The Groad To Kanza

It’s here, Kanza week. As I read through all the messages in our Kanza group chat, I can feel my anxiety creeping and my stomach turning.  Too late to go as moral support?  I’m a really great pro spectator.  For months we’ve discussed tire selection, patches, who’s packing what, worst case scenario situations.  I also may have googled how to build a fire, in case I get lost in the middle of Kansas. Someone send help if you don’t see a finisher insta story by night fall.

In all seriousness, since March I’ve been working to get myself into half decent shape for this race.  But it’s also felt like I’ve been preparing for battle or the end of the war. No course signs, no water for 50 miles, rocks that apparently are capable of slashing all your tires open.  Oh by the way, your derailleur may fall off and you’ll need to do the whole thing single speed.  There’s also the possibility of river and mud crossings if it rains.  As I looked through pictures and read the horror stories….

I need new f’ing friends, I keep saying it.

Training for this Kanza did not come without its difficulties.  I was extremely out of shape when I first signed up and slightly overweight.  My poor coach had the daunting task of getting me ready and he very patiently got me there.  Preparing for this race came with some new challenges.  For one, I had a lot of trouble recovering.  I like to blame the fact that everything that surrounds me is rollers and well obviously, mountains, so even “easy” rides could include about 1K of climbing.  But it could be a multitude of reasons (I even gave up weekday wine because of this). The result was sometimes missing key workouts. I also started having major issues with nutrition.  I didn’t grasp the toll climbing for 45 minutes to over an hour took on your body and the amount of calories I needed to replenish.  The end results, bonking and sluggishly making my way back home trying to keep the bike straight.  I’m sure it may not have helped that I was reducing daily calories (in a healthy manner) to try to drop weight.  It’s somewhat hard to manage fueling for training and losing weight without something suffering.  Combine that with still adjusting to the new city and learning routes, weddings to travel to, a trip back home and not having those bike friends live and in person to train with…like I said, it came with its new set of challenges but they were faced, adjusted and moved past.  I also quickly learned how hard it was to lug around a 30+ pound mountain bike through rollers and what not.  So, I upgraded to a proper gravel bike.  Any excuse for a new bike no? (N+1+1+1+1)

If there is anything training for Kanza has done is take me way outside my comfort zone, like roaming gravel roads for 5 hours alone. This is where I want to thank everyone who’s sent me “when animal attack/chase cyclists” videos, it’s really comforting at these very moments.  It’s slated to be 90 degrees and this makes me nervous.  But whatever the outcome may be, the fact that my bike has led me to another new place, another new adventure is enough for me. Even if it is the middle of nowhere Kansas…self-supported….no course markings…save yourself type of adventure. ~ Adding Mo Miles.

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

 

What the #Fakawi

This weekend I embarked on what for me was a bit of an adventure.  Let me start off by saying I have a perpetual fear of technical trails (hitting a tree) and of starting a ride in mob like fashion.  So it would only make sense that I would agree to join in the festivities of the Fakawi Bike Festival with hundreds of other riders.  It’s a fairly organized, non-official 30 or 50 miles ride through trails and a levee.  For whatever reason, I had an impulse feeling to buy a mountain bike a while back.  I’ve been on it a total of 4 times, including Fakawi and a stroll in the neighborhood.  Meaning I’ve been in the trails a total of two times in the last 2 months that I’ve had the bike.  With my fear of trees, I had refused to put clips on the bike.  Well, the day before I said why the hell, put clips on and bought a pair of mtb shoes.  Kind of having this screw fear, try new shit attitude lately.  So far it’s working out well.

So I show up the morning of the ride and see car after car with fancy mountain bikes.  I’m here thinking, great, totally out of my element.  Little by little, I find more people, friends show up.  Nerves start to trickle away.  Once everyone started to bunch together for the start, I noticed one of the best thing about the ride is the amount of different kinds of riders.  It didn’t matter whether you were a roadie, an elite triathlete, an instafamous triathlete, a die-hard mountain biker, a CX pro, or a weekend recreational rider.  Everyone was there for one reason it seemed, to celebrate riding.

Hundreds of riders starting at the same time, you think there would be total chaos, but it was quite the opposite.  Given, you had your “pro” riders jumping over medians like there was money the line. But boys will be boys.  I had to continuously remind myself I was clipped, tumbling over would have been a little embarrassing. After a few turns, I really had no idea where I was and just kind of followed the crowd, sneaking by barriers, hoping I didn’t miss a green arrow.  It would alternate between easy trails (thank god), rocks, and pavement.  In true Miami fashion, it was hot and humid.  You kind of met people along the way, made friends.  At least I did, mostly because I didn’t take it that seriously. At one point it felt like I was on a first date. Went kind of like “Hi, what’s your name.  What do you do? Ride often? More than I should. Will you marry me? I heard Vegas is kind of nice this time of year.” I left him behind, every man for himself mentality. So Mike, if at any point you read this, I’m still up for Vegas.

I was your usual slow in the trails, but on the road and levee, I would say my time on the road bike came in handy.  I had to start rationing water because I had no computer.  Strava was tracking me from my pocket, so I never really knew how close I was to the 22 mile point, where the rest stop was.  Pretty much just roaming.  Wait, were those inflatable Alligators?  I got there with just enough water to spare, filled up, talked a bit and then headed out.  At this point I wasn’t sure what was going on, I was on a highway.  No idea how I got here.  Figured I just attach myself to a group and draft cause the wind was starting to pick up.   So I got to the point where I see some heading off to the levee and others staying on the highway.  Good thing I stopped to ask what was going because I was on the divide for 30 and 50 miles.  Giving it some thought after, I should’ve kept going.  But I’m perfectly capable of getting lost, so I picked the safer route.  Up on the levee you could oversee the highway, see across to the fields.  It was great view.  Of course this was a perfect photo op moment.  With the exception of the man who didn’t want his ass photographed (it was a pretty nice ass). Before I knew it, I was back at the park, alive in one piece and uninjured.

There were so many reasons this was just such a great ride.  For one, it was way out of my comfort zone.  So far gone out of my comfort zone and it was a total trip.  There was no stress, no computer to track power, no speed to watch or cadence to monitor, no group to keep up with, no wheel to chase down, no dropping, no sprint, no real finish line, no breakaways, no worry of some idiot clipping my wheel, no loud mouth men!! I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know what my heart rate was.   I could go as fast or as slow as I damn well pleased.  Just the dirt and I.  It was possibly the freest I felt a real long time.  I met new people, laughed with old friends, talked to strangers.  The entire experience was just fun.  Funny what trying something new could do because right now, I can’t wait to do it again. ~ 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

Another Tragic Loss

We woke up Wednesday like any other morning.  Alarms went off before the sun, we sluggishly put on our kits, clipped our helmets, grabbed our bikes and headed for our morning ride.  A row of blinking red lights, the sound of freewheeling, and good morning banter…what we consider a good start to any morning.  We make our way over the bridge and towards Bear Cut only to see an unusual amount of traffic.  “The street is closed, please turn around.” You take the detour without thinking twice…until someone tells you a cyclist was involved.  Your heart automatically drops to your stomach.  Is it someone you know, or worse, someone you love… you call, you text and make sure you’ve gone through the list.  But what doesn’t immediately cross your mind is that your family and friends at home are doing the same thing.  You let your dad know before he sees it on TV, sister tracking you down, friends messaging, co-workers relieved to see you at your desk.  The rest of the day you comb media outlets for updates on names, what happen, anything you can find.  This hit too close to home.  One cyclist dead, the other in critical condition.  The story doesn’t change, drunk driver swerved into the bicycle lane.

For the last 24 hours it’s been the battle of cyclist versus motorist and vice versa.  I wrote about this months ago “Dear Motorist” and it’s sad that it takes such a tragedy to bring to light the dangers of Miami roads.  Every time we walk out the door for a ride, there’s always the possibility of not coming back.  There is always the fear and feeling in your gut.  It’s not something we like to think about, but it’s a reality.  I spent yesterday reading how cyclist shouldn’t be on the road, how cyclist are the problems, how we think we own the road.  All of this on a thread of an article of a father who was tragically killed by a drunk driver.  It was disgusting and sad.  I tell you this; there are cyclists who don’t respect much of anything.  I can say that I’ve taken the occasional red light and rolled thru a stop sign.  But there is the occasional motorist who is texting, who roll thru the same stop sign, and who drive drunk.  They are both at fault for their actions.  But at the end of the day, the car always wins.  So to motorist we ask you to kindly share the road.

The solution for these kinds of tragedies is not, not to ride.  The solution is not to find safer places to ride or select specific times where it is safer to ride.  The solution in my mind is to ride more.  To grow the sport, to teach motorist the appropriate way to pass, to educate on the laws, to have officials impose slower speeds in areas we know cyclist use as their stomping grounds.  On any given weekend morning in Key Biscayne, cyclist and fitness enthusiast alike out number motorists.  City officials have to see this growing problem and reach a solution.  There should be an increase in police presence, but with officers that actually support the law and rights of cyclist.  I’ve had my fair share of law enforcement that honestly could give a damn.  To you, we thank you for “serving and protecting.” Tragedies like this will not stop until there is a change in the mindset of Miami’s population and city officials that cycling is part of this city and that we aren’t going anywhere.  If anything, we are growing in numbers.  Each of those cyclists is a human, a sister, father, mother, and daughter.  Value human life. Think twice before you fly by them inches from their elbow, before you look down at that text, before you get in the car after that 4^th drink.  We have every right to the same road you’re on, we are just using our legs to move us in the same direction you’re heading. How many more cyclist have to be hit and killed before something is done?

I didn’t know Walter Reyes but we all still ride with heavy hearts.  The cycling community has suffered an unnecessary and very sad loss.  My condolences to him and his family.  We hope Henry Hernandez recovers and gets well soon.  This should not be another tragic loss but a wakeup call to cyclist and motorist alike.  Cyclist will not stop riding, we will not get off the road, and we will not pick better times to ride.  If anything we will continue fight for our legal right to be on the road.  Like a friend quoted today, “courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyways” ~AddingMoMiles

The Not so Resolution, Resolution.

We’re 16 days into the New Year; many of us have looked at our resolutions post and wonder how we already went wrong.  It was a plague of “new year, new me”. I wonder why we wait for new years to better ourselves, but that’s a philosophical question for another post. So in true fashion, I evaluated “resolutions” that I could and maybe should make for the New Year.  I realized that most I will not keep, nor will I try.  I probably made them in 2008, 2009, another attempt in 2011, and failed miserably in 2013.  So in 2014 I focused on two goals, not a resolution.  One was to better my career.  Six months of about 210 resumes sent, 130 e-mails, and about 25 interviews, I am sitting in a job that a genuinely enjoy.  My second goal was to do something I considered really epic.  I wasn’t sure what, but I wanted it to be memorable.  So I signed up for an Ironman.  290 hours of training later and that goal was completed.

Failed resolutions included mundane things like eat less dessert.  Who are we kidding?  Get abs…please refer to previous resolution.  Cut back on coffee, this would never lead to a positive outcome. Religiously get mani and pedi’s (never.going.to.happen.). Call my mother more.  I try, I really do.  Make better romantic/relationship decisions.  But then life would be so extremely boring. Control my sarcasm.  I’ve learned it’s just part of my charm.  Make sure my room is always organized; after all I’m a grown woman. It’s just too exhausting, so some days my bed will not be made.  Curse less, skip out on pizza, drink less beer…just plain miserable.  I’ve learned through my many years of failed resolutions that none of these things make me a better person, athlete, or really help me grow as a human.  Most of them just make me grumpy and possibly less tolerable.

AMEN.

So for 2015, I don’t have resolutions because life improvements started months ago.  So I’ll just challenge myself to do more this year.  Put in more miles, double 2014.  Ride my bike more.  Run more, lift more, climb more, hell do more burpees.  Do more epic shit. Love more, laugh more, and add some  more kindness.  If it scares me, do it.  If I have to seriously deep dig to accomplish it, do it.  If it makes me stronger, do it. If a race is going to hurt, do it.   Stop thinking, doubting, over analyzing.  If it isn’t for me, get rid of it.

This year is a little different.  I am apparently supposed to have all my races for the year selected and planned but that really isn’t the case.  I’m actually kind of torn and have taken a bit of a detour.  I am genuinely enjoying my road bike.  Yes, there are a few triathlons I plan to do but what I’m really excited are road races.  I’m looking forward to learning more, riding smarter, and putting in more time.  New experiences, like the possibility of a Team Betty 2015 training camp and some tough rides.  “Turn the pain into power.”~ AddingMoMiles

Ponle Cabeza

So I am currently a little beat up. Muscles hurt, legs heavy, swollen, sleep walking and I’m starting to discover bruises where I never thought I could bruise. None other than the result All4Cycling Camp. This weekend we packed up our kits, helmets, bonk breakers, some chamois cream and caravanned our way up to Clermont, FL. It’s the only place in Florida where we have rolling hills, the fun street of Buckhill, and the infamous (now conquered) Sugarloaf Mountain. We left Thursday night and came back Sunday. Yes, we took a vacation day to go suffer. We have issues like that. I’ve been to Clermont before, I’ve strolled thru Buckhill once and made my way up Sugarloaf but this time was different. This was a trip with 15 hours of scheduled riding. I’m not going to lie, I was downright scared. Not only that, but I was heading up with what I like to call seasoned riders and some seriously strong cyclist.

Let me introduce you to Sugarloaf:

Day one I kept up for a good amount until we hit about three hours and then people kind of started to get smaller and smaller as I fell back. I was a little proud that I wasn’t the first on the van but I did end up there about 3 miles away from the hotel. I was angry, frustrated and just broke, for the last few miles every turn was a climb, I just felt like I had nothing else left. Who put the hotel on the top of a hill? I’m sure this was on purpose. I realized after this ride how grueling the course is going to be. As I shampooed the hours of sweat out of my hair, I genuinely started to worry about the race. Regardless of how disappointed I was in myself for getting on the van, I got great encouragement for what I was able to do. I would not get frustrated with myself the next day (I did).

I started Day 2 with the goal of riding longer than I did the day before, 5 hours. But it was the ride I realized exactly what I can do and how much I can push myself. It wasn’t all about the time and distance but the amount of support I received this ride, it’s beyond words. Pulling while going up two hills and hearing a group of 16 people or so root you on to make sure you made it all the way to the top. To have someone coaching you thru the climbs, pushing you (literally someone pushed me up the last climbs), telling you it’s mental (ponle cabeza became the theme), how proud they were to see you fight thru the pain, to hear them calling your name up ahead to make sure you get there, and just have a group who wanted to see you make it thru the end of the ride as much as you did.  Regardless of my attitude, I got a little cranky and boy did I bitch, they were pushing me. They know what I’m capable of more than I do most of the time. For those that were there reading this, thank you…thank you for everything.

 

Unfortunately by the third day I couldn’t handle the saddle, there wasn’t enough A&D in the world, but I got dressed and rode as long as I could. I finished the weekend with almost 13 hours and about 200 miles of cycling (gotta check the Garmin). Never in my life did I think I was capable of that. The weekend was full of laughs (ab workouts), pain, sweat, wind, rain, hills on hills on hills, adventures, good food and better friends. It was grueling, it was mentally challenging, but if anything I left Clermont a stronger athlete and ready to keep training. ~ Adding Mo Miles

Dear Motorist

Hello, my name is Monica and I have road rage. There, I said it. Most people fear getting in a car with me and I don’t blame them. In my pre-cycling life, I was not a fan of cyclist. They got in my way of where I wanted to go, as fast as I wanted to get there.

Then came the day I clipped into my first bike. I was in love, after getting over the initial fear that I was stuck to a bicycle. My first time riding on the road was pure terror. Cars flying by me, horns honking, and people cursing. My view was forever changed and I have a new found respect for not only cyclist, but pedestrians, runners, dogs, babies in strollers…basically any living thing near cars driving in Miami. We encounter some respectful motorist, but then we have our run ins with serious a-holes.

So to the person honking the horn and missing me by an inch with your rearview mirror on purpose, you’re an a-hole. To the woman eating a McMuffin, almost taking the stop sign and hitting a cyclist, and then cursing at him… you’re an a-hole. To the drunk that hit a cyclist and sped away… you’re a poor excuse for a human, a coward…oh and also an a-hole.   To the man with a big ol’truck, obviously compensating for your lack of size somewhere else, purposely and obnoxiously honking your horn…you’re an a-hole. To the cyclist who doesn’t follow traffic laws…you’re kind of an a-hole too.

I get it, I was that person trying to get somewhere 2 minutes early. No one likes mornings, traffic, or someone making you late to a meeting. But is it worth risking someone’s life?  Think about it, this is a human being on the bicycle. Unfortunately most Miami streets don’t have bike lanes, so you have to share the roads. The cyclist is a mother, father, son, daughter, sister…is it worth injuring them to make it to the office 2 minutes earlier? We can’t ride on the sidewalks and we have the right to use the full lane. This morning another cyclist was hit on the Rickenbacker Causeway. There are no details yet but lets make Miami streets a little safer for everyone.   So be respectful, share the roads, pass with 3 feet of space and don’t be an a-hole, BOTH cyclist and motorist. ~ Adding Mo Miles