Saturday, January 9th started off as any other Saturday. I usually prefer to remain somewhat ignorant as to the training at hand because the less I know, the less I worry. I remained fairly calm on this morning as I looked forward to exploring the new area of Ventura, and figured it couldn't be much worse than the week before with the hilly 15 mile ride.
As Debby and I arrived, we removed our gear, pumped air into our bicycle tires, and welcomed teammates. We searched for any reference as to what to expect, and the one mentor we found simply smiled and said, "I don't know what to expect, I've never done this before." Somewhere during our inquisition, I heard the words "We're doing 30 miles today" float into one ear and out the other but without another confirming statement, I chose to release the thought.
I searched for our newest teammates hoping to offer some sort of support since this would be their first time with clips. Now that I was a week past being brand new on clips, I sounded so wise suggesting that they practice in the parking lot. I passed the "new to bikes" stigma and my confidence went up a notch...
...Until they handed out the workout and the bottom number definitely has 30 before the decimal point. It also contained a street towards the end of the workout with the words "Conquer the hill" or something kick-ass, causing my mind turn to instantly turn to jello to prevent me from dreading the hill on my 27-mile approach.
As we pedaled into the empty business park road to begin our large 30-mile loop, my optimism (or gelatinous brain) got the best of me and I convinced myself, that it could be equal, but no worse than last week.
The first hill was already visible within the first 100 yards. It was a long but gradual uphill and push come to pedal, I talked myself out of stopping and resting, arriving at the top victorious and panting.
The city streets gave into residential streets, which melted away into beautiful horse country. The fields were waving in the wind, the roads became narrower, the scenery became relaxing. The ride, however, became a bitch! I don't recall when the wide open spaces became a vertical, rocky mountain road, but next thing you know, I'm riding up a 2-lane road trying to curse at myself again "Don't stop or you'll never get started!" I did exceed my first goal of making it to the turn but when I arrived there and saw how much longer the hill was, my legs started to shake. My muscles were very tired from the first hill, I didn't want to ride 'til I slowed down and fell over into jagged mountain rocks, so I stopped, took a breather and planned to push off a rock and sheer determination would get me started again.
As people started to catch up to me, I attempted to start again at least 3x with the last one toppling me over into the street right next to a moving car. Anticipating this fall, I was able to turn to land on my cushiest part of my body, and tried to make myself as small as possible to avoid denting the car, or having it dent me. I don't know how close I was, and my life didn't pass in front of my eyes, so I'm telling myself I must not have been that close - please don't try to talk me out of that idea for now.
My coach had caught up to me at this point and said my choices were to either ride downhill to get started then repeat the first part of the hill, or just get started. I opted for option "C" which was walk to the next part where a flat feeder road fed into the street so I could go long enough to get clipped in, then we screamed our way to the top of the hill - literally screaming, cursing, groaning - whatever it took.
Screaming down the backside of the mountain meant that I hit speeds of 32 mph on the downhill even bending down to be more aerodynamic! I sped past the roadside thoughts reading "What if you hit a rock," "Hope your tires don't blow," "Hope a bug doesn't sacrifice itself on your teeth!" If there was an aid station for us, I blew right past it. As the wind made that little windmill in my brain operate, the lessons learned so far that day became clear: a) When on a busy street, always remove the left foot so that if you start to fall into traffic you can catch yourself with a free foot and b) When going uphill, never, ever, under any circumstances, no matter how slow you're going, or how much it hurts - never STOP!
After shaking off the Post-Traumatic Hill Stress, the roads turned into suburban neighborhoods and things were challenging, but great. We regularly used our road-signals, turned from left-turn lanes and our support staff was fantastic as always about circulating throughout the riders to ensure we were still moving.
At one point, one mentor questioned me on the hills, and I excitedly reported that I'd ridden to the top of the first hill, but not the second. He replied, "Really? The first hill? Great job!!" Then when I explained my brush with death on the mountain roads of the second hill, he said, "I thought that was the first hill." Apparently the first hill I'd overcome didn't even rank as a challenging hill to the support staff. While I wanted to rip his legs off (for those of you who've never seen me crabby, come ride 20+ miles with me and get to know my Gemini darker twin side), at the same time, I felt calmly hopeful that someday, those hills will be small to me as well - if they can ever convince me to get my butt back on that course.
As we worked our way through the residential neighborhood, I noticed that my bike seat moved from side to side, my arms ached, my ass alternated between numb and throbbing, and my leg muscles roared. When the idea floated in one ear and out the other, "Hey, you still have that hill at mile 27 to worry about!" About that time, the support staff rotated back to me again and I told them I needed the bike seat tightened because it was moving, and I knew it had to be making my stroke less efficient. I did realize in my head that if it was really that loose, my seat should also have gone down, not just side to side, but immediately discounted that rationale.
Turns out, I was having butt hallucinations! My seat was fine! The support staff took me stopping them as a cry out for a rest, so I didn't argue that fact as we rehdrated. Finally, I took off to face the final frontier and my goal was to not be the last one back.
I don't really recall that last hill, except it was long, it was gradual, and I did stop one more time and was struggling to get started again, but this time the roads were wider and I didn't start when there were cars around for my own safety. I celebrated the fact that we were in the home stretch now and I couldn't wait to get rid of the bike and hit the road for 10 min - our first "Brick" workout!
As I started my mental celebration, the odometer on my bike crept upward to somewhere around 34 miles! I started to panic that I'd passed the turnoff for our parking lot and was just about to call someone when the welcome sign of the 101 Fwy showed up and I finally recognized where I was. Re-entering the business park loop, the 30 miles had taken it's toll and while I've never ridden a carbon bike, I was imagining that my arms would not feel like glass had I ridden a carbon bike rather than aluminum. I contemplated how 58 miles will feel and optimistically hoped that my body will be fine with a bit of glucosamine.
I pulled into the parking lot victorious, the support staff were there all clapping and cheering - MAN! I LOVE TEAM IN TRAINING! That makes it so worth it!
I rode to my car, changed shoes, put away my bike and saw that Meghan returned a minute behind me. As I waited for her to change so we could run together, I saw our coach scoping out our situation impatiently. He barked "Enough time girls, hit the road!" The coaches words of advice consisted of "Start slow!" Truly, that was the only option as after sitting on the bike for 30 miles, my hips felt like they were dislocated and that my pelvis bones were going to fall apart to pieces in my ankles. I realized that my posture and gait changed completely from my normal running form and I felt more like a triathlete, yet I chuckled at the thought that this form was because it was the only one that felt comfortable after the other 2 sports, not because it maximized efficiency. Somewhere along the route, my hips re-engaged with the rest of my body and I felt somewhat normal again. Meghan and I did our due 10 minutes and trotted back.
Debby magically brought chocolate milk for us to start our recovery and it tasted and felt like gold - THANK YOU DEBBY! She and I didn't linger in our success for long, as we both had to be elsewhere. We headed back to our hometown, speeding up to the pace of the rest of our day.
I surveyed my legs for new bruises or hints of a large one where I'd made impact, but didn't see anything. However, somehow, I managed to bruise my abs! A few bruises did show up on my legs within the next few days. I admit that I was proud that when I got home and shared with my ex, who was there watching the kids, how far we'd ridden, he sincerely showed his amazement stating it was farther than he ever rode back when he was a regular road racer. That and the fact that we now had one thing that we could talk about that was completely out of our regular carefully choreographed and scripted discussions on the children, made the day even sweeter.
I may have ridden 30 miles, but I felt like I covered even more ground!
The city streets gave into residential streets, which melted away into beautiful horse country. The fields were waving in the wind, the roads became narrower, the scenery became relaxing. The ride, however, became a bitch! I don't recall when the wide open spaces became a vertical, rocky mountain road, but next thing you know, I'm riding up a 2-lane road trying to curse at myself again "Don't stop or you'll never get started!" I did exceed my first goal of making it to the turn but when I arrived there and saw how much longer the hill was, my legs started to shake. My muscles were very tired from the first hill, I didn't want to ride 'til I slowed down and fell over into jagged mountain rocks, so I stopped, took a breather and planned to push off a rock and sheer determination would get me started again.
As people started to catch up to me, I attempted to start again at least 3x with the last one toppling me over into the street right next to a moving car. Anticipating this fall, I was able to turn to land on my cushiest part of my body, and tried to make myself as small as possible to avoid denting the car, or having it dent me. I don't know how close I was, and my life didn't pass in front of my eyes, so I'm telling myself I must not have been that close - please don't try to talk me out of that idea for now.
My coach had caught up to me at this point and said my choices were to either ride downhill to get started then repeat the first part of the hill, or just get started. I opted for option "C" which was walk to the next part where a flat feeder road fed into the street so I could go long enough to get clipped in, then we screamed our way to the top of the hill - literally screaming, cursing, groaning - whatever it took.
Screaming down the backside of the mountain meant that I hit speeds of 32 mph on the downhill even bending down to be more aerodynamic! I sped past the roadside thoughts reading "What if you hit a rock," "Hope your tires don't blow," "Hope a bug doesn't sacrifice itself on your teeth!" If there was an aid station for us, I blew right past it. As the wind made that little windmill in my brain operate, the lessons learned so far that day became clear: a) When on a busy street, always remove the left foot so that if you start to fall into traffic you can catch yourself with a free foot and b) When going uphill, never, ever, under any circumstances, no matter how slow you're going, or how much it hurts - never STOP!
After shaking off the Post-Traumatic Hill Stress, the roads turned into suburban neighborhoods and things were challenging, but great. We regularly used our road-signals, turned from left-turn lanes and our support staff was fantastic as always about circulating throughout the riders to ensure we were still moving.
At one point, one mentor questioned me on the hills, and I excitedly reported that I'd ridden to the top of the first hill, but not the second. He replied, "Really? The first hill? Great job!!" Then when I explained my brush with death on the mountain roads of the second hill, he said, "I thought that was the first hill." Apparently the first hill I'd overcome didn't even rank as a challenging hill to the support staff. While I wanted to rip his legs off (for those of you who've never seen me crabby, come ride 20+ miles with me and get to know my Gemini darker twin side), at the same time, I felt calmly hopeful that someday, those hills will be small to me as well - if they can ever convince me to get my butt back on that course.
As we worked our way through the residential neighborhood, I noticed that my bike seat moved from side to side, my arms ached, my ass alternated between numb and throbbing, and my leg muscles roared. When the idea floated in one ear and out the other, "Hey, you still have that hill at mile 27 to worry about!" About that time, the support staff rotated back to me again and I told them I needed the bike seat tightened because it was moving, and I knew it had to be making my stroke less efficient. I did realize in my head that if it was really that loose, my seat should also have gone down, not just side to side, but immediately discounted that rationale.
Turns out, I was having butt hallucinations! My seat was fine! The support staff took me stopping them as a cry out for a rest, so I didn't argue that fact as we rehdrated. Finally, I took off to face the final frontier and my goal was to not be the last one back.
I don't really recall that last hill, except it was long, it was gradual, and I did stop one more time and was struggling to get started again, but this time the roads were wider and I didn't start when there were cars around for my own safety. I celebrated the fact that we were in the home stretch now and I couldn't wait to get rid of the bike and hit the road for 10 min - our first "Brick" workout!
As I started my mental celebration, the odometer on my bike crept upward to somewhere around 34 miles! I started to panic that I'd passed the turnoff for our parking lot and was just about to call someone when the welcome sign of the 101 Fwy showed up and I finally recognized where I was. Re-entering the business park loop, the 30 miles had taken it's toll and while I've never ridden a carbon bike, I was imagining that my arms would not feel like glass had I ridden a carbon bike rather than aluminum. I contemplated how 58 miles will feel and optimistically hoped that my body will be fine with a bit of glucosamine.
I pulled into the parking lot victorious, the support staff were there all clapping and cheering - MAN! I LOVE TEAM IN TRAINING! That makes it so worth it!
I rode to my car, changed shoes, put away my bike and saw that Meghan returned a minute behind me. As I waited for her to change so we could run together, I saw our coach scoping out our situation impatiently. He barked "Enough time girls, hit the road!" The coaches words of advice consisted of "Start slow!" Truly, that was the only option as after sitting on the bike for 30 miles, my hips felt like they were dislocated and that my pelvis bones were going to fall apart to pieces in my ankles. I realized that my posture and gait changed completely from my normal running form and I felt more like a triathlete, yet I chuckled at the thought that this form was because it was the only one that felt comfortable after the other 2 sports, not because it maximized efficiency. Somewhere along the route, my hips re-engaged with the rest of my body and I felt somewhat normal again. Meghan and I did our due 10 minutes and trotted back.
Debby magically brought chocolate milk for us to start our recovery and it tasted and felt like gold - THANK YOU DEBBY! She and I didn't linger in our success for long, as we both had to be elsewhere. We headed back to our hometown, speeding up to the pace of the rest of our day.
I surveyed my legs for new bruises or hints of a large one where I'd made impact, but didn't see anything. However, somehow, I managed to bruise my abs! A few bruises did show up on my legs within the next few days. I admit that I was proud that when I got home and shared with my ex, who was there watching the kids, how far we'd ridden, he sincerely showed his amazement stating it was farther than he ever rode back when he was a regular road racer. That and the fact that we now had one thing that we could talk about that was completely out of our regular carefully choreographed and scripted discussions on the children, made the day even sweeter.
I may have ridden 30 miles, but I felt like I covered even more ground!
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