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?
Saturday, August 8, 2009
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!
Monday, July 20, 2009
Jefferson 2009
Okay, Bonny, here it is. It's not really a race report, and I have no idea whether it will be funny or not. After 15 hours of internet teaching, I may not even be able to type!
For once I was actually calm before a race. Don't ask me why. The promise of good weather? The proximity of the race? Low expectations? Something to break up the tedium of my summer job?? In any event I was glad.
I prepared all my stuff the night before so all I had to do when the alarm sounded at 4 a.m. Sunday was roll out of bed, dress, slap some PB&J on a piece of white bread, grab a Diet Coke and head out into the very dark morning. (Really dark! Inside-the-basketball dark!) It really was an interesting sensation to drive in that kind of darkness. However, there was--literally--a bright spot: the new moon and the morning star in the eastern sky, right over my destination. (No, I did not expect three wise men with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. A few dozen competent race organizers I'll take.)
It didn't take me long on my chosen route of 155 to reach FM 279 and head along the eastern edge of Lake o'the Pines. I'd already dodged an opposum on the road in, and now I spotted a deer waiting to cross the road. Luckily the nature of the road kept my speed low enough I was able to avoid any accidents. Everything sure looked different in the dark. Little worms-and-six-pack shacks acquired a down-to-earth allure missing in daylight. By the time I turned west on 726, the eastern skybehind glowed purple-pink with the promise of a rising sun.
I found the entrance to the park quite easily. But when I made it to the entrance, I found the gates all locked and not another car in sight. Alright, it was 5:36 and I didn't expect anyone official before 6, but.... I did see one vehicle off in the direction of the transition area. An RV was parked near the entrance. But there was no one near enough to ask questions. After mulling it over for five minutes, two vehicles passed me by and headed off west. Since they looked like they knew where to go, I quickly hopped back in the car and followed. After a roundabout way we found ourselves very near the transition area and parked near the bathrooms. Disembarking from our respective vehicles, we still looked a bit lost. But I could see the bike racks and two people standing near them, so I took that as the place to go. I hoisted my pack and rolled my bike down the hill. I hung the bike on the rack nearest the bike exit, took out my camp chair, and sat.
Just sat. What else to do? Eventually a fellow with some air of authority approached me to say transition wasn't open yet, but rather than make me remove my bike he just said, in a friendly fashion, "Just go away." And he shooed me forth, but not before I asked him about packet pickup. He had no idea. Maybe near the pavilion.
To condense the next hour very simply: I spent a great deal of time either jogging or walking the distance from transition to the pavilion and back as one volunteer would direct me one way and another would send me back. Eventually they did set up packet pick up, but not at transition and not at the pavilion; rather, halfway in between, near the bathroom. I didn't breath easily until I got my race number. (By now fellow ETT folks had shown up so I had company.) I headed back down for body marking, then back up to wait for timing chips. Those took a while to set up but I was first in line to get mine. As I waited they unloaded a line of much-needed portajohns (the Ladeis' had no paper), and as soon as I got my chip I gave my greetings to the Green Goddess.
Set up transition area. Said hi to some folks. Needed to warm up. Howzabout hauling that swag bag back to the car? That would be a good jog. And so I did. By now lots of people on disc wheels were whizzing by to test out the bike course so it was duck-and-dodge. Not much tension on my end as I watched the late comers scramble for an open spot on already crowded bike racks. Eventually I grabbed my cap and goggles and headed to the beach and got in the water. Near shore the water clarity was good as was the temp. I did some easy strokes--too easy, really, in light of what lay in store.
I sat and waited on a concrete embankment with Ross Pritchard, who was sitting this race out and had an assignment as "official" club photographer. (The photos are his.) Steve and Alan were there for a while, and Kami. It was great fun watching the "clear" water trickle down my arms and legs in brown rivulets. Hmmmm....
About ten minutes for the first wave to go Kami and I headed to the water's edge. Again, unnaturally calm. Go figure. We "blue caps" of the second wave were consigned to wait as all individual males in their spiffing yellow latex caps prepared for the start. Nothing fancy. No gun. No whistle. Just a countdown from 1o on the PA system and "Go!" And they were off.
Kami and I waded into the water to wait for our two minute start. I submerged up to the neck to stay warm. (It wasn't that chilly for July, but the water was more comfortable.) Same laid back countdown, and then we were off. Things were thick. I stuck fairly close to the buoy line and so was fighting feet, legs, arms all the way. I never stopped, though. The OWS at Tyler State Park paid off in my ability to navigate without pulling up. Couldn't see much far ahead anyway. I figured as long as I was in the pack I was okay.
I made the first turn, and normally this is where things usually thin out, but not this year. We began to catch the slower men from the first wave so I had an entirely new set of arms, legs, etc., to battle. (Strangely, the men were easier. I could often split two and find a way through. The women--they ain't moving for anyone!) Made the second turn. This is where things have gone wrong in the past because I always pulled too far left and wasted time. This time I managed to stay straight and followed the buoys straight in.
I wish I had swum a few more strokes before standing up. For those tall guys, it may have been the right thing, but when I stood the water was still thigh deep. Nothing for it but to strip off the cap and goggles and slosh forward in a parody of a run. Had to run up sand and a bit more before crossing the timing mat.
At the bike rack I did things a bit differently. Usually I put my helmet on first but this time I worked from the ground up: shoes, then race belt, then helmet and sunglasses, before clopping the few yards to the mount line. Clipped in and headed out. I was so wet!! Water poured from under the helmet and other places. Luckily I wasn't chilled. First hill up to the dam--not bad. Did the last bit out of the saddle but the legs were fresh. On top of the dam I again departed from heretofore normal procedure and did not immediately gear up to the big chain ring but kept it small and spun for a couple of miles, averaging between 17.5 and 18.5 mph.
Turning off the dam, the real challenge began. These weren't big hills, just long ones. I'm guessing the maximum gradient was around 2-3%, but they went on for half a mile. I shifted smoothly from large to small gears, kept the cadence reasonably high (80s) even if the speed was 13-14 mph. Had some good recovery on the downhills. (Nothing like going aero and bombing down a hill at 28 mph.) I drank some Infinit every ten minutes or so. It was good (and necessary) but it clemmed up my mouth, making me wish for a nice swig of water to clear the decks.
Took forever to get to the turnaround, but on the way back seemed like more downhill than up. One point I was hammering downhill at 30 mph, and for a brief moment, I could almost--almost--imagine I was Fabian Cancellara. (Hah! He goes faster than that uphill!) Played leapfrog with one rider for a while until she (?) finally dropped back for good. Turned back on the dam, but only briefly as we were directed down the east side. It was a nice, long downhill/flat road, but it was merely the calm before the storm--and I knew it. IT was approaching. The Monster. The Golem. The...Dam Hill.
There. It loomed on the horizon like a puny East Texas alp. I could see ant-like figures climbing. The internal debate began. Ride it? Walk it? Ride it? Walk it? (Scenes of LBJ daisy flower commercial: BOOM!! "Johnson. You know he's right.") Approaching the foot, I put my fate in the hands of God and geared down and headed up. I remained in my next-to-smallest gear for most of the climb, and then down to the smallest for the rest. I used the "fog technique": pretend that there is a fog up ahead and you can't see the summit, so look nowhere but in front of the tire and churn it out. And it worked. I made it to the top, turning past a trooper directing traffic and headed back over the dam. I recovered very well, spinning along in the small ring. By the time I got to the final turn, I spotted Ross with his camera. I made some half-baked gesture before taking the turn. Shoulda been paying attention. The turn was about 130 degrees and I went almost too wide. I kept the speed reasonable on the way down and into T2.
I dismounted fine at the line and got my bike racked with no problem. Getting the helmet off proved a bit difficult. If I try to pull it up and off like a regular helmet it pulls my ears off, but forward and off, I lose my sunglasses. Oh, well. I sat down on my camp chair and put on my socks and shoes and ran off.
Felt fin heading up the slight rise to the park entrance, but after about 400 yards I felt a deep cramp in my lower-left abdomen--almost the groin. This usually happens to some degree off the bike and it will disappear after a while, but this got really intense and lasted for almost two miles. I stopped once to bend over but that didn't help. Adding to the "fun" of the effort, my right ear had water in it and I couldn't get rid of it. Woosh, woosh, woosh! I had an oceanic soundtrack accompanying my run.
My hope of following a good swim and a good ride with a good run faded quickly. I just kept moving and forgot about trying to pick up the pace. I saw the 1 mile marker. I hoped the pain would subside soon but it didn't. Where, oh where, was the turnaround? I couldn't see it. After an eternity I found it, but it still wasn't two miles in yet. Luckily the path was more downhill on the way back. Around the 2 mile point the abdominal cramp finally faded but then I felt a tightness in my left glute and both calves. (I'd hate to think what it might have been like if it had been hot!) Where, oh where, was the finish line??
At LAST I saw the inflatable arch and people standing around. Incapable of anything resembling a "kick" I at least determined to present good form in the last 200 yards. (It sure fooled Kami! Later she acted surprised when I said I'd experienced trouble on the run as she thought I'd looked "good" at the end.) I crossed the second mat and had to lean on the guy removing my timing chip. Duke took photos. (Oy! I hate to think what I looked like.) I sought out the huddle of finishers from the club--all looking better than me, or so it seemed.
The post-race bonk had already begun. I heard that the baked potatoes were ready so I got in line, fixed one up, and found a seat in the pavillion. I'm not overly found of these potatoes but it was the only game in town. In any event I hoped it would perk me up. When I'd eaten as much as I could stand, I found the trash and again sought out some more finishers. Then the PA said preliminary results were posted on the U-Haul truck so I went over to see what I could see. Took me a bit to find my group. 5 ladies in my group and I was 4th. What an ambiguous result! Not dead last, which is good, but so close to third (by one minute) always feels demoralizing. I knew I'd done my best but couldn't help but think, "If only I'd pushed harder on the run...."
I looked around but didn't see anything resembling post-race festivities. I was sweaty, stinky (really stinky!), and thoroughly without words or anything resembling social grace. So I went to the transition area to pack. The race organizers had already dismantled much of the area. (Alarmingly, there was no one there to check race numbers against bikes, but in afterthought, I realized since they hadn't required race numbers on the bikes, that would have proven impossible. Still, there should have been security.) I packed up my stuff. Alan Harris stopped by to say something but I really and truly couldn't think what to say, so he wandered off. (Sorry, Alan!) As I headed toward my car, I ran into Steve and Alan, and still found myself completely without words. I didn't even say "Good race!" or "See you later!" I just trundled off to my car, loaded it up, and headed out.
I managed to make it home before noon. (This race was actually closer to home than either Athens or Rose City.) Jim wasn't home. I turned on Le Tour but before I got caught up in it, I hopped in the shower. Boy, did that feel good! I felt halfway normal. I stretched out on the couch and watched the day's stage. I hoped to drift off to sleep, but texting and commercials kept me away.
Later that evening I checked for race results and found them posted around 5-ish. Imagine my surprise when I found my group and saw only four names, and my own in third place! (Perspective, though: 2 of the 3 Female Masters winners were from my age group, so that put me in fifth--just 1 competitive point for the club, but better than none!) My next thought was: what about my hardware? I texted Kami. She soon replied that when asked, Steve said there hadn't been any! Since Steve is one for jokes, I thought he was joking. Turns out he wasn't. I don't know why, but Sportspectrum didn't have the awards with them. No one believed they would actually mail them as promised, but I got an e-mail later that night from someone relaying that message. (Next day I received an e-mail from Sportspectrum saying we could pick them up if possible. So yes, Virginia, there is hardware after all, but it's gonna take some effort to get it home! Luckily my folks are headed over there Thursday and will be able to pick mine up as well as others in our club.)
So that was Jefferson 2009. I hadn't done it since 2006 because it's usually so hot and because I hate that hill. But I think I'll do it again because it's just so convenient. And I'll try and be a more upbeat person at the end!
For once I was actually calm before a race. Don't ask me why. The promise of good weather? The proximity of the race? Low expectations? Something to break up the tedium of my summer job?? In any event I was glad.
I prepared all my stuff the night before so all I had to do when the alarm sounded at 4 a.m. Sunday was roll out of bed, dress, slap some PB&J on a piece of white bread, grab a Diet Coke and head out into the very dark morning. (Really dark! Inside-the-basketball dark!) It really was an interesting sensation to drive in that kind of darkness. However, there was--literally--a bright spot: the new moon and the morning star in the eastern sky, right over my destination. (No, I did not expect three wise men with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. A few dozen competent race organizers I'll take.)
It didn't take me long on my chosen route of 155 to reach FM 279 and head along the eastern edge of Lake o'the Pines. I'd already dodged an opposum on the road in, and now I spotted a deer waiting to cross the road. Luckily the nature of the road kept my speed low enough I was able to avoid any accidents. Everything sure looked different in the dark. Little worms-and-six-pack shacks acquired a down-to-earth allure missing in daylight. By the time I turned west on 726, the eastern skybehind glowed purple-pink with the promise of a rising sun.
I found the entrance to the park quite easily. But when I made it to the entrance, I found the gates all locked and not another car in sight. Alright, it was 5:36 and I didn't expect anyone official before 6, but.... I did see one vehicle off in the direction of the transition area. An RV was parked near the entrance. But there was no one near enough to ask questions. After mulling it over for five minutes, two vehicles passed me by and headed off west. Since they looked like they knew where to go, I quickly hopped back in the car and followed. After a roundabout way we found ourselves very near the transition area and parked near the bathrooms. Disembarking from our respective vehicles, we still looked a bit lost. But I could see the bike racks and two people standing near them, so I took that as the place to go. I hoisted my pack and rolled my bike down the hill. I hung the bike on the rack nearest the bike exit, took out my camp chair, and sat.
Just sat. What else to do? Eventually a fellow with some air of authority approached me to say transition wasn't open yet, but rather than make me remove my bike he just said, in a friendly fashion, "Just go away." And he shooed me forth, but not before I asked him about packet pickup. He had no idea. Maybe near the pavilion.
To condense the next hour very simply: I spent a great deal of time either jogging or walking the distance from transition to the pavilion and back as one volunteer would direct me one way and another would send me back. Eventually they did set up packet pick up, but not at transition and not at the pavilion; rather, halfway in between, near the bathroom. I didn't breath easily until I got my race number. (By now fellow ETT folks had shown up so I had company.) I headed back down for body marking, then back up to wait for timing chips. Those took a while to set up but I was first in line to get mine. As I waited they unloaded a line of much-needed portajohns (the Ladeis' had no paper), and as soon as I got my chip I gave my greetings to the Green Goddess.
Set up transition area. Said hi to some folks. Needed to warm up. Howzabout hauling that swag bag back to the car? That would be a good jog. And so I did. By now lots of people on disc wheels were whizzing by to test out the bike course so it was duck-and-dodge. Not much tension on my end as I watched the late comers scramble for an open spot on already crowded bike racks. Eventually I grabbed my cap and goggles and headed to the beach and got in the water. Near shore the water clarity was good as was the temp. I did some easy strokes--too easy, really, in light of what lay in store.
I sat and waited on a concrete embankment with Ross Pritchard, who was sitting this race out and had an assignment as "official" club photographer. (The photos are his.) Steve and Alan were there for a while, and Kami. It was great fun watching the "clear" water trickle down my arms and legs in brown rivulets. Hmmmm....
About ten minutes for the first wave to go Kami and I headed to the water's edge. Again, unnaturally calm. Go figure. We "blue caps" of the second wave were consigned to wait as all individual males in their spiffing yellow latex caps prepared for the start. Nothing fancy. No gun. No whistle. Just a countdown from 1o on the PA system and "Go!" And they were off.
Kami and I waded into the water to wait for our two minute start. I submerged up to the neck to stay warm. (It wasn't that chilly for July, but the water was more comfortable.) Same laid back countdown, and then we were off. Things were thick. I stuck fairly close to the buoy line and so was fighting feet, legs, arms all the way. I never stopped, though. The OWS at Tyler State Park paid off in my ability to navigate without pulling up. Couldn't see much far ahead anyway. I figured as long as I was in the pack I was okay.
I made the first turn, and normally this is where things usually thin out, but not this year. We began to catch the slower men from the first wave so I had an entirely new set of arms, legs, etc., to battle. (Strangely, the men were easier. I could often split two and find a way through. The women--they ain't moving for anyone!) Made the second turn. This is where things have gone wrong in the past because I always pulled too far left and wasted time. This time I managed to stay straight and followed the buoys straight in.
I wish I had swum a few more strokes before standing up. For those tall guys, it may have been the right thing, but when I stood the water was still thigh deep. Nothing for it but to strip off the cap and goggles and slosh forward in a parody of a run. Had to run up sand and a bit more before crossing the timing mat.
At the bike rack I did things a bit differently. Usually I put my helmet on first but this time I worked from the ground up: shoes, then race belt, then helmet and sunglasses, before clopping the few yards to the mount line. Clipped in and headed out. I was so wet!! Water poured from under the helmet and other places. Luckily I wasn't chilled. First hill up to the dam--not bad. Did the last bit out of the saddle but the legs were fresh. On top of the dam I again departed from heretofore normal procedure and did not immediately gear up to the big chain ring but kept it small and spun for a couple of miles, averaging between 17.5 and 18.5 mph.
Turning off the dam, the real challenge began. These weren't big hills, just long ones. I'm guessing the maximum gradient was around 2-3%, but they went on for half a mile. I shifted smoothly from large to small gears, kept the cadence reasonably high (80s) even if the speed was 13-14 mph. Had some good recovery on the downhills. (Nothing like going aero and bombing down a hill at 28 mph.) I drank some Infinit every ten minutes or so. It was good (and necessary) but it clemmed up my mouth, making me wish for a nice swig of water to clear the decks.
Took forever to get to the turnaround, but on the way back seemed like more downhill than up. One point I was hammering downhill at 30 mph, and for a brief moment, I could almost--almost--imagine I was Fabian Cancellara. (Hah! He goes faster than that uphill!) Played leapfrog with one rider for a while until she (?) finally dropped back for good. Turned back on the dam, but only briefly as we were directed down the east side. It was a nice, long downhill/flat road, but it was merely the calm before the storm--and I knew it. IT was approaching. The Monster. The Golem. The...Dam Hill.
There. It loomed on the horizon like a puny East Texas alp. I could see ant-like figures climbing. The internal debate began. Ride it? Walk it? Ride it? Walk it? (Scenes of LBJ daisy flower commercial: BOOM!! "Johnson. You know he's right.") Approaching the foot, I put my fate in the hands of God and geared down and headed up. I remained in my next-to-smallest gear for most of the climb, and then down to the smallest for the rest. I used the "fog technique": pretend that there is a fog up ahead and you can't see the summit, so look nowhere but in front of the tire and churn it out. And it worked. I made it to the top, turning past a trooper directing traffic and headed back over the dam. I recovered very well, spinning along in the small ring. By the time I got to the final turn, I spotted Ross with his camera. I made some half-baked gesture before taking the turn. Shoulda been paying attention. The turn was about 130 degrees and I went almost too wide. I kept the speed reasonable on the way down and into T2.
I dismounted fine at the line and got my bike racked with no problem. Getting the helmet off proved a bit difficult. If I try to pull it up and off like a regular helmet it pulls my ears off, but forward and off, I lose my sunglasses. Oh, well. I sat down on my camp chair and put on my socks and shoes and ran off.
Felt fin heading up the slight rise to the park entrance, but after about 400 yards I felt a deep cramp in my lower-left abdomen--almost the groin. This usually happens to some degree off the bike and it will disappear after a while, but this got really intense and lasted for almost two miles. I stopped once to bend over but that didn't help. Adding to the "fun" of the effort, my right ear had water in it and I couldn't get rid of it. Woosh, woosh, woosh! I had an oceanic soundtrack accompanying my run.
My hope of following a good swim and a good ride with a good run faded quickly. I just kept moving and forgot about trying to pick up the pace. I saw the 1 mile marker. I hoped the pain would subside soon but it didn't. Where, oh where, was the turnaround? I couldn't see it. After an eternity I found it, but it still wasn't two miles in yet. Luckily the path was more downhill on the way back. Around the 2 mile point the abdominal cramp finally faded but then I felt a tightness in my left glute and both calves. (I'd hate to think what it might have been like if it had been hot!) Where, oh where, was the finish line??
At LAST I saw the inflatable arch and people standing around. Incapable of anything resembling a "kick" I at least determined to present good form in the last 200 yards. (It sure fooled Kami! Later she acted surprised when I said I'd experienced trouble on the run as she thought I'd looked "good" at the end.) I crossed the second mat and had to lean on the guy removing my timing chip. Duke took photos. (Oy! I hate to think what I looked like.) I sought out the huddle of finishers from the club--all looking better than me, or so it seemed.
The post-race bonk had already begun. I heard that the baked potatoes were ready so I got in line, fixed one up, and found a seat in the pavillion. I'm not overly found of these potatoes but it was the only game in town. In any event I hoped it would perk me up. When I'd eaten as much as I could stand, I found the trash and again sought out some more finishers. Then the PA said preliminary results were posted on the U-Haul truck so I went over to see what I could see. Took me a bit to find my group. 5 ladies in my group and I was 4th. What an ambiguous result! Not dead last, which is good, but so close to third (by one minute) always feels demoralizing. I knew I'd done my best but couldn't help but think, "If only I'd pushed harder on the run...."
I looked around but didn't see anything resembling post-race festivities. I was sweaty, stinky (really stinky!), and thoroughly without words or anything resembling social grace. So I went to the transition area to pack. The race organizers had already dismantled much of the area. (Alarmingly, there was no one there to check race numbers against bikes, but in afterthought, I realized since they hadn't required race numbers on the bikes, that would have proven impossible. Still, there should have been security.) I packed up my stuff. Alan Harris stopped by to say something but I really and truly couldn't think what to say, so he wandered off. (Sorry, Alan!) As I headed toward my car, I ran into Steve and Alan, and still found myself completely without words. I didn't even say "Good race!" or "See you later!" I just trundled off to my car, loaded it up, and headed out.
I managed to make it home before noon. (This race was actually closer to home than either Athens or Rose City.) Jim wasn't home. I turned on Le Tour but before I got caught up in it, I hopped in the shower. Boy, did that feel good! I felt halfway normal. I stretched out on the couch and watched the day's stage. I hoped to drift off to sleep, but texting and commercials kept me away.
Later that evening I checked for race results and found them posted around 5-ish. Imagine my surprise when I found my group and saw only four names, and my own in third place! (Perspective, though: 2 of the 3 Female Masters winners were from my age group, so that put me in fifth--just 1 competitive point for the club, but better than none!) My next thought was: what about my hardware? I texted Kami. She soon replied that when asked, Steve said there hadn't been any! Since Steve is one for jokes, I thought he was joking. Turns out he wasn't. I don't know why, but Sportspectrum didn't have the awards with them. No one believed they would actually mail them as promised, but I got an e-mail later that night from someone relaying that message. (Next day I received an e-mail from Sportspectrum saying we could pick them up if possible. So yes, Virginia, there is hardware after all, but it's gonna take some effort to get it home! Luckily my folks are headed over there Thursday and will be able to pick mine up as well as others in our club.)
So that was Jefferson 2009. I hadn't done it since 2006 because it's usually so hot and because I hate that hill. But I think I'll do it again because it's just so convenient. And I'll try and be a more upbeat person at the end!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
It's Business. Strictly Business.
Okay. I understand it's a tough time for cycling teams so the announcement of a new title co-sponsor for Columbia-Highroad--now Columbia-HTC--can't be a bad thing.
Unless you are the proud owner of a Columbia-Highroad jersey.
Okay. I understand it's tough to wear an aesthetically cool all-black kit in the summer heat--hey, I live in Texas!-- so I understand Cervelo Test Team's announcement that they will switch to a white kit for the Tour de France and the remainder of the summer. It's a great idea.
Unless you are the proud owner of a Cervelo Test Team black jersey.
Okay. Businesses make lots of money selling fans team kit. Fans (like someone I know?) will spend really outrageous sums to purchase a team jersey so they can "be there" with their teams as they climb the Alps or storm down the Champs Elysees.
BUT HOW CAN YOU "BE THERE" IF THEY KEEP CHANGING THE ******* KIT???
I support Columbia and Cervelo Test Team primarily because they support professional women's teams--and it's bloody hard to find pro women's kits anywhere at any price! (Oh, yeah, and they have pretty good men's teams, too.) So I show "my love" by purchasing a men's small and making do. (If you don't think a men's small is different from a women's medium, take my word for it.)
But it's not about love, is it? It's about money. It's about business. ("It's not personal, Sonny. It's business. Strictly business.") Last year, CSC brought on board Saxo-Bank right before the Tour; likewise, Highroad brought aboard Columbia; Slipstream Chipotle brought on board Garmin. Each major sponsor addition necessitated a new kit, and fans were just...well, left holding their old lycra blends.
On the bright side? Hold on to that old kit, and in a few years some Chinese or French or German fan will be willing to shell out a fair amount to purchase your former fair-haired child on eBay. Chuck the sentiment and take the money. After all, it's not personal. It's strictly business.
Besides, how else will you finance the purchase of the latest team kit for the spring/summer/fall?? ;-)
GOTTA LOVE IT!!!!
Unless you are the proud owner of a Columbia-Highroad jersey.
Okay. I understand it's tough to wear an aesthetically cool all-black kit in the summer heat--hey, I live in Texas!-- so I understand Cervelo Test Team's announcement that they will switch to a white kit for the Tour de France and the remainder of the summer. It's a great idea.
Unless you are the proud owner of a Cervelo Test Team black jersey.
Okay. Businesses make lots of money selling fans team kit. Fans (like someone I know?) will spend really outrageous sums to purchase a team jersey so they can "be there" with their teams as they climb the Alps or storm down the Champs Elysees.
BUT HOW CAN YOU "BE THERE" IF THEY KEEP CHANGING THE ******* KIT???
I support Columbia and Cervelo Test Team primarily because they support professional women's teams--and it's bloody hard to find pro women's kits anywhere at any price! (Oh, yeah, and they have pretty good men's teams, too.) So I show "my love" by purchasing a men's small and making do. (If you don't think a men's small is different from a women's medium, take my word for it.)
But it's not about love, is it? It's about money. It's about business. ("It's not personal, Sonny. It's business. Strictly business.") Last year, CSC brought on board Saxo-Bank right before the Tour; likewise, Highroad brought aboard Columbia; Slipstream Chipotle brought on board Garmin. Each major sponsor addition necessitated a new kit, and fans were just...well, left holding their old lycra blends.
On the bright side? Hold on to that old kit, and in a few years some Chinese or French or German fan will be willing to shell out a fair amount to purchase your former fair-haired child on eBay. Chuck the sentiment and take the money. After all, it's not personal. It's strictly business.
Besides, how else will you finance the purchase of the latest team kit for the spring/summer/fall?? ;-)
GOTTA LOVE IT!!!!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Riding a New Bike. Sort of.
I finally got my TT bike back from Elite yesterday with its new 165 mm crankset. I wanted to take it out this morning for a test run. I set the saddle up 5 mm as John instructed, but was hardly a mile from home when I stopped to adjust the arm extensions. I moved my left bar out a bit and adjusted the right elbow rest to its outermost position. The entire handlebar seemed too low now but the action of raising it up was too involved for a roadside operation so I headed out to Hwy. 80. I hadn't gone more than one mile on it before I heard a metallic "clang!" and heard something hit the road. Recognizing that something had fallen off the bike I pulled onto the shoulder to stop. But this was not my road bike and I was not used to the power of these brakes, nor did I take into account the lower center of gravity--all of which is a nice rationalization of saying I fell over, still clipped in. (Naturally my right foot unclipped as a result of the fall, but otherwise I was still perfectly mounted, just horizontally rather than vertically.) I got up. I saw a cut and some scrapes on my knee and had some scrapes on my right elbow but no major damage done. I walked back down the road about 20 feet and saw the culprit responsible for this chain of events: an X-Lab CO2 cartridged that had come unscrewed from its mounting. I screwed it back in securly and took off. But by now the heart was gone from the exercise. I also saw from my watch that I was running out of time and would probably not have enough time to get home and shower and make the Bahai meeting on time--never mind completing a brick as I'd hoped. I still made the Crow turnaround and enjoyed a good turn of speed heading back. But wouldn't you know ten minutes hadn't passed before "clang!"? The same ****** CO2 cartridge had hit the road again. (I should file a complaint with X-Lab. This is, after all, their wing nut, but their CO2 cartridge won't stay put. The other cartridge from the bike shop stayed put, thank you very much.)
...but for all that the new cranks worked a treat. It was like having a compact crank again but with the benefit of a larger range of gears. I still have to adjust the front end, as I indicated above. Also I heard a rattle located somewhere near the bottom bracket that was out of place. I hate to put it back in the shop so soon after I got it out, but it's annoying to say the least, and who knows what deeper problem it might indicate?
Sending a shout-out to the Buffalo Springs "returnees". Sounds like everyone had a fine time and there were some good results for the ETT crew. Poor Ross, though! We'll have to get that boy an ETT jersey so he won't get penalized next time.
...but for all that the new cranks worked a treat. It was like having a compact crank again but with the benefit of a larger range of gears. I still have to adjust the front end, as I indicated above. Also I heard a rattle located somewhere near the bottom bracket that was out of place. I hate to put it back in the shop so soon after I got it out, but it's annoying to say the least, and who knows what deeper problem it might indicate?
Sending a shout-out to the Buffalo Springs "returnees". Sounds like everyone had a fine time and there were some good results for the ETT crew. Poor Ross, though! We'll have to get that boy an ETT jersey so he won't get penalized next time.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Ramping it Up. Sort of.
As Gina observed on Facebook, I have definitely been hitting the road on my bike this summer. However, no good deed goes unpunished, and as I've pushed the miles my old nemesis, the muscle spasm, has returned with a vengeance. This is the same thing that kept me from participating in the New Orleans 70.3. I did some bike refits with John, but that only brought a modicum of relief. Still, I rarely rode more than 2 hours all spring so I lived with it.
Monday I geared up for my longest ride to date--long being defined by how much fluid I can carry with me: when the water/drinks run out, the ride is over. I packed two 24-oz water bottles and one 16 oz bottle of Infinit which I stuffed into a back jersey pocket and headed out to Highway 80. I did two loops, then three, and finally four. My back bothered me starting around 1 hour in, as usual, but I kept adjusting my position, and even stopped a few times to stetch, thus making it almost 3 hours and 44 miles. Success!
Well, maybe. After my shower my back ache/burn/stabbing pain continued to intensify. I took Alleve. No relief. Around 2 I took a Tylenol and that helped some. On Kami's advice I finally bit the bullet and called Dr. Fiesler and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. Dr. F. put me through some positions, checking strength, etc., and diagnosed muscle spasms in the scapular support muscles and the rhomboid. (No clue as to why or what was causing the muscle spasms, but that's not entirely her area.) She said she could shoot the trigger point with 2-3 units of lidocaine and it would break the spasm. The relief might last a few weeks, a few months, or forever. So after taking a few x-rays just to certify there wasn't something worse going on, she brought in the 25 gauge needle and began feeling carefully the muscles in my back. Eventually she shot two trigger points. I couldn't wait to get on my bike next day and try it out.
Thursday I mounted my trusty steed and headed out on the usual route. In my head I could already imagine sending the joyful posting of the miracle cure to tri pals and thereby put myself "back in the long game." I should have known better.... Before even an hour passed I could feel the familiar burning and tightening--higher up this time, in the area of the trapezius. (At least the two places she shot the day before didn't spasm.) Before long I could reach up with my right hand and feel the muscles in my upper left back jumping around like snakes under a blanket. This wouldn't do. After only 28 miles I stopped. As soon as I got cleaned up I called Dr. F's office again and they said she could see me that afternoon. Took longer to see her this time--apparently Thursday is their busiest day--but see her I did. After being treated to an unusual physician's...um, view? vent?...about the perils of socialized medicine, we got to work. She found three more trigger points and shot them up. This time she said the needle "crunched" going in, indicating scar tissue--not surprising given I've been riding a road bike since 2002 and I've experienced this type of pain and discomfort from Day 1.
Unlike before, I found myself in no hurry to remount the bike and head off for a test ride. Indeed, after Jim put me to work doing hard labor in the yard, I wonder if I'll ever have a normal back ever again! But I expect tomorrow I'll try again. If it still spasms, well, I don't know what I'll do. I may have to go see a chiropracter or something. It's a long road.....
Monday I geared up for my longest ride to date--long being defined by how much fluid I can carry with me: when the water/drinks run out, the ride is over. I packed two 24-oz water bottles and one 16 oz bottle of Infinit which I stuffed into a back jersey pocket and headed out to Highway 80. I did two loops, then three, and finally four. My back bothered me starting around 1 hour in, as usual, but I kept adjusting my position, and even stopped a few times to stetch, thus making it almost 3 hours and 44 miles. Success!
Well, maybe. After my shower my back ache/burn/stabbing pain continued to intensify. I took Alleve. No relief. Around 2 I took a Tylenol and that helped some. On Kami's advice I finally bit the bullet and called Dr. Fiesler and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. Dr. F. put me through some positions, checking strength, etc., and diagnosed muscle spasms in the scapular support muscles and the rhomboid. (No clue as to why or what was causing the muscle spasms, but that's not entirely her area.) She said she could shoot the trigger point with 2-3 units of lidocaine and it would break the spasm. The relief might last a few weeks, a few months, or forever. So after taking a few x-rays just to certify there wasn't something worse going on, she brought in the 25 gauge needle and began feeling carefully the muscles in my back. Eventually she shot two trigger points. I couldn't wait to get on my bike next day and try it out.
Thursday I mounted my trusty steed and headed out on the usual route. In my head I could already imagine sending the joyful posting of the miracle cure to tri pals and thereby put myself "back in the long game." I should have known better.... Before even an hour passed I could feel the familiar burning and tightening--higher up this time, in the area of the trapezius. (At least the two places she shot the day before didn't spasm.) Before long I could reach up with my right hand and feel the muscles in my upper left back jumping around like snakes under a blanket. This wouldn't do. After only 28 miles I stopped. As soon as I got cleaned up I called Dr. F's office again and they said she could see me that afternoon. Took longer to see her this time--apparently Thursday is their busiest day--but see her I did. After being treated to an unusual physician's...um, view? vent?...about the perils of socialized medicine, we got to work. She found three more trigger points and shot them up. This time she said the needle "crunched" going in, indicating scar tissue--not surprising given I've been riding a road bike since 2002 and I've experienced this type of pain and discomfort from Day 1.
Unlike before, I found myself in no hurry to remount the bike and head off for a test ride. Indeed, after Jim put me to work doing hard labor in the yard, I wonder if I'll ever have a normal back ever again! But I expect tomorrow I'll try again. If it still spasms, well, I don't know what I'll do. I may have to go see a chiropracter or something. It's a long road.....
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