Paybacks are Hell

Well...

Not to be outdone or anything, Becky (aka TriGoddess or TG for short) decided, "sure," she would accompany me for the first half of my planned 100-mile ride this past weekend, but, "let's do that Madison ride to the firetower," she e-mailed.

Okay. Sounded good to me. Something different to look at instead of the Trace.

Madison, Mississippi, is not know for its hills. There is nothing around here that leaps out of the ground to challenge your mountain climbing skills. But, if you try really hard, you can create a ride that never stops going up or down. And since none of the ups are very long, neither are none of the downs, which means, very little time to recover before you find yourself going back up.

On Sunday morning, Becky and I went either up or down, but seemed like mostly up, for 66 miles. We never found a good rhythm, except a slow one, and ended up barely cracking 15mph.

The day was cooler than it had been the previous week, but the humidity had returned. I was feeling a little tired...leftover I believe from Saturday's slothfest (Olympics all day and not much else except a nap or two) and perhaps last week's epic ride. At the same time, I was nervous as all get-out. Even though I had successfully ridden 80 miles some 7 days earlier, the three-numbered 100 scared the beejesus out of me. And I was not looking forward to doing the second half by myself. Nonetheless, it was a good day for a ride (because every day is a good day for a ride...except when it's raining...or cold...or windy...).

So, we toured the backroads of southern Madison County and northern Hinds County. Enjoyed tree-shaded roads and beautiful wide open fields. Endured terrible road conditions (I knew I should have brought the road bike), and only had to outsprint two dogs. We saw cows, horses, and deer. And we went up hills. Then down hill. Then up hill again. Down. Up. Up. Down. Flat. Up. Headwind. Up...you get the idea.

Two things I learned:

1. Two water bottles are not enough for summer rides lasting more than 2 hours. I ran out of all fluids well before we finished (because 50 miles turned into 66 miles...see below). Becky shared her Gatorade, but by the time we rolled in, I was parched and had not sucked down any gels for the last 2 hours (yes, it was 4 hours of riding...see below) because I had either very little or no fluids to wash it down with. Time to break down and get an aero bottle (because I do not want the "rocket launchers" of the back; not because they launch the water bottles but because I will most surely crash if I have to reach behind me to get something).



2. It is not wise to send two directionally challenged women into the unknown with only a map for guidance. Add to the mix that I do not know my right from my left. Really. So, an errant right turn toward what we believed to be the end of our ride added some 15 miles to the ride and a few more hills.

We finally got back to our cars. I was somewhat relieved that I only had 34 miles left to ride, rather than 50, but was feeling rather peaked. As Becky loaded up to go home, I grabbed my cold Coke, PB&J Mojo bar, and a bottle of water, and told myself that I would rest a bit before forging onward. Then, I decided that maybe I was a little too dehydrated (I hadn't peed in over 4 hours) and tired to chance bonking on the Trace and would be better off finishing the ride on the trainer. Apparently, I was also losing my ability to think clearly.

Anyway, I loaded up my bike, headed home, and, suprise! Only managed another 9 miles on the trainer. I did get in my 10-minute run.

Oh well. 75 miles is not that bad.

But I blame Becky.

“Real women do triples.”

This is what my friend said to me as we set off on the first ride of a brick workout that consisted of three rounds: 30 mile bike, 40 minute run, 30 mile bike, 30 minute run, 20 mile bike, 20 minute run.

She joined me with much trepidation never having done a workout quite like that (a Coach Debi specialty), even though she has done an Ironman (IMFL 2006). And given how word spreads in our tight tri community here in Jackson, MS, I have quickly become known as the girl with the crazy coach. Let's just say the concept of a triple brick is rather unorthodox around these parts...sort of like the concept of the Democratic Party...

Anyway, Debi is doing her best to get me ready for IMFL 2008, my first, and I am on the bandwagon, fully committed, and gonna' do the workouts regardless of the local sneering. And I was elated to have Becky join me. It made the day 99% easier.

The first ride took us south on the Natchez Trace Parkway, which is slightly rolling with a couple of long, low grade climbs and which generally has very light traffic on early Saturday mornings. The rule was keep it all in z1/z2 and practice nutrition. So, we kept the pace easy and finished 32 miles in just under 2 hours. Loaded the bikes in the cars, put on our running shoes and set out for the 40-minute run. All of our runs would be on the same path, which starts with a nasty uphill and then pretty much goes downhill for the next 1.5 miles...that means mostly uphill on the return. But that's okay. Makes us tough and puts hair on our chests. Right?

The first series done, we got back on the bikes and proceeded to head north on the Trace, winding along the reservoir for about 12 of the 14 miles we rode out (I figured with 32 on the first ride, we only needed 28 on the second...I'm all about sticking to the schedule...besides it worked out for easier turnaround points). The road is mostly flat, and the views are really wonderful, especially early in the morning.

We so lucked out last Saturday with the weather. The last few weeks have been horrible with the heat and humidity sucking the life right out of me. Even at 5:00 a.m. I would be sweating through my socks. But a couple of days before, a massive storm blew through and cleared out the air. Saturday morning started in the 60s with minimal humidity, and even though it got up to the high 80s/low 90s by the time we finished, the humidity stayed away, so it was fabulous.

However, the wind on the Trace is evil. We headed out thinking that, surely, on the return we would have a nice tailwind. Felt like a headwind the entire way, but we picked up some speed on this ride and came in a bit faster than the first one. Loaded the bikes in the car again, put on running shoes again, went to the bathroom, and ran for 30 minutes.

At this point, I could tell Becky was getting tired. I, on the other hand, felt fantastic. But, I didn't want to run ahead because I felt that joining me on this workout was a big deal for her, and I wanted to stick to the goal of keeping it easy. So, I turned into the most annoying chatty Cathy and yammered for the entire 30 minutes. I think Becky was too tired to tell me to, "shut it."

Before heading out on the final ride (at this point, 20 miles sounded like nothin'), I did my first nutrition experiment. Up to this point, never having done anything longer than an HIM, I have relied entirely on gels and sports drinks (and the occasional orange wedge). Based on what everyone's told me, for something lasting more than twice as long, I may want to consider alternatives. So, I had a quarter of a PB&J sandwich and a small bottle of Coke. It was yummy! (This was in addition to the gels and sports drink throughout the day.)

(Note: one of my many physical blessings is a stomach of steel. I probably could've had a cheeseburger and been fine.)

Still feeling great, I led out for the last 20 miles, and Becky dropped a bit back around 4 miles in. I waited at the turnaround (she wasn't very far back), but quickly lost her again. When she rolled in at the end, we set out on the last run. By now, I was feeling it, and when I started to run, my hips growled at me, but settled pretty quickly because they had to climb that darn hill. Becky was really starting to struggle, while I continued to feel good, so I went ahead for the last 3/4 mile.

The whole day, including all the stops and changes, took about 7:30 (there were a couple of longish pauses that involved bathroom breaks, bottle refills, and munching). The fact that the 80 miles we rode only took me 4:50 at an easy pace is a huge confidence boost for me, and the fact that I felt good the whole time amazed me.

Becky is rightly quite proud of herself for having stuck with me the entire workout. (She didn't originally plan to but had told someone else that morning that she was, so inadvertently committed herself.) Next time, though, I will have to find another sucker...er, I mean, partner, or go on my own. Becky's last words to me were, "Never again."

At least, she's still my friend...until she sees that I'm supposed to ride 100 miles this weekend.

RR: Heart O’ Dixie Triathlon…where the bikes are fast and the necks are red

Summary:

Swim ½ mile – 16:04

T1 – 2:13

Bike 27.5 miles – 1:28:48

T2 – 5:15 (all pissed off and ready to quit)

Run 7 miles – 1:20:07 (still mad and contemplating a DNF for the first 2 miles)

Total Time – 3:12:26

Third, 40-44 AG (Surprise!)

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Next time there won’t be a next time. When one does a race for the very first time and overachieves the very first time, it does not pay to return and try again. One should just let sleeping dogs lie and volunteer instead.

I know that now. I wish I had known that last weekend.

Last year, I did the Heart O’ Dixie triathlon for the first time. I had a great day, riding and running faster than I thought I could (the swim was so-so). The problem is that day set expectations for this year’s race.

In my head, I knew that was silly. It would be a different day, different conditions, different potential obstacles, and I just might be under hydrated because I might not drink enough the day before. You never know. But I had had my fastest time ever on the bike and a solid run, and I thought that one year later, I should be able to at least equal that.

Not. So. Much.

Anyway, a little background on the race…

The Heart O’ Dixie triathlon is a Mississippi tradition in its 29th year (next year is the big 3-0) and it has been run on the same course every year since it began. It is a 35-mile point-to-point race that begins in Louisville, MS, at Lake Tiak-O’Khata and finishes in Philadelphia, MS, at the Neshoba County Fair, another enduring Mississippi tradition.

The Neshoba County Fair is huge, held during the hottest part of the year (because that’s the way Mississippians like it), and the most unusual fairgrounds I have ever visited. It has all the traditional agricultural fair stuff, but in addition, the grounds are lined with a-gazillion 2- and 3-story shotgun-style cabins painted all manner of bright, obnoxious colors. Some look rickety and ready to tumble to the ground, but most are lovingly maintained and exude all kinds of personality. The cabins don’t appear very big from the outside, but I have heard that some of them sleep as many as 54 people! Apparently, they are family treasures, handed down from generation to generation, and it is nearly impossible to actually purchase one. They are only used one time of year, during the week of the fair, which is known as “Mississippi’s Giant House Party.” Just being invited to stay in one of these cabins is a huge honor. It is the thing to do in Mississippi...the redneck version of Martha’s Vineyard.

Anyway…back to the race…

Heart O’ Dixie is not a race for the tightly wound, overwrought, super Type A athlete. If you are like that, you will just be frustrated. If, on the other hand, you are adaptable and willing to be southern for a day, you can have a lot of fun with this race. They do not give out swim caps (but they don’t tell you that) and, for whatever reason, body marking is done the night before. If you don’t get marked then, you’re on your own the next morning (they leave magic markers around, but they can be hard to find). Race organizers kindly transport your running shoes and stuff to T2 in the back of a truck. Sometimes, bags of shoes bounce out of the too-full truck, and when you get to T2, no shoes. A major bummer, but if you are laid back and southern, like one guy I saw, you just start running anyway and, in the meantime, someone drives down the road looking for your shoes, and, if you’re lucky, they find them and bring them back to you before you cross the finish line. If you do not employ a personal Sherpa, as I do, since the race is point-to-point, after the finish, you need to board a shuttle to return to T2 to get your bike and then back to the start to get to your car. If you get to T2 and the shuttle is too full for your bike, well, it’s time to become creative.

Other than that, it’s a great race. Honest!

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Swim – 16:04

We arrived at the race site in what should have been plenty of time to get set up and warmed up, but a flat tire and a long port-a-john line combined to warp time from 45 minutes before race start to 5 minutes before race start. (Trust me on this time warp thing. It appears that I have some weird electro-magnetic aura that makes HR monitors go crazy, creates time warps, and occasionally opens up the odd wormhole.) So, no warm up swim for me, but hot days, little rain, and high humidity ensured that the shallow, murky lake was a cozy 90 degrees for the race. It would be like getting in a very dirty bathtub. Nice.

Heart O’ Dixie is a time trial start, with 5 seconds between each person. I was number 65 (numbers assigned based on when you registered), and in the water a little more than 5 minutes after the first person.

Last year, the race was a true point-to-point, and the swim started at one end of the lake and finished at the other. This year, however, it was changed to an out-and-back swim that started and ended in T1.

I had a really good swim this year.

I plowed right into the mix and was immediately drafting off the person who started in front of me. I passed a lot of people, got passed by a lot of other people, and, for a change, did a lot of drafting up until the very end…when I missed the whole “bear right to the swim exit part.” As soon as my hand touched the muck at the bottom of the lake, I stood up. My watch said 15:xx. I knew it would turn over to 16 minutes by the time I crawled out of the mud, but that was a whole 2+ minutes faster than last year.

Cool.

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T1 – 2:13

I dunno’. This seems wrong to me. I am not exactly sure what I did in transition that took me longer than 2 minutes. It’s that damn time warp, again.

(The picture is me insisting to a friend that the swim was not short, and we were fast. Note that although she came out of the water over a minute behind me, she was out of transition before me. Not sure how that happened.)

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Bike – 1:28:48

Last year, I rode this course in 1:25:something, averaging over 19mph. I never before, or since, rode that fast in a triathlon. What surprised me most about this last year was that I went that fast despite the hilliness of the course. Anyway, same course, a different day.

Once you leave the “resort,” the bike course is a straight shot south on state Route 15. It is rolling. Nothing too serious, and the downhills are great. I started off just trying to find my rhythm and not to blow up on the first set of hills. I suspected that I was probably already slightly dehydrated since I had only had about 20 oz of water the day before and some very yucky sweet tea and my pee in the morning was a nice amber color. Since it was already over 80 degrees at 7:00am with nearly 90% humidity, I knew this wasn’t good.

Initially, I was doing okay, and I came through the first 5 miles in just over 15 minutes. I wasn’t passing anybody, but few people were passing me, mostly really young guys with long skinny legs and butts. I played leap frog with a couple of guys on the hills: I would pass them on the way up; they would pass me on the way down. We rolled through the flashing light in the one little town on the way (Noxapater), hit 10 miles, and I began to think it was all feeling just a little too hard. The hills were slow, I wasn’t recovering on the downhills or flats, and I was hot. Even my feet were already soaked with sweat.

At mile 20, the wind picked up in our faces a bit, and I just shut down. I was done. “No more,” said the legs. “I agree,” said the head. And it was all I could do to keep pedaling the last 7.5 miles to transition. Feeling very, very sorry for myself. Poor me.

(Here’s the thing, though. In spite of my rather dramatic slowdown at the end, I still managed to average over 18.5mph…something I would have never even dreamed of 2 years ago. I was having a serious ego problem that I needed to get over…I needed a 30-minute pity party first, though.)

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T2 – 5:15

I got off my bike all pissy and frustrated. Growled at hubby and headed over to the fancy bike racks. Could not effectively put my back tire in the rack. Got more pissy. Once I got the bike in, I couldn’t reach the bag that had my shoes in it. Got even more pissy. Took the bike out of the rack, but couldn’t hold on to the bike and reach the shoe bag at the same time. Had a temper trantrum. Yep. Right there in transition. I am embarrassed to say that things were thrown. Words were said. Luckily, everyone ignored me. Finally, got my shoes, re-racked my bike, and sat down to slowly change and ponder my poor self and dismal situation. Got up, meandered out of transition and started walking up the road toward the fairgrounds…7 miles away.

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Run – 1:20:07

I simply could not decide what to do. I did not want to run. I tried a few steps, but immediately started walking again. I turned around and gazed longingly at transition thinking maybe I’ll just go back there and quit. Problem was we still had to go to the fairgrounds to turn in my chip. So, I kept walking. My friend, Becky, caught up with me. “C’mon, girl, let’s do this thing.” I put on my sad, woe is me face, and said, “I’m done. You go ahead.” Becky is nicer than nice, and wanted to commiserate with me a moment, but I sent her on her way (which was a good thing because she ended up with first in her age group).

I kept walking. I took off my number belt, fully intending on climbing in the car with hubby when he drove by after packing up my bike. A few minutes later, he drove by. I kept walking. I put my number belt back on. I ran a little bit. Walked some more. Ran a little bit more.

I finally approached the first aid station (about 1.5 miles). As I was taking my water and Gatorade, I heard a man behind me ask the volunteers, “Do you have any gels?” They didn’t, and I turned around to offer him mine (it was too hot, and I wouldn’t eat it anyway), and I noticed he was running in his sock feet. Apparently, his shoes had fallen off the truck taking them to T2. Volunteers were headed back to retrieve them, and they would meet him on the course with them.

You know what was amazing? This gentleman was not having himself a pity party. He was matter-of-fact about the whole thing and committed to making do with his situation. What a concept.

It took another 10 minutes of walking and sort of running, but it finally began to sink in. I saw him getting his shoes a little later on, and a little after that, I hit the 2-mile mark. It had taken me somewhere around 30 minutes. About then, I realized if I kept walking, it was going to take me a very long time. If I started running, at least a little bit more consistently, then it would all be over sooner. And I had a lot less to complain about than some people…no shoes, wicked cramps (did I mention it was hot and humid?), road rash…all I had was a bad attitude.

So, I set my watch for 5 minute run/1 minute walk. I took as much water and Gatorade as I could at each aid station. I thanked all the volunteers, cheered on all my fellow competitors. I started to feel better. I ran up the hills. I felt stronger as the remaining miles went by. Next thing I knew I was turning into the fairgrounds, following the chalk line by the brightly colored cabins, past the carnival rides, down to the horse track, all the while cheered on by volunteers and fairgoers. The last ½ mile of the race makes a lap around a dirt horse track. It’s really kind of neat. More cabins, more people, horses snorting and prancing in their corrals, cows wondering why the stupid people are running.

As I came around the last curve, about 200 meters from the finish, I caught up to a 70-year old athlete (that number on the calves comes in handy) walking. I had seen him earlier on the bike. He was wearing a Marine Corps jersey. I have a special fondness for Marines. One of my most favorite and admired people in the world is a retired Colonel. My dad, the Marine, showed me the world. He taught me how to be a competitor, and he taught me that as long as you do your best, it doesn’t matter if you don’t win on that day. You will one day.

So, it was just second nature to put my hand gently on this man’s back and say, “Ooh-rah, Marine. Let’s go.”

He chuckled and said, “That was just the inspiration I needed.”

And we ran across the finish line together.

It was a very good race, after all.

Randomness

“Skirting” the Issue

When we were in Orlando way back in May, we made a quick run to the outlet mall. And, specifically, the Nike store. While there, among other things, I bought a running skirt. Yep. A skirt to run in.

They’ve become pretty popular over the last several years, and I think they are darn cute. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and, well, I look pretty darn cute in it.

It only recently occurred to me that when my mom hears that I have a skirt to run in, she’s going stop what she’s doing and think, “WTF?”

(Okay, my mom would never, ever, think “WTF,” so maybe she’ll think whatever it is she thinks instead of, “WTF.”)

She’s going to remember all my growing up years when she practically had to bribe me to put on a dress or a skirt. She might have bought me one for school, and I might have worn it once and then never again. Jeans and t-shirts for me all the time.

Mom’s not gonna’ get the running skirt thing.

Well, Mom, rest assured that I only wear skirts to run. If you see me in a dress or skirt otherwise, I am probably going to an interview or a wedding.

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“Alex, the answer is Coke.”

Like in much of the rest of the U.S., it’s hot here in Mississippi. It’s hotter than a… well, there’s probably something amusing and southern to say here, I just don’t know what it is. Anyway. It’s hot.

One recent steamy, hot Saturday morning, I met up with a couple of friends for a 60-mile sweaty bike ride. We rode along a rolling route and much of the way out was into headwinds, which turned into crosswinds and the occasional tailwind on the return. When we took a rest stop at the Clinton Visitor Center, I was cooked. And, for some strange reason, I really wanted a Coke (I’m not much of a soda drinker). So, I borrowed a dollar, went in the little shop, bought a 12 oz bottle of cola, downed three quarters of it in five minutes, got back on the bike, and, Wow! I was a new me. I was strong the rest of the ride home, “danced” up the hills, and cruised in to the parking lot a couple of minutes ahead of my friends.

Coke: it’s what’s for IMFL.

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And, finally…some “bling”

I don’t often treat myself to completely useless trinkets, but I couldn’t resist this.

Everyone laughs when they see it, and they think it’s neat, but bet I get more handshakes than hugs and kisses anymore.

I’m just guessin’.

Never Mind...

After reading my post about missing registration for this weekend's half marathon, a friend let me know the poop: 70 more entries had become available. So, I registered, and I'm in.