A Century and Then Some
Monday, June 04, 2007
It's been a rough couple of weeks inside my head.
After a horrible long bike, a sub-par marathon, and a less-than-encouraging comment from my master's coach, I started wondering what the hell I was doing attempting an Ironman. Daily -- hourly -- I would question if I wasn't in over my head, how/why I thought that I could do this, and if I wasn't just wasting my time (and a whole lot of money). I was frustrated and despondent and overwhelmed. There was a lot of feeling sorry for myself. There were tears.
And then, there was this past weekend.
A group of friends was headed up to Waupaca to compete in the Trinity Triathlon on Saturday morning and hang out by the lake for the rest of the weekend. They invited Chief of Stuff and me along.
I was scheduled for a six-hour bike ride and, after checking Mapquest and consulting with my boss, I hatched a plan: I would start out on Friday afternoon from Madison on my bike and pedal as close to Waupaca as I could. If I timed things right, the caravan could simply pick me up about 6 hours in to my ride and transport me the rest of the way. I would have my long bike ride in on Friday, do a little active recovery in the form of a sprint triathlon the next day, and have the rest of the weekend to nap, grill out, and perhaps have a drink or two. In short, it was a chance to generally just enjoy myself and have a little fun -- something that's been in short supply during the majority of this training season.
After the last disaster that was my 5-hour ride, I did a lot of research on what might have gone wrong and decided I needed to concentrate on two important things: 1) nutrition, and 2) keeping a smooth, easy cadence -- no pushing unreasonably low gears, ever.
I packed enough to take in 200 calories an hour: one Hammer bar, two Clif bars, two packages of Clif shot blocks, and 10 Hammer Endurolyte capsules. I had one water bottle and one with Gatorade, as well as a package of Heed and some Nuun tabs. In looking at the map, I figured that, going up Highway 22, I could make a stop in small towns along the way -- like Wyocena, Montello, and Wautoma -- to refill my fluids. The plan was to stop briefly every hour to eat and take two Endurolytes, and to drink Gatorade on the bike in-between in 20 minute intervals.
The ride was perfect. Once on Highway 22 in North Leeds, the traffic thinned out, the sky became overcast, and I got down to business, trying to spend as much time in my aerobars as possible. The first hour flew by, and before I knew it I was stopping for my first scheduled break. I wasn't hungry, or thirsty, but I had a plan and I was sticking to it. I pulled over on the side of the road in front of a Saddlebred farm, scaring a very pretty but skittish sorrel horse who was standing by the fence. The semis booming past didn't phase it at all, but my bike, or helmet (or bike shorts?) sent it galloping to the far side of the pasture.
Back on the bike a few minutes later, I spent the time looking forward to the next hour's break, reminding myself to drink, and reveling in what a great afternoon it was. Later that night, over sloppy joes, one of my fellow cabin-goers would ask me what I thought about for more than a handful of hours on a bike, by myself. And the answer, I'm afraid, wasn't very exciting: I would concentrate on my nutrition, check my speed, pay attention to my cadence and form, stare at the white line, and try to get the Willy Porter's "The Give Song" out of my head (no joke -- 100+ miles of "Give your goodwill and goodwill goes on and on.") Before and during hill climbs I'd try my best to keep my heart rate from spiking and my legs fresh. And every once in a while I'd look around and smile -- amazed at the view, and at what I was doing.
Coming into Waushara County, I realized that this was where my friend Anne's cottage was where we had spent a few amazing weekends last summer and thought, I'm a really long way from home (See...told you my thoughts weren't all that exciting). Not long after that, I pulled into Wautoma, and exclaimed out loud, "Kickass!" I knew I was close to Waupaca -- given my speed and how many hours I had logged, I figured I had 20 or 25 miles to go, at the most.
I pulled into a Mobil station to refill my water. A man behind me in line asked where I was going, and I told him. "Woah," he said. "That's a hike. Where did you start?"
"Aahhh, Madison," I said.
His eyes got big. "No way! You didn't leave today, did you?" I nodded, he shook his head, and then wished me luck, still shaking his head as he walked away.
I got a text message from CoS saying the caravan hadn't even left Madison yet, so I called my friend Patrick, a Waupaca native who was coincidentally going to be home that very weekend. I asked how far I was from Waupaca, and he assured me that I was "almost there" and that "Wautoma is a suburb of Waupaca." We made plans to try to meet up either later that night or the next day, and I got back on my bike.
It was just after 7 p.m.. After six full hours of riding, I still felt good. Well, most of me still felt good. The old sitter wasn't so happy about being back in the saddle, but overall, I had great energy, no back/shoulder pain, and as fresh of legs as I could hope for after that long of a workout.
Then it started to rain. It had rained on and off for about half of the trip thus far -- but it was a light, misty rain most of the time. This rain was all about big drops that pelted you on their way down and a stiff wind. Pedaling against the wind, I was starting to get tired, and it was starting to get dark.
I rode past little towns like Wild Rose, and Rural, and King. I watched large tracts of farmland give way to newly-built homes, but it wasn't getting urban quickly enough. All the while I was expecting to see a "Welcome to Waupaca" sign around every bend. What I would find, though, were a few more homes and a lot of trees and road stretched out in front of me. It felt like the longest 20 miles ev-er.
I looked down and realized that I had put in at least an hour more of biking in than was scheduled. I was soaked straight through, and Waupaca didn't seem to be getting any closer.
I called CoS. "Where are you? I'm way past done," I said. Luckily, he was only about 10 miles behind, and by the time I got my front bike wheel off and unhooked my helmet, he was picking me up at the intersection of Highway 22 and Old Highway 22. And when I learned that I was less than two miles outside of town, I was positively giddy. Google maps measured my route at 116 miles. Even without finishing the last two, I was well over the Ironman bike distance of 112 miles, and I felt really, really great. No soreness, no typical post-workout yuck (that general all-over off feeling that I tend to get more often than most).
Best of all, I had my confidence back. Although that long of a workout is never "easy," I had no problems. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, I was in great shape throughout. And although that route wasn't as much of a roller-coaster as the IM-Moo course, it had enough hills so that I couldn't dismiss it as flat, or easy.
So, with that ride under my belt I think I'm finally -- finally! -- ready to take another swing at the Ironman course. Even better, I'm done with being overwhelmed and scared. Back in the saddle and all that.
Posted by Erin 8:17 AM
Well done! I know right where you were, Rural, King...that is a LONG way from Madison!
You are kickin!
Kelly