Race Report: USA Cycling CX National Championships 2013

"Sunny Gilbert", the race official called me to the start line. Seventy-nine women lined up in front of me, so technically, the start line was a ways off. Friends Seth and Robyn, who were there to collect my jacket and see me off, started joking around immediately, "it's so warm out here!" It was decidedly not warm, the sunshine doing little to take the bite out of the 18 degree temperature Madison, WI was treating us to.  I gave it right back though, "yeah, I think I'm wearing too many clothes. Maybe I didn't need the long underwear under my long underwear."  I looked ahead at the sea of helmets in front of me and commented with a grin, "I think I see the starting line up there."  A woman next to me leaned over and whispered, "I like your socks" about my sparkly-neon-argyle knee-high socks, a signature feature of my race uniform. The two-minute warning rippled back just then and I grudgingly removed my jacket, handed it to Seth, and told him I would see him at the finish line.  Then the whistle blew and 90-odd shoes clipped into pedals as the wheels began to turn.

There is no way to practice starting in the back of a field so large, and certainly no rules for trying to move up. I wound my way around a few riders before we moved as a group into the thawing mud.  Two narrows tracks on either side of the course had been carved by early riders amid the rutted remains of previous days' races. The quickly became stop-and-go-traffic as first one woman went down, another wobbled into the tape, and still others struggled to keep the front wheel moving in a somewhat forward direction. I took my opportunities to pass where I could, at times churning the big ring like a pepper mill up the bumpy middle or plowing through a giant frozen puddle.  According to friendly spectator reports (thank you, Seth!), I was in the 40s before the first pit.  I managed to run past several women riding on the first hill, and keep it upright when another woman veered into me at 90 degree turn onto the pavement. At the stairs, I took full advantage of my long legs and motored to the muddy top past a few more. By the time I hit the barriers, my rear brake was a block of ice mud. I went to lift it onto my shoulder, and at double its normal weight, I was nearly pulled over.  A few seconds later, I appreciatively approached Travis in the pit for a bike change to the Raleigh. He asked if there was anything specific, and I threw over my shoulder, "just clean, please".

It was at this point that the rutted nature of the course really started to become a problem, with ice patches, and off-camber turns, it was hard to find a line anywhere. I was passing a woman on the right when a rut suddenly grabbed her front wheel and sent her hurling into my rear. For a moment, I resembled a jack-knifed tractor trailer, sure I was going to go down, but the rut that my front wheel was in proved to be so deep that I remained upright and was able to flip the rear around and continue on my merry way.

I hardly shifted, so quickly did the mud clog my derailleurs (I would later learn that the rear derailleur cable holder had broken off the frame, leaving a gaping hole in the carbon seat stay... hence the "difficulty" shifting). I spent most of the race in one gear and big-ringing anyway, using the power pedal technique to stay upright. I did not know where I was in the race, only that I was still racing, the embrocation had stopped working, but that my hands were starting to thaw. Travis was working the pit for me as best he could, and I was back on the Cannondale SuperX the next time around.

Lap two proceeded without too much incident, just turning the pedals over and passing a few more women. I wobbled my way out of severe danger a few times.  Though, I did manage to take out a post and lay myself out flat on my back around one corner.  Two spectators cheered me up.  As I picked myself off the ground, I joked that I "thought that post was in the wrong place anyway" and they laughed.  A smile snuck its way onto my face during this lap, and a number of spectators commented on it. "Nice smile." "Less smiling, more riding." "Your having too much fun." Never!

I approached the pit at the start of lap three, ready to get on a new bike. But Travis waived me through, saying "one will be ready next time." If you enter the pit and don't get a new bike, you have to touch a foot down (I did not know this, and several pit crews called after me to do so... Thanks!), so I tagged the ground a couple of times in front of the official and rode back out onto the course.

By now, I was climbing great, and finding lines on the course. Cheers I heard as I pedaled past included "Missouri representing!", "Go Big Shark!", and "Way to go, Socks!".  I rode with power up and over the hills and down around to the base of the stairs. I flashed a smile at Seth and his girlfriend Robyn cheering. Half-way up a spectator thrust a $5 in my general direction, and I threw out a hand for the grab, shoving it down my front in one motion. At the top of the hill I hopped on my bike to find my cranks frozen in place. I coasted down the hill and around the corner before resigning myself to running it in. Along the paved section, two woman passed me as I ran. I managed to shove a gloved hand in between the rear wheel and the rear brake to get it somewhat moving. I was able to churn my way up a little riser and coast down the next big hill to the barriers. Over the barriers I once again heaved up the deadweight of my mudcicle Cannondale and trotted into the pit, but not before grabbing a slice of bacon from a topless male spectator with a big blue letter on his bare chest.

Travis saw me coming and was ready with a bike I did not recognize as one of mine (it turned out to be a neutral 54" Moots with Shimano, a whole other animal from my slightly larger, SRAM groupoed Cannondale... Happy to ride anything with two moving wheels!). I passed back the two women who had passed me while I was running, and I picked up a third before I was whistled off the course.  Sad not to get to cross the finish line, happy to not have been lapped, ecstatic to have had the opportunity to race against such fine competition!

Wrap-up: 35th out of 95 entrants (highest finish out of three, to date) in the Elite Women National Championship Race! Second lap was 1:20 faster than first lap. I also managed a hard won podium finish two days before in the Master Women 30-34 (5th overall, baby!). Couldn't have done more than one lap of that race course without my wonderful boyfriend Doug outfitting me with a pit bike, the tireless efforts of Travis to keep it clean in the pit (or find a suitable substitute as the case may be!), or Seth's week-end long hospitality in Madison. Not to mention the endless support of Big Shark Bicycle Company and the St. Louis cycling community.

Race Report: Jingle Cross Mudfest, Day One

Mud, Mud, and More Mud screamed the headline in the local Iowa City paper.  Of course, he could have been writing about the thousands of farm acres left bare that I drove by on my way here from St. Louis.  He was referring instead to Day Two of Jingle Cross Rock.

The reporter got it right; even the concrete was muddy.  And a lot of it could have been rideable except that there were may off-cambor sections designed to be technical in dry conditions, and if you did attempt to ride the cake batter mud, your bike was rendered unrideable.

So I did a running race yesterday in full kit, cycling shoes, and carrying my bike.  Frozen to the bone despite embrocation, not warmed up because of a broken pin on my trainer, wet from the rain, and genuinely jumpy to start the race, I lined up behind eventual race leader Teal-stetson Lee.  Thanks to my erroneous eight points earned in a UCI C1 race earlier in the season contested under identical conditions, I got a call up!

The start was typically fast and elbowy.   Ladies went down in the first turn, in the second straight away, on the second turn, into the tape.  It was as if the mud was just reaching up and pulling you down.  I managed to stay up right and somewhat "in the race" for the almost the full first lap until a surprise corner on gravel sent me super-manning.  It had to be the gravel, right?  My chain off, knees bleeding, I jumped right back on Lynsky and fought for my current position until the end.  Mud, Mud, and More Mud.... Round and round three times only because of how slow the course was running.  I was once again thankful for something during Thanksgiving weekend.

Vital Statistics:  12th place, 3:36 behind the winner. In the points and the $$

Race Report: Memphis in May

April Showers bring May....showers, at least in Tunica, MS.  Memphis in May, made-over with a new location, new race venue, and new course had every bit the hydra-themed excitement it could muster.  A region inundated by floods, so much so that the casino "island" where the race was being held had only recently reopened its doors to patrons after the major flood threats had passed.  The race course, swim lake included, was a pristine as it could get.  Clean water.  Flat, fast, mostly pothole clear roads.  In fact, no debris to speak of on the roads except for the minuscule road grit that is inevitable.  It promised to be a very fast race.

My start position was #1064 in the time trial start...every 3 seconds a swimmer jumps into the water.  Which meant that I was standing around watching the thunder clouds roll in for about 50 minutes.  30 minutes into my wait, the rain started.  Followed quickly by the thunder and lightening so close, that they were nearly crashing together.  And still the swimmers dove into the water every 3 seconds.  I looked around at the hundreds of wetsuit-clad swimmers awaiting their turn, looking non-plussed.  Despite the lightening, I experienced a true lemming moment (Splish... I sense a new swimsuit design out of this one.  "Faster than lightening" or something like that).  Swim start.

In the shallow (at its deepest, probably 6 ft), choppy lake, it took me 500 yds at least to settle in to pace.  I found a good set of feet to draft off for the longest straight-away of the race, before they pulled off to the right following some invisible sight line that I could not fathom.  I sprinted out of the water into a steamy downpour and ran through the mud of the transition to my bike.  My first thought as I tore at my wetsuit - "I need to practice my transitions more".  Besides that, it was quick work getting on to the road.

Once on the road, I settled down into a pace that kept me in site of my nearest competitor in the Open Amateur Female division.  She had an aero helmet and a disc wheel and when I finally pulled around her, she commented that the weather was "scary".  Agreed, but I didn't want to dwell on it.  The roads were treacherous enough... by themselves, the pavement was smooth and impeccably maintained for the race.  The rain and wet, however, increased the chances of a flat tire, especially on over-inflated time-trial tires.  Along the race course, there were at least 1-2 people per mile dealing with a puncture.

The bike course was FLAT and fast, and I generally did the passing, except for a few elite amateur males and, to my dismay a couple of elite amateur females.  Disc wheel passed me back just before the finish of the bike, and I did my best to stick on her tail (that would be in a non-drafting tail).  Still raining, though back to a light drizzle, I did my best interpretation of a bike-to-run transition.

Here's a shocker, the run was flat and fast.  I was thankful for the overcast skies, slightly miffed at the head wind the last two miles, and confused as to which of the women I was passing where actually in my category (we did not have any special designation on our calves for the open wave).  As the miles ticked by, my legs eventually found a rhythm.  And I passed, one, then two, then two at once of the competitors in front of me.  And there was still one up there.... At the turn around, I cursed my ability to math in my head.  The lead woman had a whopping two minutes on me with two miles to go!  It didn't quite take the wind out of my sails, but my legs were slightly less springy as the wind picked up, the humidity rose, and the specter of the casino towers crawled into view.

The last few miles went by in a blur.  Actually, the "blur" was the young woman who pulled a brilliantly classic runner move to pass me in the final 200m to take second place from my clutches.  She had started 9 seconds behind me in the time-trial start, so I immediately knew that I was relegated to third place.  In that competitive field and considering my still rusty competitiveness, I was excited to be on the podium.

Appendix - During the run, I kept looking at my watch wondering why I was running so slow according to the mile markers, ~ 7:15/mile.  Ah-hah!  The course was actually 6.7 miles.  The "as advertised" olympic distance was measured as 6.23 and ended up being a half-mile longer.  I was robbed!  Had the race ended when it was supposed to, I would have gotten my 2nd place!  Kidding.  My mantra, is run the race as it comes.  That includes lightening, mismeasured distances, and blurs.

I'm ba-ack!

I had to be.  I signed up for a very high profile 10-miler.  But, I'm getting ahead of the story.  To quote one of my favorite movie characters "Dennis would have hated that."

I've been meaning to travel to Washington DC ever since they signed the Constitution and two good friends settled there post-college (one clearly precipitated the other).  But, let's face it.  Oregon is really far form DC... well, now that I am in St. Louis, no excuses!  Plus, my performance/ pace at the St. Louis Half Marathon finally, finally qualified me for the Cherry Blossom 10-mile seeded runner entry.  I had to prove that I could run 10 miles in 64 minutes.  Ouch!

That race is April 3.  Counting back, that means I should have started training two weeks ago.  Ooops.  No matter, that's why I train all year long to maintain a convincing level of fitness (remember the marathon in four days notice?).  I thought that "convincing" was a relative term, until I motivated a 12-mile long run with a trail race this past weekend.

The Wildwood City Council put on a running race to highlight all the work (and moolah) they have put in to developing the trail system around the Meramac River Valley (Moochas-grass-ias).    The first annual Wildwood Frozen Feet 12-miler was held on a rapidly warming (from 20 degrees C, so describing it as a "warming" might be a bit of a stretch) Saturday morning.  The trails, though, were still covered in an ice/slush mix.  I lined up on the front line, though only planning to run ~7min/mile.  It was a tight start on the bike path and I did not want to get tripped up in the take-off. There was a lot of joking around about the pace I would put on and I suggested that I was planning on running backwards to work on my toe-heel strike (ha!)

First couple miles were on bike path and then we hit the rails-to-trails.  The footing here was less "footing" and more pockmarked, ice-holes with the occasionally bare patch.  I fell into a pack with four or so guys setting that sub-7 min/mile pace (it was a race after-all).  We actually did hit a little bit of single-track down around the Stinging Nettle trail.  I practiced my single-track pass and got my stocking hat ripped off by a branch.  The hat flipped up towards the sky and the guy in third plucked it out of the air like professional baseball outfielder and tossed it to me without missing a beat.  Within 20-steps, I was back in front.

And then there were three: me, Tony, and Andrew.  Still holding that pace, we came upon the two-mile uphill.  Tony expressed the opinion that he might not be able to hang on the uphill but we better watch out on the downhill.  Up and up, steeper and steeper we climbed up on the Rock Hollow trail. Thankfully, most of the ice was gone and only a few patches remained. At the top, cones marked a turn around with a water table and a shout-out from a friend (thanks Andy!).  Andrew and I went stride for stride down the hill, picking our way around the rough parts to step on the saltiest bits.  Andrew commented that he wondered if Tony would catch us at the exact moment we heard his rapidly approaching footsteps.  Forced to pick it up by Tony's pace, we hit the now quickly melting slush path turned slip n'slide for the final stretch.  All three of us kept it tread-side down until we hit the concrete.  By then, it was just me and Andrew, as Tony had made his gallant play for the win and faded a bit.  With a half-mile to go, Andrew and I were going back and forth on whether or not we were going to sprint for the finish (Me -"Are you going to be that guy who out sprints the girl at the finish?" Him - "Well, I am a winner".).  And then, in a split second, the last patch of ice before the finish line, reared its ugly blackness beneath my foot and I hit the ground patella first-followed by a hip, an elbow, a shoulder, and, finally, my back.

Andrew, in a chivalrous, and decidedly good guy move, helped me up and jogged with me 600 yds to the finish line, crossing in sync.  In the end, our times are identical, but some how I got the top line on the results.  But, what a great way to get a long run in!  I'm hoping he might want to join me for a non-race long run in the future.

Here's to the start of my legit race training!  My knee wound/bruise is healing nicely... but my brand new Brooks Running half tights have some new air conditioning in the knee (giant hole).

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!

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.

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.

Half way there! The Eugene Half-Marathon Race Report

I though it only fitting to mark the half-way point of my transformation into marathoner with a half-marathon.  And what better place to run one than in Tracktown USA... Eugene, OR.  And did I mention the finish was in Hayward Field?  Arguably, the Carnegie Hall of American distance running?


I started training for the marathon on Sunday, May 4, one day after the Beaver Freezer Triathlon and nine weeks pre-marathon.  Don't try this at home kids, I'm a professional... sort of.  Because of the Showdown at Sundown Half-iron Triathlon, I was already in half-marathon shape, and I had made sure that I had a couple of long runs under my belt in the 1:30 range.  But, all of my tempo/interval training had been shorter or divided with the bike.  It was time to get serious.  It was time to get legit.


In the last five weeks, I have put on three 2+ hour runs: a 16-mile (2:00) loop around Corvallis, an 18-mile (2:15) Tour de NoCo, and a 21-mile (2:40) run that included every bike path in Corvallis, including fire roads in the Mac forest.  Epic.


And so, last week was a rest week of sorts, capped off by what I hoped to be a demolishing of my half-marathon Personal Best.  My planned pace fell somewhere around 6:32 per mile... a 1:26 half-marathoner and a time I hoped would get me into the top three (really wanted to win a bottle of wine).


Bedecked in BrooksID (Nightlife gear so bright a blindman would see me coming) and my new Brooks Launch shoes... the first time I had run in them ever, and that means-like-I've never even worn the style.  I towed the line with my race plan: set the pace early, not get drawn into competition with a stay Olympian who may have decided to show-up for a "good workout", and alternate water with gatorade at everyother aid station, taking the Clif Shot at 45 minutes in.  It was a beautiful plan.


I positioned myself on the front of the starting line, with 8000-strong at my back.  I managed not to embarass myself to much by belting out the National Anthem slightly off-key (the volume was really loud and it drowned me out).  And then the gun.


Race plan fell apart right away.  There was so much cheering and so much great competition... and after all, it is a race.  I positioned myself somewhere around 3rd place, though it was hard to tell because the marathoners were mixed in with us (sad to think that marathoners were running my fastest half-pace).  The first mile was 6:00, then 6:10, then 6:10 again.  And then 6:10 again.  I was actually feeling really good!  But the aid stations were positioned two-miles apart, and I have been babied and coddled by the aid station spacing on half-ironman courses (every-mile).  I wasn't getting enough water or nutrition.  Plus, I've been training with nuun on my long runs, sipping every 10-12 minutes.  Doh!  Might have to rethink training or racing strategy or both. 


Before long, I was starting to get runner belly, and at mile 9, just as I was passing Hayward Field again as the course wound back by the start line, I plowed into a Honey-Pot.  Pit-stop number one.  Out on the course, I saw that I had been passed by two women, and my friend Nick yelled out that I was in 4th place!  Still awesome... if I could just manage to keep it in for four miles.


The next three miles went by in a fog, as I tried to change my running stride to avoid jostling my innards.  But, as we were crossing the walking bridge over the Willamette, I suddenly needed to employ the services of a bush or tree.  I had to suffer another 300yds before exiting the bridge and rounding a bend on the bike path that was out of view of spectators.  Tall grass and bushes hide many sins.  I plowed back onto the course, two more women had passed, and I vowed that no more would do so.  I butt-chugged my way to the finish line, still smiling (there is video of the finish line to prove it... the movie is actually pretty sweet.  They caught my entire finishing stretch.  Fast forward four minutes).  And low-and-behold a 1:24:04.  Vital statistics: 6:25/mile, new PR by 3:48 (only counting road races, not triathlons...whole other beasts), 6th woman overall, 2nd in my age group.  Wahoo!


It was almost worth the hour and a half in the med tent following the race, the two IV bags, the cookie-tossing in the Honey Pot, the violent chills, and the feeling all day that my stomach was never again going to digest food.  Triumph!


So, half-marathon at half-way.  Glad I did it.  Must reevaluate nutrition plan and pace.  Because, based on this, I think I can go sub-3:00 in San Diego.  Don't you think so?  Am I right, or am I right?

Stuff you should know...

I'm paying homage to my favorite podcasters here, Josh and Chuckers, of Stuff You Should Know fame.

Since it's been a few weeks (okay a month) there's some stuff you should know.

First, I signed up for a half-marathon.

Second, then I signed up for a marathon.

Third, then I signed up for an Ironman.... Not!

But, the first two are true.  I won an entry to the Eugene Marathon/Half-Marathon at the Tumor Shooter race.  I couldn't resist signing up for the half.  I took one look at the course profile, surmised that the finish was going to be in the Stonehenge of American distance running (Hayward Field),  and clicked the mouse button.  Boo-yaa!  As for the marathon, I am one of the lucky runners to be picked for the Brooks Inspire Daily P.A.C.E team.  As a member of the team, I get to race in one the the Brooks sponsored Rock 'n Roll Marathons or Half-marathons.  So, San Diego it is!  My sister, Shorty, will also be racing the marathon for something like the third or fourth time (she had completed nine overall).  Look for me on the start line in my Night-life uniform. Trust me, you can't miss it.

Which brings me to this fine morning.  I am so nervous and preoccupied, that I put four scoops of grounds in the French press instead of three... ye-ah!  My apologies, if the verbage is verbose and frenetic.  It's not my fault.  I swear.

Major props and prayers to the GSM go out to my BFFs the Rydholm's as they race Ironman St. George. Also, sending mojo and juju to fellow Corvegans Gordie (NW Multisport owner) and Nick.

I am headed down to Eugene, OR this morning for the race expo and packet pick-up with a few of my training partners (Ger and JJ)... I checked out the list of vendors and it looks to be a good one.  Also very interested in checking out the Flap Jack Stack competition (they are going for a world record for highest stack of pancakes).

And who says it doesn't pay to be a superfan of track and field?  I followed the Drake and Penn relays on FloTrack last week-end.  They had a competition going to guess the winner/winning time of the High School Relay events.  Guess who won a free pair of shoes from RunningWarehouse.com for correctly prognosticating the H.S. Gilrs 4x800?! Who me?

And on a final note, it is official.  I set a new personal record for the bike commute from my house to work yesterday!  10:52 I didn't have to stop or slowdown at any stoplights.  No pedestrians were harmed in the process.  And, I even had to go slightly out of my way to avoid marching Army squabs in full dress uniform on their way to some flag ceremony on the OSU's Quad.

If you want to try and follow my race tomorrow online, supposedly you can enter my name or number (6723) on facebook or twitter.  I am going to try and set two PRs in one week-end (Friday counts)!

That's all my stuff?  Did I forget anything?

Oh, I did forget something!!!  I won the 200 IM at the Oregon State Short Course Masters Champs a couple weeks ago.  Not to mention, taking second in the 1650yd (20:39), second in the 100 yd. Fr (1:00.43), and first in the 500 yds.  I also swam three relays... butterfly in the Womens 200 Medley, kicking it in with a 30.54!  My masters swim team, CBATS, finished second in the Medium-size team competition.  Very cool.  Stay-tuned for information about our annual fundraiser for Coach Bill's fitness foundation in a few weeks.  Who says triathletes don't know how to swim?

Race Report: Beaver Freezer Triathlon

All joking aside, the Beaver Freezer did not disappoint: high winds, low temps, the smell of rain, and the grit of wet roads.  Ladies and gentlemen, we have a recipe for FUN!

After two failed attempts to register over the past two years, I had the race web page open on my desktop before the 8:00 AM start of registration in February.  I was not going to miss my chance this year to freeze my beaver (you know I had to do it!).

Here are the vital statistics for this race and a few things you need to know.  First, the 500yd swim is in a pool.  Second, because of this, the fastest group of swimmers (including me) start in the last wave.  Third, the 13ish mile bike hits the open roads of NW Corvallis, arguably the windiest and hilliest section of our fair city.  Fourth, the run is a three-looper around the OSU Quad.  Fifth, this race pretty much starts off the triathlon season in the PacNW.  Sixth, it sells out in about an hour and a half.  Seventh, the triathlon team doubled the race participation by opening up two pools for the competition, all in order to field their first ever team for the Collegiate National Championships, which means they doubled the amount of volunteers and organization required... props.  Eighth, I'll think of something...

There I was, up at 6:18AM again.  Start time wasn't until 10:15AM, but I got my stuff ready to go, consumed the requisite coffee and oatmeal, and bundled myself out the door.  I wanted to watch some friends compete and offer support/volunteer wherever I could.  Once at the tri, I saw that the OSU triteam had everything running like clockwork.  So, instead I focused on getting my transition set-up, organizing how I would battle the weather (warm clothes and garbage bags), and giving some MC tips to Kyle, the guy who took over the announcer duties that I had last year (he was a natural!).  And wouldn't you know it, before long it was time to jump in the water of the pool I train in every week.  This actually gave me a slight advantage as the lanes lines don't exactly match up with the lines on the bottom (seven lanes, six evenly spaced lines) and it is pretty difficult to climb out of the pool.  Two things that I had plenty of practice at!

I started second in my lane, circle swimming behind a far superior swimmer.  Within seconds, I was out of her draft and had another competitor drafting my heels for 450 yds.  With 50 yds to go, she tapped my feet and I obligingly yielded the lead.  The mere seconds this cost me were nothing compared to the time I planned to waste in transition putting all my clothes on my wet body!

And waste them I did... out of the swim, I put on running shoes for the 500+ yd haul to the transition.  My feet were still a little tender and shredded from the half-ironman last week.  So, my swim time included the shoe shod. Once out the door, I ran while struggling into my Craft top.  And upon reaching the transition area, I calmly donned half-tights, a jacket, socks, cycling shoes, a hat, sunglasses, and finally my helmet.  My gloves were secured to my handle bar and I put these on as I pedaled out of transition.

The first wave of guys putting on warm clothes... see, I wasn't the only one.

Out on the road, I made quick work of the bike course.  It was gritty and windy, and I just tucked my head and rolled... up a gradual hill, through the first turn around, into my "aero" position (see pic), and around up Oak Creek Rd, a course I ride too much.  I was trying to look really serious and fast as I passed the Pacific Power/Blue Sky cheering section at the second turn-around (impossible ;-).  I barely had time to get in to my cycling groove before it was time to run... fast.

In my aerobars.  And looking very warm on the bike.

(Thanks Jimmy, for the pics)

In T2, I stripped off the jacket and hat, replaced it with my "Poser Triathlete" visor, and hauled out onto the run.  I felt fantastic as I circled the Quad, one-two-three times.  The crowds of competitors on the course thinned as I made my way around.  One of the volunteers at the bottom of the only hill called out "you're amazing" as I went by.  That got me up the hill in quick fashion... then as I came around again, she again called out "you're amazing".  Maybe she remembered me?  Then, as I approached her for the third time, I heard "you're amazing, you're amazing, you're amazing".  Yup, I guess we were all amazing   out there racing.  I finished super strong, exceedingly comfortably, and smiling big.  I high-fived all around at the finish.

Me, my bowl, and second place in the Male 50-54 category.

(He wanted to take a picture with me to celebrate second in his age group ;-)

Wrap-up:  I didn't make my goal, which was to beat JoeB.  But, he only had about 45" on me and he did get to race from the closer pool, meaning he had about 300 yds less of a run into T1 than I did.  I saw him later at the bar, and we decided it was a draw.  And I did win over-all female.  Later on, I MCed the awards ceremony.  The colorful commentary from the local talent (me) actually managed to say the word "nipple" over the loud speakers... it was totally harmless and in the context of the wording of the USAT rules that state "you must have your nipples covered"... but still, awesome.  Anywho, I wasn't sure how I was going to announce the overall female champion.  Well, in the end, I just stated "and the the overall female winner, with a time of 1:06:something is... Sunny Gilbert.  Me!"

Someday, it will be the last time I win a race... and I don't win all the time now, even the majority of the time.  However, I never get tired of saying it.  I won the Beaver Freezer!  Excellent.  Congrats to everyone braving the elements.  Sometime soon I am going to have to do a race in mild mannered weather.  But, what will be the fun of that?

Did I win?  I'm feeling like a winner anyway.

Race Report: Showdown at Sundown

Wow!  Get ready for a wild one.

I love racing in Vegas, it always presents the most amazing challenges.  And I've had some of my most memorable adventures in and around the area.  The Showdown at Sundown did not disappoint.

Major props to Sunset Racing for putting on their first half-ironman in the area.  This was a no frills, just race event where the focus was "let's do a half-ironman".  It was billed as a practice race for people training for ironman.  But it was also a race designed for people that want more than 70.6 of racing.  They want scenery and hills and technical challenge.  In short, they want a race!  And they don't want to get up at 4:00AM in the morning to do it.

Que?  Yup, that's right.  The race started at 1:00 PM.  Which means, I rolled out of bed at my usual time of 6:18 AM to a beautiful sunrise across the dappled lake and red-painted hills of the high desert.  I consumed coffee and oatmeal and eggs for breakfast and got about getting my race bag ready to go.  I went for a short, short run with Gordie before we were turned back by the wind, deciding that we were going to get enough of that in the afternoon.  I did about twenty minutes of yoga on the balcony over-looking the lake, busied myself with a few sundry details, and then chilled on the couch with Steig Larsson's latest novel.  Around 11:00 AM, I had breakfast again: oatmeal and peanut butter and honey sandwich with a banana on the side, and a bit more coffee.

Good morning!

Gordie and I meandered over to the race start around 11:45.  It took a bit of rearranging on the bike racks to squeeze my transition in, but I tried to be respectful of other people's space.  Turns out I was surrounded on the rack by virtual newbies and we ended up having a mini-demonstration of transition set-up right there.  My race compadres were pretty receptive as I explained about the best way to set up a transition so that it would stay relatively unmolested as people ran in and out during the race, no small feat.

Gordie and I hamming it up before the race...

I skipped my running warm-up, preferring to contort and wiggle into my wetsuit for a couple hundred yards pre-swim swim in the lake.  Easier said than done... the swimming part that is (the contort and wiggle is always a difficult dance move).  Why?  The water was 63 °F!  I jumped in anyway and spent the next five minutes trying to acclimate my freezing face in the water so that I could actually breath while swimming.    After that I spent five minutes waving down the rescue boat with a few other swimmers... we were trying to draw attention to the 2ft. dead fish floating about 20 ft in front of the start line.  Eee-oohhw!

I climbed out for the last pre-race briefing, humming the star-spangled banner, and waited for the first wave of 35 and younger men to take off.  Then I jumped on in and had to re-acclimate my face.  So much for that.

We spread out in a long line of wetsuit clad, neon-pink be-capped triathletes as the horn blew.  I positioned myself smack in the middle, and immediately observed that I was the strongest swimmer in the group.  Within a couple hundred yards, there were no more pink caps in my field of vision.  And as I passed the first of three buoys on the way out, breast-stroking green caps came into view.  I was in a rhythm immediately... left-right-breath-left-right-left-sight-breath.  I held my line beautifully, even as the water got choppier from the wind and passing boats.  Only one time, on the way back into the dock, did I lose sight of the buoys in the sun and have to take a few breaststrokes to find my bearings.  At the dock, I swam to one of four ladders (the one I thoroughly tested for its steadiness) and found my friend Kirk ready to haul me the last few rungs.  Cheers!  I ran forward to my flip-flops, an absolute necessity for the pea-gravel run into transition. Then I made my awkward wet-suit-stripping, prancing-in-flip-flops-gallop toward my gear.

Mounting up...

Immediately out of transition, the course proceeded up a rather steep hill that required me to do some climbing out of the saddle.  The roll in to it was so short that I did not have any time to get my shoes on, so that had to wait until more than a half mile into the course.  I did remember, however, to put the bike in a somewhat smaller gear for the start so I was doing any knee-busting grinding right off the bat (word on the street is that there were a couple of oops-c-daisies from other competitors who had forgotten... doh!  I hate that!).

So, here's how the bike went... What goes up, surely, at some point, must come down.  Right?  But only after gusting head and side winds and after passing through a beautifully harsh landscape that resembled Mars with shrubs... that's right, the bike course.  Good news is... I've still got it.  The hill-climbing ability, that is.  I actually caught and passed a number of my competitors on the glorious hills.  But, I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was going much slower than I planned.  I hit the turn around point near mile 30 and looked down at the computer only to discover that I had averaged a whopping 17.5 mph up to that point.  Huh?!  I normally put down around 21 mph for the bike course, so this was unchartered territory.  But, my place among my competitors confirmed that this was probably not a bad result.  So, I pushed it out of mind, stopped to fill my water bottle from the cooler, and took off... uphill.

But not for long... because within a mile, I realized that the wind was mostly at my back (with a few cross-gusts), and I was now bombing back down all that uphill!  I hit 45 mph on three separate hills, and I am pretty sure that there was almost a 10-mile section of uninterrupted road where I never dropped below 25 mph.  All the same, I still had to climb out of the park.  And, and so with six miles to go, I was ready for the run to get there.  I managed to maneuver my way out of the park and into the busy resort area without too much incident and switched gears and gear for the last stretch.

My legs were under me almost immediately.  I virtually pranced through the cobbled pseudo-village of shops out onto the "neighborhood" road that made up the run course.  I passed two guys almost immediately, one who commented that I was "making it look entirely too easy".  Secret smile.

Check out me sweet Splish "duds":

How far am I about to run?  And why do I look so happy about it... oh yeah.

I LOVE running.

The run course was an out-back-out-back with one giant hill in the middle that we went over four times. There was no flat.  It literally was up for a mile and a half, down for a mile and a half, up for a mile and a half, down for a mile and a half.... you get the idea.  I walked most of the aid stations and egged on Gordie every time I saw him.  I even got "super-starred" by the second place woman who was no slouch herself.  I took in a gulp of Heed (that's what they had) and a gulp of water at each aid station (spaced out at the ends and midway through each out-and-back).  Every three miles or so, I sucked down one Cola Clif Blok that I had in my hand.  Basically, that's how the run went.  It was steady, not too stressful, and I had a lot left at the end to really hammer that last downhill and the approach to the finish.  But before I got there, I ran past a wedding that was just starting on the veranda of the resort about a mile from the finish.  I got a couple of "you-go-girl"s from the attendees.  And then, I ran by the bride herself, who had the (mis)fortune of having to walk along the river path that was our race course to get to her wedding.  I told her congrats on the way by and she yelled "you, too!"  That's a first.

"Splishdown at Sundown"

Well, I didn't finish at sundown, but the sun was definitely approaching the horizon.  I managed a very respectable 4:50 on that crazy course, and finished 10th overall and 1st overall female.  This was the first half-ironman since my poor showing at Wildflower last year, and only my second half-marathon in as much time.  So, cheers to me... I'm a happy camper!  Ready for the next one... whenever that will be (I'll let you know for sure).  Thanks for watching!