I Feel Bad About My Bike
Friday, May 18, 2007

The other night after master's, I was sitting in the hot tub listening to a couple of Iron-athletes (one man, one woman) talk about their training and race experiences. They gave me tips on everything from open water swimming tactics to wetsuits to what to put -- or not to put -- in your special needs bag. And one of them commented that at a certain point in training you become "one" with your bike, but it takes a very, very long time -- up to a year at least.

I sighed. I love my bike. It fits me like a glove. It's so light I can carry it up stairs with one hand. I know how to adjust/tighten my aerobars, inflate the tires, and take its wheels on and off(not a full roster of what I need to be able to do with it, but more mechanically-intimate than I've ever been with anything else). And, besides, it's kind of cute.

But since last week's debacle, I've lost all desire to spend any road time with it, let alone working on becoming "one."

I have no problem jumping on my trainer for some quality interval time. I'm one of those rare people, I think, who doesn't mind training indoors on treadmills or stationary trainers. I actually like them. They're just so darn convenient. And if I have music or something to watch, boredom doesn't factor in at all. In fact, I'm more likely to get bored on a long run/ride outside.

But that last long ride really messed with my head. Call it lack of confidence, or will, or whatever you want, but I have a six-hour ride coming up next week, and I'm already dreading it. A lot. And if by "a lot" you guessed that it's the first thing I think about in the morning, and I dread it hourly during the day, then you'd be correct. I'm dreading it more than I've ever dreaded any workout before. Hell, I have a marathon to run in two days, and you know what's weighing on my mind? Not trying to run 26.2 miles in under four hours...but next week's ride.

It defies logic, really. You would think that biking would be a breeze compared to running. But I mind running for four hours a whole lot less than I mind biking that same amount of time.

Really though, in thinking about it by writing this post, I've come to the conclusion that it's the Ironman course that's gotten to me...not so much the biking. Because when I think about biking elsewhere -- at home in Iron Mountain, for example, or even this weekend in Green Bay -- I don't get the same, sick to my stomach, visceral reaction that I get when I think of The Course -- that damn course with it's hills and unmarked roads and cows and more hills and unmarked roads and cows...over and over again until you lose your mind.

I think it seriously messed with me. It took my mojo. And I really, really need that mojo back. Maybe I'll spend my (hopefully not more than) four hours on Sunday trying to figure out just how to recover it.

Posted by Erin 9:09 AM

The Taper
Tuesday, May 15, 2007

As is my usual Tuesday routine, I just checked my schedule for the week and I'm disturbed. Not by the intensity of this week's training, but by its non-intensity.

I know I have a marathon to run this coming Sunday, and I want to do well. My body has mostly held up through the extra running training I added to my Ironman program, and my goal is a sub-4:00 race. But despite knowing all that, I'm having a hard time with the taper.

A "normal" week's schedule looks like this: Monday: Off Tuesday: Swim - Masters, Bike - 1 hour, Run - Intervals (4x100m; 1k, 2k, 1k, 1k; etc) Wednesday: Swim - 30 min, Bike - 2 hours Thursday: Swim - Masters, Bike - 30 min, Run - 5-10 miles at planned marathon pace + 45 sec. Friday: Bike - 1 hour easy Saturday: Long run (15-20 miles) Sunday: Bike 4-5 hours, Run - 20 minutes

This weeks schedule looks like this: Monday: Make up Saturday's long run (6-8 miles) Tuesday: Run - 6x400 with 400m rest intervals Wednesday: Swim - 40 min, Bike - 2 hours (hill intervals on course) Thursday: Run - 3 miles at PMP pace Friday: Swim - 40 min, Bike - 1.5 hours easy Saturday: Off Sunday: Marathon

I'm not doing any of the running this week (except for the long-run makeup session yesterday) to try and head off an aggravated ankle I've been nursing for a while. And I feel as thought I should be enjoying the tapering, but really, it just feels odd. I feel like I should have been out having a hard core night last night, and tonight, and tomorrow night. And then I start feeling guilty -- that I'm not doing enough...not working hard enough. I keep telling myself that it's better to be 10 percent under-trained than one percent over-trained, but I'm not listening very well. I only have a little over three months left to train -- only 12 or 13 more long bike sessions -- and then it's go time. Tapering makes me nervous.

The other issue is that I'm sort of an all-or-nothing person. Or, put another way, an Erin in motion tends to stay in motion; an Erin with not as much to do wants to do absolutely nothing. I haven't had any free time in my evenings for oh-so-long, and when I get even a little, I want to do completely un-Ironman-related things like grocery shop, clean my house, work with my horse, and cook dinner. Maybe even catch a movie...while not on my bike trainer...in an actual theater.

And so, I think the lesson for this week is that one of the hardest things about your first Ironman (or marathon, or other big undertaking) is not necessarily the race. It's not necessarily the hours of training you have to put in (ummm, usually). The hardest thing is how neurotic it makes you. Am I training too much? Too little? Eating too much? Not eating enough? How does my training program compare to other people's programs? And on and on and on, ad nauseum.

I know those close to me have had to listen to me talk about this over and over again -- dissecting every little part of my training. And I just want to say that it's not because I'm into navel-gazing. It's because this is a huge undertaking, with a lot of moving parts to manage (training, equipment maintenance, nutrition...or lack thereof, etc), and quite simply, it makes me nervous ... even neurotic.

So bear with me. It'll get better. I promise.

Posted by Erin 1:31 PM 1 comments

5.5 hours, 50 Miles, and a Meltdown
Monday, May 14, 2007

This past Friday I did my first significantly long outside ride (mostly) on the IM-Moo bike course.

I started in Fitchburg, off of Whalen Road, headed to Verona, then to Mt. Horeb, out toward Cross Plains, and eventually turned around and headed back. But I get ahead of myself.

A handful of miles into the ride, I stopped to check my directions. They were two pages long (check it out for yourself) with a ridiculous number of turns. (As you might imagine, this, combined with being out on the back roads of southern Wisconsin that were poorly signed at best, made for some really slow going). After a fellow biker saw my directions and stopped to consult (he was turned around and couldn't find Verona), I attempted to get back on my bike and find County Route G.

Yes, attempted.

I clipped in with my right foot, as usual, pushed off with my left, didn't get enough traction, and instead of leaning to the left (where I had a free foot waiting), I leaned to the right.

Bam!

I hit the concrete so hard that my right shifter folded in, pointing disturbingly toward the frame at an unnatural angle. And when it did that, my right hand was between it and the road. I also skinned my knee, although what worried me was my hand. It was already painfully sore from master's the night before, where I smacked it so hard against someone in the lane next to me that it hurt to bend my fingers, even at the knuckles. Now, I couldn't close it to grip anything. The problem was the wrist bone that goes into your palm under the thumb. It hurt like a sonofagun, and I wondered if I might be the only person to break the top and bottom of their hand on consecutive days. I also wondered how I'd make it back to my car with one hand.

Thankfully, after a little rest where I coaxed my hand open and closed, over and over again, until I could grip just a little, I was able to climb back on and continue the ride.

At first, I enjoyed myself. I was playing hooky from work and it was a perfect day -- not too hot, not too cold; not too sunny, not too dark. And the rolling hills spread out before me reminded me like nothing ever has of the Irish countryside.

But soon, the wind started. And my hand began hurting again like a sunofagun. And I couldn't find bloody Garfoot Road. I rode up and down County Route J looking for it. And I got more and more annoyed. Because, unlike when you can't find the right road in a car, trying to follow bad directions on a bike requires not only looking, but pedaling -- a lot of pedaling -- especially on back country roads where signs are spaced miles and miles apart, and where every single bloody farm looks exactly alike.

So, 2.5 hours into the ride, I decided to turn around and head back. I was supposed to be at my closest cousin's rehearsal dinner in the UP that afternoon at 5:00, and if I didn't give up on Garfoot then, I'd never make it.

Turning around, I had a half-hour of reprieve, and then (I swear) the wind picked up again. Is it possible for wind to blow in BOTH directions? Honestly? Because it was. Hard. And suddenly, somewhere on County Route S, the course didn't look so Irish-countryside-ish as just long, and lonely, and unending, and unyielding. Hill after hill after hill. Not a car or person in sight. Just cows...and the occasional llama.

It's been said that, although the IM-Moo bike course looks pretty tame on elevation charts, its short, steep inclines will slowly wear on you, and "break you apart, hill by hill."

After only 30 or so short miles, I was starting to break.

It was getting hot, I had only a few sips of both water and Gatorade left, and I hadn't yet hit Mt. Horeb. At one point, I came down a hill into a blind turn, which I assumed (given the lay of the land) flattened out after the turn. So I braked just a little, and readied myself to get back into my aerobars, only to find out that after the turn was another hill, and that after the top of that hill, there was just a tiny little dip before it climbed into an even bigger hill. And then the wind gusted again. And again.

"Come ON!" I screamed at the wind. "Give me a freaking break here!"

Now, I am not in the habit of yelling at the elements, or even talking to myself. Ever. So, this should've represented a bit of an unraveling to me. But I pressed on, chastising myself for being weak-minded, for not having biked enough this winter, for signing up for the IM in the first place.

Before the 50th hill I had come upon, I climbed off my bike to stretch my back and take a quick drink. I promised myself I wouldn't drink all of it, but once I put the water to my lips, I couldn't stop. This happened again, some time later, with the Gatorade.

Mercifully, I eventually biked into Verona, feeling tough and proud. Although I hadn't biked far, or made even marginally-good time, I had been out there for over five hours. And in the marathon training I've done, training yourself -- your mind -- just to be out there, working out, for hours on end, was worthwhile...regardless of the pace I achieved.

I knew it wasn't far now, but the directions I had led me away from where I belived my car to be. In any case, I decided to trust them. I had been out for a handful of hours, I was tired, and I had gotten turned around earlier. Perhaps I was now, too.

I biked farther and farther from the water towers of Verona. Probably five miles in all. And then I came to a T in the road. Only the road had no signs (notice a theme here?) and there was nothing in either direction. The BP gas station where I had parked was conveniently missing. I knew I was in the wrong spot.

And that's when the tears started.

We're not talking just little trails running down my cheeks. We're talking all-out, my-boyfriend-broke-up-with-me, my-dog-just-died, crying. Sobbing. On the side of the road, in full biking get-up.

It all just felt so overwhelming. Like the universe was conspiring against me. I knew I looked ridiculous. I knew I was being ridiculous. But I Just. Couldn't. Stop.

I tried telling myself that there were people far worse off than me. That this was not a big deal. That I had gotten myself into this. And that all I had to do was climb back on the bike and head the other direction.

The last two made me cry even harder.

I finally pulled myself together enough to call my Chief of Stuff. I told him I didn't know what road I had T-ed into, and when he told me "Paoli," I think there was something about the way I said, "Oh, god," that made him offer to come and pick me up -- an offer I accepted.

This too -- his coming to pick me up when I wasn't hurt or lost, but merely having a meltdown -- I knew was ridiculous. I also knew it wasn't very Ironman-ish of me. But frankly, right then, I didn't give a damn. I just wanted to be D-O-N-E, done.

So I took off my helmet, and my shoes and socks. I ran my toes through the grass, and I sat and waited. And I cried some more. I called a friend of mine who's good at listening and perspective, and who happens to be pregnant.

"I'm having a meltdown," I told her. "I've been out here for five and a half hours. I just couldn't do anymore. And now I'm sitting here waiting to get picked up and wondering if I can do this. I don't know what I've gotten myself into."

"I was just saying that same thing yesterday," she said, "Only my sitch is permanent." She got me to laugh.

In retrospect, I think that I badly misjudged my nutritional needs. I had a cliff bar for breakfast, and another half on-course. That, a bottle of water, and a bottle of Gatorade isn't enough to sustain one for that long of a ride. I'm going to do better with my nutrition next time. Lesson learned.

I'm still petrified that I'm that poor of a cyclist. That I'm in that poor of shape that I covered only 50 miles in 5.5 hours. Hell, I can run faster than that. But I'm trying to look at the positives: it was more than 5 hours on course -- on the very hills and with the very wind that will be there on race day, the nutritional bonk that I experienced was a really good lesson to learn this early on, and I've got three solid months to train on that same course. Plus, it's 5+ hours in the bank -- no matter how slow they might've been, I was out there for 5.5 hours. I figure that's gotta count for something.

Posted by Erin 1:14 PM 3 comments

Food for Thought
Tuesday, May 08, 2007

When I'm having an especially tough workout, or perhaps, during the marathon or Ironman, I'm going to keep in mind what Jason Dorgan just accomplished, and how his body must have felt during this journey -- especially toward the end -- and I am going to keep running, or biking, or swimming. Because a 17-hour race (oh please god let it be less than that) is nothing compared to 11-hour days of running for more than three weeks straight.

Dorgan completed his 1,079-mile through-run of the Ice Age National Scenic Trail about 12:30, after knocking off the equivalent of an ultra marathon every day for more than three weeks.

Check out a full account of his last couple of days at the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel's "Off the Couch" blog, or visit Dorgan's own blog to read more.

Posted by Erin 8:25 AM 0 comments

Go Green Bay (and First Official Race Report)
Monday, May 07, 2007

This weekend I headed back up to Green Bay, mostly for work reasons; but I also managed to fit a really fun two days of working out in, too.

Saturday morning, I did another (somewhat) on-course training run organized by the local running club. I ran with my sister, and we did a nice, easy 12-miler (Side note: tapering is, quite possibly, the best thing ever invented. I'm ready for the 18 and 20 milers to be done for a long, long while). She and I used to run together quite a bit. We were in track together in high school (until she stopped running so she could "concentrate" on high jump), and ran the "Greenhouse" (three miles) and "Bellagamba" (four miles) routes near our parents' house together often to prepare for ski season, or just because. But I haven't run with her in a while, and it was nice. Except for the parts toward the end where she started singing, out loud, to the Bon Jovi and Shakira playing on her ipod. That almost put a damper on things.

That afternoon, after my work engagement ended, I headed to Appleton to pick up my registration stuff for the Paper Discovery Duathlon the next day. For a lunch/snack, we stopped at a new place that has opened near the mall -- P.B. Loco -- and it is now my opinion that everyone needs to try this. I'm actually craving it now, and already working on a way to stop by there on the way up to Iron Mountain next weekend, and/or get one of these babies to open up in Madison.

Sunday was the duathlon. I didn't know quite what to expect, and kept oscillating between thinking it was going to be easy (after all, it was only a 5k/22 mile bike/5k) and then being nervous that I wasn't prepared enough. Turns out, I was plenty prepared, but it wasn't at all easy.

For starters, since it is such a short race, the intensity of it is far different than what I've been training for -- more of a sprint versus endurance. Add to that the fact that the winds were predicted (and lived up to the prediction) to be 20-25 mph.

In any case, the first 5k went pretty well. I had a pace in mind and I stuck to it, easily. I averaged about 8:30 miles, which is pretty fast for me. I likely could have done it a little faster, but I wanted to leave something in the tank, and given the wind, I was a little apprehensive of the bike leg.

As I should have been.

The first eight or 10 miles out of town, the wind was mostly at my back and I "felt like Lance Armstrong" (exactly the wording of the race director's prediction when he gave the course talk the night before). But I could see the top men and a few of the women already coming toward me on their way back to start their third leg, and they were struggling with the wind. It whipped straight across farmers' fields and the expanse of the Outagamie County Airport, and you could see them wobble just a bit every time a gust came.

I knew it was going to be bad. And it was. I hit the wind, and kept going lower and lower in gear. It was like going up a hill. For more than 10 miles. Seriously. I couldn't glide, I couldn't stop pedaling, even to get a sip of water, because if I did the wind brought me almost to a standstill. Around mile 20, I was actually looking forward to "sprinting" through another 5k if only it meant I could get off my bike and stop pedaling. An hour and 29 minutes after I had taken off, I got to do just that.

I took longer than I needed to in transition to take my jacket off and strap my ipod on, and to rehydrate a little bit. This was a low-priority race for me, and I was treating it as an organized, timed training day. I just wanted to get out there and get my feet wet. I wasn't going for a top finish. So, three minutes after I ambled into the transition, I shuffled back out.

My legs felt odd. Not sore, or hurting. It was like they just weren't all that connected to my body. Like the wiring was a bit haywire. From doing some mini-bricks so far, I knew that this was to be expected. So I kept my stride at a shuffle to give them time to adjust. I had the Violent Femmes in my ears singing "Blister in the Sun" and my legs were moving, so life was good. I was surprised to look down at my Garmin and find that I was actually clipping along at about 8:30. Sweet!

"Blister in the Sun" was followed by a little Billy Idol ("Dancing With Myself"), which brought me to the first (easier) of two hills on the course. I just put my head down and went for it, dropping to a 9:30 in the process, but passing a handful of people who had whizzed by me on the bike. And that felt good.

But the next hill didn't. It comes after a brief (1/4 mile) jaunt down a wooded trail. You can't see it, but when you make a hard right turn, bam! there it is, looming above you. One of those short-ish, but really, really, really steep inclines that you feel all the way down your calves into your heels. I dropped to an 11:30 pace then. I might have well as walked (probably would've been faster), but I wouldn't let myself. After shuffling past the top, I used an old cross-country trick -- taking five sprint steps to get back up to speed. This worked a bit, but even at a slight decline, I could only muster between an 8:30 and 9:00 minute mile. Ugh.

Then, suddenly, there was less than a mile to go. I tried pushing my pace. I was just below 9:00 still, but when I looked down, I saw that I was maxed out on my heart rate (love, love, love my little Garmin and all the information it provides). So, I relaxed and just focused on finishing strong. I averaged a 9 minute mile for that leg. Not what I wanted, but I guess it's okay for this time of year and having not spent much time on speed work.

All in all, I was really happy with some aspects of the race, not so happy with others (my bike leg pace, for instance). But it was a really great, fun weekend. Thanks to Linds and Tommy for being such fantastic hosts. We'll be back again in just two weeks for the marathon!

Posted by Erin 1:39 PM 2 comments

Vicarious Blogging
Thursday, May 03, 2007

Here are two tidbits from my friend Melanie, who has requested the opportunity to "blog vicariously" every now and again. After taking a hiatus from running after high school (where she was a record-setting speedster on the Grafton cross-country team), Mel jumped back in with both feet this past January, and is going to run the Green Bay Cellcom Marathon on May 20th with me and my sister.

Item #1 -- from the "Crazier than the Ironman" and "I hope Erin Doesn't Attempt This" files: http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=600579 (after, check out reporter/blogger Tom Held's account of running a few miles with the driven Jason Dorgan, "Running with Jason" on the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel's "Off the Couch" blog).

Item #2 -- from an email a friend of ours sent her, attempting words of encouragement: "With a few more weeks of training you should be able to hold off on getting sick for a couple more miles. I’ll have a barf bag ready at Mile 22."

Posted by Erin 12:14 PM 1 comments

This makes the Ironman look like a 5k
Wednesday, May 02, 2007

It's called the Barkley. Check out the incredibly well-done Washington Post article -- then read the comments after and the author's online chat transcript.

I'm still shaking my head.

Posted by Erin 9:19 AM 0 comments