Under the circumstances, I’ll take 2nd

One of the cruel things about endurance sports is that you can train and prepare to the best of your ability, and then on race day your body can simply decide to betray you.

When you’re asking it to ride as hard as possible in sauna-like conditions, can you blame it?

Think about setting up your bike on a trainer in an actual sauna — not a dry one, but one with lots of steam — and then riding a time trial. That would be pretty crazy. But that’s what we essentially did at the state time trial.

The temperature was 105 degrees when I previewed the course Friday afternoon. And it was not a “dry heat”. It felt like I had a blow drier in my face the whole time. Even though I rode it easy I was still sweat-soaked when I finished. But my start time the next day was at 10 AM so it wouldn’t be so bad, right?

That’s what I was telling myself. And for the first 10k of the race it seemed to be going OK. But then my breathing became labored. So I backed off the intensity. Then had to back off some more. It was a struggle to the finish. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that others had to be suffering too.

I had been looking to win, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. But any disappointment was overshadowed by how horrible I started feeling. I’ve raced and trained in the heat, but never had a reaction as severe as this. 20 minutes after the race I still could not cool down. Ultimately it got to the point where I was about to faint in the parking lot.

Fortunately the racer parked next to me (and to whom I’m indebted) helped me out and got a towel and some ice and helped me to lay down on the ground in the shade. My glutes were so cramped that I couldn’t bend my legs. The paramedics came over and thought I should get an IV … and a trip to the local hospital.

Really?

So there I was, in an ambulance, getting stuck with a needle on the way to the hospital. 2 IV bags and a couple hours later, I felt much better and was able to make the 4-hour drive home. Not sure I would have been able to do that otherwise. The hospital staff in essence said, “you did a bike race in this weather”?

During the whole episode I felt pretty foolish. None of the other racers seemed to have such a problem. And I was supposed be one of those at the “pointy end” of the field. I’m not sure what went wrong, but I’m thinking that perhaps I started the day still dehydrated from the previous day’s ride.

One day later, I feel like I was out all night drinking.

A small consolation: on the way to the hospital my teammate sent me a text saying I’d finished second in the Cat 1/2 field. Under the circumstances, I’ll take that result.

Make it so

Preface: A couple of people have asked me: how come you haven’t been writing? The simple answer: same reason I’ve been having a decent racing season so far: I’ve been training. Maybe I shouldn’t reveal that little secret.

***

Late Thursday afternoon, I sent an email to Tris: “I’m going for a Leroy record attempt tonight. I’ve learned that it’s short enough that you have to go out pretty hard … so I may crack on the way back in.”

[Note: "Leroy" is the informal Thursday night TT that I've written about previously]

I don’t announce stuff like that ahead of time. Normally I would just try to ride as best I can and let the final result fall where it may. But I figured that posting a new record time would require some intention to do just that. If I didn’t go out hard enough, there would be no way to make up the time. If I went too hard and blew up, well, as Tris said in his reply, “no guts, no glory”.

The interesting thing about this is that once I explicitly stated that I was out to set the course record, it changed my mental outlook towards the effort. I was going to go hard, then go harder.

I’ve done the course enough times now that I know what is a fast time at different points. When I hit the turn at 8:30 I knew I had a chance. The last 2 miles were into a headwind though, which was going to make it difficult. But that intention provided just enough motivation to suffer those last 2 miles.

Looking back at the original post I wrote about Leroy, I see that in 4 years I’ve managed to take 29 seconds off the record. I guess it is possible to get faster as you get older. At least for one particular event.

Pick your poison

Consider this thought experiment. It’s race day, and you get to pick between these 2 races:

Race 1 will be held in horrible weather — 40 degrees and a steady rain. By the end of the race you’ll be so cold that your fingers will hurt, your arms will be numb, and it will be all you can do to unzip and pull off your wet clothes. You’ll be shivering for a full hour after the race. But you will have been in the winning breakaway, finishing 3rd while your teammate won.

Race 2 will be held in dry weather. You’ll get to race hard, but you won’t finish in the money and your team gets no real result. Then because it’s dry you’ll get to ride another 30 miles after the race. Your bike is clean, your shoes and clothes are dry, and you had a good day of training. But you had no result.

Which do you choose?

This was the situation last weekend. Race 1 (Race at the Lake) was the coldest I’ve ever been at the end of a race. But given the choice, that is the race I would pick.

When a race is over, my visceral response generally tells me whether it was a good race or not. If I tell someone about the race, the way that I describe it tells me how satisfied I was. Did I ride smart or stupidly? Was my fitness good or lacking? Did I do everything I could when it counted? And was the result commensurate with the effort?

As miserable as Saturday’s race was, I’d rather endure those conditions and have that result.

And besides, races like that are the ones you get to tell stories about.

I was mean today

I’m usually pretty friendly to other riders out on the road. If I pass someone I say ‘hey how’s it going’. Same if I’m out riding slow and someone passes me. I figure I don’t need to prove myself by trying to ‘race’ them, even if that is what they are trying to do.

But every once in a while someone bugs me.

Like today. I’m out for a short ride after work, going up a little hill at a comfortable pace, when some dude comes by me pretty fast. He doesn’t say anything, but gives that little look that says “ha, I’m beating you’. Like how Lance gave Jan Ullrich “The Look”.

Well, on this day at least, I’m in no mood for that. I’ve got to head back for an after-work function, which means my ride is cut short.

So without thinking I slam it in the big ring, catch the guy, then attack like it’s the last lap at RATL. No looking back. Just hammer until I turn and head back towards work.

It kinda hurt. I haven’t done an effort like that since the last race of the year. Then I felt a bit stupid. I think that’s what happens when you don’t race for a while. I’m thinking I need to enter a running race soon. (and don’t tell me to “do ‘cross” … though that’s probably a good answer too)

A matter of perspective

In a couple of days I’ll be looking at the results from the UCI (road) World Championship. I’ll look at the time trial results and comment on the amazing speed of guys like Fabian Cancellara.

As fast as they are, I can still understand and fathom their performance being within the realm of possibility. It’s way over my capability, but not *that far*.

I mean, let’s say I won some contest and they let me do the time trial. I would be dead last, but I don’t think my time would be so embarrassingly bad that someone would think I got off the bike and walked.

In contrast, I read about Galen Rupp setting the American 10k (running) record, with a time of 26:48. He ran the last 1600m (about a mile) in 4:11.

I do a little running in the off-season, and am “respectably” fast for someone who’s a. old, b. not a full-time runner. But I simply cannot fathom running that fast for 10k. It just doesn’t seem to be humanly possible. I can’t imagine what it takes to run sub-5:00 for even one mile.

The curious thing about this is that I do just enough running to be completely awed by this performance, while on the other hand look at Cancellara and am certainly impressed but not completely awed. Perspective changes everything.

***

As a side-note, I was talking with someone from Denmark this week. He knew I was a cyclist, and we were talking about how he’s seen so few people on bikes in the U.S. versus Denmark.

Yet … he was completely unaware that the World Championships would be starting in Copenhagen in just a couple of days. Shocking!

Or perhaps not. When we see cyclists in the U.S., they are mostly lycra-clad enthusiasts. Whereas in Denmark, it’s like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXw_t172BKY

Dreaming at Superweek

Every so often I have a dream where I miss the start of a race. It has that same distressed-helpless feeling as that dream most every college student has had: the one where you show up for the final and realize you haven’t been to the class all semester.

In the dream I’m always at the race in time, but for some reason I don’t make it to the start before the field takes off. I think that’s one reason why I’m a bit paranoid warming up, making sure I don’t get too far away. I had an anxious moment at Superweek, where I lost my bearings. But I made it with plenty of time. I was thinking that despite all the anxiety I’ve never missed a start.

My plan was to drive home after Friday’s race in Kenosha since it was already an hour towards home. The week’s heat wave was finally broken … unfortunately by thunderstorms. When I got there, they said the racing was delayed because of lightning.

I debated whether to stay.

I sat in my car and waited to see how late the first race started (we were the second race). I called Tris for a read on the radar. As our start time approached, the first race still hadn’t started. I turned the key and was about to drive away. Then I turned it off. I didn’t want to drive away not having raced, rain or no rain. I waited some more. Finally the rain started to let up. I moved my car and was about to go register.

I saw the pace car go by. They had started. Then realized it was MY race. At some point, while I sat in the car, they had decided to scratch the first race (or move it to a different slot) and start the masters first. I stood there for a moment. There was a junior nearby getting ready for her race, so I had to choke back the F-bomb that was starting to force its way out.

It was one of those moments where you realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do to fix the situation.

So I set out for home, more than a bit PO’d at myself. Finally I reminded myself that I:
a. didn’t get wet
b. didn’t have to wash my bike
c. would make it through the Chicago traffic without any hassles
d. would make it home in time to catch the day’s Tour de France stage

But I still would have preferred to race.

Baking in Milwaukee

I told someone today, “I don’t tolerate the heat like I used to. If that makes me sound old, well, I am.”

I was sitting at the Superweek registration table, dripping sweat while some young guys were signing up, looking perfectly comfortable. One guy had compression tights on. I wanted to rip them off. Aside from the dork factor, they were making me hotter just looking at them.

It’s not supposed to be this hot in Wisconsin. I recall wearing arm warmers at more than one of the Lakefront races in years past.

The past 3 days have seen race-time temperatures of 98, 97, 102. I’ve been wearing the same clothes to and from the races because I didn’t pack enough to sweat through clean clothes every day.

Today was the worst. As soon as the race ended I pulled up behind the support truck, got bottle of cold water and dumped it over my head as I gasped from the cold shock. After laying in the shade for 15 minutes and drinking everything in my cooler, I had to ride down to a gas station for more.

There I fund the new ultimate post-race-in-the-heat recovery drink: a 32 oz frozen coke slushie. If you can avoid the brain-freeze it not only gives you a sugar boost but immediately lowers your core body temp.

After drinking that I felt human enough to go pick up my $40 check for 8th place. That should about cover the week’s hydration bill.

Random Superweek Thoughts

When you have 7 hours to yourself in a car, you can think about a lot of different stuff …

EZ-Pass (or I-Pass, I-Zoom, etc.) is a great. It feels like cheating when you can blow through the toll stations while there are lines of cars waiting. I don’t know how anyone could live in Illinois and drive on I-294 without having one.

Cops should be able to ticket someone for driving under the speed limit in the left lane while talking on a cell phone.

It used to be that truckers were good drivers (or it least it seemed that way). It doesn’t seem that way anymore.

Donna Godchaux has made a lot Grateful Dead songs cringe-worthy and not listenable.

Soccer on the radio (even the World Cup finals) just does not work.

Someone needs to invent the equivalent of Pandora streamed to your car stereo.

I don’t understand why anyone would transport their bike outside their car on a rack when they have plenty of room inside.

Related thought: I would never have a car that required me to transport my bike on a rack.

Another related thought: I’m further convinced that the VW Jetta Sportwagen TDI is the ideal bike racing car.

One downside: every single diesel pump I’ve used has left my hand smelling like diesel fuel.

It will be nice to race against guys my own age for the first time all year.

Wait. I’ll still be racing against guys who will be up to 15 years younger. D’OH!

When it’s this hot out you can’t have too much Gatorade (or some kind of sports drink).

Related thought: drinking sports drinks gets old after like 2 days.

If nothing else, it will be an interesting week.

Nails on a chalkboard

At least once or twice a year I have one of those races where I feel like I’m just staring at the wheel in front of me, hanging on until the race is over. After one of those races I tell people, “yeah I was in the race, but I can’t say that I was racing.”

What makes those races worse is how the riders around you — who you normally wouldn’t pay much attention to — can become so incredibly annoying. The guy with the shorts worn thin enough to see through. The guy who insists on moving in front of you on every turn even though he has no intention of going any farther. The jersey that smells like it hasn’t been washed for 3 races. The number that was pinned on crookedly.

The worst is the noisy equipment. At the Tour of the Valley road race I kept finding myself near this guy whose chain was rubbing on his front derailleur when in the big ring. After a while it was like nails on a chalkboard. I wanted to yell, “Dude! Trim the effing derailleur!” I couldn’t understand how it was not bugging him either.

The next day in the crit, I found myself next to Mr. Derailleur again. Still making noise. You couldn’t fix that after yesterday’s race? My only explanation is that he couldn’t tell the difference between that and a noisy Red cassette (which is another annoying sound).

After that race I as happy to get in the car, roll up the windows, turn on the air, turn off the radio and drive home. In silence.