Race Report(s): Cyclocross National Championships

Grab the coffee, turn off the phone, and snuggle into the couch, this baby is a verbose one!

First, the who, what, when and where.  I arrived in Portland, OR on Thursday night, plane predictably late, hopped into a rented Ford Escape (pronounced ay-'sca'-pay), threw the ginormous but surprisingly light bike box into the back, and headed over the snowy roads around Mt. Hood... destination: Bend, OR and the USAC National Cyclocross Championships.  I had two races, one the Masters 30-34 on Friday and the Pro/Elite(!) Women on Sunday.  Also, thanks to Peter, I had a fabulous homestay for the weekend (a cyclist and all around nice guy).

Off to the races....

If there is one thing you can count on for a cyclocross race in Oregon, it seems to be mud.  Going in to Nats, I was a little concerned that I hadn’t ridden in the slop yet this year.  And I was hoping that my past year’s experience with the unpredictable, quad-busting brown stuff would still be with me and serve me well.

The lay of the land:  I only raced in good old MO this year; I didn’t race the Women’s Masters 30-34+ race last year; and I skipped out on the seeding time trial on Thursday morning.  All adding up to the reality that I was going to be starting in the back of the pack, with lots of opportunities to pass and crash!  The course was really tight.  Lots of hairpins, four spots that required jumping off the bike and running, and, of course, the mud.  How muddy are we talking?  Bend was slammed by a snowstorm the week before the race.  Then unseasonably warm weather melted almost all of it.  Followed by torrential downpours, high winds, and broken by schizophrenic sunshine and you have the makings of a mudfest.

Race Day #1.  Surprise, surprise, I got a late start out the door, misplaced my numbers at race registration, and realized that I didn’t pack my warm-up pants.  Late is not too late.  The numbers were easily retrieved.  And who needs warm-up pants when the fine folks at Lemond Fitness generously set-up wind trainers on the outdoor theater stage for anybody to use for a pre-race spin?  I was bound and determined to show up at the start with my twisted Lynskey clean.

I was lined-up at the start in the last row, maybe five rows back?  Hard to tell from my vantage point… practically needed binoculars to see the first row!  No big shocker there.  Nope, the big shocker came 15 ft. off the start-line (barely enough time to take four pedal strokes).  A woman went down hard, right in the middle of the group from maybe the third row and took out most of the field behind her.  I applied the brakes so hard, my front wheel lifted off the ground.  I slid/jumped off the back of the saddle as the woman next to me landed side-ways bodily on my bike.  I leaned over, lifted my bike and her up, extricated her leg and her bike from frame, and hopped on the bike to see if it worked.  It didn’t, the front wheel had come out of the drops and I had to reseat it before finally “starting my race”!  Check out the video (I’m the Jolly Green Giant in the black Maplewood Bicycle kit #391 and the tall socks trying smile off my misfortune).

I rounded the first turn, finally hitting that mud I might have mentioned earlier.  I immediately starting playing the “pass” part of this game in the tricky lines.  Lucky for me I got right on a woman’s wheel right before she went ass over shoulder.  I had no way of maneuvering around her… all I could do was take all my weight off the handlebars as my front wheel rolled over her face.  I almost threw-up right then!  Except that I miraculously stayed clipped-in and rubber-side down.  I churned through a virtual swimming pool on the course (a 40 ft. mud puddle so deep, my shoes disappeared in it) and continued on my muddy way.

On my muddy way...

The course followed like this – rutted and tricky off-camber turns, a downhill bump, a short-run up that could best be described as a 4ft mud cliff with a semblance of footholds, an uphill bump, a rest-your belly-button-on-your saddle dipper, and that was just the first half. 

We wound around onto the beer garden/vendor side where the course was temporarily marked by a line of beer barrels alongside the Deschuetes Brewery and followed by a set of barriers that came right after a sharp little blind downhill.  These were almost immediately followed by a quad-busting, chain-breaker uphill.  I almost ate it in the barriers on the first lap, and I never got up that hill with out sliding my butt off the back of the saddle and running up it (always getting stuck behind somebody).  What goes up, must come down, and without clipping-in, I barreled down a somewhat treacherous downhill followed and onto a  pavement lip, holding my breath on each go around.  And, we’re not done yet! 

Next, we swung around back on to the “grass”, navigating a dip-turned-creek before hauling up an over-pass that spectators could walk under to get their beer (and coffee, burritos, and frites! Oh my).  This is where the course got even trickier and more funner (and slightly rerouted for later races in the week-end to make it less treacherous…this section will figure in a later race).   It snaked along the expo side and then there were STAIRS… at least 15 of them.  I, of course, took them two-at-a-time for three of the four laps!  And then finally, and thankfully, the lap ended, and it was off to do it again.  The course was so long that in the 40-minutes of our race, we only got to do 4 laps.  That’s good for the ladies at the back; they get their money’s worth!

Coming down from the overpass.

So, that was the race pretty much.  After my two snafoos, I was effectively last for all intense purposes.  I gruelingly worked my way back up to 14^th (5^th Cat2) before the end!

Guess what the crashing did to my baby (the newest addition to my bike fleet)… I spent most of the race in two-three gears as I kept slipping in and out of them each time I tried to shift too far one way of the other.  I figured the hanger was bent (need to get some spares).  What I didn’t figure was buying a whole new rear derailleur.  Upon later inspection (by my excellent friend-of-a-friend home-stay – and hopefully my new friend, Eric, if he can still stand me still- who incidentally put me up, fed me, cleaned my bike twice(!), and entertained me above and beyond anything I would have ever expected) the rear derailleur was toast!  Yes, the hangar actually was impossibly bent, but the B-tensioner screw on the derailleur was ripped off, the arm was bent in, and the barrel adjuster was destroyed.  Practically the only thing it’s good for now is spare sprockets.  How did I ride this bike for the whole race?  Oh, not to mention that the rear wheel was a little out of true (very sorry Stewart).

Thankfully, the guys at Hutch’s Bike Shop in Bend helped me out with the new part and at least my bike was race ready for Sunday.  I discovered all the new scrapes and bruises in the shower, not to mention the late-onset soreness that night.

Racing with the big girls.

I chilled and worked out the muscle kinks with a five-mile trail run, and just enjoyed the unseasonably warm and spectacular weather that arrived in Bend on Saturday afternoon.

The sun was out early on Sunday and I went to watch my friend Blair Bronson rip it up in the Div. 1 Collegiate Men’s Championships (I think it was only his third ‘cross race ever).  It’s funny watching a cross race fully clothed.  Seeing all the mud and pain face out on the course, I had little desire to get out onto the course myself.  But later, as soon as I put on my shorts and jersey (need to get me a skinsuit for next year) and pulled up my tall socks, it was game on.  I warmed up on the stage again (that was so key!) and went to await my call-up.

And, I had to wait a long time.  In a field of over a hundred women, I think my start position was 95^th.  So, much for “randomly” getting screwed.  With women 8-wide on the line, you can do the math and figure that I was in the 9^th or 10^th row.

I am indicated by the yellow arrow... I might stick out in a crowd.  Just a little bit.

This time, it was clean..which is to say that there were no crashes that I was involved in.  And thanks to Bob’s Red Mill, the swimming pool on the course had been reportedly soaked up by a timely application of pounds of steel cut oats.  However, the rest of that section looked like a herd of cows had gone through it, and I found it best to dismount and run this entire thing.  My strategy for the whole first lap: get off and run it!  I did that in three spots, passing an amazing number of women in the process.  I even ran about 50-60 yds leading up to the stairs.  The advantage of running while carrying your bike in that muck?  A free hand to guide the women on their bikes out of your way!

I kept working my way up the whole race.  It was painful and fun.  I traded places with a couple of women for four out the five laps, eventually working my way up into 37^th!  It wasn’t the best display of bike-handling skill and acumen, but it was a major improvement on my result from last year!  And I managed to stay ahead of the Comptonator, which meant I got to race all the laps (she again lapped half the field).  I did have one incident… I was aiming to cut somebody off (my bad!) and she managed to cut me right back on a sharp turn.  In order to stay upright, I swung my right knee out and caught a beer barrel square, tearing a flap of skin off the point of my knee… it bled pretty impressively, and mixed with the mud, I looked really tough.  Not so tough now though, going to have to ice when I get home.   Going to have to ice a lot of things when I get home, actually.

Avoiding the barrels on this lap, but the bloody deed has been done!

MUCHOS GRACIAS to Eric for letting me invade his life for the weekend.  Stewart and Maplewood Bicycle for the opportunity to race out there on probably the nicest (and coolest) bike I have ever owned (I’ll make sure to “own” it soon.  And don’t let my other bikes hear about that; they are a jealous bunch, especially Tigger).  Travis for the used (new) groupo, the bike box, and the heckling from afar.  Stacie for taking me to and from the airport.  My Corvegas (you guys rock!), PacNW/West, and Missouri (that was a cool surprise) peeps for cowbell and pics.  Friends who were sending me telepathic high-fives and goo-oo-ood vibrations.  All the Bubba ladies and Mens Bs who provided fun racing opportunities this year.

Time to let my bruises heal.  Cyclocross done!

Fall Tails

I love Fall, but occasionally I fall.  Some of my decisions are made through a complicated "Heads and Tails" process that ends up leading to Tails... lot's of 'em :-)  Here's a story about the last three weeks in pics and quips.

First, a friend came to visit!  Maybe because she was curious about what goes on the middle of the country under the guise of coming to see me (love ya, Cary!), it's anybodies guess (and probably a little bit of both)!  Either way, my doors are wide open, the towels are clean, the coffee is good, and diversions are a plenty.

Cary (and me, still!) was excited about pumping gas.

There's a TIger in my Trunk!

and then she was treated to an EPIC Mizzou Homecoming Football Game.

Look at those ROTC kids futiley sitting on the goal posts...

See... can't stop the ZOU crew from claiming there trophy.

We also took in a little BubbaCross...

This was before my massive digger (Fall)... I think I might have broken a finger..
It's getting X-rayed next week.  Like all of my injuries, I give them two weeks to heal before I raise the alarm and get them checked out... spoken like a true athlete in denial. 

Ah Vuvuzelas!

And then it was Halloween... and I couldn't let this opportunity pass.  Halloween on a week-end?  Two cyclocross races?  That calls for two fantastic costumes!  And one thing I've learned from past experience riding in costume... one must consider the movement and the "not getting things caught in spokes" rules.  Capes are out, spandex is in... and if you're good, and your butt is as high in the air as mine.... costumes with tails are the best!

Cheshire Cat meets a scarily, squeeky Binky

I'm just too fast for the camera!

My Avatar raced with the Men's Bs... That's right, on the front!

Peter looks concerned that I am leading the race... that's right, the whole RACE.  For a whole lap!

Check out that air!

And of course, what would fall be without a half-marathon.  Last year it was the strangely warm EWEB Run to stay warm at which I set my PR (1:27).  This year was no different... not a PR (that was set last spring in Eugene 1:21), but it was stilly scarily fast (1:22) at the St. Louis Track Club Half-marathon.

I'm the one dressed in Brooks Nite-life (can't miss me), leading the pack!  It's only mile 1....

Bringing it home with one-mile to go 1:22:19

And that's about it... I've got three times the racing fun this week-end and my first weather challenge (it's a very blustery day with a really good chance of rain!  Thanks to all the people (Peter, Stacey, Heidi, Rich, Brent, and Cary) for keeping me in pictures!

Cross this off your list

I've only got one sentence fragment to describe this weekends cyclocross shenanigans:

Three races in 24 hours.

I'm not going to detail out each race, because, frankly, we'd be hear all day.  Also, it would go something like this: "And then on the next lap... I was wearing argyle socks"  I'll give you a few juicy details.

Race #1 Somehow, the showdown was set.  Carrie Cash Wootten (the all-around queen of Missouri cycling, and current legit cyclocross racer because she does it on a national stage) and I had not raced on MO-soil yet this season to test our mettle against each other and the barriers.  And, when there are "Things that go Bubba in the night", there is the potential for a sweet race under the lights.  She and I were neck and neck, trading the lead through the tricky turns and shadows.  In one particularly dark spot, Carrie missed a turn around a tree, me hot on her wheel.  I braked hard and she rode off course, getting caught in the tape as she rejoined the course.  She grabbed my wheel quickly, but between the adrenaline surge and the lost rhythm, it wasn't long before I rode off the front to grab the Women's A win of Bubba Cross #1 for Maplewood Bicycle.

Race #2 This was between me and future Cannondale Rep Courtney (Big Shark Racing).  Carrie had family business, so I treaded the line with six A ladies and a gaggle (that's about 15-20) B racers.  This course was longer, roadier, bumpier, and uphill, with one more barrier, an infinite number of turns and some choice tree branches for me to run into.  I raced.  I won.  It was a skill clinic for me to see how hard and hot I could take some of the turns.

Race #3.... This was the Men's Bs.  I had no intention of racing this race, but Specialized was there as "neutral" support for the race.  I figured that I could pretend my bike had a "technical" that required me to ride the demo bike... ie my bike was "technical"-ly to heavy.  So, after my Women's A race, I went over to check 'em out.  I honed in on the 58cm Specialized S-works full carbon, with SRAM Force, Zipp 303 tubulars.  It was calling my name.  I took a few turns in the grass and decided that I had to race on it.  It didn't hurt that Carrie was racing the Men's Bs and my competitiveness got the better of me.  She made a good case for it "we need the crowd-sourcing" practice.  Before the start, I asked her what "our" race plan was (I asked what her plan was :-).  Fast and first.  And when the horn went off, even lined up in mid-pack, she and I were off the line first, with her taking the lead of the race for the entire first lap!  I was starting to feel the two races before, and it took a bit for my quads to start firing.

I clawed my way back up to her and around and around it went.  At one point I even found myself in the same pace-line as Peter (Urban Assault buddy)!  I knew he knew I was there and that was providing a little extra motivation for him... "must not let Sunny beat me!"

So, Carrie and I were pretty technically matched, but with the course set-up the way it was, the men-folk could power-quad their way past on the forever-straightaways and then we would get stuck behind them in the twisty maze sections. Back and forth, and then on the last lap I took the lead through the two-pack of barriers and prepared to enter the pain-zone.  I thought "I'm cooked" and retreated into my head, knowing she was going to try and drop my butt on the hill... and then nothing happened.  Was I that swarthy on the hill?  Nope, a technical brought on by a giant hole sent Carrie's bike into malfunction, and I was able to free wheel my way to the line, not that I did that :-)  I managed to out-maneuver a few of the guys on the turns, and heckle them a bit that they were letting a girl beat them!  And, I finished it on that fine bike, somewhere around 10-15th in the Men's Bs.

photo courtesy of Brent Newman

The showdown didn't really happen, the stage was not set up right.  We'll hit a true cyclocross-ers course with mud, run-ups, obstacles, off-cambor downhills, and turns that'll make your head-spin, and then we'll see what's up.  Our next meeting will be another night race for Halloween!  Two weeks, hence... gots to get a costume together.

BTW Major shout-out to Single-speedy, my Maplewood Bicycle teammate, and Stewart, shop-owner, main man, and first-time crosser in 12-yrs (?).

Race Report: Lewis and Clark 1/2 marathon

It was a dark and stormy night....

Actually, it was morning, albeit dark.  Not stormy, perfect really.  But, it was the kind of morning where dawn seemed to last forever.  Or maybe it just seemed like forever because I was anxiously watching the minutes click by on the dashboard of the 'baru as I inched my way closer to the race start in a traffic jam caused by 7,000 runners planning to arrive an hour before the start and all choosing to take the same route to get there!

I had left the house at 5:30 AM.  10 miles and 1:45 later, I pulled up to the race start just as the gun went off.  Of course, I was still a ginormous parking lot away.  But I managed to get into my race gear, pin my number on, and consume my pre-race Espresso Clif Shot while waiting in traffic.  So that I emerged from my car and started running.

I crossed the start line (thankfully chip-timed) about two minutes behind the first runners, somewhere among the 10-minute milers.  I used the first 400 yds or so in the crowds to get in a "warm-up" before the course opened wide and I was able to slip to the side of the road and open up my stride.  Wouldn't it have been cool to turn on my mileage counter and start my watch?  You'd think.  In the hullabaloo, I remembered my watch pretty quickly, but it took me a mile or more to remember the counter.  C'est la vie.  The first mile was going to be a weird split anyway.

Streaming through the start line.

I weaved my way among the runners, occasionally talking, encouraging, and asking about pace to one or another.  Starting in the back of the pack like that has some major advantages.  First of all, I didn't get passed the whole race.  Second, I literally "ran" into so many people.  I came up behind a fellow former MU track athlete, Jessica Grider, who would eventually finish third in the marathon.  I also came across "Everywhere Steve".  Why do I call him that?  Because he turns up everywhere.  I saw him at cyclocross practice.  We ran into each other at an aid station on the MS150 course.  And now I was running and chatting with him during mile 5.

And the running, on and on, feeling awesome.  I clicked off one 6:30 mile after another.  Going in to this race, I felt like I had no business running anything faster than 6:50 pace.  But, 6:30 felt so natural.  I kept waiting for the crack... that never came.  Along the way, I had a few other runners challenge me for a half mile or more, but I just kept pushing.  And I lied, sorry.  I did get passed by one guy about 0.5 miles from the finish, but I went for a drink and he didn't, and besides, "virtual me" was actually two minutes ahead up the course.

So, I did run my way into the fast women.  I kept hearing 6th, then I passed two more women and I was in "3rd", then 4th.  And that's the way I crossed the finish line.  But what about the two minutes you ask?  Well, in the official results I am listed as 2nd overall!  But, RTFM, the awards are given according to "the order in which we cross the finish line".  Had I known that I might have tried harder to get there on-time, or at least broken a traffic law or two... maybe not.

No $200 for me, no commemorative framed race poster of the the very last Lewis and Clark half-marathon/marathon (it will be a Rock n' Roll St. Louis next year).  But, a ton of self-satisfaction that I can still rock a half (1:25:04 officially) and compete tops among the womens overall.

Now, back to CX!

I'm very excited to be running!  Or I am calling out for a vanilla gel shot.

Got the shot.  Now let's get this show on the road — five miles to go.

Very happy to be almost finished!

Ride report- the Missouri MS150

48 hours.
202 miles of cycling.
Hills.
Carbohydrates.
and a pink bike.

First off,  I had no intention of riding 202 miles.  I was perfectly happy contemplating 150 for this little adventure.

Saturday morning started off soggy and muggy.  I rode out with the Monsanto Mavericks (getting all mavericky :-) on the bike, rockin' my Pacific Power/Blue Sky Jersey.  I felt a little out of place amongst the 75+ members of the MM team all in their fine "genetically modified" kits.  I don't really need to dress differently to stick out in a crowd!

How do you sum up 100-miles in a paragraph.  5:15 on the cycling computer... 7 hours total.  I DID take a nap in the middle there.  But, I get ahead of myself.  I went out slow, then I picked it up, then I bonked a little just in time for lunch.  Newly sustained, I fell in with some fast guys who proved way to fast for me.  I stopped at the Amish aid station and ate homemade ice cream (cCarbohydrates) with two women (Kathleen and Carolyn) on the Mavs team.  One of them commented that the ice cream tasted funny.  I thought about that for a second and then looked around for the cow.  Pretty sure the milk coming out of that black and white heifer was whole and unpasteurized.  Brilliant!

That night we sat around and glorified our prospective adventures around the course.  Turns out two Monsanto guys saved someones life with CPR and cool heads.  Another of our number went down hard and had to check out the local hospital.  But mostly, it was sore legs, tired lunges, beers in hand, and big smiles.

Later on in the evening, the band played and Big Shark Cyclery raffled off a bicycle... but not just any bike.  A PINK Cruiser bike!  Here's the short story:

Fred won it.
Brad claimed it.
Travis rode it.

The long story is that, we couldn't figure out what to do with it!  10 people standing around laughing about the ridiculous pink bike and taking turns "safely" weaving around the tents.  Then Travis says "I'm going to ride that bike tomorrow....I'm going to ride it 100 miles!"  The collective fell silent, we came to a telepathic consensus, and then proceeded to enable him.

Day two, the pink bike is ready for Travis.  My Dean seems to be in working order.  My legs wake up slowly with the help of coffee and bad waffles and then we roll!  The pink bike heads out early anticipating a slower pace.  And we intention to catch him before the first aid station.  For me, though, I fully intention 75 miles  at a more moderate pace (notice how it already got 25 miles longer).  But, the pace is fast from the start and the mishmosh of riders on the course is disconcerting.  It is hard to stay in a group, and within minutes, my 75-mile ride partner is missing and I am committed to a faster paced group.

We hit some HILLS!  Along highway 70 out of Columbia, it is nothing but giant rollers.  To break it up a bit, I get a few tractor trailers to sound their horns as they go by (that never gets old).  We come upon the pink bike around mile 15 riding alone!  And, he's holding a more decent pace than the one I had established.  It took all of 1.5 seconds to decide to do the 100 at his pace and get a few jokes, digs, videos, and pics out of the deal.

That was the plan.  But, to make it all the way on the pink bike in a timely fashion, he was skipping aid stations, and Sunny had to go to the bathroom.  So, 50 miles in, Brad and I put a surge on to stock up on water, drink, sunscreen, and munchies and to evaluate the Honey Pot facilities.  We waited at that aid station for well over 15 minutes before getting phone call from Travis saying that he had taken a wrong turn (followed the 45 mile arrows) and was going to ride backwards on the 100 course towards us. ??? OK.

We hauled to lunch at 75 miles in order to quick stock up and meet Travis coming, but my bike was not feeling it.  Apparently the miles are catching up to him, because the mechanism on my right shifter is shot and it took some major arm extension to get my rear derailleur to move.  Not good news approaching the hilliest section of the course.

HILLS... again.  With my inability to shift, I decided to hammer the hills and fell in with a fast couple of the Mavericks guys.  Turns out they just wanted to get off the bike and I was happy to oblige.  We pushed the pace the last 20 miles and finished around 5:30 for ride time and 7 hours again for total time.  And the pink bike beat us!  Turns out we dawdled to long at lunch and he turned around in order to only get 100 miles (he really rode 104 because the course ended up long!).

Post-ride cool down :-)

So, again, all for charity.  I raised $250 dollars for my part.  Not bad for less than a month of fundraising and living in a new place.  Next year, it's on!

Race Report: Urban Assault St. Louis 2010

Is it a bike race? Is it a costume contest? Is it a dance-off and beer-fest?  It was all those and more.

So, on a muggy Sunday morning, while the rest of the world may or may not have been drinking their coffee, contemplating whether to make pancakes or waffles, or finishing a 15-mile run (you know who you are!), I was standing in Forest Park, in the middle of downtown St. Louis, decked out in my best Bike Geek look ( think bejeweled sunglasses baggy shorts, and argyle knee-high socks), ready to hop on Tigger (newly outfitted with cyclocross clipless pedals) and hit the streets for Urban Assault St. Louis 2010 (brought to you by New Belgium Brewing, blingy sunglasses, and copious amounts of coffee).

Me and Peter... he is trying to convince me that there is a gun show somewhere around there.  I am not convinced.

We lined up in on a grass field alongside chickens, boyscouts, Scotsmen, and a Pauly Girl.  Fake mustaches and Pippy braids peaking out of helmets.  Our bikes were positioned 200 yds off with 400 other bikes of all persuasion, mountain bikes, townies, road and cross.  At the sound of the horn, 400 peope in cycling shoes descended on the pile of bikes and then scattered in 19 directions.  Why 19 exactly?  Well, we had six (plus one, mystery spot to be determined later) checkpoints around town that we had to visit in any order and there were at least three ways to get to each one that people had planned and predetermined.  That's 18.  And one guy had to go to the bathroom already.  That's 19.

I did what any self-respecting bike geek would do.  I mapped them all in gmap using the bike route function (google, evil or not, that application is excellent).  Then I moved around the checkpoints to see which one gave me the lowest total mileage.  Here's the end result:

You'll notice the Mississippi river on the right.... and that is all the way to Brentwood on the left.  Far.  All those dotted and solid green lines (?) those are designated bikeways and streets.  Who said St. Lou isn't a bike-friendly town?

We had a plan, we had bikes, we had water and Clif drink.  We had consumed 50 mg of caffeine each (one espresso and one Mocha Clif Shot).  And we were wearing sunglasses.  Hit it!

So, of the 19 possible directions, we headed due East first along with about 15-20 other riders.  Peloton-style, taking up two lanes on one of the busiest streets in downtown St. Louis... and we owned it!  Hardly any cars, and only a few bewildered early-rising citizens.

I mentioned we had checkpoints, these weren't just checkpoints.  These were challenges, and right off the bat we faced a big one.... wait for the elevator at City Museum with the rest of the urban assaulters or run up the 7 flights in MTB shoes?  We are hard-core... we ran up the stairs, after going hypoxic on the bike for 5-miles.  I was dripping sweat and I thought Peter was going to throw-up before we got to the top.  On the way down we were both kind of quiet, and my only thoughts were, I know I am fit enough for this from all my trail running, but I need to get Peter back on a bike STAT.

The next leg was thankfully short, and the challenge was only to pick up our clue for the mystery stop.  This is where the maps came in handy and my 12-yr old knowledge of St. Louis failed us.  We went pedaling through Soullard, by Lafayette Square, Tower Grove Park, Clifton Heights, backroads and bike friendly greenways the whole time.  Seeing these streets and their relative emptiness gave me some confidence and clues for some amazing urban adventures to have this fall (I'm thinking, cycling down to Soullard Market or going and getting coffee and crepes in swanky Central West End).

But, I said that my knowledge failed us.  We successfully found all the mapped checkpoints, excelled at human bowling, piggy-backed croquet, maneuvered a brakeless tricycle through a winding course, and all that just fun.  But, we came within 2 blocks of the mystery checkpoint and passed it on by... having to back-track almost four miles for our fuly-clothed swim in the Holiday Inn pool.  C'est la vie.

Back in Forest Park and the finish line, we got down to business: passing through the jumpy castle, attempting bike limbo (my handlebars are too high), watching some disturbing dancing contests, "tasting" beers, and generally enjoying a community of cyclists and citizens who take their Sunday morning fun factor very seriously.  Thanks Stacey (our new New Belgium friend) and NB brewery for an unprecedented amount on adventure on a "lazy" Sunday.

For pictures of this event, go here.  For results (if you care about stuff like that), go here.  For the event website go here.  For Simon Says, go here. 

  

There's a bathroom on the right...

...sung to the tune of "Bad moon rising."

Everybody now. I actually got this song stuck in my head during my long run on Sunday and the "bad moon" became a "bathroom" mantra as I neared the end.

I've been training. Really. I managed to run eight whole miles on Sunday without stopping to walk or gasping for breath (though I did eventually stop and find that bathroom). Of course, my running schedule actually said "10 miles with a 2-mile tempo section". I translated that as 8-miles with a one-mile tempo section followed by gulps and gulps of Clif drink. You see, no matter how early in the morning I get up to go running, it's still hot and humid and I still lose the weight of a small child in sweat. Monday it was so bad that I could wring my shorts (Brooks running, there's an apparel challenge for ya!) and I left puddles on the kitchen floor while attempting to rehydrate with iced coffee.

So, here's the skinny. What am I training for exactly? This is going to be great. First, I lived in Oregon for how long...? 2.5 years. How many times did I want to race Hood-to-Coast and not do it? 2.25 yrs. I move away, and that's when I get on a team. But, if good things come to those who wait, I got handed the mother of all opportunities. My adopted team is called "Slug-hunters" and this group is making me feel like one of the family! If you are an Oregonian friend reading this blog post, definitely come party with me in Seaside on August 28.

What else? Ooh-ooh. This Sunday, my awesome temporary roommate Peter (and married so don't get your hopes up) and I will be competing in the New Belgium Brewing Urban Assault Race! Five obstacle course check points, two mystery checkpoints, and an entertaining ride around downtown St. Louis on the 'cross bike. I can't think of a better way to kick-off my cyclocross training.

And then there is the Lewis and Clark Half-marathon.  That one is looming on the schedule in October.  I'll think about that a little later when the weather cools.  For now, hand me another cold one and let's chill!

Running in a sauna on a roller coaster.

Where in the U.S.A.....

Some things to fill you all in on.

First, I recently made the move from Corvallis, OR to St. Louis, MO.

Why? Please choose from the following options.

A) I had a strong desire to follow Lewis and Clark's route in reverse.

B) I really wanted to eat toasted ravioli.
C) I got a new job.

So, the first thing I did when I got in town (after meeting the movers and checking out a few bike shops)... you guessed it, I signed up for a race!  The Lewis and Clark 1/2 marathon.  See, I told you I wanted to follow in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark!  The race isn't until the first week in October.  That gives me close to three months to acclimate, and I am going to need every minute.

Starting off, it took four running attempts to complete a 45 min run without walking/ gasping for air/ and generally pooling sweat in my running shoes.  Then, I had to tackle the challenge of a long run.  In Oregon (and Colorado) I could run without water for 1:30.  Here, I'm searching out drinking fountains and throwing myself on the mercy of ice machines in gas stations after only 30!  And the hills... Dude, in Colorado and Oregon, you run up "hill".  In Missouri, it feels like I am running on a roller coaster!  All that aside, I thought I had it figured out by last week-end.  But, red wine and steak and late conversations with some new friends literally derailed my roller coaster car.  It's to bad to.   I actually found some single-track.  And get this, it circled around behind Six Flags Over Mid-America.   Throughout one mile of the "run" I was accompanied by gleeful screams, screeching rails, and metallic clangs.

And then, I faced silence, and heat, and the reality that I was not yet acclimated.  And I hate to admit this... my worst run in a long time.

9 more weeks to acclimate.  I'll try again this week-end with a 12-mile run.  Who's with me?!

Race Report: The San Diego Marathon already

You asked for it.  The no-holds barred account of the 3-hour marathon that wasn't.  There goes the punchline.

Actually it's not as bad as all that.

To get you in the right mindset.  Imagine me, with my admittedly newbie approach to racing a marathon, standing on the starting line at 6:15 AM on a muggy, sickly warm morning in San Diego.  I look behind me and I see THOUSANDS of people pressing the start line.  I am lined up about four-rows back, behind the elite men and women, but first among the amateurs.  My heart is pounding in my chest.  I nervously dance around to the jam music blaring across the speakers.  I hug my sis good-bye and turn towards the stretch of empty road (save for the follow car) in front of me.  I manage to stand still for the National Anthem.  And then a barely audible horn blows, and every runner takes off.

It's kind of weird to stand motionless on the start of a 26.2 mile run and "start".  My first inclination after years of 800m training and track starts, is to take off at a long-legged sprint.  That lasts for about twelve steps.  I plant a smile on my face, and settle in for the long haul.   I am already sweating profusely, and my pale Oregonian palor shines like a beacon in the crowd, aided by the day-glo yellow of my Brooks jersey.  Sis Shorty will have no trouble seeing me coming!

I can tell almost instantly that I have settled into a 6:45ish pace.  A couple of runners chat me up and try to get me to run faster with them, but I slowly back off from their fast pace.  Pretty soon, I am running in a loose pack of three or four runners as the half-marathoners (more on this later) turn onto their own course.

The first 5-6 miles are a lot of fun, weaving through downtown San Diego, a few hills to break it up, lots of spectators, and a run by the empty Padres stadium.  I catch some "Go Sunny" cheers in the crowd.  When I look over, it is a family of Indians with signs!  The guy next to me waves to them and gives them a high five.  100 yds down the road, my sis is cheering and Indian Sunny gives her a chagrined wave... I chuckle to myself that in a race with 10,000+ runners, I happen to be running next to a guy named "Sunny".  Dude.

The rock 'n roll bands are welcome company on the road and I am taking in a few ounces of liquid at each of the aid stations.  Around mile 10, we hit the highway.  I'm feeling great, but then again, it is only 10 miles in. It is at this point that the half-marathon joins our course again for a few miles, albeit with a coned dividing line running down the middle of the road.  And then the "fun starts".  First, the half-marathoners are at their 6-mile mark, and we are at out 10-mile mark, which means these runners are roughly half our speed, a lot of them are wearing headphones, and looking for space to run in, crossing the cones, and sometimes stopping right there.  I'm calling encouragement to most as I pass them and just staying as far to the right and out of their way as I can, but I can't avoid a collision with one staggering runner.  Whoops.

The miles click past, and I am still holding around 6:45 to 6:50 (there's a big hill in there).  But, I can tell my stomach is starting to churn and my head feels hot.  The sun comes out at mile 19.  The temperature rises.  And it is game over.  I'm getting the same feeling I got when I had trouble in Eugene... the combo of humidity and heat, not to mention the lonely stretch of the last 6 miles on the barren mud flats.  I slow to some unknown pace that I still haven't calculated. I reevaluate race time goal and try to keep my breakfast down.  Unsuccessful on both counts.  I treated the volunteers at the mile 25 aid station to a show, and did my best impression of the ancient Greek guy who ran the first marathon, staggering the last mile with an amazing amount of grit and determination... "Just keep running, just keep running" (think Dorie in Finding Nemo).  Not as bad as all that, I guess.  But I was really looking for the finish line.  I managed a convincing sprint and when I looked down at my watch, I was amazed to see 3:14:09... an almost 2-minute PR, a Boston-qualifier, a New York-Qualifier, and I was still walking, still upright, and still smiling (sort-of).

I'll take that.

The swimsuit

Racing is awesome.  Racing for charity is even better.  Racing for charity while wearing the coolest, most ironic and punny swimsuit ever... a picture is worth a thousand words (see above).

I am now the proud owner of an OSU Triathlon swimsuit with the words "Fast Beaver" emblazoned and emboldened across the butt!  I earned it by racing a 400 IM and raising a little money for the Swim for Health.  We almost reached our goal of $5000... more than last year.  So, thanks to everyone for donating their time and money and arm strength.  The Tri-ing to Swim-mers finished third in the team competition and did a total of 119 laps in 30-minutes.  It might have been 120, but someone (don't know who tat could be) got a little tired of endless freestyle laps and through in some fly.  The winning team were a bunch of ringers, even recruiting a champion masters swimmer who could do a 25 yd breast as fast as I swam a 25 yd free (I raced him).

For the next eight days, I am a one-sport athlete who does biking and swimming for cross-training.  I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to keep to my marathon taper.  Earlier in the week, I turned a 4-mile run into a 6-mile run because I was zoning so much on the way out on an out-and-back run.  This morning I was so energized to find a hill near my house for my 4x15 seconds of uphill accelerations that my 3-mile run turned into a 4.65 mile run with some parkore practice.  I'm lucky I didn't hurt something.

It's going to be harder to keep to the taper this week-end as I head down to the Umpqua River Valley with all its gnarly single-track, scenic roads, and wineries.  Bike-wine tour anyone?

Marathon ready?

The taper is beginning... I can feel it.  The overwhelming desire to run far distances.  The voracious apetite.  The fidgetty foot that borders on restless leg syndrom.  And it is worse tonight because I was supposed to do a quality 3x mile at tempo pace in the midst of a 9-mile run, but beyond breezy conditions kept it from happening.  Then, the power went out to half of Corvallis, including campus, which meant no treadmill workout (like that was an option... the treadmills at the gym don't go faster than 10 mph!).  Now, I will be up with the dawn tomorrow morning.  Anyone want to meet me at Michael's Landing for a a few sub-6:00 miles?

Everything is falling in place for the marathon.  I've got my travel plans set.  I've already printed out the race confirmation for registration.  I've mapped my route from the hotel to the start line and researched potential places to have dinner in San Diego the night before.  I've stared at the course map and profile so much that I could probably draw them free-hand.  The only thing I haven't done is pack (though I have set aside my shoes, pre-race and race outfits).  Oh, and the best thing: I've got plans to get into the VIP Port-a-potty.

That actual isn't the best thing (though it comes very close).  The best thing is that I am in corral #1... the elite wave, the first runners to go off, toeing the line with people who are going to run 30-minutes faster than me.... wait.  Another thing to worry about, going out to fast.  It's a long way to run with lactic acid in my muscles from the first mile.

Couldn't tell you why this one makes me so nervous... maybe because it is the first one I've trained for.  It's been a long time since I so completely focused my training on one single event.  With triathlon, and especially with triathlon, even if you are training for one event, it doesn't feel like it.  But marathon training the last seven weeks has been so focused that I've even planned my social events in order to avoid being out late the night before key workouts... speaking of which, if I'm going to meet (you?) at Micheal's landing at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning, I best be catching some Zzzzs.

Swim for Health and the FB

That title sounds like a good band name.  I digress, already.


I have been double-dog-dared to do something that I had no intention of doing, wearing something that I had very little intention of creating.  Intriguing, right?


The dare involves the Swim for Health this Saturday.  I already told you that this is a fundraising competition to see how many laps a team of 6 can do 30 minutes.  For this portion, I am part of team "Tri-ing to Swim", a fantastic, motley crew of triathletes in swimmers clothing.  However, I failed to mention the other part of the event, the one that I was hoping no one would notice.... And I would have gotten away with it, but I was negotiating with a master-negotiator and world champion enabler (my friend H) who also happened to volunteer at the SforH last year and observed the second part of the competition — essentially a 400IM.    I was asking her to donate to the cause, and she suggested that I had to do more than swim continuous 25s.  Nope, she said she would give me $40 ($10 for each 100yd) if I did the Ironwoman 400 IM competition.


And then came the addendum... I had to do it wearing the Fast Beaver swimsuit. Duhn-duhn-duh-h-h-hn!


Let me explain.  Up until recently, the Fast Beaver swimsuit was a myth, a figment of my adobe Illustrator creation, only known by its presence in my computer's recycle bin... but the word was out.  And like any good fables, this one has a moral and begins with:


Once upon a time, a good woman designed a Splish swimsuit for the OSU triathlon team, as a kind of thank you for all the great training, and also to build team morale as they headed to their first Collegiate National Championships.  She had written "Go Beavs" across the butt of the design, because something had to go there.  After all,  a swimsuit without a design on the butt is missing the point of being a swimsuit.   The design process was a group effort that may have involved good food, good drinks, and goo-o-od vibrations.  It was decided that "Fast Beaver" should be written instead.  Chuckle, chuckle, LQTM.  She will admit that she understood the implication (sadly, it took a minute), but  felt it was appropriate enough to go ahead with.


Well, you can imagine the questions and inquiries that commenced.  Really what precipitated the change was a few womrn saying they would be uncomfortable wearing it... the last thing I want to do is actually discourage people from exercising and forcing uncomfortable self-expression.  So, without too much more ado, the "Fast Beaver" was replaced with "Go Beavs" and that was that.  The moral of the story: Free your mind, and the rest will follow.  Oh wait, that's a song lyric.  Real moral: Eat your vegetables.  Kidding, there is no moral.


But, obviously, it was a story still fresh on the mind and a funny one at that.  Occasionally,friends of the woman who knew the story called the her (we can all safely assume that the woman is me) "FB" for short, and thought that I should go ahead and get a suit with my sometimes moniker on the butt.


For clarity, the OSU mascot is the Beaver, and I do swim quite fast according to some people.  And so, for charity, and charity only, Splish has made me the suit, and I will wear it during that oh-so-painful "how-many-laps-of-butterfly-is-it" 400IM.  I'll upload some pics.  God help me, or at least help me raise some funds!

Rave Run: Mckenzie River Trail

Last Monday, fresh from running part of the Mac Forest 50K course as a sweep over the week-end, I sat down with my training schedule to plan out my workouts for that week.  Looming on Saturday, was a 23-mile run... my longest training run, ever.   Ever, ever.  I was thinking about the gutsy perseverance of the back of the pack and also about all that single-track trail.  Ooph.  


And then it dawned on me.  


The bucket list.  An intangible, but ever-present, list of things I need to do.  And the chapter on Oregon had listed: running the length of The Awesome McKenzie River Trail... a nearly uninterrupted ribbon of trail undulating through old-growth forests and laa fields, with the constant companionship of the McKenzie River, complete with water-falls and deep-blue bone-chilling springs.  27.5 long... Fish Lake to Ranger Station.


Let's do it.


I was willing to do it alone, to even park at the bottom and hitchhike to the top.  But something like this demands company, and my good friends Heather and Jim agreed to shuttle and MTB it with me. (Not exactly with me... more like, start at the same time and meet me at the bottom).


At the start, it was oh-so-sunny, already 60 °F, and pleasantly calm.  I took the obligatory start picture with H and started running.  It was hard not to leap and bound around on the trail, so exhilarating was it to be in among the trees, running by mountain lakes, over bridges.


The trail conditions were perfect.  Hardly any mud, no ruts, no newly downed trees (the trail care crew has been busy), no snow... but you could see in spots were it had melted relatively recently.  Very few bugs (that'll change in a few weeks) and very few people.  I saw a total of 9 hikers, 14 mountain bikers, and 7 dogs during the entire length.


Along the way, I stopped a few times to take some video and pictures.  I walked around the hour marks to take in Clif Shots.  And, I had to walk off an ankle twist at one point.  But, aside from that, I bobbed and weaved, leapt over rocks, listened to the music of the rushing river and falls, and, well, just.... ran.  I saw Heather and Jim a few times along the way, but they were gone for good around mile 15, as we left the lava fields (and the technical MTBing) behind and entered the more swooping and smooth sections of the trail.


In case you are wondering, I am pretty sure I smiled the entire time!  I definitely never got bored.  I didn't listen to music... just nature.  It was epic!  If you are interested in the vital statistics.  Total time on trail- 4:08.  Total running time - 3:28.  Total running distance 26.4 miles.  Total distance covered 27.5 miles.  Two Clif Shots consumed (200 calories), 16 oz Clif Shot Drink, 1.5 L of water, 1/2 a Clif Mojo Honey Peanut Bar... I need to restock my Mojo for the last 30-minutes or so.

I was pretty happy to see Heather and Jim at the car when I came off the trail.  For their part, I think they were surprised to see me (the plan was for them to get back to the car, pack up and get the other car at the top, then come back and get me).  I was most excited to drink my chocolate milk and eat the Sea Salt and Pepper potato chips from the corner gas station.


The next thing on the list - eat a Snickers Bar fresh off the conveyor belt... and it might be possible.  I know they are made in Chicago by Masterfoods USA, in a Spanish-looking factory with a red-tile roof!





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