Just returned from doing the Tri Arkansas Aquabike. For the uninitiated, Tri Arkansas is an international distance event--twice the distance of a sprint, which is the only distance I've done thus far--with a 1.5K swim, 40K bike, and 10K run. The Aquabike involves only the swim and bike. I figured doing this event was the easiest, least stressful way of getting close to a longer distance without losing my bottle: relatively close, nice area, lake swim rather than ocean, and NO RUN, which is my weakest event.
I left for Arkadelphia Friday afternoon at 2 p.m. I headed up 271 to I-30 and then took that straight in to Arkadelphia. It was a very tedious and hot drive. I arrived at the motel (Comfort Inn) not long after 5 p.m. and checked in. Room was nice, though lacking in microwave and fridge, which I thought had been included. The AC also didn't seem to work very well, though it did get cooler after the sun went down. (Also, I later found out that there is no WifFi in the rooms.) I left almost immediately for the packet pick up. I was very pleased that the race site was only ten minutes away. It was all very well organized and so I was heading back to my motel. I unloaded my bike and transition bag, then readied the bike, helmet, and race belt for next morning. I laid out my race gear and everything else. By 6:30 I was done. Naught to do but try and find something on TV and/or read a book. (Did both.)
Went to bed at 10. Work up at 12:30 to visit the loo, then back to bed. Woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. (I'd planned on sleeping until 5.) Nothing for it but to get up and get ready. Got my uni on, ate my PB&J sandwich, packed my gear back into my duffel and then hauled it all out to the car. Lastly, I filled my mini cooler with ice and loaded it. 5 p.m. and ready to leave.
Arrived at the race site, which was already open but nearly deserted. I racked my bike near the bike exit, laid out all my gear, then...waited in the dark. I wandered around, getting body marked, picking up my chip, visiting the port-a-potties. There really wasn't much to do but hang out in the Transition area and listen to other athletes trade war stories--not my favorite pre-race activity as it makes me a bit nervous. Luckily, my rack neighbor was a nice older gentleman who had some useful information about the bike ride. He said it was very hilly heading out, though from his description I understood it to mean a fairly constant gradient up to the turnaround. (I would later learn this as very misleading.)
Around 6:40 I headed down to the spillway and swam a bit. The water was very warm--reportedly 88-90 degrees Fahrenheit. And unlike the race promoters report about the crystal clear, clean quality of the water, it was no more clear than the water at Tyler State Park. That was a bit disappointing. I looked out at the course--the very long course compared to my normal swim, though it looked almost exactly to be the distance I swim all the time at Tyler State Park. The men's wave was scheduled first; women and teams second; a new event, a 1500 open-water swim third; then a duathlon heading out from the top of the spillway last. I sat around talking to a lady from Baton Rouge, Nancy Kuhlmeier, who will represent the USA at world's in Budapest in three weeks. Her right foot was heavily taped and she explained she had plantar fascitis. We talked about other things until time to get in the water. The men's wave went, and five minutes later we took off.
The start area, in the water between buoys, was very wide and there wasn't the packed-in feeling one gets at many races. The spacing remained pretty good throughout. I only had one female who pulled left into my "lane" but pulled up and let me pass. In all, the swim to the first turn was fairly straightforward and uneventful--with one exception. Before I even reached the first buoy, I sensed a movement from behind. A host of white caps appeared and I realized it was the next wave, which started five minutes after us! Sobering, but then again swimming was their specialty. They passed through fairly quickly, leaving the remainder of us to slog through. I felt pretty clearly that the main bulk of swimmers in my wave had moved ahead. I resisted the urge to look behind to see if I was the last one. (Pretty sure I wasn't but still...) I did catch up with some of the slowest male swimmers. The last leg seemed to take forever--and even then it wasn't over. There was one more turn before heading back to the spillway. I had figured the swim would take 30+ minutes and it felt like it. My only bad patch of the swim occurred right about here. A Sheriff's speed boat had passed swiftly a few hundred yards away, creating 2-3 foot swells. I felt them before I saw them, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. My vertigo kicked in and I quailed inside. (I have always wondered how strong swimmers can get in trouble. Alas, I am discovering many ways in which this can happen.) At one point I had to pull up and tread water for a few seconds just to get my bearings. (That helps to dispel the vertigo.) I had to go through one last wave of swells before finally making the shore. The dearth of fellow swimmers and spectators confirmed I was toward the back. Oh, well.....
The organizers had carpet laid out for the run up to the top of the spillway, but after that it was very painful pavement with many small stones. I managed a sort of crab-stepped jog, eventually walking the last few yards to the bike, taking off my speedsuit at the same time. I put on my bike shoes, helmet, and glasses. My bike stuck a bit on the rack, but I got it off and headed to the exit. Had troubled getting clipped in, but at last I was off.
After a sharp 180 degree turn, I faced the first hill. It was steeper than the outgoing hill at Jefferson, necessitating getting out of the saddle to make it. The first few miles after that weren't too bad. But around mile 4, the real blows began to land: punchy, steep hills that again necessitated getting out of the saddle and just muscling up however I could. My breathing sounded like a bellows and my speed was about 5 mph. Lame! Especially when I saw ladies just spinning up with seeming effortlessness. Eventually, I encountered very steep, technical descents, with speeds exceeding 30 miles per hour--so fast that the wind forced its way under the front of my Rudy Wingspan helmet, which felt as if it was being lifted off my head. I tried to lower my head, which helped some, but risked safety as I couldn't see as well. So the descents were not providing an opportunity to recover, and were followed immediately by walls of other ascents--never enough momentum from the previous climb to gain much advantage. By mile 10 I had half-baked thoughts of quitting (though I knew I wouldn't). I had already run through all the water in my Profile Aerolite bottle and refilled it from my spare water bottle (which I'm glad I decided to carry.) Finally, finally, at 12 miles in, I made the turnaround. Now I had the reverse experience of zooming down hills I had earlier battled up, and battling up descents which were now butt-kicking hills. Around mile 18 things evened out a good deal. I also ran out of water a few miles later but figured four more miles without water would not present a major problem--especially with no run to contend with. At last, back down the very steep hill to the spillway. I dismounted and crossed the timing mat, and with that my race was done.
It felt odd to be done "so early"--early enough to see the winners cross the run finish just a few minutes after I ended my race. (Does that give you an idea how fast they were?) I took a wet cloth and cleaned up as best I could, though that wasn't saying much. I went over to the tents were they had the food. Someone was grilling burgers, but as it was only 9:30 am, they weren't ready yet. I settled for a cookie and a bottle of water. Back to Transition and tidying up area, refilling my bag and carrying it to my car. I saw another racer done for the day take his bike and head out. It's not usual practice to allow bikes out of Transition until the last cyclist is in, but I decided to give it a try. They let me pass with hardly a word. That mean I had everything packed and ready to go. Question was, how long before I could go? I knew from the list of participants displayed prior to the race that there were only three ladies doing the Aquabike, so I would probably score something, so it was worth my while to hang around. Still, I hoped I could sneak out and go back to my motel to shower beforehand. But one of the race directors told me they would be doing awards in about 45 minutes. It was just past 10 a.m., so I figured I would stay. I did get some clean clothes and headed to the Spillway area restroom to change. Dumped my dirty laundry in the car, then...more waiting. And waiting. Results were out. The organizers had very cannily ordered awards medals that were all the same, distinguished only by the label on the back stating the race type, age group, and place. Not coincidentally, there was one first place medal for each lady (including myself) as we each conveniently fell into three separate decades/age categories. In the men's there were only medals for those categories equal to the entries: if only one entrant, one medal; if two, if three, three. So basically everyone who participated in the Aquabike got a medal of some sort. (Side note: my mom says "don't mention these sorts of things--just say that you won." True enough, but triathletes--any athlete--knows when they've won something against tough competition and when it was luck. It all counts the same on paper, but you know in your heart that it wasn't hard won--less honor in it, so to speak, than topping out a very tough, competitive age group, for example.)
I waited around long enough to get my medal, but by then it was 11:35 and my checkout time at the motel was noon. I snuck discreetly around the tents and to my car. I made it back to the motel by 11:45--only to discover upon entering my room that the cleaning crew had already been through! Well, tough. Checkout was noon and so it was still my room. I hopped in for a quick shower and was out the door by 11:53. I went to the office to return my "key". The clerk on duty seemed non-plussed when I reported I'd taken a shower after the room had been cleaned. She stated that they had "assumed" I had checked out. I replied, "I still had my key, so they should not have assumed that." (Yes, people often don't return their keys, but in any event, I was within my rights.) She had to accept the validity of this and took my key. I told her I just wanted to make sure the room was revisited as I didn't want the next guest to find a wet bathroom and dirty towels. Then it was out to the car and out to the Interstate.
It was a long, very hot drive. I don't think I've ever run my AC so high. I stopped a few times for nature breaks or to fuel up the car. I made it home by 3:30. And it's nice to be home--anti-climactic as always, when a race is done. Good to see the kitties. Jim was not very communicative as he was in a near-comatose state from lunch and hardly roused at all when I arrived. Business as usual, then.
Don't know if I will do this race next year. It's a nice venue, for sure, but the bike does not play to any "strength" (as if I had any!).
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sad to See it Go
Just watching the formal procession of riders before the racing begins on the Champs Elysee. Seeing this year's Tour de France end elicits a sense of both sadness and relief--sadness that the great race and all its drama is gone for another year, but also relief that I will no longer be glued to the television every morning/afternoon and will be free to work out in the few more weeks of freedom that remain before school starts. The race next year: no more Lance; the Schlecks on a new team--and hopefully Frank healthy for the Tour; new sponsor for the Saxo Bank team--and who will be their new GC rider?; God willing, *new uniforms* for Footon-Servetto!; a healthy Cadel, but probably no longer wearing the World Champion stripes. Lots of anticipation for the next twelve months.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Three Sports
The last time I blogged it was on the subject of my first "epic" ride of the year. It's also been my only "epic" ride of the year. The shine went out of that. It was no use pushing myself to ride almost three hours just to end up with the inevitable muscle spasms. Instead I've managed to keep my finger in all three tri sports this year. I determined I would not lay off running once the summer heat laid in and I have stuck to that--mainly by doing BRICKS (bike-run-ick!). I found it's easier to get in a mile or two when I'm either cool and wet from a lake swim or nice and warmed up from a moderate bike ride. So I've managed to get in two run workouts, two swim workouts, and two bike workouts most every week--or at least until the start of the Tour de France really cramped my ability to do the early morning workouts. (At least the World Cup games--half at least--occurred after lunch local time, and after the Round Robin stage they weren't every day.) At least until the mountains, though, I managed to satisfy myself with watching the afternoon replay. But now we're in the Pyrenees....I'm hooked to the tube!
Anyway, I have at least time and allowance for a little bit of slack. I did the Jefferson Triathlon yesterday (was it just yesterday--it seems so long ago...) and managed miraculously to win my age division and take third overall master's female. That gave me a special satisfaction since last year they decided to cut back on awards to only two places per age group in some divisions and so I lost out last year on a third place award. So I kind of joked with myself that I wouldn't give them any choice this year because I would win it! But kidding aside, I got what I could from perseverance, but also have to recognize that the women's fields were incredibly thin this year. There were perhaps 6 women in my age group, as opposed to 7 last year, and there were even fewer in some of the other groups. (The men's fields seem pretty full.) However, that's a sword that works both ways: I can post a personal PR and still finish way down if the really gifted ladies show up, or I can run a 10 minute mile and win if they don't. In other words, you can only race against who shows up, and you can't win if you don't show up. I showed up!
Anyway, I have at least time and allowance for a little bit of slack. I did the Jefferson Triathlon yesterday (was it just yesterday--it seems so long ago...) and managed miraculously to win my age division and take third overall master's female. That gave me a special satisfaction since last year they decided to cut back on awards to only two places per age group in some divisions and so I lost out last year on a third place award. So I kind of joked with myself that I wouldn't give them any choice this year because I would win it! But kidding aside, I got what I could from perseverance, but also have to recognize that the women's fields were incredibly thin this year. There were perhaps 6 women in my age group, as opposed to 7 last year, and there were even fewer in some of the other groups. (The men's fields seem pretty full.) However, that's a sword that works both ways: I can post a personal PR and still finish way down if the really gifted ladies show up, or I can run a 10 minute mile and win if they don't. In other words, you can only race against who shows up, and you can't win if you don't show up. I showed up!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Heligen
First major hill workout of the year. 7 miles to Crow and then north onto 778. 7.5 miles of hills, all but the first averaging 6-7%. Then a new turn east onto a shady oil-top road that parallels FM 49--lots of small hills, dogs, bumpy pavement. After just over 6 miles (I think) I turned southeast onto FM 14. Nice bombing downhill to start, but a major pickup in traffic (big trucks). Large chip seal, almost no shoulder. Then, there was The Hill: 1 mile of chip seal + 7% avg. gradient = suffering. But that was the last hill for a while. After that it was "channel my inner Jens" and battle through to the intersection of 14 and 2869. Turned south on 2869. Again, a bombing downhill, but then the pavement turned up again (4%) and I just put it in the small gear until I could turn off towards the lake. Battled some more dogs, but finally, finally made it home. Wish I could have an ice bath but no ice!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Ten Days
The first race of the season is ten days away so it's time to get serious about training.
Let's face it: the top form of December, peaking for the White Rock HM, is a distant memory. The weather is still very poor and so I have only ridden my bike once outdoors (and not often indoors). I've skipped two Sunday runs with Kami and Peter, so when I did a short road run Sunday afternoon, I was sore afterward--showing how fast it can all fall away. Of course, I was running in the wrong shoes. Ever since I got my trail shoes (Nike Pegasus 26+), I've had no pain in my left big toe during or after running. As a test, I've worn them consistently on every run since. But Sunday was the first time on the road (as opposed to indoor track or treadmill) and it felt like my lower legs were in a vise: I got almost no lift on the push-off and I felt uncomfortable in my knees and hips. So today I decided to wear the Lunaglides. Oh, it felt good! No effort at all. BUT.... Yes, the big toe hurts. (Sigh.) I can't win.
Without a massage appointment at noon, I was free to keep the mo' going. If I was going to have to shower, why not get even wetter first? So I went for a swim. I thought I would just do 20 laps. I expected it to be hard, but to my surprise it wasn't. I felt easy from the start. I wasn't pushing hard, but I did not have to suffer the increased heart rate of "getting up to speed" and so maintained a comfortable, steady pace throughout. So I went an extra 10. I was tempted to up it all the way to 40 but thought, "I'm going to pay for that if I try" and so I didn't. But it was a good swim. I practiced bilateral breathing throughout and it made the swim go much faster. You know the drill--stroke 1-2-3 "breathe", 1-2-3 "breathe"--and by switching it up after only three left-side breaths it was time to prepare for the turn. (Still working on that open turn.)
That was my double workout. Altogether it lasted about 1:45. And hours later I'm still not really tired. I expected to hit the wall two hours after I was done but never did. Maybe it's all that fat I have to burn!!
Let's face it: the top form of December, peaking for the White Rock HM, is a distant memory. The weather is still very poor and so I have only ridden my bike once outdoors (and not often indoors). I've skipped two Sunday runs with Kami and Peter, so when I did a short road run Sunday afternoon, I was sore afterward--showing how fast it can all fall away. Of course, I was running in the wrong shoes. Ever since I got my trail shoes (Nike Pegasus 26+), I've had no pain in my left big toe during or after running. As a test, I've worn them consistently on every run since. But Sunday was the first time on the road (as opposed to indoor track or treadmill) and it felt like my lower legs were in a vise: I got almost no lift on the push-off and I felt uncomfortable in my knees and hips. So today I decided to wear the Lunaglides. Oh, it felt good! No effort at all. BUT.... Yes, the big toe hurts. (Sigh.) I can't win.
Without a massage appointment at noon, I was free to keep the mo' going. If I was going to have to shower, why not get even wetter first? So I went for a swim. I thought I would just do 20 laps. I expected it to be hard, but to my surprise it wasn't. I felt easy from the start. I wasn't pushing hard, but I did not have to suffer the increased heart rate of "getting up to speed" and so maintained a comfortable, steady pace throughout. So I went an extra 10. I was tempted to up it all the way to 40 but thought, "I'm going to pay for that if I try" and so I didn't. But it was a good swim. I practiced bilateral breathing throughout and it made the swim go much faster. You know the drill--stroke 1-2-3 "breathe", 1-2-3 "breathe"--and by switching it up after only three left-side breaths it was time to prepare for the turn. (Still working on that open turn.)
That was my double workout. Altogether it lasted about 1:45. And hours later I'm still not really tired. I expected to hit the wall two hours after I was done but never did. Maybe it's all that fat I have to burn!!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
C'mon Spring
January nearly in the bag. I've done well on keeping up my run. The Sunday trail runs with Kami and Peter have been good. I still get discomfort and post-run pain in my left big toe but without a specific diagnosis, what the hey? Just live with it. I've also gotten back to my swim. It's not hard with such miserable weather and the pool right there on campus. It also helps to relieve frustration after my Japanese class. (I'm not doing badly. I'm just a perfectionist and hate not feeling on top of things.) The one thing I have not kept up as much as I should is the bike. I think I've had one outdoor ride all month. The remainder have been on the trainer, which is never a big thrill.
One other thing I've done is to restrict my diet again. The cheeseburgers and fries were getting out of control. It helped that I got a refreshing hing dose of info on the damage caused by the modern industrial diet. (Thank you Michael Pollan!) I've been inspecting food labels for all the bad things, most especially High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS). The organic foods are pretty good about avoiding such, but others.... I looked at one can of "Healthy Choice" soup and nearly went cross-eyed. Healthy indeed!! So I went to the store and bought a basket of vegetables--eggplant, squash, onions, and red bell pepper--and roasted them all in a pan with Italian seasonings and olive oil and served it with brown rice.
My biggest weakness is Diet Coke with Splenda. It's not the worst thing but giving up all soda would be ideal. I have been drinking more hot teas--green tea with lemon and ginseng in the morning, decaf green tea with lemon in the afternoon. But I like that morning dose of caffeine and sweetness. I guess we all need one "bad" thing. Oh, and there's also the oatmeal cookies, but I don't plan on baking any more after I finish the last two in this batch.
As for races: I have paid for Gateway to the Bay and Athens, and secured a motel for two nights for Gateway--expensive, but there it is. I am keeping a log of all these expenses--registration fees, travel, lodging--so that perhaps I can plan better in future and save up in advance. Pray now for good weather, especially at Athens. I am REALLY tired of rain and cold! Just once, can't it at least be in the 60s?
Anyway, I am looking forward to spring and being able to ride my bike more. I can get in so much more enjoyable training riding the roads and literally smelling the flowers.
One other thing I've done is to restrict my diet again. The cheeseburgers and fries were getting out of control. It helped that I got a refreshing hing dose of info on the damage caused by the modern industrial diet. (Thank you Michael Pollan!) I've been inspecting food labels for all the bad things, most especially High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS). The organic foods are pretty good about avoiding such, but others.... I looked at one can of "Healthy Choice" soup and nearly went cross-eyed. Healthy indeed!! So I went to the store and bought a basket of vegetables--eggplant, squash, onions, and red bell pepper--and roasted them all in a pan with Italian seasonings and olive oil and served it with brown rice.
My biggest weakness is Diet Coke with Splenda. It's not the worst thing but giving up all soda would be ideal. I have been drinking more hot teas--green tea with lemon and ginseng in the morning, decaf green tea with lemon in the afternoon. But I like that morning dose of caffeine and sweetness. I guess we all need one "bad" thing. Oh, and there's also the oatmeal cookies, but I don't plan on baking any more after I finish the last two in this batch.
As for races: I have paid for Gateway to the Bay and Athens, and secured a motel for two nights for Gateway--expensive, but there it is. I am keeping a log of all these expenses--registration fees, travel, lodging--so that perhaps I can plan better in future and save up in advance. Pray now for good weather, especially at Athens. I am REALLY tired of rain and cold! Just once, can't it at least be in the 60s?
Anyway, I am looking forward to spring and being able to ride my bike more. I can get in so much more enjoyable training riding the roads and literally smelling the flowers.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
New Year, New Season
Tis the season to make big plans. Or just plain plans. Yes, after my overweening dreams of doing a HIM crashed and burned, I am being more cautious this year. I am also broke, which admittedly has a dampening effect. I will do the Athens Tri on March 6th, though I haven't got the money yet to pre-register. (It won't fill up before February but I won't get a low race number.) I did pre-register for the Gateway to the Bay Olympic race on April 11th. (I had to send in a check cuz my credit cards are maxed out.) I feel sure I can complete an Oly without killing myself, either in training or the actual event--and I am going to try very hard to just have FUN. Matty Reed is going to be competing and I will get to see him, maybe get a photo. Don't know yet where I will stay or how long. Part of me thinks I should stay two nights, gving myself at least an afternoon and layover to recover from the race before driving back, but as I will be alone, it could get very boring. We'll see. And after Gateway comes Four States in May. My goal there is not to die on the run as I did this past year. June is empty. I don't know if Jim plans on vacationing anywhere but anyway, the slate is blank just in case. In July I will return to Jefferson with a goal similar to that of Four States (can you tell I stink at running in the heat?), and I will put aside whatever grudge I still have about them shorting us on the hardware last year. (Hey, third place is something for me!) Then it's nothing until Rose City on September 11th. After that, run run run! Getting ready for the big marathon (in my case, half) planned here in Tyler for October. Then maybe White Rock in December.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, November 27, 2009
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?
Friday, October 30, 2009
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......
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......
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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.)
Monday, October 26, 2009
...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.
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.
Monday, October 5, 2009
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
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!
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!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, August 14, 2009
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. :-(
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. :-(
Saturday, August 8, 2009
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?
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?
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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. ;-)
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. ;-)
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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!
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!
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