Colorado Racing

Colorado racing, just like Colorado riding, has a way of wearing you out (and occasionally wearing you down).  It doesn’t necessarily feel warm and fuzzy.   It gives off a certain vibe, that your place has to be earned.  At the same time, it’s welcoming, electric and you feel the love of cycling, the love of bikes, the love for the sport. The season is coming to an end but I’ve only done 3 races (I have my reasons). At each one, I completely feel like the new girl (which, I am) and for that reason, feel that much more intimidated.  It takes me back to my first few races and I feel like just that, a rookie. The racing is so different here, that it’s new. For one, it’s more than four corners. The ladies, they show up to race.  There isn’t the option to sit in and half ass it.

This weekend, I lined up with 31 other ladies (cat 3 & 4) for the Littleton Crit. This is the largest field I’ve ever raced and it’s been a while since I race with anything other than cat 4’s. It was so great to see the number of women in the sport growing. On a very good day, we had max 20 in Florida. What was even more exciting were the spectators and their cowbells, not just family of racers there to support. A lot of people there to see bike racing.  The nerves were real, like first race real. It wasn’t good nerves, it was make you jittery on the bike nerves, hit your brakes when you don’t have to. The odd thing is the race two weeks before, I felt great, settled and it went very differently. Mentally, this race, I had already set myself for failure.  I couldn’t get out of my own head.

In each of the very few races I’ve done, it starts off at the whistle. There’s no few easy paced laps as everyone settles. Whistle, go, fast, turn, turn, turn again. Unfortunately, turns aren’t as smooth as one would like, especially at the back. Meaning, gaps open and after each turn, it takes a toll having to close them. Myself, I haven’t nailed down turning at fast speeds in big groups just yet. About 18 minutes in, I just couldn’t close gaps anymore. The women are fierce and aside from the usual race attacks the pace is kept high, consistently. The pace did not settle and catching them on my own with the storm winds became pretty much impossible. So there I was in no man’s land. Your mind either goes to pushing your pace or wondering why you race in the first place.  Mine went to, why race in the first place when I’m doing this poorly.  I made sure the cat 4’s that had dropped before I did, didn’t catch up but there was no fire in my pedal.  It was finish and get this over with and I did.

This was definitely not my best race. I am still getting the flow of the many aspects of crit racing (it’s a science) and it will take a while for me to get it. There were a lot of negative thoughts that came with this race, including no longer racing crits, but they were pushed aside once I passed that line.  I know I am being impatient, I’m well aware of that.  I need to see my racing in Colorado as being new to racing. My training has to be consistent, I need to be in it 100% or the results won’t change.  Next race, 12 days. ~ AddingMoMiles

DK100

Before I get into the race, I want to talk about those that finished DK200. I have nothing but admiration for those that not only finished, but just had the courage to line up and start.  A special congratulations to my friends, who just left me in awe with their courage and will to finish.  So proud of each of you and your level of badassery.

This race, it has so many level, it needs chapters to break it out properly.

First Came The Storm

Up by 4, out by 5.  That’s the rule. So we geared up and listened to the wind howl. The plan was to ride to the race and we did, in what felt like something out of The Wizard Of Oz.  I was waiting for the tornado, the witch, toto, all of it. We navigated through storm winds, watching the pieces of trees fly by infront of us. At the race start, 30 minute rain delay. Then off went DK200, then DK100 lined up and we were on our way. The first couple of miles of gravel felt like either quick sand or sliding on ice it was so slippery.  Rubber side down, that was my focus. We made our way through the massive amount of people, working our way through groups.  The first 30 miles just flew by. There were cows, horses, wide open ranges, it was absolutely beautiful. I felt great (altitude doping at its finest). Made sure I was taking in calories every 30 minutes, passing people along the way.  Mile 50 approached and as I looked at my time, I thought of the possibility of making under 8 hours. Into the check point, they were quick to give us our bags, clean and lube our chains, and give us ice packed in panty hose (lifesavers).  A huge thank you to the support group of 3 Feet Cycling.  They went above and beyond to get us out as quickly as possible. My first half high didn’t last much longer.

Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!

Lions, the mud.  Tigers, the heat. Bear, the Flint Hills. Oh My! The wind. As I started to settle in after the check point, it felt like the start of the infamous Flint Hills.  Each hill taking a little bit out of your legs with each pedal stroke. The mud had done a number on my gearing and getting to my easiest gear was becoming a problem.  Just mash it out on whatever gear was working at this point. The rollers came to an abrupt end when we ran into a whole lot of mud.  You couldn’t ride through it, so you had to hike with your bike. I wasn’t sure exactly how far we hiked but it was a 45 minutes to an hour. After we cleared the mud, the terrain got seriously rough.  It felt more like mountain bike trails than gravel.  I was taking descents that I would probably never take on a normal day.  Come to think of it now, one wrong twitch of the handle bars and I was face planting into a pile of rocks.  Some areas had mud at the base of the hills forcing you to walk through it and up the next hill.  The hiking a bike started to take a toll. My legs and mental state took a turn at about 75 miles.  From then on it was 20+ mph head wind. On a rare occasion we took a turn and got crosswind but it was short-lived.  No matter how hard I pedaled I couldn’t keep anything over 12mph. It didn’t help that the last two hours, taking down anything to eat or drink was becoming a problem, my wrists and shoulders were killing me.  With tears of frustration, at mile 90, I stopped and was ready to quit.  Trying to work out in my head how to get back to the finish. Yes, with only 8 miles to go, I was ready to quit. Jorge didn’t let me.  So, I climbed back on my bike and just made the crank turn, one pedal stroke at a time.

There’s No Place Like Home

Civili-f’ing-zation! With one last uphill on mile 97, we made it into town.  Covered in mud, grit, dust I saw the finisher shoot. The energy of the small town cheering you on, crossing the line with Jorge, the stress of the day, it made me all tear up. This was totally out of my element and my first gavel event.  In hindsight maybe I should have started with something a little easier (yolo no?).  This race took an incredible amount of mental strength but I’m so glad I signed up. Would I do the 200? Probably not. Would I do the 100 again?  With a little convincing. Another adventure checked off. Jorge, thank you, thank you, thank you. The Dirty Eight, what’s next on the list?  Coach, thank you, so much. This was definitely one for the books. It’s days like this that build strength, resilience and courage for everyday life. ~ Adding Mo Miles.

Starting From Zero

I took a step away from the bike. It was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be to let it sit there and collect dust.  Don’t get me wrong, it felt very very wrong.  But sleeping in and having all this “extra” time felt very very good. It was the longest I have been off the bike since, well, my first bike 6 years ago. Sure, I’ve probably taken time off here and there, I’m not always the most consistent but this was different, it was probably weeks (moving states included). To the point I swore I would probably not race again (ha, sure).  This is the point where we realize something in life wasn’t going right. Though I wasn’t burnt from training, my coach was actually very good with this, I was burnt out in other aspects and your hobby is usually the first to go when this happens (atleast for me).  It’s like crisis management, you shift your priorities to what needs fixing in your life immediately.  I was mentally exhausted and it seeped its way into my riding. In my head, if I wasn’t training, there was no point in riding.  That is a future post all together.

Well, here I am, trying to get it back and already kicking myself in the ass for taking this time off, though it was probably crucial and much needed. I’m a little fluffier than one would like to be, my watts are at baby levels (yet again) and the thought of racing….well I already feel like a fred.  Trying to get consistent has been a challenge, more because I’m in a new city and I have to rely on myself to get out and going.  Having that group to meet with, even if we weren’t all riding together, was the best motivator to get me out of bed. But over the last couple of weeks I’ve caught myself looking at the Colorado’s racing schedule.  It’s no secret that I also have a 100 mile race in June that I have to get my shit together for.  I miss everything about it though…. training, riding atmosphere and racing. It’s a part of me that has been missing. It’s kind of the missing piece in Colorado, along with my friends and family that I’m secretly trying to convince to move. I took this as a sign that it was about that time.

Amateur athletes, age group athletes, sometimes forget that we’re just that, amateurs. This is not our entire life, we are not pros and occasionally it has to take a back burner to adulting and other ridiculous things…like mental health and career.  We push ourselves to heaving on the side of the road during an interval before we walk into the 9am meeting and then we don’t stop.  Some people can continue this for years without a break, I can admit that I don’t have that kind of strength.  Sometimes, you take a step a back, take a break and prepare yourself to come back stronger.   With any sport, even curling I’m sure, you need to first mentally be there to prepare yourself physically. So, it was kind of about that time, I got my coach, poor guy is stuck with me and dialing in my nutrition with Jungle Fitness. I am well aware that I am late to start training for the season.  I am even more well aware that I am out of shape.  Colorado mountains are very humbling. But I also know that I’m ready to put in the work and I couldn’t force this even if I wanted to previously.  So I may not be where I need to be but I know that I’m ready to get there, wherever the F that may be.  So, here we go, 2018 season. ~AddingMoMiles

Tranquila y TropiKANZA

I need new friends.

I have a perfectly good reason for such harsh words.  Every year this group of dear friends pick some bike adventure and well, I end up going along with it.  It seems like a good idea at the time until I’m half way through a race wondering what the hell I got myself into.  It’s how I signed up for a half ironman, a full ironman, six gap and most painful, yet absolutely great experiences.  I must note that I’ve skipped out on most fat tire and snow related races. But yes, if my friends were to jump off a bridge, I’d be cannon balling right behind them.

This year, we’re heading to Kansas for Dirty Kanza. Which I really hadn’t heard of until I signed up for the lottery.  In hindsight, I should have done a little more research. It’s a 200 or 100 miles self-supported (we’ll get into these awful words later), gravel race.  See I’m only half crazy and signed up for the 100 miles.

So how did I end up embarking on this epic adventure or possible complete disaster.  It’s a simple, yet comical story. Someone decided to post it in a group chat, which snowballed into 11 us (including two groups of four) signing up for the lottery and ALL 11 of us getting in.  I am officially part of the Pan Con Kanza team.  I’m not exactly sure what the selection process was and who’s idea was it to let us all in together but the Miami (plus Colorado transplants) grupete are heading to Kansas. I never thought I’d be saying the words “I’m going to Kansas”.

So what is Dirty Kanza.  It a a 200 mile long ultra-endurance bicycling challenge, held on the gravel roads through the Flint Hills region of east-central Kansas. There is a 100 mile and 50 mile option.  It is self-supported.  Meaning, they do not provide any nutrition or hydration.  They do not SAG, they do not pick you up if your bike or you break. You either carry it on your bike or get/hire support that will be at the check points every 50 miles.  The course is somewhat, possibly marked but not really. Let’s quote the Dirty Kanza bible:

“Some of these roads receive little to no maintenance throughout the year and can be quite primitive in nature. In the event of inclement weather, gravel and dirt roads can become mud roads. Riders are therefore encouraged to prepare their bikes, their bodies, and their minds to be ready for any and all possible conditions.”

It’s survival of the fittest on bicycles. I don’t think I’ve really wrapped my head around it just yet.  I may not have signed up for the 200, but I don’t think the 100 miles will be a walk in the park either.  It will still be a very long day filled with what I’m sure lots of challenges and possible catastrophe.  Lots of solo miles, wind, possible rain which leads to mud.

So why do it?  Because a lot of my best memories, and stories, are with these people on these great bike adventures.  If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have had the balls to sign up for any of them. And well, I love conquering challenges.  So, on my last post I’d say there would be something to train for, you could say this is it. ~ AddingMoMiles

State Road Race

It was the race I set my eye on a few months ago.  The race that got me up to ride alone at 5:30am (the struggle).  The race I like to call bittersweet.  The race that finished the year of me dipping my toes into road racing.  I made the not so smooth transition from triathlons to road races at the beginning of this year.  Not so smooth because for the most part I felt like a fish out of water, flopping around.  I went into this race haunted by my lack luster performances at the beginning of this year.  Race 1: dropped in the first 5 minutes.  Race 2: Dropped in the first 10 miles.  At that point, I didn’t want to race until I felt comfortable with my ability to compete.  One of the best decisions I made was to find a coach that fit me, not me trying to fit my coach, and I couldn’t be more grateful for him.  He pushed me to a lot of my limits, both physically and mentally, those few weeks leading up to the race.

Florida state road race for my category was two 16 mile loops and luckily cat 4 women had their own start.  I surprisingly started the race relatively calm, which is the opposite of how I start any competitive event.  I’m usually going through 564 scenarios, overthinking life.  With the first few uphills, I just observed the girls, keeping an eye on anyone coming up on the sides, going over all the words of wisdom.  It’s the first race I observed versus just trying to survive.  On the first major climb I noticed a gap start to open.  Thanks to the advice of a friend, I didn’t freak but kept my pace and closed the gap on the downhill, saving legs.  It was here that I realized I needed to start the climbs at the front of the pack.  This way I could either control the pace or fall back into the group.  Going into the second lap, I was in the front of the group.  For the first time not in the back, not chasing the group down, not riding past the start/finish alone.  I settled in and prepared for it to get harder and it did.  Up…down…push the pace…a few miles to go, mentally preparing myself for the downhill finish.  On the second to last climb is where the race took a turn and the group split.  We worked and caught them on the last climb.  At this point I gave it all I had, anything I had left to keep with the group.   Legs shaking, lungs burning, teeth grinding, wait is that throw up? There are few things more discouraging than getting to this point and still watching the group creep away.  What is even more defeating was knowing there was only 3K to go.   I came over the top and with the last bit left I made on more effort, but just couldn’t close the gap into the next small climb.  It was a rush of disappointment and anger.  I came into the finish line frustrated, I don’t think I can properly put into words how I felt.  My mind flooded with just brutal negativity.

I grabbed a burger, followed by a cold beer and reflected.  I’m sure I did about 27 things wrong and paid for it at the end but it was the first time I didn’t feel like a rookie that didn’t belong.  It was the race where I actually strategized.   Sparing the details of the numbers, it was some of the best riding I’d done all year.  There was massive progress from race 1.  I didn’t get the results I wanted, but there was a lot of be happy with. Preparing for this race taught me so much about myself, this sport and did more for me than anyone will know.  So a huge thank you to Patrick from Pinnacle Coaching for drawing the map, taking on this rookie and getting me as ready as possible.  The men of Outcast for the advice, tips and laughs.  Momma duck for the constant support from day 1. Time to go from dipping my toes to diving right into cycling and prepare for next season.  ~AddingMoMiles

All The Gaps

“Prepare to take your mind to another place,” it was the last thing I read before the horn went off for the start of 6 Gap. We took off Friday to Georgia for the 6 Gap century ride. Well “century” because it was 104 miles. Six Gap has 6 separate climbs in the Georgia Mountains, a total of 11,000 feet of climbing. Totally normal. I think it is the second most challenging event I’ve signed up for, didn’t quite beat Ironman. Getting to Atlanta was an adventure all on its own. Cancelled early morning flight, full flights the rest of the day, connecting flight…fast forward to the evening and I finally make it to ATL, my bike did not. It was still in Charlotte. I had to sit and hope it was put on the next flight. Thankfully it made it one piece.

I had an odd calm going into this ride, mostly because I already had the mentality that it was ok if I didn’t finish (explained later). It was technically not a race, so time wasn’t a stress factor. I honestly wanted to enjoy the ride. I was just happy to get the chance to ride my bike somewhere else on my bucket list. We stayed in Helen, a little German town I really wish we had more time to enjoy about 40 minutes the start. Like most of these events, your alarm clock is going off way before the sun comes up. When you looked back at the start, all you could see were bikes. A site I always love at rides.

I’m not going to lie, my trip to Boulder scared me a bit when it came to climbing, so I didn’t know what to expect. I prepared for the worse but prayed really really hard for the best. I played it safe and kept my power at a number I knew I could maintain and I wouldn’t blow up half way up a climb. Enter Neels Gap, the first climb. It wasn’t necessarily difficult, just long. At the end of this climb is when I realized I should have put some more food in my jersey pocket. The next two climbs, Jacks and Uncoi, went by relatively quick. My legs felt good, I felt good, my new friends around me felt good. I make friends at these things for fear of losing my mind. We parted ways at the bottom Hogpen. The 4^th and hardest climb. This is the climb that brings the demons. It was a total of about 6 miles and 3,000 feet of climbing and it was pretty much the half way point. Your legs already had a little burn, body parts were starting to hurt. I just focused on each pedal stroke, I counted the polka dots on my socks, anything to keep me from looking up to see how far I had to go. I was even writing this very post in my head. It had a lot more curse words then. It came to a point where you were so high up the fog didn’t let you see very far. Then, over a climb, you see the yellow aid tent. At this point, there was no doubt that I would finish thing. I had just made it up Hogpen, slowly, three miles an hour slow, but I got there. It didn’t take long to get to Wolfpen, the 5^th climb. This was the climb I truly felt my legs, this was the climb I wanted to quit, call an Uber, someone pick up, I was done. I wanted nothing to do with every single turn we took up this road. I repeated that last text from my coach in my head. This is where I dug into the depths of my soul and got my unhappy ass to the top of the climb. Mile 80, 24 miles never felt so long. Thankfully Woody’s (ha), the last climb was the shortest (ha) and easiest (ha). 10 miles to go. It was grueling and literally painful because my legs would not stop cramping and I rather end up in the fetal position on the side of the rode than drink the pickle juice. I just counted pedal strokes until I saw the finish line. I hadn’t felt this accomplished in a very long time.

I was told it would take me 9 to 10 hours to finish. I was told to do 3 Gap, the shorter option, because 6 Gap may be too hard. I was told not to be disappointed if I didn’t finish. I was told by someone that they would be waiting for me a long at the finish line. To these I say thank you for fueling my fire, not only for this ride but anything I decide to do in the future. I finished in 7:40:59. To some that may not be great, to me, I walk away pretty proud. Our group from the flat lands of Miami did pretty damn good as whole. I made the mistake of letting these people in my head, even during the ride for a split second. Well, you learn something new with each challenge you do. I learned not to listen to the noise, you won’t always have supporters, and you won’t always have people who believe in you. Trust yourself and your training. Next stop, states. ~ AddingMoMiles

 

#TeamThumbsUp

There are some decisions we make that are possibly the most simple, without any thought, but impact our life more than those decisions we find most challenging.  Several weeks ago a friend asked if anyone would be interested in participating in the South Beach Triathlon as part of the ThumbsUp Organization.  It would be the bike leg with an adaptive athlete.  Without any thought, I said yes.  Little did I know how much this experience would help and change me.

ThumbsUp is an organization that teams able bodied and adaptive athletes through different sporting events.  They are expanding attitudes about possibilities one event at a time.  I was lucky enough to witness their first race last year and was left amazed by the experience.  They’ve since participated in different events.  This year would be even better, two teams.  A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.

I met Juan Carlos Gil (JC) and Kerry Gruson at the only practice we had for the bike.  After racing, I now know I should have trained with the carrier a little bit more.  If there’s anything I learned that day was what really went into preparing for these events, that Kerry is the life of the party and a dear woman, JC is a monster athlete and in a league of his own, to make sure your back wheel spins when they attach the cart and that our team was definitely full of so much spirit.

Fast forward a week or two and it’s almost race weekend.  I was more nervous than I wanted to admit.  I didn’t know how it was going to go.  I’ve ridden 20 miles countless times but this was going to be different.  The day before we went for packet pick up, dropped off our bikes, and talked logistics.  Come race morning, we would have to make some surprise last minute adjustments.

This is the earliest my alarm clock had gone off in a really long time.  It’s been a while since I raced in a triathlon.  I waited in transition and remember just watching the pack of blue and yellow roll in and got straight to work setting up everything and ironing out the details.  We had a few minor challenges but as a team, there wasn’t anything that couldn’t get fixed.

Bikes are ready.

 Making our way to race start.

As race start got closer we made our way over to the beach.  This was where I was able to see the true meaning of sportsmanship, comradery, and take in this entire experience.  As soon as we got to the shore, there was nothing but cheers for Kerry and JC.  What I would have done to pause this moment, with the sun rising, athletes lining up; it has always been my favorite part of triathlons.  The true calm before the storm.  You can feel the adrenaline, the anxious nerves, the sheer will and determination of each person.  And Kerry and JC were off!! And I’m not kidding you when I say off; our swimmers were flying in that water! We had to run to transition and get ready to bike!  I still didn’t have my helmet on when they told me JC was out of the water and coming into transition.

We had to take cart and bike out of transition from where we were.  This didn’t go as smoothly as planned.  I’ve never really tried running in road shoes (and I don’t recommend it).  While I was trying not to fall, the bike took a tumble and I tripped right onto my spokes.  Pause, relax, take foot out of wheel.  All I can do was be grateful nothing broke and we were off.  I tried to gather my nerves and get on the course.  I settled into a pace I hoped to maintain the whole ride.  I hit the first bridge feeling good, until I hit the top, changed gears and dropped my chain.  Because I wasn’t nervous enough.  Valeria, who was riding as a shadow, and I couldn’t get it back in place and out of nowhere a man on a hybrid came to help us.  I’m not exactly sure where he came from, we were at the top of McCarther on a closed course but all I can say is thank you!! We made our way from bridge to bridge, each one harder than the last.  The sun was blazing and heat was rising.  With only a bottle of water, I knew I wasn’t exactly prepared and my speed got slower with each mile and my frustration grew.   My legs just weren’t having it.  Valeria and JC kept me going, entertained my mind, words of encouragement even when I felt like I had nothing left.  I was running out of gears half way up the bridges, so I would just put my head down and dig into the pedal, dig in hard.  I wouldn’t look up until JC let me know I was the top (he would count down) or I caught of glimpse of Valeria’s bike from the corner of my eye.  My fear of going down the bridges went away real fast, I used all the speed I could get.

Valeria our gopro pro.

It was hard; probably my most difficult bike to date in a race, but what I take away from it is something else.  I got words of encouragement from almost every cyclist.  I got a constant thumbs up.  As they passed me on the bridge, they motivated us on.  Hearing people calling out “Go ThumbsUp” gave me goosebumps every time.  People I knew calling out my name, edging us on.  Police offers, volunteers, photographers, all of them cheering us on.   It’s hard to translate the experience we had into words.  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I came into transition to so much spirit from the spectators; I had to hold back my tears.  I finished that bike drained, beat, exhausted, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Coming in transition.

As Valeria went off to the run with JC, we went over to the finish and waited to help her, the last quarter mile or so was in the sand, with an slight uphill.  Triathlon may be an individual sport, but that isn’t what I saw at the finish. Other race participants on the way to their finish were helping us, not worrying about their finish time.  Spectators joined in to push.  We came in as a team, all 7 of us, but it took so many more than that to get to the finish.  My favorite finish to date.

I am overjoyed by the opportunity that was given to me by ThumbsUp.  I am thankful for those that I met along the way, that I hope remain friends.   I am blessed to be a part of such an amazing organization and I look forward to watching it grow.  I was humbled by the entire experience, it gave me back more than I ever imagined.  I am surprised by how much this has helped me as a person.  It is something  I will always carry with me. #TeamThumbsUp. ~AddingMoMiles

Never Stop Chasing

Oh Clermont, we meet again.  There is always something about this tiny little place that can easily suck the life out of you.  It’s humbling.  With each race I do, I learn just a little bit more.  This weekend we headed up to Race of the West.  Packed the bikes and four bodies (thug life) into one hotel room.  If anything, the weekend was filled with a lot laughs, hashtags, and new found respect for a tub with proper draining.

CLEEEERMONT!

Saturday I woke up with mixed emotions, one was I can’t wait to do this…the other was I’ve changed my mind, I’m staying in bed (child tantrum).  This would be my first circuit so I went with one goal, stay with the main group.  A circuit: a road cycling race that’s several laps in a given amount time, this one was 40 minutes, just in case anyone was wondering.  I didn’t want to be that one lonely straggler.  I didn’t want a DNF.  Worse off, I didn’t want to make a rookie mistake and take someone down.  Setting some realistic goals here people.  So I line up, hands shaking and heart pounding (please don’t throw up).  After a few rules (don’t ever fold your number) we were off…and of course, I can’t clip in (wtf!). After what felt like the longest seconds, I finally get clipped and head off to close off whatever gap had created.  I knew I had to find a way to calm myself down, this kind of nervous just makes you jittery on the bike, which never leads to anything good.  We get into a surprisingly steady rhythm.  The road starts to curve and we take a few turns, nothing I couldn’t handle. Until we come to the last turn towards the start/finish.  This is where I realized more than ever that I can’t take a turn if my life depended on it (great!).  So the rest of the race I knew I was going to be closing gaps. (#thegapclosers).  This is just an unnecessary waste of energy and work.  It’s hard to think of any kind of strategy when you don’t know what to expect (is someone going to attack!?) and you can’t take a damn turn.  Other than sprinting to catch the group after certain turns, the race went at a good pace.  It’s not that it was easy, but when you spend your weekend trying to keep up with some of these boys (key word being trying), you kind of expect that level of intensity.  “1 lap left”, so I was ready for some kind of showdown but it went like any of the other loops.  That was until the finish line was in sight (it’s going down).  I never imagined how much goes on at this finish line.  I come from races where you come in alone.  In this case, you have to worry about those sprinting inches from you, the wheel in front of you (note to self: don’t get behind a girl that’s going to slow down), is there space for you to move forward, is someone going to make a dumb mistake and cut you off, are you in the right gear (this was more of an afterthought).  All while going as fast as possible, giving whatever you have left.  There’s a lot going on and little time to react.  You just get this tunnel vision.  Shut.up.legs. Finito!! Second thought, after holly hell, can we do it again?? After a minor heartache in the guy’s race, some breakfast, the procession for showers, we head to drive the course for the Road Race.  My one thought, I wish I hadn’t.

That’s me…in the back…

The course of the road race on Sunday was 4, 11 mile loops.  With a climb that has been crowned “the wall”.  I’ll leave it at that.  I went in this race with my general attitude.  Small accomplishments, just finish.  I should have gone into this race thinking fight like hell to stay with the group (it’s a learning process). The race starts like all others, steady pace…and then the wall (wait.for.me).  Surprise, surprise I get dropped.  But instead of saying that’s it, I chase down the group.  Pedal like hell on the downhill.  I pass a girl and in true sportsman like conduct tell her to get on my wheel and I start closing the gap, only to realize I was starting to run out of push.  I ease up on the pedal and she starts to pull. With a whole lot of effort we manage to get back with the group. “Never stop chasing, you never know” she tells me with a smile and that stuck with me the rest of the race…and will for the rest of my races (actually, in life).  I got dropped on the next longer climb and worked just to keep the group in sight.  Into the second loop my roommate caught up after dropping the chain and we worked together to catch two other girls.  A big thank you to her for keeping me going, for helping me out when my legs just couldn’t. Wind, climbs, numb legs, snot and other things…we finished together and the second we unclipped took a seat on the grass, there was just nothing left to walk.  I don’t think we’ve ever pushed ourselves this much in a race.  It felt good… ~AddingMoMiles

Race Fun Begins.

First race of 2015, and even more exciting, it was a road race.  We drove up to Dade City, FL for Race for Humanity, two 17 mile loop course.  I’ve had my fair share of run races and obviously triathlons but I’ve had a limited number of cycling races.  By limited, I signed up for one last year on a whim on a weekend riding trip to Clermont and didn’t even technically finish.  So we’ve made progress, I finished this race and didn’t get lapped.  It was only two loops, so lapping would have been kind of hard but let’s not focus on that.  We can say I won my race, no DNF and I didn’t come in dead last.  Now let me tell you a little story about the conditions.

I checked the forecast the night before leaving and it said 60’s and raining.  I figured the forecast was wrong, it usually is.  They were right on.  We wake up race morning to find it raining, 60ish degrees, and winds up to 30 mph (I kid you not, this isn’t a Cuban exaggeration).  If this were a regular riding day, I would have climbed right back into my warm bed.  The plan to ride there for warm up was cancelled; we pack our cars and headed to the race.  We manage to get our chips, put our numbers and stay relatively dry, but no time to warm up.  As we wait for the women’s race to start I couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t tell if it’s from nerves or just from being soaked and cold.  Pneumonia for sure.  “It’s the first race of the season, no need to kill yourself on the course girls, safety first” or something along those lines came out of the officials mouth.  Great.   At this point all I could think about is not leaving any skin on the pavement.

As we start the race, my glasses were already covered in water and I could barely see the tire in front of me.  Not to mention, the wind wouldn’t let me hear the freewheeling for the other girls, so I wasn’t exactly sure when they were slowing down.  The only choice was to take off my glasses.  Nothing better than road gunk splashing up into your eyes, but at the moment that was the least of my worries.  My legs felt tight but nothing I wasn’t able to shake off.  We start with a few short climbs, relatively easy speed.  It wasn’t until we came to a longer climb around mile 10 that the group started to pull away.  It was bound to happen on a climb, it isn’t exactly my forte. It beats the last race where I got dropped the first minute (literally) of the race. So now I’m left to battle the winds solo, but the positive was that I didn’t have the stress of being surrounded by other riders on very wet roads.  I finished the first loop without much thought, with exception of the nice 3 climbs heading right into the wind the last 3-4 miles.  On this last stretch, I see a tiny spec ahead, which I had to assume was another cyclist.  My thought was if I reach her we can battle this wind together.  I get to her about 1 KM off of the start/finish, only to watch her not go for the second loop but get off the course.  Really lady!? Even though a part of me wanted to get off with her.

So the next 17 miles were filled with some ups and down and some extreme thoughts.  The first few miles I swore I was retiring, not doing another road race. I pushed those thoughts aside and set a goal to finish under 2 hours.  I start pushing on the pedals, though at some point I swore the bike was having some kind of mechanical failure because it wasn’t moving.  Turns out, the bike was just fine; I was on a false flat.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt my fingers or toes. I had to start rationing my water. For some time I thought I was completely lost, nothing  looked familiar and freaked out a little more when the vultures started to circle overhead.  Turns out they were there for the dead armadillo, not me.  I made the final turn towards the finish right into the wind, knowing I only had a few miles left and about two climbs.  Oh look how nice, now the sun decides to peak through the clouds.  Kind of useless now, I may have already lost a toe to frostbite.   I miscounted the climbs, turns out it was more than two.  It was hard to get out of the saddle to climb; the gust of winds would shake your bike.  I fought the wind in each climb, at some point I’m sure I screamed out obscenities.  I was relieved to see the finish line and even more relieved to get out of my soaked cold clothes and put on my hoodie.  I tell you this, coffee and a warm shower never felt so good.  But after I had defrosted all I could think of was the next race.  I know, masochist.

Those were the hardest weather conditions I have ever raced in.  If there is anything this race did was highlight my weakness in climbing and probably my rookie nerves of riding in those conditions.  Both of which will be worked on.  Putting everything aside, it was a great training race with a good amount of climbing.  Something I wouldn’t have been able to do in Miami.  Not only that, I realized how much I really love road racing, the atmosphere, the people.  So I take my learning from this race and on to the next race… ~ AddingMoMiles

Mission Accomplished

I finished my last post nervous that I would come back saying that for whatever I didn’t cross the finish. Well, I can now say I am an Ironman! Not only am I an Ironman, but I can say it has to be one of the greatest experiences to-date. I know you’re all thinking I’ve lost my mind but I had such a great race.  I finished in exactly 14 hours, about an hour less than I had calculated.  How?  I just kept running.  I ran 1 mile, 26 times. What made it best was how great the entire trip was.  Somehow the race flew by but I soaked up as much of it as I could.  It was genuinely fun.

The most exhausting part of Ironman isn’t always the race but the days and traveling leading up to it.  The stress of work, fitting in training, and making sure you don’t forget anything when you pack.  Traveling an entire day doesn’t exactly result in rested legs but we made our way to Louisville, Kentucky. I hoped for minimal crisis situations but as I’m falling asleep on the plane, it came to me half slumber that I forgot to pack my Garmin.  MY GARMIN.  In true fashion, I flip out.  God bless in flight wi-fi, whatsapp, a teammate who still hadn’t left Miami, and one great friend who sent hers with him.  Crisis 1 averted.  The anxiety leading up to the day of the race, packet pick-up, bike pick-up…and then bike-drop off, bags drop-off, walk here, find food I can eat, test the bike, swim practice.  It doesn’t help calm the nerves when you jump into the disgusting Ohio River and the current is so bad if you stop swimming it takes you back 25 yards.  Sigh of relief though, this isn’t the swim we’ll be facing, the current is actually in our favor.  Big pasta dinner….and it’s race morning.

We made it to Louisville!

Bike Drop Off

Louisville is unique in that it is not a mass start.  Most Ironmen, all 2K plus participants start at the same time.  Sounds thrilling right.  We got to line up before sunrise to stand in line for rolling start.  The cannon went off and 15 minutes later I was on the pier, Katy Perry playing, jumping into dirty water.  The rolling start sounds less nerve wrecking right?  Right up to when I saw rows of green capped muscles heading my way after I jumped in.  The first 45 minutes was a battle I loss with the men.  I was kicked in the rib, may have popped a boob if they were fake, swallowed Ohio River water (I may start glowing soon). I got in a few punches, threw out some elbows. Don’t get me started on the cleanliness of the river.  I made it out alive (slower than I would have liked) and into transition.  Changing tent was less chaotic than expected, changed, found my bike, and off I went.  This is where my fun started.  By this point I just wanted breakfast, cause I was starving.  I settled for a Bonk Breaker and went on my merry way.  Only 112 miles on the bike to go.  No cadence, no problems.  I only prayed to the bike gods for no mechanical problems.  Bike was going smoothly until I made a right for an out and back.  I was hitting a downhill at 40 mph.  The problem with that, what goes down in an out and back, must come up….and up we did.  I kept myself entertained, keeping track of nutrition, calculating times, speed, what mile I was at.  Time passed quickly and I was having fun.  Water, water, water, pills, blocks, yum another bonk breaker.  It was warm, but nothing impossible.  I learned when you gotta go, you gotta go.  There was nothing rolling about those hills, just a lot of up. I saved my legs, and in the last 30 miles, I picked up the pace and headed back.  To the guy that encouraged me, instead of hiss negative comments when I passed him, thank you.  Your words stuck with me to the finish line.  To the lady spectators cheering on us “Ironwomen” in the heat, thank you.  I got to dismount (6:34 bike time, right on target) and got off the bike fearing the current status of my legs.  Wait, what?  I can walk!  They’re ready to run.

I took my time in T2 cause I knew what was coming.  Where I mentally struggle, where I physically struggle and what I knew would be the most challenging.  One the other hand, I was 2/3 of the way.  I may still have had 6-7 hours (or so I thought) left but I was technically almost done.  I had a plan of running aid station to aid station.  Didn’t necessarily matter how fast, just that I didn’t walk it.  I wanted to reach a point that I knew if I walked the rest I would still make it under 17.  So I set on my merry way, taking down water, sticking ice everywhere (yes down my shorts), wetting my head, and eating my blocks (praying my stomach would just cooperate).  Mile 3 passed, mile 5, 6, 9, and I looked down and I was almost half way there.  Wait a second, I can keep this plan and possibly trot the whole thing.  I smiled, I chatted, made friends, I danced.  At mile 17 is when I realized I could get under 14 hours.  At this point, my knees where yelling mercy, my muscles were cramping.  My eyes watered every time I started up after each aid station.  I took an ibuprofen, started having a few pretzels (they saved me) and kept at it.  At aid station 19 I ran into a volunteer who asked me if I was second loop.  He could tell by response I was in pain and walked with me as I drank my water.  He told me I can walk the rest and still be an Ironman or I can keep at it and make it to the turnaround where I would only have 10K left.  “I know you have ran many 10Ks, the faster you get there, the faster you can have a beer” Thank you, I picked up the pace and made it into downtown right under 14 hours.  But nothing would prepare when I would turn the corner and see 4^th street live and two blocks of spectators just cheering you on.  It is more of an emotional rush than I can explain.   The more emotional I got, the louder the crowd cheered.  I stopped right when the shoot started and took it all in.  I admit, I cried, I let out yells of joy.  I honestly didn’t think this was something I would ever be able to accomplish, atleast not as solid, and everything just came out at that moment. By the time I got to the finish line it was too loud to hear my name, but I would never forget hearing “You are an Ironman.”  14:00:06.

1st x Ironman & 3 x Ironman!

I was told to enjoy every minute of it and I did.  The vibe of athletes, the silent nerves, the energy, the uncertainty of the day ahead.   I was told that I would come back a different person and it’s true.  Thank you Ironman for changing me, for allowing to find my real strength, to know I am capable of more…and that it really is your mind that pushes thru the pain.  Thank you Ironman, your training got me thru hard times, got me out of bed when I didn’t want to, made me stronger in many senses.  This race was something I needed to do for me.  Thank you to my training team, you mean more to me than you know and made this experience more than memorable.  To our Kona qualifier, thank you for constantly pushing me, training me, your patience and just being there.  Congratulations. To all those who supported us back home, thank you! To my sister, you were with my every step, love you.  To the hundreds of volunteers and spectators, without you, many of us wouldn’t be Ironmen, thank you.  To all those participants, congratulations, you are an Ironman.  Would I do it again?  Without a doubt! But for now, there are other things and goals brewing.   It’s time to take some time to really enjoy it all.  ~ AddingMoMiles.

Memorable Trip

Cloud 9