Got my Time Trialing dividend check

There’s a curious thing about competing in time trials. While you may like the competitions, the training is awful. Well, even the competition can be awful. Sometimes I think racers do it in order to “have done” the time trial as opposed to doing it because it’s enjoyable.

Most often: once you leave the start ramp, you just want it to be over.

And the training is worse. It essentially consists of forcing yourself to suffer in an unnatural position for some specified period of time. Then repeating it.

I had a moment this spring where I debated whether to even get on the TT bike this year. With no plans to travel to Oregon for Masters Nationals, there was no Big Event to target.

But the cheap side of me sees this expensive TT bike sitting in the basement. I need to race on it in order to get the cost-per-race ratio a bit lower.

I tend to forget that the TT training and racing can pay dividends in other races.

So when you find yourself off the front, solo, with 8 miles to go in the race, you can call on the experience of that time trial the week before. You know what it feels like to get as aero as possible and ride at the limit for 8 miles.

And when the moto official comes up and tells you that the chasers are only 25 seconds behind, you can find the answer to the question: can I go any harder?

It doesn’t happen all the time. But it only has to happen once for the training to be worth the suffering.

Don’t race and drive

Racing your bike can make you stupid. Literally. Particularly after a hard race or ride.

Sometimes after a race I’ll unlock my car, then spend 10 minutes looking for the key again, only to find that I was holding it in my hand. I’ve come home from long, hard rides and then gotten into arguments over whether the temperature was good for riding.

It must be something about low blood sugar and brain function (and a quick google search would appear to confirm that).

Which is why I usually have a can of Coke ready to drink after a race.

But sometimes I forget, or I wait too long after the race is over. Or, like yesterday, when the promoter schedules awards for 2 hours after the race finish, and you are waiting around and don’t think to start eating something. That’s a bad idea when you have a 4-hour drive home from Michigan after racing for 80 miles.

I was driving along in a bit of a daze, with the cruise control on, absorbed in a “This American Life” podcast. At one point, I half-recognized that the mile marker numbers don’t make sense (driving 23 South to Toledo, they count down to 1, and these were counting up). But in my daze, it just didn’t register. So I kept driving.

After a while longer, I came a construction zone, had to cancel the cruise control and start paying attention. I realized that I did not recognize the exits. I pulled the GPS out of the glove box, turned it on, and saw that I was on my way towards Chicago. I’d driven 25 miles in the wrong direction. I think the road split in Ann Arbor, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Action #1 was to turn around. Action #2 was to get some food and then caffeine.

It was a long ride home.

Side Note:
But it was at least a long drive home in a new Jetta Sportwagen TDI, which I’ve concluded is the perfect bike racing car.

Wind killed the Wicked Witch of the East, you know

I have developed this (irrational?) fear of the wind.

I can trace its roots back to last year’s state time trial championship. The one where the start was delayed while an Armageddon-like storm blew through, threatening to lift the registration canopy off the ground even though 6 of us were holding it down.

After the storm the skies cleared but the wind remained — strong crosswinds with big gusts on the majority of the course. I don’t know how high the gusts were, but they were high enough to make me afraid riding the TT bike. Several times I felt like I was on the verge of losing control of the bike. Then I was stupid enough to ride it a second time, as part of a 2-man TT.

But those kinds of conditions are rare, right?

And then this spring happened. For the last month or so it has seemed like every training ride and every race have been battles with the wind. It’s gotten to the point where I’m afraid to train on the TT bike for fear of being blown into passing cars. I just can’t seem to get past that phobia, with the memory of the state TT flashing in my head.

Last week I did the Presque Isle TT. It’s right on Lake Erie. Which makes the wind even worse. Warming up, it didn’t seem too bad. I thought I could handle it. Then at about mile 4 the course was exposed to the open water. A nasty crosswind was coming from the right, with pretty big gusts. Bad enough that I couldn’t stay down in the aero bars.

Well, I could have stayed in the aero bars. Other people did. But I just couldn’t get past that fear of being blown over, or blown over the yellow line. So I rode about a mile and a half sitting up, until the course turned away from the open water. Which didn’t help my time very much.

This bugged me all the way home. So much so that I got back out on the TT bike and rode another 2.5 hours in the wind, to convince myself that I could do it. Which I could, but I also wasn’t using the TT wheels.

I’m wondering what to do about this. One option is to just get fat so the wind will have a harder time blowing me around.

Mixing Beer & Wine, Continued

It’s been about 6 weeks since I wrote about my desire to continue (at last some small amount of) running during the racing season.

I’ve been doing it. 3 or 4 times per week (so maybe 10-15 miles). Not very fast, so I feel more like a “jogger” than a “runner”.

It doesn’t seem like it has compromised the bike training. So far.

We still haven’t raced all that much. The real test will be whether I still feel like running once we hit the 3-races-in-a- week period, which will be as soon as the Tuesday night races start up.

If I don’t race, everyone else will be getting faster

Some years ago, when people asked me what “I do”, I would tell them that I ride my bike. Then I would add, “oh, I have a job too.”

That’s what it felt like. Even when racing at an amateur level, bike racing has a tendency to dominate your life. Just to be a decent local-level racer requires a pretty big time commitment. You’re always thinking about getting the training session in, or obsessing about not being able to train.

I think that is one reason why it’s tough for young racers to stay with the sport. The sheer amount of time is overwhelming.

If I wanted to concentrate on running, I think I could be pretty competitive on about 1/2 the time required for bike racing.

And then there is all the driving to races week after week. Once the racing season starts, I feel compelled to race every week if at all possible. That’s another oddity with bike racing: if you don’t race every week (or multiple times in a week), you feel like your competition is leaving you behind.

It all adds up to a lot of compulsive behavior. Last year, for me, it was over-the-top. Lots of volume early in the year, lots of races, and a focus on doing well at Masters Nationals. And not enough rest. That ended up being a disappointment.

I told myself that this year I was not going to be so neurotic, and would try to simply enjoy riding, training, and racing. I wasn’t going to feel like I needed to keep this crazy schedule.

But I notice that I’m already getting that “I need to race every weekend” feeling.

So when the weather forecast for today was not looking too promising, I decided to pass on the two racing opportunities that were available. Instead, I went for a thoroughly enjoyable, hard after-work ride on Friday followed by wine and pizza (would never do that the day before racing). Then I was blessed with a weather-gift today. And I didn’t have to spend 7 hours in a car, $40 in gas, and $35 in entry fees.

And my house has been cleaned, laundry has been washed, groceries have been bought.

Now I just need to lose the “everyone else got faster today” feeling.

The first effort is the hardest

Here’s the scene: first race of the year after a hard, snowy winter. The course (Malabar) is a cruel way to start the season — rolling to hilly, with a cross-headwind on the toughest section.

I don’t care how much I’ve ridden over the winter, or how many intervals I’ve done, it still doesn’t prepare me for the shock of the first hard race-level effort.

It usually comes early. Someone decides that yes, they are ready to start, and they put in the first attack. And then I remember that feeling of legs expanding with lactic acid and stomach getting queasy. And I think that my preparation has been woefully inadequate, that there’s no way I can keep that level up for the rest of the race, and man, it’s going to be a long season.

But then I remind myself that the first effort feels like this every year, that everyone else feels like crap too, and that it always passes.

And as the race goes on each effort is a little more tolerable though it never feels good.

At the beginning of the season it’s always tempting to say “I’m not ready to race yet”, and to want to put in a few more weeks of training before coming to the line. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that I never feel ready for the first one, no matter how much I’ve done, and that I just have to get that nauseating feeling of the first effort out of the way. Then the racing season can begin.

Duct tape is a tool

There is a universal law about bike maintenance: when you decide to do it the night before a race, you will without fail run into something you didn’t expect, and it will take way longer than you imagined.

I used to think I wanted to own a bike shop. Then I realized that I didn’t like working on bikes. I generally avoid doing maintenance until it’s absolutely needed. I’m not as bad as some. At least I don’t have duct tape holding pieces together. I take that back. Actually I do.

So the night before the first race of the year, I decide I should dig out some race wheels. Which need tires mounted. And the rear needs a cassette.

After a winter of riding in the slop, the chain is now apparently worn so much that it skips on the cassette. OK, should I find a new chain, break it to the right length? Or just grab the working (worn) cassette of the other wheels. Yeah, the latter seems easier.

But the winter slop has made the lock ring next to impossible to remove without stripping it …

Two hours after starting a 30 minute job, it seems to be together. We’ll see, first time up the hill.

And the duct tape is still on the handlebars.

My Feet are Staging a Revolt

After a bike race ends, racers will often say “wow, that hurt”. We usually mean “hurt” in the sense of extreme fatigue, periods when we were in severe oxygen debt, or legs burning from lactic acid.

But when I say, “wow, that hurt” after a running race — every one of the running races I’ve done — I mean that it literally caused me to be in pain.

The most recent torture was the Run With Your Heart 15km trail race. 15km is the longest I’ve run. Ever. Running that distance on a snow-covered trail made it seem even longer. Going off trail in foot-deep snow to pass people really made it seem longer.

But the worst were the parts of the course that were littered with hoof prints from the horsey-people that use the trails. (I don’t ever want to hear one of them complain about how mountain bikes damage trails). It was like running on a miniature ski-mogul slope. Toward the end of the first loop it seemed every other step I would land on a bump that sent a shock wave up through my right arch.

Other than that the course was very cool. Slow courses seem to be better for us “bike racers pretending to be runners.” At the time my foot started to hurt, two of us pretenders (Rudy and I) were respectably holding down the 3rd and 4th spots, talking about bike racing as we ran. But then I had to slow down and change my gait so that I could finish. I did manage to limp my way to the finish and just barely hold on for the 5th spot (Rudy took 4th).

Now I have a feeling that for the next few days at least I will have to carefully choose which shoes to wear, and watch where I step.

But here’s another illustration of the superiority of the bike: even after a painful run, I can still go out on the bike. Tired, yes, but without pain.

Can’t catch a brake

In the 2003 Tour de France, on the Alpe d’Huez stage, Lance Armstrong blamed his less-than-stellar performance in part on his rear brake rubbing for the first 200km. I remember a lot of people making fun of him over that. Hold that thought.

I’m riding in this week’s Westlake training race, and I’m thinking, “damn, this seems really hard.” We’re going fast, but not insane-fast. Every turn I notice that I’m having to close a gap. As the race is winding down, I’m literally struggling to hang on. I’m thinking, this is really a bad sign: can I really be in that much of a training hole that I can’t hang on here?

I pull off to get water by the baseball fields, and realize my bike isn’t coasting well. I get off and see that my rear brake is jammed against the rim. I try to spin the wheel. It won’t even go around once before the brake stops it.

So I’m wondering how many extra watts I had to put out just to overcome the brake.

And I’m sorry for making fun of Lance 7 years ago.

It’s Not About the Race

If nothing else, traveling to a big bike race (in this case Masters Nationals in Louisville) is always good for a few interesting experiences …

Some Things Are Just Wrong
It’s acceptable, though dorky, to wear support hose in the parking lot before and after the race. It’s less than acceptable and without a doubt dorky to wear them elsewhere in public. But it should be downright illegal to actually wear them DURING the race. Especially Nationals.

The Height of Masters’ Self-Indulgence?
I nominate: coming to Nationals by yourself in a motor home big enough for a Euro pro team, then leaving the generator running for hours to power the air conditioning while everyone else is sweating buckets and breathing in the exhaust fumes.

The Best Road Rash Award Goes To …
… I’m not going to name names, but it goes to the racer who biffed in the parking lot on the way to look at results.

Vanilla Only
There is only one Dairy Queen in all of Louisville that serves chocolate ice cream. That’s what one of the DQ employees told us. That seems vaguely racist. Someone should investigate to find out the location of the DQ that serves chocolate.

Real Men Eat Meat
Two skinny guys (Matt and I) walk into a Bob Evans to get a pre-race breakfast. One skinny guy asked for oatmeal and 2 eggs. The other asks for oatmeal, 1 egg, and 1 pancake. And water. I felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode — the one where Jerry is on a date and orders a “just a salad” at a steakhouse and the waiter is visibly bothered. It was even worse when we each could only finish half of our vats of oatmeal.

Next day before leaving I had to go back and order some meat just so they didn’t think we were “some of those”.

I Went to Louisville and Waited at Red Lights in my Spare Time
This could also be filed under “Some Things Are Just Wrong”. The planners of suburban Louisville must have taken their inspiration from the concrete gardens of Florida. Getting from our hotel to the Starbucks less than 1 mile away involved a 10 minute drive. You couldn’t walk because there was no way for a pedestrian to cross the 5 lane, divided Hurstbourne “Parkway” (irony apparently was a strength of the planners). I watched a few try to dodge cars, but I concluded it wasn’t worth the risk of becoming a hood ornament. Going anywhere along this so-called parkway involved unbearable waits at traffic lights. After time, do you just get used to it? Don’t know if I could.

Remember, We’re a Service Organization
Reading what I wrote above, I’m sensing just a bit of negativism. Hmm, guess that goes along nicely with my results. On the positive side, the event seemed to run more smoothly than the last two years. The staff and officials were polite and generally helpful. I actually heard one official say to another (with just a hint of sarcasm) “remember, we’re a service organization” as one racer was loudly complaining about his bike not meeting the UCI specs.