Goats, Grizzly and Glory Hole
All my ironman training may not have paid off the way I wanted it to in Arizona last month. But it seems to be kicking in now.
I spent the past week basking in how good I felt after last weekend's Grizzly Peak Century. A few friends and I rode the shorter version of the century, a 73-mile ride with 5,800 feet of climbing, last Sunday. I rode this course a year ago and suffered immensely. Back then I wasn't in great riding shape, I had been told we were riding only 50 miles, and I was carrying 35+ more pounds on my body than I am now. I was the lanterne rouge all day and was miserable about it. Last weekend, exactly a year later, I felt like I was floating up the hills as I passed people. I am not a climber. I do not pass people on hills. I don't pass typical mountain-goat Bay Area cyclists, anyway. Certainly not on McEwen Road or the Three Bears. I had a delightlful day riding with good friends and I enjoyed every minute of it. And not just because there were well-stocked rest stops with homemade cookies.
So during the week I decided to race a little sprint triathlon this weekend. The Angels Camp triathlon is a small, low-key race in the Sierra foothills. Angels Camp is a gold-rush-era mining town, and the race info instructed us to look for the Glory Hole entrance to the park where the race would be held.
I have done this race once before, back in 2001, my first year racing triathlons. Back then I finished the 1000-yard swim/14-mile bike/4-mile run in 2:18. I was really curious to see how much faster I could go. I figured I'd finish in about 1:50.
Here's the short report: I finished in 1:41. And I won my age group. And I had FUN.
I have never won my age group in a triathlon before. Yeah, it was a small race, it's not like I won my AG at the Escape From Alcatraz, but still, I was the fastest out of the 17 women aged 30-39. And I was the 6th woman out of 50 total.
I came out of the water in about 13 minutes (that was not 1000 yards -- more like 700-800). The water level in the reservoir was pretty low and we had to run about a quarter mile up the very steep boat ramp. It got the blood flowing to my legs, that's for sure. I got on my bike and realized I had completely forgotten in seven years how hilly the bike course was. But what goes up must come down, right? I think I averaged about 18.5mph on a pretty tough course with lots of rollers and one giant hill.
About eight miles into the ride a spectator told me "you're the fifth woman." Wha? I have never heard the words "You're the ___ woman" in a race before. Those are words fast people hear. It gave me a kick in the pants for sure; suddenly I didn't want to lose valuable places. (Although I think I was actually sixth at that point, but whatever.) Two women did pass me on the ride, both in their 40s, both total badasses, and they both beat me by several minutes in the end.
The run also was much hillier than I remembered. It started with about half a mile of climbing to get out of the parking lot onto the pretty singletrack trails. I pushed it, although I never felt like I was moving very fast. I was working really hard but also enjoying the lovely trails. I knew the suffering would be over soon, and that allowed me to take in the surroundings (and watch for the rattlesnakes we had been warned about) despite huffing and puffing like a locomotive.
With a mile to go, I spotted a woman ahead of me and knew I could catch her. When I came within striking distance I knew I had to crush her to keep her from passing me back, so I sprinted past while trying to make it look effortless. As I passed her she saw that we were in the same age group and cursed under her breath. Heh. I ended up finishing about 35 seconds ahead of her. (I thanked her later for making me work so hard.)
My friend Liz, whom I convinced to come race with me before she leaves for the Arctic Circle next week, was 2nd in the women's 40-49 AG. We unintentionally wore matching race outfits, which was pretty hilarious to discover as we pulled off our warm pre-race clothes.
So ironman training is good for more than just racing ironman races. After racing my first IM I realized that putting in the long hours makes the shorter races seem way more fun. Not really easier, because shorter races involve a completely different type of pain, but it puts the suffering in perspective.
It makes me wonder, though. If I trained for short distance races, did more training at a higher intensity, maybe I could get to be pretty good at them. Just maybe. Huh.
(I took the photo of the goats while spinning up one of the Three Bears during the Grizzly Peak ride. Baaaaaaa.)
May 11, 2008 7:13 PM | Comments (3)
A story of true heroism
It's the beginning of strawberry season here in California and we've been on the lookout for open farm stands. Our very last jar of strawberry jam from last year is sitting in the fridge with about a teaspoon and a half of carefully rationed jam at the bottom. It's precious stuff.
Last weekend after Dave's race we saw a sign for a strawberry stand out by the race site. We were on a mission to get lunch, though, as neither of us had eaten a meal in about eight hours, so we decided we'd go back after finding food. Of course, after loading up on burritos and eighteen pounds of tortilla chips, we completely forgot about the strawberry hunt until we were 45 miles down the road and halfway across the Bay Bridge.
The next day Dave took BART across the bay and rode his bike back to the race site to watch his teammates race the crit. Knowing how important those strawberries were to me, crazy though it sounds, he rode his bike to that strawberry stand and bought half a flat of berries.
You may be wondering how the heck Dave got six pints of strawberries home on his bike. His race bike. This is not a touring rig with panniers or a giant handlebar basket. Six pints of strawberries weigh about the same as Dave's bike.
He lovingly put the strawberries into plastic bags and then layered those bags into bigger bags filled with some ice he begged off a Starbucks or a street vendor or something like that. (It was hot out there.) Apparently he slung those bags over his shoulders like an ox in a yoke. The puddling water from the melting ice attracted some attention from BART police, but the strawberries were allowed to continue their journey. By the time Dave got home (some bike riding, some BART, some more bike riding), the berries were just slightly weary-looking. When I arrived home Sunday afternoon and saw the huge colander of berries in the sink, I knew I had to get to work. They had been picked that morning. They wouldn't be nearly as good the next day.
So we tag-teamed it and whipped up nine jars of jam in just over an hour.
We make a great team.
May 2, 2008 9:42 PM | Comments (2)
But it was mostly the brownies
My husband Dave is a very strong cyclist, as many of you know, particularly those of you who have tried to keep up with him on a climb. This season his years of hard work have really started to pay off, as he has finished top-ten in several races. On Saturday he finished fourth (out of 91 men who started his category 4 race) in the Wente Vineyards Classic, a very hot, hilly road race. Even cooler than his top-5 finish, though, was that he earned enough points to upgrade to category 3. That is AWESOME. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, take my word for it.
I credit his success to three things:
The Fast Brownies I baked Friday night. I used the standard Baker's One-Bowl Brownie recipe, except I replaced half the sugar with brown sugar, added a generous handful of semisweet chocolate chips, a handful of walnuts, a teaspoon of instant coffee and a few grinds of black pepper. Best brownies I've ever made.
The fact that he started shaving his legs a few weeks ago. You know, like a "real" cyclist. I didn't even notice until I saw him picking at a scab on his shin. "Cut yourself shaving?" I joked, totally kidding. It took a few minutes for me to realize that, yeah, he did cut himself shaving.
All that hard work doing early-morning hill repeats, Tuesday night park rides, power-meter spin classes, and riding with the Roasters. I guess those deserve a mention.
Bonus: He won a bottle of wine (pictured above). Sweet!
The one souvenir I wanted from this race
Normally I couldn't care less about my finish-line photos. But I really wanted a good one from IMAZ so I could send a copy to the very nice nurses at the ER who took care of me when I broke my wrist 15 weeks before race day (one of them was a triathlete). And show another copy to my orthopedic surgeon, who laughed when I told him I wanted to do an ironman 15 weeks post-fracture. ("Oh, you can do the race, you just won't be able to train for it," he said.) And give one more copy to my physical therapist, who is also a triathlete, who has been extremely sympathetic and supportive.
I thought I timed my finish pretty well; there was no one right in front of me in the chute and no one right behind me to pass me.
So of course, the one time I really really want a good photo, I get the worst finish-line photo ever. I guess race photographers (and finish-line volunteers) are only human.
April 25, 2008 10:53 AM | Comments (1)
"Recovery"
I'm having fun in the desert with a bunch of cool triathlete women. I've gone for a couple of runs and a short ride, and we're heading to the pool in a few minutes. It's so much fun when it's all optional!
