remained in the suite once I vacated it--and into the cleansing water. I know cold water on aching muscles is the prescribed remedy, but I'd been chilled for so long I could not resist getting the water as hot as I could stand it. I soaped up several times and massaged my legs as best I could. Refreshed, I finished cleaning up and dressing. I felt almost human again! Now, as the clock approached noon, I felt a small pang of regret at having to leave my brief lap of luxury--especially now that I had earned it--but I also wanted to go home and see Jim, so I gathered up my goods and left the suite for now. But there's always next year, though I'll be certain to bring my own food next time! And my computer as well. Wireless internet would have been much cheaper than the pizza and required no gratuity.

This ended White Rock 2.0. Overall, it was as good as it could have been--better. Indeed, as I drove away on Stemmons, I wondered, "Could it have been too good? Could I ever top it next year?" We'll see if there's a 3.0 in my future. If Microsoft can come up with a new operating system every year, then why, then oh why, can't I? Let's go home, Toto!

Gear, Gear, Gear

Anyone who does triathlon will understand the unnerving appeal of better, newer gear. I have so much gear already, why in the world would I need any more? Well, the wily capitalists at work (Cobb, you're amongst them!) are constantly coming up with catchy and useful gee-gaws, lighter, faster, more hydro/aero-dynamic.... It's endless. Even though my credit cards are constantly pushing max, I can always rationalize buying something. I've already pre-ordered one of Cobb's new helmets from Rudy Project (had to sell of six jerseys to try and finance that), but now I've also acquired a SportCount lap counter/timer for long track and swim workouts, and also ordered a transition mat and a hydration belt from Triathlete Sports. (Not two hours after placing they latter order, I received an online coupon for 15% off Black Friday orders! Arghhh!) And who knows what else is out there? I can easily lose count. And all this for someone who only does a few sprint races a year! Is there a version of AA for gear-addicted triathletes?

I. Give. Up.

I really do. I give up the hope that I will ever "fix" my back. I have run the complete gamut of available assistance, from orthopedic sports medicine to massage therapy to chiropractic. Nothing--nothing--helps. The latest effort involved the chiropractor plastering kinesio tape across my upper back. I rode with it today. And like clockwork, 70 minutes into the ride, I started feeling pain--like being stabbed in the back with a burning brand. Sometimes it would ease--particularly when I turned out of the wind--but otherwise was approaching intolerable. Perhaps it was worsened by the damage to my morale, knowing now I could not race Conroe next weekend. (I can hardly swim 1.2 miles and then bike 55 miles in a race when I can barely ride 25 in training.)

So I am not a happy camper. I have to resign myself to only being able to ride long distances recreationally, stopping every hour or whenever necessary to give my back a break. Not, not happy......

Same Old Story

I have not ridden my bike once--not once!--this entire week. The few days we get decent weather, such as yesterday afternoon, I have meetings and work and cannot ride. I did get in a good run on Tuesday and a swim today. (I really enjoy running now that the temps dip down into the fifties.) After my swim (and another meeting!) I went to see my massage therapist, Meredith Wauqua, and she really put the hurt on my arms and upper back. Later this evening, I felt rather pummeled and sore, but she knows her business so I can't but expect it will all be for the good. Tomorrow it's back to the chiropractor to get some kinesio tape for my back. The plan was for me to then ride my bike in the afternoon, but as we are expecting floods, again, I doubt I can ride before Saturday. (I just hope it doesn't force a shift in the Friday soccer game to a turf field! I want Pat Hartley.)

...but if it's workouts you want?

...then there isn't a great deal to report! The rain has played disaster with bike training. I'm lucky if I can ride two hours a week--and those two hours are hardly quality. Oddly, the more my back receives treatment, the worse it seems to get ?? Perhaps it's just my expectations are raised and disappointed, making it seem worse. I do get in one 1500 yard swim per week and a couple of runs. Insufficient training, to put it mildly, for an aquabike in two weeks. Not to mention that the cost of traveling even as far as Conroe appears prohibitive. Truly, since October 3rd, when my mother-in-law suffered her stroke, I've had a lot of other things on my mind. Even now that she's passed, my focus has not returned. Perhaps it's time to just accept "off season".

I Love History

No, this is not a blog about cycling or triathlon. I've about decided I can't just segment my life into one blog about this and another about that. It's all of a piece. So tonight's subject--my affirmation--is: I love history.

PBS showed an episode of "The American Experience" on the Great Crash of 1929, followed by a documentary on Herbert Hoover. (This Thursday is the 80th anniversary of the Crash.) Watching it all I realized just how much I love and enjoy history. I love just knowing. I always have. I like reading something and realizing, "Aha! So that's why that happened!" or "So that's what that means!" It's like unraveling a semi-secret language--the language of human experience.

I think that's an element that gets lost in teaching. I feel so constrained by the lack of time--the rush to cover as much as possible (quantity) versus covering a few things deeply (quality). We just don't have time in the survey to delve deeply enough to personalize events. Additionally, students are of an age where they haven't gained enough life experience that would enable them to relate to the variety of persons and situations.

In any event, it's nice to have time now and again to get back in touch with the shear enjoyment of the subject. It's too bad my students, by and large, don't share the enjoyment. I just hope some day they will have the opportunity to revisit some of the events and recall them in a different light.

Exit Sunscreen, Enter Embrocation

Seems like riding in ninety-degree heat was just yesterday. Seems like riding in the early morning, sun coming up over the treetops, was heaven. Now, it's drag my bum home to catch a few hours of daylight in the moderate temps of the afternoon. No Epic Ride with epic scenery; rather, the monotonous shoulder of Highway 80.

Today the weathermen predicted only a slight chance of rain, so in spite of doing a swim workout earlier I knew I had to get in a bike ride, no matter how short. It was hard getting out of the house because, paradoxically, there were so many bicycle-related "goodies" that came in the mail and via UPS to tempt me to stay in: two bicycle magazines and a Tour de France DVD; also more chamois creme, and--how timely--my first tube of embrocation.

I've read about these creams and salves and other skin elixirs used by the pros. They are supposed to warm up the muscles, etc., on brisk days on the bike. There are so many days when leg warmers are just too much, but bare-legged is not enough. So, even though I had no idea if they really worked or not I was willing to give it a go.

Unscrewed the cap, tore off the foil sealant, and sniffed. Hmmm. Kinda smelled like my favorite skin cream but with a kick of bitterness I couldn't place. Well, at least it wasn't patchouli oil. I squeezed some out and applied it to my legs and even to my arms for good measure. I did not feel a rush of warmth like Icy Hot or some such, but I guessed I felt...something. Anyway, when I got on the bike, going down Lee's Hill, nothing would have kept the chill away, but that was just for a minute. Out on the road I felt fine--bored, but fine. I really motored, cruising at 22 mph, which clearly indicated the presence of a tail wind. I knew it would end at Crow but I enjoyed it while I could. Heading back into the wind, even as I groaned inside, I told myself "This is making me stronger. This is making me stronger." The carrot was making it to the next turnaround so I could enjoy a sweet six back to Crow. The last turn into the wind was tougher, but I made it. I passed the hour point here and was pleased to see that, even with my warm-up, my average speed was near 17 mph--abysmally slow by King William's standards, but not bad by mine. ;-)

Made it back home by 5 p.m. Time to dive into the bike mags. Much as I'll try to make them last, I'll probably have them read cover-to-cover in 10 days. (By the end of the month I'll be reading the classified ads.)

Medical Mysteries Continue

All my training, on the bike anyway, seems one long investigation into the medical mystery surrounding the muscles spasms in my upper left back. I started with an orthopedist/sports medicine doctor. She diagnosed...muscles spasms. Er, yeah. Kind of knew that. Origins? Who knows. Solutions? Lidocaine shots after the fact, that only last an hour. Next stop: massage therapist. Some progress there. She was able to tell me that I had limited mobility in my left scapula, probably from scar tissue. Combined with what the doc said, things were pointing to some lingering damage from a bike wreck (MTB) I had in 2002. But while the massage helped some, it was/is not enough by itself. So finally I went to a chiropractor. And there we stand. I keep riding and providing him with feedback. The pain begins as pins-and-needles in the supraspinus muscle, and somehow the fatigue here activates the rhomboids for postural needs--a purpose for which they are not designed--and this leads to some kind of nerve impingement and finally the stabbing pain. (Needless to say, once things go off kilter in one area, it pulls everything else down the spine and into the opposite leg out of whack--hence all the problems with my lower right leg.)

So I am a "work in progress." I keep cycling, pushing through the pain, though I am still short of my 54 mile goal. (I could make that, but I worry that I would literally not be able to use my left arm at all--a dangerous situation when you need to brake.) The chiro will keep refining his adjustments, and I will keep applying the Biofreeze. (Eau de Parfum du Biofreeze. Chanel No. 5 it ain't.) Perhaps we can get to the point where some combo of kinesio tape might stabilize something up there.

Anyway, I am certainly learning a lot--and not just about muscles. My chiro also set me onto some liquid vitamins which are great (Intramax), as well as a really nice way to get my Omega 3s (Coromega). I should be a shining picture of health and energy. But the past few days I have been best by fatigue. I think I need a week on the beach somewhere sunny. I need the sun! I am like a tropical plant photosynthesizing directly from the sun's rays. Passing through the autumnal equinox is really shutting down the rays. Even when I get out, the sun is on the downside, wan, anemic. (Yeah, I know. This isn't Michigan or Seattle and I should count my blessings.) I would just like to find a beach somewhere and bake in the sun and surf for a couple of days.

Dream on!

Rose City Triathlon

I'm a little taken aback when I see I haven't blogged in a month. But then again, school started, so 'nuff said.

Did the last scheduled triathlon of the season this morning. Weather was not optimal. It began raining last night and continued all night and into the morning. Forecast was for more of the same all weekend.

I had everything packed and in the car before dinner last night, clothes and shoes laid out in the bathroom, so I would have minimal effort to get ready this morning. Alarm went off at 5. Dressed, ate my rice flakes, read a little bit, then left at 5:30.

I don't know why, as I have tris that have earlier start times, but the drive to Whitehouse is perhaps the most difficult one I do because I nearly fall asleep! Must be the familiarity. Had to make a rest stop at McDonald's there in Whitehouse, but made it to the race site by 6:40. As always, love the orderliness of the parking. Lots of people were already there. Really love having individually numbered rack spots! As one of the first people to register, I was No. 4, so I had a spot right near the bike transition--great, since I don't do the barefoot thing if I can help it, and running far in cleats is not wise. Got set up with no problem. Got marked. Picked up chip. Dropped of temporary USAT card for Madeleine at the packet pick-up tent. Saw Kami and talked a bit. Did some warm-up runs around the parking lot. Made a last visit to the Port-a-potty.

About 7:20 Kami wanted to do a swim warm-up so I walked with her to the swim finish area so I could take a look at the course, which they altered from last year. (I wasn't going to swim. I don't like standing around wet for an hour.) Didn't look too bad. It's usually a point-to-point swim, but last year's finish area was too shallow this year and had too much hydrilla, so they made it a "hook": we had to make a sharp left turn near the end to finish a few hundred yards east and then do a moderately long run to the transition area. The start area remained out on the dam.

7:40 we made our way up to the dam for the pre-race athletes' meeting. And of course, once we got there, stowed our shoes in bags etc., the rain started. And it got worse. All through the meeting and the playing of the National Anthem, it rained. We (women over 40) were in the last wave so we had to stand there for at least 20 minutes, shivering. I could feel my muscles stiffening up. As soon as the third wave left we were in the water, just to keep warm.

Our wave went at 8:15. I thought it was a good start, but after I rounded the first turn and headed left, I could tell things were not going well by the fact that no one was swimming near me. I was too far "out" from the buoy line. I kept trying to correct and come back left, but as I am right-side dominant, it's difficult. I know I wasted a lot of time swimming further than was necessary. Same thing happened rounding the last buoy (left again) to head to the new finish. The water shallowed up very far out so I had to slog quite a way through water and mud till I reached the shore. Then it was up the ramp and onto the run. I looked at my watch: almost 17 minutes! Ouch!! (I don't remember my time last year, but I can usually do 650 yards in 12-13 minutes. Of course, that is at Tyler State Park and it's all in a straight line.)

T1 went pretty well. Had to sit down on my camp stool to put on my socks and shoes, which were both soaked. (It hadn't been raining an hour earlier when we'd left.) Helmet went on without a problem. (Not wearing sunglasses helped, plus I've learned to pull it--Giro Advantage--on from the front and then over the top, rather than trying to plop it square on the noggin like a normal helmet.)

It was just a short distance to the bike mount line and I was on and going quickly. The rain was still pouring and it was already difficult to see with so much water in my eyes. I was glad to see Galen at the first turn onto Concession Stand Road (even though she called me Jim!). I saw several TBC-ers everywhere--Carole, Super Dave, Blaise, Hebb--but forgive me if I can't remember exactly where. I get a bit of tunnel vision once the race is on. I turned on to FM 346 and began passing some folks. The rain was blinding me but what can you do? Then it was a left turn and back onto the course. That first long hill wasn't too bad. I geared down and managed to pass a few folks. I geared very well on the hills, putting it in the big ring for the downhills, and not really having to leave it for most of the ride. My recent training on rollers--hills, not indoor training!--helped a lot. I was able to get enough momentum from the downhills that all I had to do was stand up and pedal for about 10 seconds before heading over the top of the next hill. Things got a bit technical at the turnaround as they directed us down a little cul-de-sac. It was a sharp left turn with riders coming and going. This is where Rooney passed me. (At least it was halfway into the bike this time!) Back out on the course, things continued well. I passed a lot of folks. (Needless to say, all the bike studs had already finished their rides.) I managed to maintain most of my speed on the right-hand turn back onto FM 346. Then it was back into the Marina area and heading to T2.

T2 went fast, at least at first. Racked bike, un-doffed helmet, removed shoes and put on sneakers. Thought I was really swift heading out to the "run"--only to be called back quickly by Blaise and Kayla cuz I was heading back onto the bike course! Had to turn 90 degrees and run back all the way through transition and out onto the run course. There was a short bit across the grass and then up a slight rise onto the road. I didn't do the run last year as I was part of a relay team, so this was novel--as betokened by the fact that I made another wrong turn, only to be called back by volunteers. But once I got straightened out I found a very comfortable rhythm. At the first mile marker I managed to pass a lady in a Sunrise Tri uniform who I'd traded passed with on the bike. After a quarter mile she passed me, but one more quarter at the next turn I passed her for good. I was a bit disappointed when I saw the 2nd mile marker, if only because I thought we were closer to the end (and because I could see the finish area to my left). But we had to run out over the dam, past the swim start, and on back further, taking a short cross-country run through the mud before turning around for the last time.

It was on this section I saw John Cobb from the back--meaning, I was gaining on him. I'd seen him earlier as runners are going both directions on all parts of the course. He was in red--fitting, since he is like a red flag to a bull--I had passed him on the run at Athens so why not again? But despite passing another man in the mud flat and gaining some time, Cobb was trucking on today. I could not catch him--not without red-lining it. As it was I was able to keep a steady gap on him to the finish (which was down a very slick and muddy slope). He turned around then and gave me a hug, saying every time he heard footsteps behind him he thought it was me!

I got my finisher's medal and went in search of food. I had a bit of a Subway sandwich and stood along the finish lane to cheer on others for a bit. Then I got a Smoothie and stood in line to find out my time. It was very confusing because they hadn't been updated but on the initial list I was at least third. Later when they posted the final results someone from my group must've been a Master's top three because I'd been bumped up to second. I was glad because I've finished third in all three races I've done so far this year, so second was a nice change.

ETT members dominated the overall--Chauncey set a new course record, besting Brady O'Bryan (last year's overall)--as well as the age groups. We had medalists in just about every age group. The race itself was even better than last year. It's definitely one of the best organized races anywhere. Can't offer enough praises to Steve, Alan, Duke, Matt, and all the many other folks who worked so hard to pull it all together.

Oh, my aching back! (e.g., "Feel My Pain!")

I had a nice session with super Massage Therapist Meredith Wauqua, who turned my shoulder inside out. In doing so she informed me that my left scapula was "not very mobile." She said when she worked my back the scapular area went "crunch, crunch"!!

Hmmmm. Crunch? Isn't that how Dr. Fiesler described it?

Man, what is up with this shoulder?? (Shoulder, back, schmack! It's my scapula, which operates my shoulder, but it rests on my back.) The evidence is overwhelming that I injured it at some point, but for the life of me I can't remember doing so. I did have a nasty mountain bike crash circa 2002, but I don't remember anything involving my shoulder. (But then again, like the aftermath of a car wreck, everything hurt so that particular aria of pain may have just succumbed to the power of the chorus.)

The depressing thing about it is: there is nothing really to be done. No cure. No "fix". A doc can't just go in and repair a torn ligament or some such injury. I suppose this will be something like arthritis (?) that I just have to live with. :-(

The Curse of the Stinky Gloves!!

Is there any cure for stinky cycling gloves?

I wash them after every ride. I don't use fabric softener but do use a drier sheet. And they don't smell too bad when I first put them on. They are not even that bad while I'm wearing them.

The real curse is the smell after I wear them. No matter how many times I wash my hands, within ten or fifteen minutes, the sour stink emerges from my palms. What to do? Will I be forced to burn all my gloves and by new pairs every two months? Or is there some magic concoction that will rid my hands of the stink without making them smell like cheap perfume?

No Magic Bullet

I went to see Dr. Fiesler again today, hoping we could take treatment of my back spasms to the "next level". She's given me lidocaine shots on previous occasions to break up the spasm and provide some relief, but the spasms always come back. I had though that cortisone shots would provide longer-lasting relief. However, today, even though she shot three major trigger points with a mixture of lidocaine and cortisone, she said it would not provide a lasting solution. Disappointingly, there were few alternatives offered for a long-term solution. She did say something about therapy with some kind of electric stimulation device (!!), but we didn't really follow up on that. (She was thinking about me wearing it during a race, which isn't practical, besides which it's during training that I need relief. Race day I can get a shot two days before and probably be able to tuff it out.)

So I am left with no real path to pursue. I have refitted and re-refitted on my bike; I have done upper-body training; I have done therapy exercises for the scapular support muscles. It would be nice to see if massage therapy or acupuncture or something along those lines would help, but I am pretty sure insurance would not cover much, if any, of that kind of therapy.

But I'm still riding my bike(s), if only 25 miles at a time. (My non-triathlete friends think 25 miles is an incredible distance! And that's a bit of an ego boost. However, fellow triathletes know that 25 miles will not prepare one for an aquabike distance of 56 miles.) Yes, I am RIDING MY BIKE!! I am enjoying my last weeks of FREEDOM!! Other people think of summer vacation and they think of trips to the mountains or the beach, or a foray to Disney World. Not me. I just WANT TO RIDE MY BIKE! I WANT TO RIDE IT WHERE I LIKE!!! (Go, "Queen"!! The cyclists' anthem!) 'Cause come August 24th, all those morning rides go bye-bye.

Tears on my keyboard.... Must stop now. ;-)

Au Revoir, Le Tour

It's been a long three weeks. I'm not as tired as the riders, but I am tired. I'm tired of some of the soap opera atmospherics surrounding this edition. I'm definitely tired of the same commercials. When you watch it a minimum of twice a day, you see them a lot, and since some of the sponsors only had a single commercial that they ran every break...you get the picture.

Commercials:

1. Worst: Cadillac. Couldn't you have sprung for more than one commercial??? The same lady in the same car purring, "The relationship with your car is a lot like any other relationship." Arrghhh!

2. Runner Up worst: Woo. I still have no idea what this is for because I muted it every time.

3. Dishonorable Mention: Volkswagen. What's with the coneheads?

Moving in the other direction:

1. Best: freecreditreport.com. They just have some catchy tunes.

2. Trek's Get Your Wow. Subtle. They kept the same basic footage but added bits or rearranged them as the Tour progressed. Kept things interesting.

3. Honda Hybrids. Again, catchy tunes. Makes me want to eat granola and move to CA.

Commentary

I will definitely miss Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen--even Craig Hummer and Bob Roll. I always expect superlatives from Phil and Paul--and hey, guys, props for getting techie with Twitter!--but I even enjoyed the American commentary in the evening broadcasts. Bobke proved very insightful and not just a comic prop. Kudos to all.

Cyclists

Top-notch, interesting racing. A bit of whining from one or two. (At least Carlos apologized, but Cadel....) I thought Week One was a bit of a bore with Cav's dominance. I like Mark. He's talented beyond belief. But it was three hours of (yawn) breakaway, followed by a catch followed by another Columbia victory. Had it not been for the rain and the hill in Barcelona, the other sprinters could have just packed it up and gone home. ('Cept Thor. He knew--and proved--there's more to sprinting than the leadout train.) Week Two had some more excitement, though not on GC. With Nocentini as a caretaker of the yellow and none of the GC faves going to make a move before the Alps, it was a waiting game. Nice revelation in Brice Feillu. Will he go with Lance's new team? Possibilities.

Speaking of Lance's new team: that introduced an entire new level of soap opera to the Tour's end. Every time Lance spoke with someone in the peloton, the commentators wondered: is he going to join Lance's new team? Won't know till September. (This subject will keep tongues wagging for months.)

Glad to see no doping scandals, at least so far. (Di Luca's positive for the Giro, announced during the Tour, was not even worth a raised eyebrow. We were all...so...shocked. Not.) Plenty of folks desperate for one. (Greg! Just let it go. Try and make some positive contributions to the sport again.)

My own training has suffered a bit, particularly in this last week. (At least in Week 2 I could watch the intro and stage recap, go out and ride for two hours, and make it back for the finish.) With the Alps on tap, I hardly dared leave the TV. I did manage to get in a few rides before lunch--thankfully, temps were unseasonably cool for Texas in July (80s before noon is practically arctic) so I got away with it. So I am hoping that if the weather cooperates I can get in some good morning rides next week. The summer is winding down and I am already dreading somewhat the start of the fall semester, if only from the standpoint of not having the freedom to ride all morning.

Finally, the end of the Tour will leave a giant void in the TV viewing spectrum. There is so NOTHING on TV. (600 channels and naught but junk.) For me, not a really big deal. I can read a book. But it introduces a vacuum that others will fill. (uuunnnhhhhhh....)

So Au Revoir, Le Tour! Catch you next year!

Jefferson 2009

Okay, Bonny, here it is. It's not really a race report, and I have no idea whether it will be funny or not. After 15 hours of internet teaching, I may not even be able to type!

For once I was actually calm before a race. Don't ask me why. The promise of good weather? The proximity of the race? Low expectations? Something to break up the tedium of my summer job?? In any event I was glad.

I prepared all my stuff the night before so all I had to do when the alarm sounded at 4 a.m. Sunday was roll out of bed, dress, slap some PB&J on a piece of white bread, grab a Diet Coke and head out into the very dark morning. (Really dark! Inside-the-basketball dark!) It really was an interesting sensation to drive in that kind of darkness. However, there was--literally--a bright spot: the new moon and the morning star in the eastern sky, right over my destination. (No, I did not expect three wise men with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. A few dozen competent race organizers I'll take.)

It didn't take me long on my chosen route of 155 to reach FM 279 and head along the eastern edge of Lake o'the Pines. I'd already dodged an opposum on the road in, and now I spotted a deer waiting to cross the road. Luckily the nature of the road kept my speed low enough I was able to avoid any accidents. Everything sure looked different in the dark. Little worms-and-six-pack shacks acquired a down-to-earth allure missing in daylight. By the time I turned west on 726, the eastern skybehind glowed purple-pink with the promise of a rising sun.

I found the entrance to the park quite easily. But when I made it to the entrance, I found the gates all locked and not another car in sight. Alright, it was 5:36 and I didn't expect anyone official before 6, but.... I did see one vehicle off in the direction of the transition area. An RV was parked near the entrance. But there was no one near enough to ask questions. After mulling it over for five minutes, two vehicles passed me by and headed off west. Since they looked like they knew where to go, I quickly hopped back in the car and followed. After a roundabout way we found ourselves very near the transition area and parked near the bathrooms. Disembarking from our respective vehicles, we still looked a bit lost. But I could see the bike racks and two people standing near them, so I took that as the place to go. I hoisted my pack and rolled my bike down the hill. I hung the bike on the rack nearest the bike exit, took out my camp chair, and sat.

Just sat. What else to do? Eventually a fellow with some air of authority approached me to say transition wasn't open yet, but rather than make me remove my bike he just said, in a friendly fashion, "Just go away." And he shooed me forth, but not before I asked him about packet pickup. He had no idea. Maybe near the pavilion.

To condense the next hour very simply: I spent a great deal of time either jogging or walking the distance from transition to the pavilion and back as one volunteer would direct me one way and another would send me back. Eventually they did set up packet pick up, but not at transition and not at the pavilion; rather, halfway in between, near the bathroom. I didn't breath easily until I got my race number. (By now fellow ETT folks had shown up so I had company.) I headed back down for body marking, then back up to wait for timing chips. Those took a while to set up but I was first in line to get mine. As I waited they unloaded a line of much-needed portajohns (the Ladeis' had no paper), and as soon as I got my chip I gave my greetings to the Green Goddess.

Set up transition area. Said hi to some folks. Needed to warm up. Howzabout hauling that swag bag back to the car? That would be a good jog. And so I did. By now lots of people on disc wheels were whizzing by to test out the bike course so it was duck-and-dodge. Not much tension on my end as I watched the late comers scramble for an open spot on already crowded bike racks. Eventually I grabbed my cap and goggles and headed to the beach and got in the water. Near shore the water clarity was good as was the temp. I did some easy strokes--too easy, really, in light of what lay in store.

I sat and waited on a concrete embankment with Ross Pritchard, who was sitting this race out and had an assignment as "official" club photographer. (The photos are his.) Steve and Alan were there for a while, and Kami. It was great fun watching the "clear" water trickle down my arms and legs in brown rivulets. Hmmmm....



About ten minutes for the first wave to go Kami and I headed to the water's edge. Again, unnaturally calm. Go figure. We "blue caps" of the second wave were consigned to wait as all individual males in their spiffing yellow latex caps prepared for the start. Nothing fancy. No gun. No whistle. Just a countdown from 1o on the PA system and "Go!" And they were off.

Kami and I waded into the water to wait for our two minute start. I submerged up to the neck to stay warm. (It wasn't that chilly for July, but the water was more comfortable.) Same laid back countdown, and then we were off. Things were thick. I stuck fairly close to the buoy line and so was fighting feet, legs, arms all the way. I never stopped, though. The OWS at Tyler State Park paid off in my ability to navigate without pulling up. Couldn't see much far ahead anyway. I figured as long as I was in the pack I was okay.


I made the first turn, and normally this is where things usually thin out, but not this year. We began to catch the slower men from the first wave so I had an entirely new set of arms, legs, etc., to battle. (Strangely, the men were easier. I could often split two and find a way through. The women--they ain't moving for anyone!) Made the second turn. This is where things have gone wrong in the past because I always pulled too far left and wasted time. This time I managed to stay straight and followed the buoys straight in.

I wish I had swum a few more strokes before standing up. For those tall guys, it may have been the right thing, but when I stood the water was still thigh deep. Nothing for it but to strip off the cap and goggles and slosh forward in a parody of a run. Had to run up sand and a bit more before crossing the timing mat.


At the bike rack I did things a bit differently. Usually I put my helmet on first but this time I worked from the ground up: shoes, then race belt, then helmet and sunglasses, before clopping the few yards to the mount line. Clipped in and headed out. I was so wet!! Water poured from under the helmet and other places. Luckily I wasn't chilled. First hill up to the dam--not bad. Did the last bit out of the saddle but the legs were fresh. On top of the dam I again departed from heretofore normal procedure and did not immediately gear up to the big chain ring but kept it small and spun for a couple of miles, averaging between 17.5 and 18.5 mph.

Turning off the dam, the real challenge began. These weren't big hills, just long ones. I'm guessing the maximum gradient was around 2-3%, but they went on for half a mile. I shifted smoothly from large to small gears, kept the cadence reasonably high (80s) even if the speed was 13-14 mph. Had some good recovery on the downhills. (Nothing like going aero and bombing down a hill at 28 mph.) I drank some Infinit every ten minutes or so. It was good (and necessary) but it clemmed up my mouth, making me wish for a nice swig of water to clear the decks.

Took forever to get to the turnaround, but on the way back seemed like more downhill than up. One point I was hammering downhill at 30 mph, and for a brief moment, I could almost--almost--imagine I was Fabian Cancellara. (Hah! He goes faster than that uphill!) Played leapfrog with one rider for a while until she (?) finally dropped back for good. Turned back on the dam, but only briefly as we were directed down the east side. It was a nice, long downhill/flat road, but it was merely the calm before the storm--and I knew it. IT was approaching. The Monster. The Golem. The...Dam Hill.

There. It loomed on the horizon like a puny East Texas alp. I could see ant-like figures climbing. The internal debate began. Ride it? Walk it? Ride it? Walk it? (Scenes of LBJ daisy flower commercial: BOOM!! "Johnson. You know he's right.") Approaching the foot, I put my fate in the hands of God and geared down and headed up. I remained in my next-to-smallest gear for most of the climb, and then down to the smallest for the rest. I used the "fog technique": pretend that there is a fog up ahead and you can't see the summit, so look nowhere but in front of the tire and churn it out. And it worked. I made it to the top, turning past a trooper directing traffic and headed back over the dam. I recovered very well, spinning along in the small ring. By the time I got to the final turn, I spotted Ross with his camera. I made some half-baked gesture before taking the turn. Shoulda been paying attention. The turn was about 130 degrees and I went almost too wide. I kept the speed reasonable on the way down and into T2.



I dismounted fine at the line and got my bike racked with no problem. Getting the helmet off proved a bit difficult. If I try to pull it up and off like a regular helmet it pulls my ears off, but forward and off, I lose my sunglasses. Oh, well. I sat down on my camp chair and put on my socks and shoes and ran off.

Felt fin heading up the slight rise to the park entrance, but after about 400 yards I felt a deep cramp in my lower-left abdomen--almost the groin. This usually happens to some degree off the bike and it will disappear after a while, but this got really intense and lasted for almost two miles. I stopped once to bend over but that didn't help. Adding to the "fun" of the effort, my right ear had water in it and I couldn't get rid of it. Woosh, woosh, woosh! I had an oceanic soundtrack accompanying my run.

My hope of following a good swim and a good ride with a good run faded quickly. I just kept moving and forgot about trying to pick up the pace. I saw the 1 mile marker. I hoped the pain would subside soon but it didn't. Where, oh where, was the turnaround? I couldn't see it. After an eternity I found it, but it still wasn't two miles in yet. Luckily the path was more downhill on the way back. Around the 2 mile point the abdominal cramp finally faded but then I felt a tightness in my left glute and both calves. (I'd hate to think what it might have been like if it had been hot!) Where, oh where, was the finish line??

At LAST I saw the inflatable arch and people standing around. Incapable of anything resembling a "kick" I at least determined to present good form in the last 200 yards. (It sure fooled Kami! Later she acted surprised when I said I'd experienced trouble on the run as she thought I'd looked "good" at the end.) I crossed the second mat and had to lean on the guy removing my timing chip. Duke took photos. (Oy! I hate to think what I looked like.) I sought out the huddle of finishers from the club--all looking better than me, or so it seemed.

The post-race bonk had already begun. I heard that the baked potatoes were ready so I got in line, fixed one up, and found a seat in the pavillion. I'm not overly found of these potatoes but it was the only game in town. In any event I hoped it would perk me up. When I'd eaten as much as I could stand, I found the trash and again sought out some more finishers. Then the PA said preliminary results were posted on the U-Haul truck so I went over to see what I could see. Took me a bit to find my group. 5 ladies in my group and I was 4th. What an ambiguous result! Not dead last, which is good, but so close to third (by one minute) always feels demoralizing. I knew I'd done my best but couldn't help but think, "If only I'd pushed harder on the run...."

I looked around but didn't see anything resembling post-race festivities. I was sweaty, stinky (really stinky!), and thoroughly without words or anything resembling social grace. So I went to the transition area to pack. The race organizers had already dismantled much of the area. (Alarmingly, there was no one there to check race numbers against bikes, but in afterthought, I realized since they hadn't required race numbers on the bikes, that would have proven impossible. Still, there should have been security.) I packed up my stuff. Alan Harris stopped by to say something but I really and truly couldn't think what to say, so he wandered off. (Sorry, Alan!) As I headed toward my car, I ran into Steve and Alan, and still found myself completely without words. I didn't even say "Good race!" or "See you later!" I just trundled off to my car, loaded it up, and headed out.

I managed to make it home before noon. (This race was actually closer to home than either Athens or Rose City.) Jim wasn't home. I turned on Le Tour but before I got caught up in it, I hopped in the shower. Boy, did that feel good! I felt halfway normal. I stretched out on the couch and watched the day's stage. I hoped to drift off to sleep, but texting and commercials kept me away.

Later that evening I checked for race results and found them posted around 5-ish. Imagine my surprise when I found my group and saw only four names, and my own in third place! (Perspective, though: 2 of the 3 Female Masters winners were from my age group, so that put me in fifth--just 1 competitive point for the club, but better than none!) My next thought was: what about my hardware? I texted Kami. She soon replied that when asked, Steve said there hadn't been any! Since Steve is one for jokes, I thought he was joking. Turns out he wasn't. I don't know why, but Sportspectrum didn't have the awards with them. No one believed they would actually mail them as promised, but I got an e-mail later that night from someone relaying that message. (Next day I received an e-mail from Sportspectrum saying we could pick them up if possible. So yes, Virginia, there is hardware after all, but it's gonna take some effort to get it home! Luckily my folks are headed over there Thursday and will be able to pick mine up as well as others in our club.)

So that was Jefferson 2009. I hadn't done it since 2006 because it's usually so hot and because I hate that hill. But I think I'll do it again because it's just so convenient. And I'll try and be a more upbeat person at the end!

It's Business. Strictly Business.

Okay. I understand it's a tough time for cycling teams so the announcement of a new title co-sponsor for Columbia-Highroad--now Columbia-HTC--can't be a bad thing.

Unless you are the proud owner of a Columbia-Highroad jersey.

Okay. I understand it's tough to wear an aesthetically cool all-black kit in the summer heat--hey, I live in Texas!-- so I understand Cervelo Test Team's announcement that they will switch to a white kit for the Tour de France and the remainder of the summer. It's a great idea.

Unless you are the proud owner of a Cervelo Test Team black jersey.

Okay. Businesses make lots of money selling fans team kit. Fans (like someone I know?) will spend really outrageous sums to purchase a team jersey so they can "be there" with their teams as they climb the Alps or storm down the Champs Elysees.

BUT HOW CAN YOU "BE THERE" IF THEY KEEP CHANGING THE ******* KIT???

I support Columbia and Cervelo Test Team primarily because they support professional women's teams--and it's bloody hard to find pro women's kits anywhere at any price! (Oh, yeah, and they have pretty good men's teams, too.) So I show "my love" by purchasing a men's small and making do. (If you don't think a men's small is different from a women's medium, take my word for it.)

But it's not about love, is it? It's about money. It's about business. ("It's not personal, Sonny. It's business. Strictly business.") Last year, CSC brought on board Saxo-Bank right before the Tour; likewise, Highroad brought aboard Columbia; Slipstream Chipotle brought on board Garmin. Each major sponsor addition necessitated a new kit, and fans were just...well, left holding their old lycra blends.

On the bright side? Hold on to that old kit, and in a few years some Chinese or French or German fan will be willing to shell out a fair amount to purchase your former fair-haired child on eBay. Chuck the sentiment and take the money. After all, it's not personal. It's strictly business.

Besides, how else will you finance the purchase of the latest team kit for the spring/summer/fall?? ;-)

GOTTA LOVE IT!!!!

Riding a New Bike. Sort of.

I finally got my TT bike back from Elite yesterday with its new 165 mm crankset. I wanted to take it out this morning for a test run. I set the saddle up 5 mm as John instructed, but was hardly a mile from home when I stopped to adjust the arm extensions. I moved my left bar out a bit and adjusted the right elbow rest to its outermost position. The entire handlebar seemed too low now but the action of raising it up was too involved for a roadside operation so I headed out to Hwy. 80. I hadn't gone more than one mile on it before I heard a metallic "clang!" and heard something hit the road. Recognizing that something had fallen off the bike I pulled onto the shoulder to stop. But this was not my road bike and I was not used to the power of these brakes, nor did I take into account the lower center of gravity--all of which is a nice rationalization of saying I fell over, still clipped in. (Naturally my right foot unclipped as a result of the fall, but otherwise I was still perfectly mounted, just horizontally rather than vertically.) I got up. I saw a cut and some scrapes on my knee and had some scrapes on my right elbow but no major damage done. I walked back down the road about 20 feet and saw the culprit responsible for this chain of events: an X-Lab CO2 cartridged that had come unscrewed from its mounting. I screwed it back in securly and took off. But by now the heart was gone from the exercise. I also saw from my watch that I was running out of time and would probably not have enough time to get home and shower and make the Bahai meeting on time--never mind completing a brick as I'd hoped. I still made the Crow turnaround and enjoyed a good turn of speed heading back. But wouldn't you know ten minutes hadn't passed before "clang!"? The same ****** CO2 cartridge had hit the road again. (I should file a complaint with X-Lab. This is, after all, their wing nut, but their CO2 cartridge won't stay put. The other cartridge from the bike shop stayed put, thank you very much.)

...but for all that the new cranks worked a treat. It was like having a compact crank again but with the benefit of a larger range of gears. I still have to adjust the front end, as I indicated above. Also I heard a rattle located somewhere near the bottom bracket that was out of place. I hate to put it back in the shop so soon after I got it out, but it's annoying to say the least, and who knows what deeper problem it might indicate?

Sending a shout-out to the Buffalo Springs "returnees". Sounds like everyone had a fine time and there were some good results for the ETT crew. Poor Ross, though! We'll have to get that boy an ETT jersey so he won't get penalized next time.

Ramping it Up. Sort of.

As Gina observed on Facebook, I have definitely been hitting the road on my bike this summer. However, no good deed goes unpunished, and as I've pushed the miles my old nemesis, the muscle spasm, has returned with a vengeance. This is the same thing that kept me from participating in the New Orleans 70.3. I did some bike refits with John, but that only brought a modicum of relief. Still, I rarely rode more than 2 hours all spring so I lived with it.

Monday I geared up for my longest ride to date--long being defined by how much fluid I can carry with me: when the water/drinks run out, the ride is over. I packed two 24-oz water bottles and one 16 oz bottle of Infinit which I stuffed into a back jersey pocket and headed out to Highway 80. I did two loops, then three, and finally four. My back bothered me starting around 1 hour in, as usual, but I kept adjusting my position, and even stopped a few times to stetch, thus making it almost 3 hours and 44 miles. Success!

Well, maybe. After my shower my back ache/burn/stabbing pain continued to intensify. I took Alleve. No relief. Around 2 I took a Tylenol and that helped some. On Kami's advice I finally bit the bullet and called Dr. Fiesler and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. Dr. F. put me through some positions, checking strength, etc., and diagnosed muscle spasms in the scapular support muscles and the rhomboid. (No clue as to why or what was causing the muscle spasms, but that's not entirely her area.) She said she could shoot the trigger point with 2-3 units of lidocaine and it would break the spasm. The relief might last a few weeks, a few months, or forever. So after taking a few x-rays just to certify there wasn't something worse going on, she brought in the 25 gauge needle and began feeling carefully the muscles in my back. Eventually she shot two trigger points. I couldn't wait to get on my bike next day and try it out.

Thursday I mounted my trusty steed and headed out on the usual route. In my head I could already imagine sending the joyful posting of the miracle cure to tri pals and thereby put myself "back in the long game." I should have known better.... Before even an hour passed I could feel the familiar burning and tightening--higher up this time, in the area of the trapezius. (At least the two places she shot the day before didn't spasm.) Before long I could reach up with my right hand and feel the muscles in my upper left back jumping around like snakes under a blanket. This wouldn't do. After only 28 miles I stopped. As soon as I got cleaned up I called Dr. F's office again and they said she could see me that afternoon. Took longer to see her this time--apparently Thursday is their busiest day--but see her I did. After being treated to an unusual physician's...um, view? vent?...about the perils of socialized medicine, we got to work. She found three more trigger points and shot them up. This time she said the needle "crunched" going in, indicating scar tissue--not surprising given I've been riding a road bike since 2002 and I've experienced this type of pain and discomfort from Day 1.

Unlike before, I found myself in no hurry to remount the bike and head off for a test ride. Indeed, after Jim put me to work doing hard labor in the yard, I wonder if I'll ever have a normal back ever again! But I expect tomorrow I'll try again. If it still spasms, well, I don't know what I'll do. I may have to go see a chiropracter or something. It's a long road.....

The Week Before

The bike ride yesterday represented the culmination of a week of training--one very short on bike rides but otherwise full.

Proceeding backwards: Friday I swam in my new Speedo Fastskin unitard. After my first set of 500 yards I stopped because I thought my watch was wrong. It usually takes me about 10:39 (avg.) to swim that far and my watch said 9:52. I thought I had miscounted the laps. So I did another 500. This time: 9:48! Okay..... One more set: 9:49. Now I am a true believer in the "power of the suit." (It's not the same as the ones that were so controversial at Beijing--no way--but it is expensive, and now I feel, entirely worth it.)

Thursday was a day I'd rather forget. Indeed, I rather thought I was getting an advance on my "Friday the 13th." I experienced a host of small frustrations, such that when I sat at my desk later I thought, "Perhaps you should not ride your bike this afternoon." But it was a beautiful day and there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity. So as soon as I got home I quickly changed and got out on the bike. Things went swimmingly for the first 11 miles. Then I saw something shiny scattered on the road and before my mind could forumlate the word "glass"I heard "Thump! SSSssssssssss!!!!"

Shit!! There went ANOTHER $85 Vittoria tubular tire! And this time there was no friendly stranger around to help change it. So with a heavy sight I hauled it all to a safe place by the highway and got everything set up to change the tire. I got the spare Tufo out of the saddle bag, stepped on it and pulled to strecth it out as I had seen done, then proceeded to put it round the rim.

20 minutes later I was sitting in disgust by the side of the road. I had tried and tried to get that damned tire on without success: it was a stiff as a board, and every time I would get it over the edge on one spot it would slide off another. My exercises in futility had been viewed curiously already by the kids on a school bus, residents of a nearby house--none of whom could comprehend my frustration and humilation. It all worsened when I had to face the inevitable and call my husband, who was just getting off work in Grand Saline 30 miles away, to come get me. I hate appearing incompetent, but especially in front of him. And so I sat, and sat, until at last he arrived. I was beyond possible tears at that point, beyond mad. I was settled: those Dura Ace carbon tubulars were going on eBay. They are a sweet, sweet ride but they really aren't for training, and in my case, not for racing, either. (I triathlete needs an aero carbon tubular wheel. These are more for road racing.)

Next day I went into Elite (after my swim) and handed Dave the wheel. At first I was going to get another tubular so I could sell them, but then he told me I should not sell them with tires on--let whoever buys it choose their own. So I picked out a set of Kysirum SLs and asked him to put the cassette on them for me and I'd buy 'em. He was a little puzzled I didn't opt for the $2000+ pair of Zipp 404s--like I have $2000 to spend on a pair of wheels I'd use two or three times a year!--but I explained I wanted something bombproof for training. I really only needed the aero for my big race and I was renting those. (That puzzled him, too--probably worried him as well, as that undercuts a possible source of sales for him.)

I still haven't picked up the wheels but will probably do so on Monday when I get refit by John. Then I'll get down the business of selling the old wheels. They cost me $1000 but I hope I can get at least $800. (It is very, very hard to make any kind of profit on eBay unless you are a wholesaler dealing in bulk.)

The Morning After

Yesterday was the first time I've ridden the time trial bike on the road in well over a year and overall it was a good experience, but sill shows we have some major work to do on the fit.

As for the ride itself: I med Kami and Charity at Faulkner and we headed out on Loop 49. Kami was pretty slow--still recovering from her HM last weekend--so we had to stop and wait a few times. We continued out onto 155. I led the entire way. I have no idea what my speed was at that point as I have my computer set to read cadence and miles completed. Whenever I checked it was like 17.6 (and that included the warm-up, slow-downs, etc.). We turned around at Dogwood City and from there came back up 155. It was much harder coming back: more uphills and a headwind. Still--and this was not my intention--I completely lost the others by the time we reached the crossroads at FM 344. I decided not to wait, knowing Charity would wait for Kami, and plowed onward. Still no sign of them when I turned back onto Loop 49.

By this time my left shoulder was really hurting. It began hurting at 20 miles--I guess around the one hour point, which is usual--despite my stretching and other efforts to keep it loose. By 30 miles (Paluxey) I almost wanted to quit but I really wanted to get in 40 miles, so I turned around to do one more loop of the Loop. It was nice heading west--more downhill, bit of a tailwind (or so it seemed). But my shoulder was in agony. When I got to the turnaround I sat up all the way around, and when I went down to aero again for the last leg I almost wanted to cry. I made it back to the 69 Exit and got off (rather than finishing a complete loop to Paluxy and back). This was 39 miles, and I had to sit up the entire way into Faulkner Park (except the downhill).

The good news is that, apart from my left shoulder, the rest of me was fine. My legs were great. I felt fairly comfortable on the saddle. The X-Lab hydration system worked well and I've determined I will not need to use the aerodrink bottle for the race. The Infinit seemed to work well so far as I could tell.

I happened to get an e-mail from John Cobb last night who said he'd seen me out on the loop. I confirmed that it was me, then added a plea for HELP with my shoulder, so we are going to meet on Monday and see what, if anything, can be done. He's the expert, but my own instinct is to move the left aero bar outwards to loosen up that shoulder a bit. And I don't know which way to go vertically--up or down--whatever gives relief over the distance.

Rushing

This is obviously not going to be a cycling week. I haven't ridden since Saturday. Today would have been perfect but my mother insisted I come out. As they were holding my Belgian beer hostage.... So I went out there as soon as I could get away from campus. I managed to at least get in a run. Looking at tomorrow, I may get to ride in the afternoon. Looks like crap weather on Friday--just hope no lightning so I can swim and try my new suit. I also need to do some more weights. I saw the new doc yesterday morning--Kenneth Haygood, a really nice guy--and he prescribed weight training to help alleviate the muscle spasms in my left trapezius. (I'd already begun this on my own, so good for that.) He said I need to do weights at least twice a week.

Otherwise, it's just a crazy-busy week. I gave my class their exam on Monday and graded them yesterday and gave them back today. I had the doc on Tuesday morning, a meeting with Pete to help with his Master Syllabus at 10, then worked on my master syllabus and grading papers. Didn't get home till nearly 4. Today it was go-go-go. Had to get to my office early to give a make-up exam, then rush (as always) to make sure I had enough Power Point slides for the day's lecture. More make-up exams after class; grab a quick bite from the cafeteria and then attend the TJC Bicycle Club Meeting at noon.

The last was a bit depressing. We just can't seem to get any turnout at our meetings. We had all these people sign up during the activities fair but have yet to see hide nor hair. We've pretty much ditched the idea of offering a bicycle "rodeo" for TJC students. If we can't even excite interest among our own members, what chance do we have in getting a response from the student body at large? But leaving the meeting, I spoke with Chip (club president) and flashed back to an earlier idea: having some kind of event in conjunction with International Day. That would guarantee a maximum audience, and give us more time to prepare.

(Sigh.) All that, and I still feel like I am running behind! I know I will have several assignments to grade when I check into Eastern Civ. (Today was the last day to turn it in, so of course only one person has turned it in so far!) Likewise, ungraded essays from the US Internet sections. Boy, I need a vacation.... ;-)

Blue Monday

No, I don't have "the blues". The "blue" refers to the lane marker in the swimming pool where I spend an hour of my day every Monday. Today I did my longest distance yet: 2,500 yards, though not uninterrupted. I did 2 sets of 1,000 yards, stopping to swig some water and reset my watch, and a final set of 500 yards. The water helped though close to the end I experienced that same sort of weird breathing sensation where I feel like my throat is closing up. (Wish we had that super-duper high-tech pool like they had in Beijing where there was no chlorine to interfere with the breathing.)

Alas, I was not able to wear a new Speedo bathing suit for today's session. My current Speedo unitard has been sagging for a while. It's held up very well for over a year and then some, but I need a new suit. I HAVE to have something that coveres my upper thighs! The only things available in that version are pretty costly--namely, the Speedo Fastskin series. So I ordered one last week and it arrived on Friday. However, it was too small: I had read the wrong size chart on their web site. Rechecking, I found they don't have my size, so I had to go to another vendor and buy a close relation to this Fastskin II knicker. I don't know when it will arrive, or if it will fit. (And wouldn't you know after all that I saw that TYR makes a similar suit for one-third the cost??)

Prior to swimming I gave my lecture class their first exam of the year. I had 3 or 4 absent. I hate having to give make-ups! Only one called me to say he was ill. I didn't get a chance to start grading until this afternoon, and the initial objective scores were the usual reverse Bell curve: either pretty good or really bad--very little middle ground.

I left school around 3 p.m. hoping to get home in time to see Jim. I made it--barely. He had been at Region VII in Kilgore and got out early, though he neglected to tell me how early. Consequently, I was only able to see him for about 15 minutes before he left to teach his evening class in Lindale.

I am going to take it easy this evening--no second workout on the bike, in other words. I have an appointment to see the doctor in the morning. I've had recurring neck and shoulder pain when riding the bike, but today was the first time I had ever experienced it after an extended swim. Before I do a radical bike refit, I want to eliminate anything like a compressed disc or a pinched nerve. (Given that this is not bi-lateral, it seems to point that way.)

So tomorrow morning promises to be quite busy. I have the appointment at 8:30, a meeting with Pete at 10 to help with his syllabus, and--if I decide to honor my obligation--a Hadassah luncheon at 11:30 at Willowbrook CC.

"Race Day"

Of course it wasn't a race, but tell that to my gut when I wake up at 6 a.m. I had that familiar heavy feeling as I pushed myself through breakfast, dressing, etc. What my mind was playing, naturally, was not the "script" for the Freeze Your Fanny Ride but the Ironman 70.3. But never mind; I went.

I got to Doris McQueen, picked up my stuff, and wandered back to my car. There I saw Aaron, and later I saw Chip and eventually Jordan. Poor girl... I am afraid I did not give her ample information for registration because she showed up, all kitted out, but with no money. I had to go to my car and fetch $30 so she could register for the 10 mile ride. Thankfully Big Tim McClendon planned on doing that ride and agreed to look after her. (I offered to stay and ride with her but she demurred.) Finally, I saw Alex Volberding. He said he planned on doing the 60 miles, so I pointed him out to Chip. That made two of our number in the 60 and two of us (me and Aaron) in the 30 and Jordan in the 10.

Aaron led out fast as usual. He kept moving up through the groups and then from group to group. I kept having to "sprint" out of the saddle just to catch up. And so it went for the first five miles until we made the first right turn. Not a quarter mile down the road there had been a big wreck: on rider on the deck and many others standing around an in the ditch, cops already there. I passed slowly through the mayhem, and by the time I got to the other side there was no sign of Aaron. I pedaled like mad to make the first group I saw, sat in a bit, then bridged up to the next. And so it went for the next nine miles. I finally caught up with Aaron at around mile 14. He had dropped back once he saw me. (Should have dropped back before but that's another story...) We rode the remaining mile to the first rest stop.

I was pleased to see many familiar faces at the rest stop, including Chip and Blaise, both of whom were doing the 60. (I though the macho 60s wouldn't stop for anything.) Aaron seemed content to stay there for quite a time, but I finally got us back on the road where he urged me to "take it easy" for the next five miles. I did as much as I could, though after a few miles when we got to some big downhills, I shifted to the biggest gear I could to make up speed going down, knowing I would lose it coming up the other side. But Aaron was already fading. I had to stop at around 24 miles and let him catch up, and stopped a mile later to let him catch up again (while I removed my arm warmers). I really had no idea he was that knackered but he was. We latched on to another small group, but after another hill he told me to go ahead and he would see me at the finish. It was only about three more miles so I went. It was tough riding on hills, chip seal, and a strong wind. But I made it. Took Aaron a bit more, and when he did arrive he collapsed flat on the ground.

...and so that was that. I was pleased to be done and to have accomplished a good ride. I wasn't diposed, however, to stick around. It would be a while before the 60 milers came in and I wanted to stop by Academy Sports on my way out and also grab a Whopper Jr. I made a last check of Aaron and then took off.

I felt surprisingly well. My shoulder hadn't bothered me much at all until the last mile or two. But by the time I got to the Lake Hawkins turnoff my neck was growing stiff, and a few hours later my shoulder began burning. (Why hours later? That I cannot figure.) Jim was not home and did not arrive until almost 5 p.m. Since then he has spent as much time as he can outside, enjoying the warmer temperatures and anticipating the fact that the next two days will be rainy.

I am still a bit out of sorts. Today feels like Sunday rather than Saturday, and tomorrow will throw me even further off I'm sure as we will go see Jim's mother (which we normally do on Saturday). I'm pleased that I nearly met all my training goals for the week, but looking at next week, I am sleptical. I would like to make next week, Week 7, a Recovery Week rather than Week 8, but....