One With the Bike
Thursday, June 14, 2007

Biking, lately, has been getting better, but it didn't start out as a love-fest (loved my bike, but not the actual spending of time on it). A friend of mine who recently bought a bike , partially because he was inspired by my initial bike love and partially because he was in need of finding an alternative to lots of running wrote yesterday to say he "still isn't sold on it."

Although I'm getting there, although there are whole rides or portions of rides where I think it's one of the most fun things in the world, there are still some drawbacks. It's expensive. It's a whole piece of machinery that you have to deal with and know how to fix if it derails on you -- or pay someone else to fix if you can't. You have to "share" the road with a good deal of people who a) don't agree, b) just don't want to, and c) don't. If you're doing it right (not holding back), and if you fall, bad things will surely happen to your body. And although it's damn good exercise, it doesn't make you long and lean like running does. In fact, I have several pairs of really great jeans that are straight-up unwearable right now because of the proportions my thighs have taken on. Less than fun, clearly, and somewhat frustrating when getting ready for the rare night out.

A two-time Ironman in my master's swim class told me not too long ago that eventually, you become "one" with your bike, and that's really when the fun starts. I am looking forward to that, but hope this isn't what she had in mind:

Posted by Erin 9:40 AM 0 comments



Fear, Part II
Monday, June 11, 2007

"Fear grows in darkness; if you think there's a bogeyman around, turn on the light." ~Dorothy Thompson

Since the last post on fear, I think I've turned on a few lights.

It started Thursday night at Master's. Since we don't get the whole pool until right at 8 o'clock on Thursdays and the few available lanes are often crowded with really good, really fast swimmers, I tend to hit the hot tub for a "warm-up," as do quite a few others. This was especially appropriate after a really hard (i.e. I was really tired) hour-long spin session right before, and I was using my hot tub time to stretch.

The coach came over, singled me out, and told me I should be in the pool. "I was stretching," I told him. He said that the purpose of a warm-up was to warm up. "I'm plenty warm," I said. He pointed to the pool.

This made me crabby. After last week's conversation -- the one where he insinuated that he wasn't at all worried about the other guy training for IM-Moo, but the jury was still out on me -- I wasn't all that keen on Master's. I wasn't all that keen on him. But slipping into the cool pool water felt good, and I told myself that in an hour I'd get to go home (even though I know practice is never an hour, and is usually closer to an hour and a half at least, it helps when I lie to me).

I was almost done with the warm-up set when I saw the coach staring down at me over the starting block. Oh, for the love! I thought. How could I have been messing something up on the warm-up!?

"Erin, what's your goal for the Ironman swim?" he asked.

I told him I'd just like to finish, maybe in under two hours.

He laughed.

Did he think two hours was overreaching? Was I that poor of a swimmer? "Well, maybe you could tell me. You're the professional here," I said.

A couple of years ago, he said he had a terrible swimmer attempt the Ironman. He thought she might not make it at all. She finished in 1:48.

"You're much, much stronger than that," he said. "Aim for under 1:30 at least."

I was floored, but ecstatic. He did have confidence in me! I wasn't in over my head!

One light, on.

Then, on Saturday, after putting it off for most of the morning, I decided to tackle the dreaded Ironman bike course again.

Driving out to Fitchburg/Verona, I was in a bit of denial about what I was going to do. I had loaded up on Clif shots and bars, salt tabs, etc. (not going to make that mistake twice), but I didn't even know if I had the map and directions with me. In all honesty, I think that deep down I was hoping I didn't, and then I could just pick a road and bike out to say, Dodgeville, or Monroe. The directions were right where I had left them, though -- in my console -- and I figured that I was now committed.

The initial ten to fifteen miles went a little faster than they had before, but they are miles filled with steep little hills, lots of turns, and lots of wind. I was not happy to be out there and seriously doubted if I'd be able to get this done.

But before I realized it, I was biking out of Mt. Horeb and onto County S. I found the turn on Witte Road that I had missed the last time. I was feeling good, on to the section of the course that I hadn't ever done -- new uncharted territory. And at the end of Witte Road was...nothing. Once again, no street sign where one should be. No sign within sight in either direction.

I called Chief of Stuff, but he was having his own bike dilemma -- trying to fit his bike into his back seat. Just then, I heard a car pull up behind me and ask if I needed help. I turned around to see some friends who had been out driving the course. They had stopped in Mt. Horeb to grab me a Gatorade, and pulled out the atlas so we could figure out what road Witte Rd. had teed into. Then, one of them, an Ironman veteran of 2005, showed me a couple more spots on the atlas where he would often get turned around that were still to come. They gave me their cell phone in case I needed any other assistance, and sent me on my way.

The rest of the route was largely uneventful. I was nervous about the Garfoot Road stretch -- I had heard about its famed "bitch hills" -- but found most of that road through to Cross Plains relatively easy going with some unbelievably fun/somewhat scary descents. This isn't to say that there weren't hills or they weren't tough going -- because the entire IM-Moo course is dotted with them -- but none stood out to me more than any others. There weren't any that brought me to my knees.

About 2/3 of the way in, the Chief of Stuff joined me for the last stretch. With him on his mountain bike/hybrid, it was a little slower going than the rest of the course (poor guy was pedaling as hard as he could, but a mountain bike/road bike match up just isn't fair), but I didn't let that bother me. This ride was all about just getting it done. Knowing the full course. Time in the bank. Confidence. Check.

Two lights, on.

And then today, in a meeting, I opened up a piece of Dove chocolate (I know this does nothing for the whole, "I want to be as light as possible on race day," thing [that currently doesn't seem to be catching on anyway], but sometimes Monday chocolate is a necessity) and the inside wrapper prophetically read, "You're allowed to do nothing."

Between this and the great email I got over the weekend, I think the universe is trying to tell me something.

Got it. Three lights, on. Making progress.

Posted by Erin 8:40 AM 2 comments



How Many Friends Does it Take to Train for an Ironman?

I have some very smart -- and very good -- friends. This is an email I got from one of them over the weekend:

Hey Erin. I just read your blog entry about riding the bike for 7 hours and then deciding to do a triathlon the next morning, and your discouraging moment with your masters coach that you greeted with a long, hard swim instead of the planned shorter and easier one...and it made me think of my friend John.

John was on my track team in college. He ran the 10k, and he was great at it. He used to run 150 miles a week, and he would run every training run as hard as he could. And when he raced he would just eat other people up. I always thought he ran so hard during training runs (contrary to our coach's instructions) because he needed it psychologically, rather than physically. (A more sensible plan was the one outlined by our coach, that had hard days followed by easier days, giving your body some time to recover, and longer runs followed by shorter ones.) John always ran long and he always ran hard. He needed to walk into that next race feeling like no one had trained as hard as he had and that no one could run as hard as he did, that no one had run through more pain than he had and that no one would be able to do so in the race either.

When he was healthy, it worked. I remember once he decided to jump into a 10k race at a track meet where he hadn't planned to race. He didn't have his running shoes or his uniform. Instead, he ran in some black, clunky tennis-ish shoes and my race singlet (which was too big for him and, given that I had already run my own races, kinda smelly). Of course, he won the race. It was ridiculous. It was inspiring.

The problem was that when he got injured, boy did he get injured. His body would break down. He'd miss weeks at a time. My senior year he got chronic fatigue syndrome, and couldn't run at all.

So I guess the point of this little story that has come tumbling out of my head is that, as I'm sure you know, correctly trained is best, but undertained is better than overtrained, and sometimes your head thinks your body needs more training than your body actually needs. And when you're training for a big event, you are much more likely to think you are undertaining when in fact you are overtraining, because you're anxious and you want to do well and every fiber in you says that to do well you need to do some more training!

I've never done a triathlon and I'm certainly not the right person to talk about how one should train for it. But it seems to me that you are in good shape and that you have trained awfully hard and that there is still a fair amount of time left to go before race day. So, maybe a little rest now and then. And maybe a 20 min swim followed by some unexpected fun, rather than another punishing 80 minutes of desultory laps, since there is more than enough time left for that.

Yesterday was an absolutely perfect day. I had an invite to go pontooning, to brunch, and to play cards at the Union Terrace. I was tired, and a little sore from my Saturday workout. And so, I decided to forgo my 30 minute easy bike and 20 minute swim, and just relax. I felt better about that decision than tacking the extra 60 minutes on to my swim workout last week.

So, duly noted, my friend, and thank you.

A thank you, also, to Darin and Mindy. They found me on my Saturday ride, prepared with a Gatorade refill and a detailed atlas. They helped me figure out where I was (again, stupid unmarked roads), Darin gave me a heads-up about another confusing section yet to come that always got him turned around when he was training for this thing, and sent me on my way with their cell phone numbers in case I needed remote atlas help.

And another to Chief of Stuff, who rode the last 20 miles of my bike route with me on Saturday, on a mountain bike. 'Nuff said.

This is clearly the most team-like non-team sport around, and I couldn't do what I'm doing without all those around me.

Posted by Erin 7:41 AM 0 comments



Fear
Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Marcus Aurelius once said that, "If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment."

Now, as smart and accomplished as Mr. Aurelius was, I'm going to respectfully disagree.

I think it's safe to say that I don't scare easily. Little things like airplane turbulence and spiders and ghosts get to me. But the big things -- the things that might make other people run for the hills -- just don't. I've hurled myself down Colorado mountains in Super G races at 40 miles an hour. My favorite show event involves jumping my horse over obstacles designed to look as scary as possible (for the horse). Racing down the landing of the Pine Mountain Ski Jump, being the first-ever person on a young horse's back, running a marathon, cliff-jumping in the Colorado backcountry, scuba diving -- none of these things ever really phased me.

The Ironman, though, has proven different.

With each of these other examples, I had both the power -- and duty -- to revoke my fear of them. Because with each, fear would take up valuable space needed by attentiveness, awareness, and composure.

But I don't believe that it's possible -- or at all prudent -- to revoke one's fear of Ironman.

It is, after all, a massive undertaking. Of time. Of pushing one's body to the limit. Of knowing when you're about to go just a smidge too far. Of perfecting nutrition, both sustained and race-day. Of learning about bilateral breathing, watts, cadence, stroke, stride, and so many other ins-and-outs of this experience.

Like a new romance waning into routine, it seems that the very thing that first drew me to Ironman is now the one thing that unnerves me: simply, its magnitude scares the bejesus out of me.

When I first watched the Ironman here in Madison, I was awed by the dedication of the athletes, at how much they had given up of their lives -- of themselves -- just to compete on this one, particular day. I was awed and inspired by how far they were willing to push themselves, by all they had willingly taken on. I watched athlete after athlete last year battle it out against the rain and wind in 50 degree weather, and for some inexplicable reason I thought, "I want to be out there. I want to do this. I want to see if I can."

Yesterday, though, I was at an off-campus meeting at a co-worker's house on Rutledge Street. She has a beautiful three-season's porch on the second floor that overlooks Lake Monona, and this is where we had our meeting. From 9 a.m. until 2 p.m., I had an impossible time concentrating on strategic communications plans, upcoming issues, backfilling positions, or the myriad of other things being discussed. Instead, I couldn't stop looking out at the lake. And it stared back at me -- grey, angry, and edgy. Its small swells, tipped in white, moved haphazardly across the surface, running into one another like an aquatic game of bumper cars.

I looked out across the lake. Tried to measure with my eyes just how far 2.4 miles would be. Imagined swimming 2.4 miles in even those small swells. My stomach seized up in panic.

Before yesterday -- or maybe last weekend -- I was most worried about the bike portion of the race. About blowing a tire, getting eaten alive by the course's famed hills, having to battle wind the entire way, and/or just plain old not being fast enough to finish before the cutoff (I've started having actual nightmares about that).

After finishing a 100-miler, though, my fears have switched to the swim. This was, perhaps, not helped by a conversation I had with my master's coach in which he questioned my ability on the swim (mainly, to do it quickly) and then turned to the other guy in our class who is training for Ironman and said, "But you -- you I have no doubt about. You'll do this in less than 1:15." I wanted to explain that I just wanted to finish the swim. I wasn't out to set any records. And with a 2:20 cutoff, I thought that I could probably breast-stroke half of it and still finish. That, of course, would not be ideal, but if worse came to worse, and all that. After coach's comment, though, I started to wonder if I wasn't in over my head...yet again. It was also not helped by staring at the angry lake for hours on end yesterday.

So, I took to my computer, and started reading people's race reports about the swim. They said things like "I got kicked, punched, and swum over, but found a space and settled into a good stroke," and "It was over before I knew it." Not helpful.

Next, I went to YouTube to watch some of the Ironman swims -- a sea of 2,000 sets of arms and legs all competing for the same space. All trying to get there first. All seemingly going much faster than the nice, relaxed pace that I had envisioned, that all the books talked about.

Then, I threw up.

And later that night, I headed to the pool. I was scheduled for an easy 20 minutes. I did an hour and twenty as hard as I could. My arms, head, and back ached and I was drained.

It is a vicious cycle. The only way I feel centered is when I'm working out, hard. Only then do I feel like I have even a little, tiny grasp on this thing...like I can get the frantic feeling under control. But then I worry that it's too much, and come September, I won't have anything left or I'll be injured...or both.

Everyone talks about the Ironman as not being three disciplines (swimming, biking, and running), but four. They add nutrition as the fourth pillar. I think, for first-timers, I'd add a fifth: thinking. I've found that my psychological state can make or break a workout, and obviously, it's now starting to infringe on my training plan.

The thing that makes the Ironman different than almost any other athletic event is that you can't simply prepare and hope for the best, and console yourself that you will try your best and you will finish. Most people could walk the majority of a marathon and still finish within the regulation time. Most people can do a century ride and go into it with the attitude that they're in relatively good shape, and even if they end up coming in last, there will be other people near the end with them.

Not so in the Ironman. There are a million things that can go wrong, and being only moderately prepared can mean that you miss a cutoff time and your race is over. These cutoff times, in addition, are not generous. Two hours and twenty minutes for the swim, ten hours and thirty minutes for the swim/bike combined, and 17 hours overall. For the bike leg, you have to average more than 14.5 mph. For the normal person, this is quick going over 112 miles. Having your mind made up that you're going to finish, no matter what, does not mean that you can or will. In 2 hours and 21 minutes, or 8 hours and 10 minutes, all that you've worked or sacrificed for could be for naught. If you arrive at 17:01, after everything you've done and accomplished -- not only that day but the 366 days preceding it -- you risk not hearing those famed words, "You are an Ironman."

When you're standing on the inside of this experience, it's even crazier and scarier than it appears. I know that for a lot of first-timers, none of what I'm thinking or feeling is unusual. But that doesn't mean that I get to ignore it or brush it aside. I have so much into this race -- financially, physically, emotionally, and any other -ly that you could think of -- and I'm doing everything I can think of to do it right.

So, I've gotten myself a life/wellness coach to help me sort all of this out the next few months -- someone who is a triathlete, has done the Ironman before (in under 13 hours!), and has dealt with the rigors of training while holding down a demanding job and juggling other life requirements, and has professional training in coaching someone to a goal like the Ironman. Updates to come.

Posted by Erin 1:11 PM 0 comments



Trinity Triathlon Race Report
Tuesday, June 05, 2007

So, after putting in more than seven hours on the bike last Friday, I decided at midnight that night to do the Trinity Triathlon the next morning. Since I was exhausted on so many levels, I decided it would be a good opportunity for a) getting a swim start in, and b) doing a little active recovery. I didn't even have my running shoes with me or an extra pair of socks. I ended up using an old pair or runners that I had turned into barn shoes and threw my soaking socks from Friday into the dryer for a few minutes.

For some crazy reason, I was up at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, and couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up, organized my gear, and grabbed a breakfast bar. At 6:30, we headed off to find Spencer Lake, which proved more difficult than we'd originally thought. But with a scheduled start of 8 a.m., it was a relaxing morning regardless. We had plenty of time to register, organize our transition areas, and get down to the beach for the point-to-point swim start.

The lake is spring fed, so I knew it would be cold. But the cold ended up being a bigger shock than I had expected. Since the race was so short, I didn't wear a wetsuit, and diving in, it somewhat took my breath away. I also quickly realized how easy it was to get off-course when you're on the outside. When, for the second time, the guy I was following led me astray, I swam more to the middle of the pack and followed Darin, fellow weekend cabin-goer from Madison and 2006 Ironman-Moo alumn.

I was surprised at how much trouble I had with the swim. I'm not sure if it was due to the cold or to the fact that I didn't want to be last out of the water in the last heat and was scrambling a bit. Perhaps both. In any case, though, I couldn't catch my breath. But it was so short that it was over before it even really got started, and then we were out of the water and sprinting up flagstone steps leading to the transition area. 1/8th mile in 3:28, which was almost exactly middle of the entire pack overall.

As it turned out, I wasn't the last person out of the water or out of transition, which felt good. I threw on my bike jersey, helmet, and shoes, and headed out. Not the fastest transition, but I kept telling myself that this was simply an active recovery day. When you get out there, though, it's so hard not to really race it.

And on the bike, that's what I did. For a good ten miles or so, I felt great -- pushed a high gear, kept a high cadence, and maintained 18+ mph. I picked up time and passed a handful of people at least. And then (Notice how there's always an, "and then"?) I just got tired. I'm sure the hills toward the end didn't help, or the torrential downpour that started right about mile 12. But at that point, I relaxed my need to compete and just rode. And man, did that feel good! The downpour, however, was a different story. I actually complained, out loud, to myself, that I had just about had it with being wet -- half the ride up the day before, and now again...arrrgh! It was still pouring when I pulled into T2. Fifteen miles at 54:03 -- an average of 14.5 mph.

I was debating even starting the run, given the trouble I'd had on my run the weekend before. Besides, I had biked a hell of a long ways the day before and had been actively recovering for nearly an hour, I reasoned. AND it was straight-out pouring rain, and what I really wanted to do was dry off and start the weekend fun. But, since I couldn't determine if I was making this decision out of true concern for my own well-being, or out of a desire to just get dry and comfy with a beer in my hand, I decided to bite the bullet and just run.

T2 was slow (although to figure out how slow I'd have to do more figuring than I'd care to do, as transition times weren't recorded), because I took time to remove my now soaking socks and try to cover my garmin and transition bag. By that time, though, everything in my transition area looked as though it has been dropped in the lake. Later, I would discover my phone in the bottom of my bag, completely soaked and unresponsive (and later yet, it would dry out and start working again).

Less than a mile into the run, though, I knew I had made the wrong call. Not because of the still-pouring rain or my squishing shoes, but because of my left knee and hip. These are the two post-marathon problems I've been left with -- my patella feels like someone is stabbing a knife into it on when it bends or when the attached foot strikes the ground, and my hip feels like the ball is too big for the socket. Very enjoyable experiences all-around. Since I want a shot at running a good portion of the Ironman marathon, I'm not taking either injury on.

So I slowed to a walk, until I would get shamed into running by the super-cheery volunteers trying to encourage me that "I could do this!" and "Just a little bit more!" and to "Just have faith!" I know they meant well, but it was annoying. I wanted to run. Running is my thing...and my stupid body wouldn't letting me. I'd hobble a bit, trying to keep my left leg as straight as possible, and then slow back down, until I'd get shamed into hobbling along again. That cycle continued for a full 35 minutes and 35 seconds. Slowest 5k I've ever, ever done. But, whatever. All in all, it was a ton of fun and a great race -- well-run by the nicest group of people you'd ever want to meet.

Tangent: Andy, another of the cabin group who was doing the race, had a hilarious experience on the run. There was no one else on the section of road except one woman who had made the turn-around and was heading toward him. She started yelling, from far-off: "They're going to tell you that you're almost there. They're going to tell you that you're almost done. Don't believe them!" At this point, Andy looked around to see who she was yelling at...but there was no one else. She kept on: "They LIE! They lied to me, and they're going to lie to you! You're not almost done. You're not even close. They lied!" And on and on. When Andy passed the race volunteer who must've "lied," he didn't get a peep out of him. Apparently this woman gave him a piece of her mind. Pretty funny stuff.

Ok, so that's the unexciting summary of the Trinity Triathlon -- with pictures from the event below (can't upload them, so sorry for the links). We capped off the day with breakfast at a local greasy spoon, a nap, some sitting on the dock in the sun, having a few beers while playing Five Straight, grilling out, making Strip and Go Nakeds (vodka, beer, and mike's hard lemonade mixed, chilled, and served up in a fancy-dancy coffee pot), and heading to the Harbor Bar with my good friend from St. Norbert, Patrick, later that night.

Honestly, couldn't have asked for a better weekend!

Pictures:

Chief of Stuff, in spectating mode: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712440&image_id=120

Darin on the bike: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712220&image_id=263

Me on the bike: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712220&image_id=341

Andy on the bike: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712220&image_id=347

Darin in T2: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=533

Darin Post-run: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=248

Darin Finishing: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=256

Erin Finishing: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=399

http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=403

Erin Post-Run: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=398

Almost the whole crew (L to R: Darin, me, CoS Aaron, Mindy, and Darin's mom) trying to stay out of the rain: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=507

http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=508

Andy, finishing the run: http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=522

http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=ekade&gallery_id=712242&image_id=524

Posted by Erin 1:10 PM 1 comments



More Vicarious Bogging -- Marathon Pics
Monday, June 04, 2007

Some more marathon pictures from Mel. She keeps threatening to start her own blog, but until then, she'll likely be a steady guest-contributor here.

And a shout-out to Mel and another DC-via-Madison friend, Kelly, for doing the Race for the Cure in DC this weekend, just a short two weeks after the GB marathon. They had a stellar finish time of right around 30 minutes, even with a more-than 12 minute first mile (because of the throngs of participants). Way to go, ladies!

Posted by Erin 1:21 PM 1 comments



A Century and Then Some

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 2 comments

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