Fringe

Yesterday I participated in the Cochise County Classic.  I'm out of shape and over weight, but have been riding for about a month and a half now.  I approached the ride as another workout, a step towards getting back in shape.  I have little hope of achieving my goal for El Tour de Tucson of getting a Platinum finishing time.  (Platinum just means fast, basically.)

I took some time off in the summer as I'd plateaued, big time.  Then, just after one week of training I became very sick, not exercising at all for the next six weeks.  I had to ease back into riding for a couple of weeks before having my first really good week last week, 231 quality miles.  The problem is, I'd been eating like I was riding 15 hours a week the entire time!  So, packing on the pounds I did!

My wife and I stayed at the Motel 3 in Douglas, AZ.  The rooms were all smoking and there were safety awareness placards posted on the walls.  They had helpful information about dead bolting the door, how to contact the authorities in case of an emergency and so on.  But, I knew the place was okay when I saw that there was a fixed bottle opener and a clean ash try.  The bottle opener suggested that the normal clients at this establishment drink quality beer, not twist tops!  

The hotel was next door to the Border Patrol Detention Facility and we had read that announcements were made over the loud speakers all night long.  We didn't hear any such thing.

A few nights before the race someone that remembered me from the Nogales Classic contacted me, asking if I'd like to help he and his friends out.  He said they earned platinum status last year (a time of 4:20), but would like to improve this year.  I was quite flattered.  I remembered who they were and looked to fall in with them on the ride.

The morning was cold, just above 40 degrees.  That's perfect running weather, but on a bicycle, a bit chilly.  Turns out I couldn't feel my toes for about 3 hours!  At the start of the race the national anthem was played and the announcer mentioned to keep in mind, while cycling, those who are suffering and dear to your heart.  He shared the story of his niece who is likely to succumb to a long battle with breast cancer this coming week.  I thought of my daughter off lonely in Missouri at Basic Training, and was saddened.  I like the message though, these types of endurance events are a celebration, if not an exploitation, of good health.

The Chubby Cyclist...fear the socks!

The ride started at 6:30 AM.  The route began in Douglas, AZ, went through Bisbee, towards Tombstone and then looped back to Douglas.  I had no sight of the people that asked me to sit in with them, (I'll call them the Nogales group).  But, I was sure that if they were there and they got platinum, I'd see them passing me eventually.  
I started the race out towards the front of the group.  I wanted to use what I learned in the Nogales Bicycle Classic, which was, stay with the front as long as possible, but don't do any work!

I had no problem sticking with the group until we got to the climb...in fact, it was quite pedestrian.  Everybody knew the climb was coming and it should've been an easy ride before that point!  I saw the five or six guys that I was to sit in with pass me as they worked up towards the front of the group, but I was quite comfortable inside the center of the peloton, protected from the wind, so I let them go.

Once we got to the climb I realized I should've worked to move up towards the front of the lead group.  That way, if I began to get dropped, which was likely, then perhaps I would end up at the back.  But instead I was in the middle and by the time we were half way up, I was out the back and soon dropped, over heating and nearly sick.  I dialed it back and just eased up the climb in granny gear.  I didn't see any of the Nogales group on the climb, so I figured they moved right on ahead.

The climb was beautiful as it viewed Bisbee just to the right of the road and then we climbed up and through a tunnel that went beneath the mountain.   The problem was, the climb was demanding and I couldn't focus on much of anything other than forward motion. Things got crazy on the climb, it was so long, that people were being dropped over a good 15 mile stretch.  The peloton went from about 100 riders down to 50 quickly, then down to 30 or so when I started to get strung out.

I desperately wanted a break, but no rest for the weary!  I remember thinking that I was intensely happy that I've been riding hills a lot, knowing that I'd be suffering far worse if I hadn't been.  I also remember thinking that this was the race right here...if I had been able to stick with the group, I'd probably finish with the lead group.

Eventually a few people caught up with me as I was sitting up and not pushing anymore.  I tucked in behind them.  When we finally reached the top my extra weight shot me down the mountain!  That was cool, several miles of fairly steep decline to allow me to catch my breath. 

A typical echelon is strung out, a sign that the group is going fast.

A small group of 8 to 12 riders formed and we worked together for the rest of the ride, kind of.   We formed an echelon and took turns taking pulls.  That means, we were in a straight line, each person with their front wheel directly behind the rear wheel of another rider, save the person in front.  The person in front would break the wind, creating a slip stream for the other riders.  Since that's a lot of hard work that person would stay there for a short period of time, called a pull, then move over and the next person in line would pull.  If everybody was doing an equal share, the person pulling would drop to the back and get a good 5 to 6 minutes of easier work.

And while this makes the group go way faster than they could alone, make no mistake, rolling along at 24 to 30 miles an hour, having to surge forward as the riders in front perhaps start descending while you're still climbing, keeping in mind that you must keep contact with the rider in front or else you're out of the slip stream and must sprint to catch up, is not easy work!

A few riders instructed the group on how long to pull and that each puller should make sure not to lose contact with the group.  I was all ears, never having done much of this before, certainly not for any amount of time.  I got scolded for not signaling that I was done with a pull, then misread the gap as I tried to get back in line, nearly bumping another rider off the road.  I apologized personally each time.  The last thing I wanted to do was make a fool of myself (says the guy with the Where's Waldo socks).

I quickly learned the most effective way to move over and keep my speed so I can catch on the back of the echelon without a huge effort.  I saw how some people are "courteous," allowing those that just pulled to slip in front of them, thus ensuring they never have to pull.

At one point, someone allowed me in front, saying, "I'm gassed, need a bit more of a break."  That was fine.  But there was one particular rider doing no work.  Now, I know he was probably gassed too, heck, after a while we all were.  But, he was doing no work at all.  So, I took a risk and didn't cut in front of him.  I stayed behind him and everybody else that pulled then dropped in behind me.  This forced him forward and he had to work.  Soon after he lost contact.  I'm not sure of the etiquette required in such a situation, but part of me says, "No Free Rides."

Eventually we came away from the mountains and it got windy.  Crosswind, headwind.  Repeat.  A headwind sounds worse, but it's not bad.  Your front tire cuts through it nicely and if you tuck in, you make a small profile, the wind makes you work harder, but you can get a rhythm.

Crosswinds, however, are different.  I think it's because the wind hits the broad side of your wheels, slowing your spokes.  Not to mention, it pushes you sideways.  Regardless of the physics, it is the worst.  It's a lot of work to move forward in a crosswind and the benefits of an echelon are negated, almost entirely.  The picture to the left shows how an echelon stretches out sideways as each rider tries to get into the slip stream created by the next ride as they cut across the wind, instead of head on.

About this time I secretly wished for a flat tire.  Our group was too small to provide any shelter from the crosswinds.  However, the group still maintained about a 24 mph pace through the winds.  I toughed it out, but when I felt a strange sensation I looked down at my tire, kind of relishing the idea of catching my breath.  Then, someone took their turn to pull and took off.  The group surged.  I stood to sprint, cramped and sat down.  I caught back on the back, totally shot.  It happened again, and again.  I was done for.  I got dropped.

I rolled up to the last aid station, just about a half mile ahead.  I planned on refueling, getting some water and catching my breather.  Two other riders were there, one from the group that just dropped me.  I barely filled my bottles, choked down a cup of raisins and the other two were leaving.  I had to catch on.  I threw a banana in my pocket and took off, hoping I wouldn't cramp again.

Surprisingly, I felt fine.  We turned into the wind immediately after the aid station!  If I had just held on a half mile, about another 60 seconds, I'd probably have stayed with that group.   Still, the three of us worked together, taking fairly long pulls.  We caught a pair of riders from the group that dropped us and formed a group of five.  We moved quickly, 28 to 30 mph most of the time, directly into the wind.  But then, we turned into the crosswind again and I got dropped.

I thought about letting them go, but knew that I had a chance to catch them if I worked steadily.  I caught them and am glad I did.  They knew the route, and somehow hearing a description of what lay ahead comforted me.  I forgot about how bad I hurt and just went for it.

I crossed at 4 hours, 19 minutes and change.  I thought my clock was wrong!  The man I rode with most of the ride was also a Chubby Cyclist.  People came in after us, amazed at our time.  They commented that it was crazy to see two heavy weights move that fast on such a difficult court.

For me, this was a new things.  Not for the other guy.  He's been on the cusp of getting the platinum for a year now.  He said to look for him at El Tour de Tucson, said he has a group of friends that are all Fringe.

A few minutes later, the Nogales group came in.  I never noticed that I passed them, but guess I did on the climb.

I found a bench and laid down, put my legs up.  They hurt intensely.

Now, 24 hours later, I'm still elated with the race.  I'm hopeful that I will drop some weight between now and mid-November, for El Tour de Tucson.  Maybe I have a shot at platinum there!

EDIT:  The official results were posted, finally.  I missed platinum designation by 9 whopping seconds!  NINE! 

Platinum, by the way, means that (1) you're fast, and (2), you don't have to wait in line at 3 AM at El Tour de Tucson.

Rejuvination

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

Yup, that about says it.

My plans for May were simply to pound out some mile running since I would be finished with the bike race I'd trained for.  My body had different ideas.  I got sick, started getting weird problems like an infection in my ear lobe where I used to have it pierced.  It all pointed to one logical conclusion...I needed some down time. 

Reading some accounts of various people who didn't listen to their bodies and suffered monumental complications because of it, I decided to just take the month of May and enjoy life.  I did participate in a bike race last weekend, and did have a vigorous hike the weekend before that, but I'm taking it easy.  I'm sleeping in, mostly, eating loosely, and just not worrying about stuff. 

This week I managed about 14 miles of running, but two of those runs were excellent.  The first was on the treadmill (it was almost 100 degrees outside) where I just kept increasing the speed to get the workout finished.  I ended up running the last mile with a little incline in just over 6 minutes.  The second run was with the running club where we ran four miles with splits of 7:57, 8:00, 7:46 and 7:15.

And riding went well, too, though again, with low volume.  I had a strong ride on Monday and another Wednesday before joining about 90 other participants in the Ride of Silence. It was quite a strange experience riding along very slowly for about 6 miles in total silence with police escort.  The loudest thing I heard was my hub whirling as I coasted.

In the picture, taken from the local newspaper, you can see me in the white jersey, behind the person in the recumbent bike.

I've been watching the Tour of California and it's been very inspiring.  So, today I decided to get up early and hit the road on my bike before dawn.  I often have high aspirations in the afternoon that seem to be misplaced sometime during the night.  Last night was no different.

My uncle from Minnesota was visiting and a potluck was hosted at my grandmother's house.  While there, my cousins and sister busted out this very fancy portable espresso machine, so I had some.  The end result was that at 11:30 at night I laid in bed jittery.  The morning came quickly and I almost postponed my ride.  But with a projected 104 temperature, I decided to just get it over with.

My first experience riding predawn was great.  It was neat eating breakfast on the road, coasting hands-free in the cool desert morning air.

Today's ride was 50 miles of hills, with a few very difficult, but short climbs.  All told, the route had me climbing 2850 feet.  I saw one other cyclist and just a handful of vehicles. 

I spooked some javelina and listened to a podcast on "fastbacking."  How cool would it be to hike the Pacific Trail?  Dang ...

Because of the race last weekend, I figured that hitting some hard hills at the tail end of my rides would be a wise course to promote some strength and improvement on the bike.  So I ended today's ride with a jaunt to Pena Blanca Lake.  It's one of my favorite routes because it's scenic, remote, minimal traffic and challenging. 

The picture to the right is from a picnic area that overlooks the lake.  I'm taking a picture in the opposite direction where you can see the road as it slips between a few hills.  Eventually, the road winds up those hills.

On today's ride, I hit just over 56 mph on the hill that in the picture below.  Unfortunately you can't get a sense of the grade from the photograph.  But trust me, it's steep, lots of fun on the way down, lots of pain on the way up.

Another thing that has happened this week is that I suddenly feel fantastically comfortable on my bike.  I've owned it since early January and it's been a long time tweaking this and that, trying to get it dialed in perfectly.  But now, I'm confident to say, it's dead-on.  When I climb on the saddle and clip in, it all feels fantastic.

The bike is a 2010 Lapierre Sensium 400.  The bike comes nicely equipped with SRAM Force components, including brakes.  The bike is carbon fiber, but the handlebars and seat post were not.  I found a steal on some Easton EC90 handlebars that were special ordered and never picked up at a bike shop, and bought a gently used EC90 seatpost on eBay.  The wheels are Fulcrum race 5's, which are sufficient, but probably the next upgrade.

And one thing that really made me smile about the bike is pictured below:

That said, I'm going to enjoy my last week of easy workouts before getting serious in June and July.

Thanks for reading and I hope you and yours are happy and healthy and well.

Nogales Bicycle Classic RR

The atmosphere in the peloton was friendly, warm, familiar.  Everybody, save me, knew one another.  Old friends would put their hands on another's shoulder and talk with an intimacy born through knowing and accepting another over decades.

And like conversations between old compadres, the race intensity ebbed. Sometimes people would surge, stretching the pack thin, then it would slow and grow wide and comfortable.

This is how the race went for 40 miles.  Sometimes we'd fly along at 35, sometimes at 22 mph.

Then, for reasons I didn't understand, it got quiet, dark. The group tightened.  It was as if something ominous was about to transpire.  

A battle was taking place with strategies I failed to comprehend and techniques I failed to recognize.  Mistakenly, I thought the 1200 feet of climbing in final 5 miles would do me in.  I wanted to hang on until then, and then see who was best prepared.

The race was the Inaugural Nogales Bicycle Classic.  This is the town's second attempt at hosting a cycling event.  The first date was postponed due to low participation.

I was hesitant to sign up as it came on the heels of a big race and during a very busy time of the year.  Beyond that, to put it delicately, I had an stomach bug for 10 of the previous 14 days.  I hadn't ridden my bike in two weeks, and the few runs I had were amazingly slow and difficult, leaving me inexplicably sore for days.  But I want this event to be successful, so I joined. 

Being a small race, I could easily place or come in last.  I had hopes of placing, but my real goal was just to finish in less than 3 hours, even if I couldn't keep with the fast group.  As I mentally prepared, I visualized falling in with the fastest group and trying to conserve energy where I could.  Fifty-five of the route's sixty miles cover my routine rides.  I imagined where I could catch my breath and where I would have to push hard.  But, also recognizing my lack of preparation, I told myself that if I was dropped, I'd just enjoy the rest of the ride and have a good time.

Like the last race, the day before race day this time was anything but ideal.  I never sat down at home, save breakfast.  I worked, had an emotionally taxing day, ran errands in the afternoon, and then attended my oldest daughter's final high school band performance.  When that was finished, I got home, prepared my bike and clothes, took a shower and hit the sack for a fitful night of sleep. 

In the morning I woke up tired and achey.  The quick 15 minute drive to the race was a real treat.  I usually have to drive 60-plus miles. Once there, I soon discovered my jacket wasn't needed for a warm up ride, it wasn't at all cold, even at 6:30 am.  That concerned me.

As I sat in the chute watching the clock count down, I glanced at my heart rate on the Garmin.  It read, 96, 97, 98 ...  excitement!

Count down ... race.

As you can see, there's a pretty nice climb to start the race, then it's a nearly uninterrupted shot downhill for 25 miles!  How sweet is that?

Down the first hill my Garmin recorded an average moving speed just over 40 mph on the first mile, and just over 38 on the second.  The top speed was 58 mph!  I'm not sure if that's accurate, seems incredible to me.  But, it was definitely too fast to look at the clock!

 At mile 14 it was my turn to pull.  I had my good luck socks on!  As you can see, the mood is relaxed and friendly.  I was excited to see my family (oldest daughter took the pictures) on the side of the road cheering!  They'd let the group pass, then drive ahead and find another place to cheer and photograph.  In fact, the public support and aid stations were superb!  A lot of people came to watch. 

Around mile 35 it grew warm.  There was a headwind as we started to climb back up to Nogales.  I made sure to slip to the middle or back of the pack, conserving my energy.

Then the eventual winners started doing something I'd not experienced.  They would sprint ahead, spreading the pack.  Some people couldn't match the pace would fall behind.  After creating an insurmountable gap for those dropped, the lead group would slow down.  The conversations died, the group tightened and dwindled from about 30 down to 15 or so.  It was all fun for the first 40 miles, but the next 20 would be racing, no doubt about it!

Had I known what was happening sooner I could've been smarter and kept up without full out sprints.  But I never tried to hang with fast guys before.  I was ignorant of such tricks.  I thought it was just foolish riders that would burn themselves out.  I didn't realize they were trying to burn me.  Falling into the trap, I'd ease in the back of the group hiding from the wind, then have to sprint forward, slipping between slower riders as the sprints continued.  I should've stayed near the front and just tailed them when they left, instead of having to sprint alone.

Eventually there was a huge sprint and I got stuck behind some riders that were getting dropped.  I crossed into the far lane and just slammed it, breaking 35 miles an hour on flat ground to catch up!  That pretty much sealed my fate.  

In the picture to the right you can see the first three placing riders employing this strategy.  I'm stuck in the pack behind these guys about to make my sprint.

In the picture below I am moving to the outside to execute my biggest sprint.  

 

As we turned and went within a mile of my house I hit the wall.  I was cooked earlier but didn't realize it.  I slowed to form group of slower riders, but only three came.  I fell in with them and we worked together, riding in single file, taking short turns at the front.  We actually started closing the gap.  But I knew what lay ahead.  And the rolling hills ushered in some wonderful cramps.

Now knowing my chances of placing were now truly gone, I did as I practiced (mentally) and slowed down, trying to rest a bit for the big hills at the end.     

I finished the last 6 miles alone.  I worked through the rolling hills and then began the real climbs.  I was very concerned on three occasions that I lacked the strength to climb the hills.  I worried I was going to have to walk!  Steady and slow I went, only standing and pulling hard when it was required by gravity.  At one point I pushed so hard, at such a slow speed, I almost pulled a wheelie.  My average pace through those hills was about 10 mph, sometimes dipping as low as 5 mph.  

I came in at 2:57:57, in 11th place, just over 9 minutes behind the winners.  My name was called out and people cheered as I crossed the finish line.  A volunteer walked over with a cup of gatorade and ice for me and another came with a banana.  I stretched, shook hands with the three people I rode with for a while and cooled down.

Everybody asked where I lived and then, after realizing I'm a local, commented it was strange not having seen me riding before.  The winning rider came over and introduced himself.  He complimented me on my form and cadence.  He said he had been watching me during the race and liked how smooth and easy I was on the bike.  That made me feel good.

It was certainly the best bike race environment I'd been a part of.  I'm really hoping that the event is held again next year.  All told, there were just over 140 participants for the three distances, 10, 40 and 60 miles.  They organizers were very happy with this turnout.  I hope that's a good sign!

The Nogales Bicycle Classic far exceeded my expectations.  The support, both by sponsors and volunteers, and especially those just cheering, was fantastic.  The participants were outgoing and friendly.  The route was beautiful, roads in excellent condition, and it was very apparent that the organizers really cared about our experience.

I came away feeling charged and motivated to train harder this coming fall.  I found out that I can hang!  I will seek out other riders in the area and hopefully train with them.  Until then, I am going to take a couple of weeks off to rest and recover.

What Racing's Done for Me

2011's Tour of the Tucson Mountains was my first athletic endeavor as an adult.  After just having completed this year's Tour of the Tucson Mountains, I thought it would be a good time to pause and reflect on what's happened.  Besides, I could use a bit of a pick-me-up.  I've had a lot of stresses lately that are really not worth the weight I've placed upon them.  I've been a bit sick, or something, and haven't been able to exercise much either.  So, I decided that putting this together would be a good way to remember and celebrate.

In the picture below, you can see the change in a year.  In last year's race I was in over my head, but this year, while I didn't meet my goal, I was rock-solid.   

In the past 12 months I've participated in 13 events which included a duathalon, warrior dash, two metric centuries and a century ride, one Pikermi, a trail Pikermi, a 10K and the rest were 5K's.  In the past year I spent quite a bit of time injured. I've had problems with the rear chain, from glutes to calves.  Part of the source is weakness due to being out of shape, but I'm afraid some of it is due to a back injury from 1998. But I'm patient, pay more attention to how things are feeling, and devote a lot more time to strengthening things.

One of the coolest things was mentioned by my brother-in-law last weekend.

He commented, "Isn't it cool that your dad, sisters and brother are now into running because of you?"

I would agree 100% if you crossed out the "because of me," portion because regardless of why they run, they run now for their own reasons, just as I do.  No matter who started us, we laced our shoes (or in my case, slip on my VFF's) each morning for personal reasons.

Below I've taken a picture of the bibs and medals I've collected this year.  I was surprised that I've earned 5, first in age groups and two second places (one I was nursing a bad hammy and was beat by like 5 seconds).  In all fairness, the 10K was REAL small, as was one of the 5K's.  But hey, I wasn't the only one in my AG, so it's legit.   

My favorite race was the first one, but I was an emotional wreck during and for about an hour after.  I was angry, sad, remorseful, proud, all at once.  During the race I faced a lot of things that had been bubbling to the surface during the previous few months of training.

My least favorite was my slowest 5K, 21:30.  I finished 3rd but led most of the race and just BONKED in the last half mile.  Had I run a smarter race, I'd have won.  

Either way, before I raced I had lost about 50 pounds or so in the previous 6 months, and another 40 to 50 since.  But I don't think I would've lost the second half, much less even kept off the first half, without racing.

Racing is my new hobby, and I love it.  It gives purpose beyond selfish and conceited reasons to exercise.  It gives me confidence and identity, both the quiet type.  I'm so glad I took the plunge and tried the first one.

Saturday I race in a metric century.  I'm a bit worn out and not sure how I'll do.  It's not a race I was sure to participate in until last week.  So I'll go, enjoy my time there, push as hard as I can and see what happens.

No Way to Make My Monthly Goal ... and I'm Happy!

After a metric century last weekend, and another one this coming weekend, with a nice mountain climb sandwiched in between, there's no way I'm realistically going to hit my 150 miles running this month.  I'll still give it the old college try, as it were, but whatever.  The point of being healthy is the ability to enjoy things like this. 

Example #1 of enjoying good health was today's activity.

My brother-in-law, Gene, and I hiked Mt. Wrightson, a 9453 foot peak that dominates the local skyline, at least within a 60 mile radius of its granite peak.  It's rumored that back in the days of clean air and polyester (1960's), one could view the Gulf of California from its peak!  (Today we had no such luck, the air quality was quite hazy due to high winds.)

The endeavor was in great doubt as Wednesday and Thursday I was struck with a strange lethargy...I didn't feel sick, but had an unbelievably low energy level, a sick stomach (to play a role later today), and was in as foul of a mood as I've ever experienced without cause.  To make things worse, I was super sore from just 10 miles of SLOW running over three excursions.

Friday morning I thought, "You get all the rest you need when you're dead," and said I'd the mountain a shot on Saturday morning.

I left home at 5 AM, drove to the mountain.  On the way up Madera Canyon (which is a crazy-bicycle ride climbing 3,500 feet in about 12 miles) I saw a group of three wild turkeys, pictured here.

 We headed up the trail, taking the short route, 5.4 miles to the peak, climbing a bit over 4,000 feet.  It was cool, and got colder as we climbed.  As we made it to Josephine Saddle, I was reminded of the boys that died on the mountain in the late 50's during a freak November snow storm.  I attended a speaking by a woman who wrote a book to record the story.  She was the younger sister of one of the survivors, and the entire event left a huge impression upon her.  As she aged she realized that the adults involved were dying and many of the artifacts and stories were disappearing, so she collected the information and wrote the book, "Death Clouds on Mount Baldy."    Here's the memorial:

We climbed for hours in the shade of the mountain.  As we climbed, the temperature dropped steadily.  As you can see here, we weren't dressed for it!

The views were AMAZING, way better than my little pocket camera could capture.

Before even reaching the peak we were significantly higher than the next highest mountain, which is in the same range, Mt. Hopkins, sporting a huge observatory.

Once at the top, the wind was CRAZY!  The view, while obscured by dust in the air, was still great, with vistas much farther than my camera captured.  In the picture below you can see where the water flows during the summer monsoons.  When down on the valley floor, one would have no clue!

As we hit the summit a voice said, "Did you see the bear?" 

It came from an elderly man that rested unseen against the remains of a former look out tower, or some such structure. He said we walked right past it.  Ugh...we talked about how we'd both would love to see a bear!

Talking to the man, he's climbed the mountain each weekend of the month, only failing to summit one weekend due to 6 foot snow on the trail.  How cool is that?

Soon another man, a bit older, joined us, then a pair of trail runners.  It was my first experience sharing a peak with someone not in my party.  But, it was nice and they took our picture.

On the way down, we both suffered greatly.  We both rode in a race last weekend, and our thighs were greatly taxed, and thus our knees grew tired.  For me, I always run in toe-shoes and my trail running shoes beat my toes to a pulp.  They're truly sore!

On the way down, the light was better for pictures, and it finally warmed up.  By the time we finished (due to dead thighs, the downward trip took longer and was more taxing than the trip up), it was quite warm.

On the way down, Gene's knee really hurt.  It slowed him greatly.  Mine hurt too, but my stomach began to really hurt.  I mentioned the stomach problems earlier in the week...well, I can't say anything delicately beyond I was happy to have brought toilet paper.  It was tricky though because there were lots of hikers on the trails and the slopes were incredibly steep just off the trail.  I've never had a problem like that and don't wish that on anybody!

As we approached the bottom of the trail we found a very young horned lizard (we call them horny toads).

I've known Gene since I was 14, and he was about 9.  His sister, now my wife, caught a horny toad and I traded her a poem I'd written for the lizard.  I kept it in a dresser drawer for a day and brought it back to her house the following day.  Gene wanted to hold it, I didn't want him to, and held my arm up high so he couldn't reach it.  He knocked my arm and the horny toad fell to the ground and out popped a bunch of babies!

We relived that moment while studying this little fellow.

All told, it was a GREAT day.  I will definitely be returning to these trails to do some training and running once I'm fresh and rested.  For those of you that are trail runners, how does this look:

I hope those reading had a wonderful Saturday and are, like me, enjoying good health.  I leave with a picture of me on the top of the mountain, that reminds me of the cover of "Born to Run."

PR and an Ice Bath and Doggie

Last night I was up past 11, usually in bed by 9.  The morning came fast.  I dragged myself out of bed at 6, headed out the door, returning inside three times, having forgotten something.  I made it to the race, all essentials in-tow, registered and had a good time talking with some friends.  One of the local middle schools had their cross country team in uniform attending the race.

The morning was BEAUTIFUL, low 50's at start time with nice sunshine.  It's going to be 85 today, so it warmed up fast.

The race wound through the old neighborhoods here, the same ones where I grew up.  I took my warm up jog, a bit over a mile, through the old streets, looking at my old houses, houses of friends, remembering where this big mean dog named Coors resided.  I turned onto a street whose name has been shortened to Placita Baca, from Placita de Baca, place of the cow.  I used to infuriate my sister, telling her the street was named after her.

For some reason, the stroll through my old haunting grounds inspired me to want to do well.  This is where I'm from.  I'm who I am today because of experiences I had here.  But I was concerned because my calves still ached and didn't feel right from Monday's tempo run.  Plus, I climbed over 6,000 feet in my last two bike rides...can you say, shot legs?  I'd just see how it went.

At the start of the race all of the middle schools crowded the starting line.  I knew a few of them would probably beat me, they run pretty fast.  But many would just be in the way, so I had to get around them.  Of course they took off fast, and in passing them I completed my first mile in 6:23.  Oops.  I passed all but three of them about half way through mile one, knew I was going too fast, but couldn't slow down or they'd pass me again.  And I didn't want to dodge between kids and people up the hill, which took most of mile 2.  

Heading up the hill I was in 5th place.  Three boys in front and a friend of mine who is wicked fast and ended up finishing in 17 and change.  Mile two only climbed 146 feet, which is half of what the Cookie Toss Mile in my tempo run was, but it killed me.  My calves really started to hurt.

At the start of the hill I heard one of the boys I was running with spit.  It wasn't just a spit, it was the type that tells me he was tapped.  I've noticed that when I have that dry spit I'm done, and when racing, if someone I'm with spits, soon they're dropping.  But I encouraged him to keep going.

Regardless, soon I was in 4th place.  The kid I was now running with was TINY, probably all of 80 pounds.  But he was running strong.  There was another boy in front of us, about 200 yards up the hill.  I told the boy, "See him...he's dying.  You got it.  You're tougher than him, go get him.  This race is yours."

He tried, and closed a significant portion of the gap, but at the end of mile two we headed down hill, and the other boy took off.

Once at the bottom of the hill I was toast, tooling along at a 6:45 pace or so, not pushing.  I had no idea of my time as I'd just looked at my pace on the Garmin and thought that with the hill, there'd be no shot at a PR.  I had a half mile left, just bring it on home...then BOOM, left calf totally locked up.  I hopped, thought about stopping, but didn't want to be passed.  How stupid is that?

I limped the rest of the way in.  At the start of the chute I saw 19:57 on the clock ... Come on!  I've been dying to run a sub-20 5K, this could've been my first.

I finished 4th, congratulated those in front and the small boy thanked me, twice, for pushing and encouraging him.  That was as cool as anything else.

For my effort I got the race t-shirt, of course, and first place for each age group received these medals (females had female runners on theirs).

 Here I am, pre-race:

Limping down the chute:

Funktown - Burned Down

It felt as if the wind had personality, and was angry ... at me.  It whipped me, pushed me, slapped me around for 80 miles today.  I took it, all of it, and never faltered.  I never thought of seeking shelter, calling home for my wife to come get me.  The wind punished me over the 3200 feet of climbing.  Climbing up the second to last big hill the signs warning of a winding road ahead rocked back and forth.  The trees bent steadily to the wind's insistence.  I loved it!  At mile 70, when I finally turned so I had a tailwind, I slammed down the gears, finishing mile 75 in under 3:00 on dead legs. 

Funktown -- burned down! 

I burned that funk to the ground...or, maybe I shouldn't take credit, but it's burned and that's the important part. 

Maybe it is because I had a hard, but yet relaxed ride Thursday, that reset my perspective.  Maybe it's because it's my anniversary and I'm very happy about that.  Yesterday we celebrated, low key, as is our fashion.  We went to the movies, saw The Hunger Games, with our youngest daughter.  Funny, but we've gone out as a family for our anniversary three of the past four years!  We just get along, I guess.

Maybe funktown burned down because of pent-up emotional energy.  This week our dog died unexpectedly (perhaps an owl got her).  My oldest daughter joined the National Guard (they can provide an avenue by which she can be a veterinarian), and has her first drill this weekend.  My wife had an upper GI scope done Monday and luckily her gal bladder is fine and she just has an ulcer.  

Anyhow, because of a stiff back and a very humbling route planned today (I love and hate this ride), I took yesterday off from all exercise.  I checked the weather last night and the forecast called for headwinds both ways of an out-and-back 80 miler.  Seriously.  Fifteen mph winds with gusts up to 20 heading east until 10 am, then from the south for a short time, then from the west from 11 on, all day the speed picking up.  Wow!

Maybe the funk is busted because I mentally focused last night, running through a check list of goals, items of focus and especially steeling my nerves for what lay ahead today.

Regardless, my average pace was very slow, 16 mph, but my effort and focus were as good as I've ever had on a ride.  I'm pretty charged up!

I did manage to take a few pictures today.  You can see them all here.  

The picture above is one of my favorite stretches of road.  It's on Arizona State Highway 82, just west of Patagonia, Arizona.

And old stone home I always love looking at.  It was built long before the two-lane highway existed.  How upset do you think they must've been when the route went right THERE!?

Yup, there's wine in Arizona...even a 5K that the wineries host where you get to sample various wines after the race!

An old abandoned ranch house north of Nogales, Arizona.

Some of the wild life!

The Santa Cruz River.  Not much water this time of year.

The picture above is taken just before an OSOM stretch of road, when headed this direction.  It's about 4 miles of down hill....think 40 mph on a bicycle down hill. 

The picture below is Mt. Wrightson, which my brother-in-law and I will be climbing on May 5th.  I'm super-excited about that!  I've been wanting to climb that thing my entire life, just never have.

Here's how I set up the display on my Garmin 405 for riding.  A lot of cyclists apparently hate it, but this shows me what I need, HR, cadence, and speed.  A HR of 108 means I'm obviously not working real hard while taking pictures!