Deja Vu All Over Again
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Okay, so this post is a bit belated (and long) but I wanted to make sure and get it down because something tells me that in the months ahead, I'm going to want to draw on what happened a few times over.
Last week, I was suffering a serious case of the "blahs." Add to that the fact that it was beautiful out and my sister was coming to town and I was facing a two-loop ride on the infamous IM-Moo bike course on Saturday, and I didn't want to do an-y-thing Ironman-related.
My coach called on Thursday afternoon to check in and see how things were going. I grunted something along the lines of feeling wholly unmotivated and uninspired. She told me to take Thursday or Friday off completely to regroup. So, I trudged home Thursday after work with the idea that I'd sit myself on my trainer for two hours before my sister got there, and then reward myself with two nights of (moderate) fun with her afterwards.
But on the trainer, my legs just wouldn't go. I wasn't just unmotivated, I was slack with all-over fatigue. Nothing worked. I got almost the whole time in before my sister arrived, but I hated every single solitary minute of it. It was not pretty, and I'm quite certain, not effective in the least.
That night my sister, Chief of Stuff, and I hit Eno Vino, easily one of my favorite Madison-area restaurants. The next morning my sister and I went for breakfast before I had to work, and then I took off slightly early from work to run to the store with her and cook dinner after. All the while, the only thing I could think about was the impending 80-miler I had coming on Saturday...so much so that I couldn't even really enjoy myself. I just wanted it over.
Saturday morning dawned sunny and cool, and I said goodbye to my sister, who was planning on leaving after breakfast, and my dog, Leonard, whom she was taking with her back up to my parents' house for the remainder of summer (while I'm in IM training mode, he's at "summer camp" in the UP), and got in my car with the attitude of "I'm just going to get this done."
I parked where I usually do in Verona -- at the BP gas station on Whalen Road -- got on my bike, and...no computer. I mean, my bike computer was there, but wasn't registering anything. Arrrrghhhh. I fiddled with it for a while, and then just bagged the whole idea of knowing my pace or miles covered.
Looking back, I didn't have the greatest mental attitude out there. Turning onto Valley View Road, I thought to myself, I really hate this part of the course. Turning onto Rt. 92 I thought, I read somewhere that this stretch is almost all uphill. Perfect. And then, Arrgh, this is where all of the damn butterflies are. (There's a section that's just thick with beautiful Monarchs). Just past the sign for Cave of the Mounds outside of Mt. Horeb I thought, Oh-oh. This is where the big hill leading into town is. And turning onto Witte Rd. outside of town I thought, This is where things start getting really tough. And then I started thinking, I'm going to have to do this all all over again, and I wanted to cry, or scream, or just quit.
And then, somewhere past the turn I missed for Midtown Rd., things started to feel funny. My bike seemed like it was dragging, and there was an off sound. Slowing down, I felt my back tire. Flat. As a pancake, flat. And as marginally-proficient as I am at changing a front tire, I'm hopeless at the back one.
My initial plan was to wait for a fellow biker to whiz by, and when he/she asked if I needed help, to say "yes." But I was off the course and the packs of cyclists that dotted the course that morning were nowhere in sight. So I took out my cell phone to call CoS. No service.
Still hoping that someone would happen by, I started walking. I walked, and walked. I walked to the top of a hill. Still no service. So I kept walking. Still no other bikers. Kept walking. Finally, service. Called CoS, who offered to come get me. I'm sure, from his point of view, that he was probably thankful there at least wasn't any crying this time.
As a last-ditch effort, I figured I'd try to inflate the tire so I could at least ride a ways up. Or maybe it would even hold for the last five miles or so. But I hadn't screwed in the CO2 cartridge enough, or something, because when I tried that, it exploded air everywhere. Now, even another biker couldn't help.
So I took a seat on the curb and waited. And waited. And waited. And suddenly, of course, the road was ripe with cyclists asking if I needed help. "Ride's coming" I told each of them.
I kept checking the clock, calculating if I'd have enough time to get the tire fixed, drive back out to Verona, and tackle the second loop before leaving for Janesville for dinner plans I had. Long before my sister and CoS arrived, though, I had to abandon that plan.
It was 1 p.m. by the time I loaded my bike into the car. So I adjusted. I'd send my sister off, and hit the Y for the moderately-difficult swim set I had for the following day. I consoled myself with the fact that it was a little breezy out, and overcast -- not good sunbathing, relaxing weather anyway. And after convincing myself that I might as well be working out, the swimming went well.
But I had yet to tackle the back-to-back laps I had scheduled for that weekend on the bike.
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The next day I was dreading my workout more than ever. And I firmly believe that the only way I even got myself out on that course again was by not really acknowledging what I was about to do. I just kept telling myself, "It's 2 p.m. now. You're going to bike until 8 p.m.," and ticking off the hours that way.
It was hot -- hot-like-my-black-bike-shorts-are-going-to-be-singed-into-my-ass hot. And I was tired. Tired before I even got out there. But my computer was back in working order, and I tried to just focus on the numbers. Keep my speed above 15 mph on the flats or flat-ish areas, not let it drop below 10 on most of the hills, see how fast I could get going on the downhills.
The first lap was the worst, because all I could think about was that I had one more of these to go. And I didn't honestly know if I could do it.
Just finish this lap, I told myself, and then you can pack it in and go home. You don't HAVE to do two today.
Now, this was all mental. Overall, I felt good. But I wasn't into biking. I was lonely out there. I wanted to be by a pool, or cleaning my apartment, even. I didn't want to be on my damned bike any longer.
Then, somewhere around Old Sauk Pass Rd., a guy came up behind me, and instead of passing, just glided along beside me. We started chatting -- about biking, the wind (which, I had been too focused on other negative thoughts to even notice), the upcoming Dairyland Dare, and even restaurants. He lost me on one of the Bitch Hills, and afterwards I stopped for a water refill, but that brief bit of company remains one of the standout portions of my weekend.
I told myself then, that I'd stop at Fireman's Park in Verona, dip my feet in the lake while I ate my Clif Shots and salt tabs, and then I'd be off again...and done before it got dark. But Fireman's Park, I soon learned, is a lake you have to pay admission to!
Sitting in the grass outside the chainlink fence, looking at the water, I decided that this day -- this weekend -- really sucked. And then something changed. But you're doing it came the voice in my head.
I had three hours left in the time I had allotted. And that last lap was different. I was in Mt. Horeb before I even realized it. As a treat, I let myself buy anything I wanted from the Mobil Station. I chose cheese pretzel combos. (A funny aside -- walking up to the register in my biking garb, complete with helmet on, the cashier asked if I had gas outside. He soon caught himself, embarrassed, but it made me laugh for the next couple miles at least). Then, I found myself thinking things like "almost done" and "this is the last time you have to do this hill today." And struggling up the last Bitch Hill on Midtown Rd., I thought of how my sister, the day before, was so awed by the course...of how she said the hills were intimidating even in a car, and of how she said that she saw people walking the hills.
And this, my third trip up, and then down, them this weekend, and I was still pedaling.
Coming into Verona, I eased up on speed, and just relaxed. I smiled at people out for their evening walks with kids or dogs or both. They smiled back. I thought about how nice people here are, and about how I couldn't wait to ride that route with some of those same people -- along with my friends and family -- lining the streets. And about how today -- this day where I didn't want to from the beginning and overcame it all...this day where it was hot and beautiful and people everywhere were out enjoying it when I was sweating and working and hurting all alone -- this day would be the hardest. And I can handle anything now, because on September 9th out here, I will have company. There will be people cheering. I will get to see my friends and family regularly throughout the day, even if for seconds.
And it will all be worth it.
Final tally for the day:
- 80.4 miles
- 5 hours, 38 minutes
- 15.4 mph on lap one, 15.2 mph on lap two.
And as Melanie would say..."Check!"
Posted by Erin 8:11 AM
Looking forward to chatting with you at WIBA.
I just love reading your blog. It's so cool to know other people share similar experiences. Although MY bike rides max at 25 miles right now.
And you're right, Madison has killer hills.