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.