3 days, 4 races, & 1 set of legs - The Prologue

Resting is the hardest part of training.

Patience is the hardest part of racing.

This week’s schedule is full of both, with just a sprinkling of hard work to keep me from going crazy.

I am not good at resting and have little affinity for patience, so after this week, the race will seem easy.

My first stage race, my first Crit and my first Time Trail. I have only 2 road races under my belt, I don’t know what the heck I am doing, but my entry fee is paid.

On Friday afternoon I will pin on my number, put on my helmet and roll up to the line to start the first stage of the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic Road Race.

I want to compete, I want to do well, I want to finish the race knowing I could not have given any more, could not have gone any faster, could not have pushed any harder.

As the peleton rolls out on Stage 1 there is one critical thing I must remember:

3 days, 4 races, one set of legs.

Are those legs ready? Am I?

This isn’t the time to ask these questions.

The work and training for this weekend’s race is over.

Now is the time to rest, to eat well, to sleep soundly and to trust that I am ready.

When the gun goes off and tires start to roll, whether I am ready or not is irrelevant.

The acceleration of the peleton will come quickly and I will have to settle in.
The first climb will rise in front of me and I will embrace the pain.
Someone will go off the front and I will have to jump, knowing I cannot let her get away.

I will try to be patient, holding a strong wheel, keeping out of the wind, conserving my energy. I will try to be patient, to be smart, to be efficient, but it will be difficult.

Deep down, I want to be the one in the break. I want to be the strong wheel. I want to prove, if only to myself, that I am a cyclist.

Taking to the Trail

Slow, steady, consistent. The dirt beneath my feet is moist, at times soft and almost muddy. The dark cloud overhead makes the afternoon seem later than my watch indicates. My stride is anything but graceful. My running shoes have been an vacation for the last week or so, but today, they were the only friend that could clear my mind and put my emotions to rest.

The current economic situation hit home today. Until this morning, I felt disconnected the with television and radio reports, repeatedly altering Americans and the World to the next crisis or reason for fear. I purposely don't read the front page of the newspaper; too depressing. I stopped following the stock market, too daunting. Today I didn't have to rely to any media sources to know what is happening to the free markets; today I felt the impact directly.

I got off easy. I still have a place to report tomorrow morning, at least for now. Others weren't so lucky. The impact of decreased consumer spending, tight credit lines, and the ever elusive bottom line profit became real for me today.
I wanted to cry, but I had to go back to work. I wanted to grieve, but that seemed inappropriate, I still had a job. I wanted to scream and yell and stomp my feet. It just isn't fair; people have families and children. Why not me? I felt sorry, but sorry enough to offer to switch places? Sorry enough to give up my monthly wage in order for someone else to receive one? I wasn't the one making decisions. I don't know what the outcome would be if I were.

I needed refuge, I needed clarity. I needed to get out, for the selfish purpose of self-preservation.

On a bike there is so much to think about; gears, brakes, pedal stroke, heart rate, glass in the bike lane. In the saddle I am training, focused and with a purpose.
I needed simplicity.

Running is simple. I don't have to think about the upcoming hill, my legs know what to do; they have done it so many times before. Running is cleansing, like a dunk in cold, yet familiar water.

And so I ran. Awkwardly at first, working out the kinks, and the cobwebs and the tears. My stride soon grew longer, more fluid, more natural. My breath ceased to occupy my mind, my muscles relaxed, and I ran.

If I had been the one to receive bad news today, I would have been okay. If I receive bad new tomorrow, or next week, or next month, I will be okay. For now I am with employment, with a company that genuinely cares about its employees, with a CEO that made a decision to save the company he has worked so hard to built, and part of a team that will look forward toward success.

To Opal Creek, With Love

This weekend I didn't race, I didn't train, I didn't even get on my bike. A much needed deviation from the routine, I enjoyed myself, among friends in a place, that four short years ago, set my life in a whole new direction.

We make a million tiny decisions each and everyday. Most pass by without any apparent implications. Once in a while we notice the consequences. But for the most part, our lives take form as a result of the accumulation of the tiny, seemingly inconsequential happenings. And then, something changes. You make a decision that has a pronounced effect; on you and the path your life will follow.

Four years ago I visited Opal Creek for the first time. Nestled three and a half miles behind a locked Forest Service Gate, beneath an old growth forest and along side the little north fork of the Santiam River lies JawBone Flats, an old mining town turned environmental education center.

This is where I met Ben.

Working as winter caretaker, along side the gentle giant, Adam Mims, Ben welcomed me to town and gave me the guided tour of the property… 17 buildings, an off-grid hydroelectric pelton wheel, the workshop, the swimming hole. With patches of snow lingering in shadowy corners, we all went swimming. The plunge into the icy water below was more than a dunk in unbelievably cold water, it was one of those decisions.

In the months that followed, we feel in love, while sitting on the rocks just above Staff Pool, we spoke the words and made plans for the future. Naive and optimistic, we swam and hiked, and picked huckleberries.

Meanwhile I was tying up business in Portland so I could spend the winter in Jawbone. I sold my house, quit my job and left the city for a drafty mining cabin in the woods.

I left the life I knew without hesitation; I knew it was the right choice, a consequential decision.

For the next 6 months, Ben, Adam, Pete and myself lived and worked in Jawbone. The snow fell, the hydro broke, games of cribbage and Scrabble were won and lost, we read books, baked bread, and played music. When spring came, Ben and I, through streams of tears and embracing hugs, left Jawbone to hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

We have visited Jawbone many times since our departure in the spring of 2006, but returning there this weekend was of great significance. Adam will be leaving Jawbone after 6 years of residence; a celebration was held in his honor. Jawbone was filled people I care about, with people who have helped to shape my world, with people who genuinely know me.

Saturday the snow fell, adding to the white wonder that already covered the ground. The trails had not been broken and snowshoes were necessary for exploration out of camp.

Through knee deep snow, I walked along my favorite running trail, the Kapeski Loop. Past Opal Pool and along the river; four years ago I walked this trail for the first time. My feet have passed this way countless times since. So much as changed, yet so much remains the same. Without regret I look back on the past 4 years, without expectation I look forward to the next.

Each day a gift, each choice a step, just one life. The real decision remains to made…… how will I choose to live it?

Why are you doing this?

I had to stop and think…. How do I put my cycling addiction into words that I could share with Ben. I sometimes joke that when I grow up I want to be a pro cyclist. Sounds dreamy, probably isn't, but that's not the point. If cycling was my job, I could go to work, riding my bike, and still be home for dinner. As a mere mortal that has to work and loves to ride her bike, I ride, go to work, ride my bike, eat dinner, go to sleep. Although this schedule isn’t complete accurate, it often feels as such. 2 interval sessions, 2 weight sessions, long rides, a few runs, and a couple yoga classes per week…. It is already Thursday – and I have only gotten in one set of intervals and I am racing Sunday…

But back to the pressing question… Why? The cursor blinks silently on the screen in front of me as I contemplate the answer…..

When George Mallory was asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, his answer was "Because it's there".

When Lance Armstrong was asked why he left retirement to rejoin the pro peloton his response was "Because I still have something to prove—and nothing else hurts so good."

Strong men, bold ambition, willing to push themselves without regret or fear of the consequences. Both pursued dreams because they were passionate, because they loved the sensation of pain, of hard work, and of reward.

While my endeavors are minuscule in comparison to the accomplishments either Mallory or Armstrong, I understand their rational, their reasons, their drive and determination. I am in search of the same feeling of accomplishment, of success, of completion.

And yet, even after conquering a tallest mountain, winning the biggest races, and overcoming insurmountable odds, these men went back for more, grasping for the ever elusive finish line. There is no finish line and there is no summit; there is always another race or another mountain or a more difficult route. For the same reasons Mallory summited Mt. Everest the first time, he returned. The same drive and will that pushed Lance to win the Tour de France 7 straight times, pushes him to attempt to do it again.

But the question still remains; Why do I do this, why do I ride my bike, why do I train, why do I race?

A new challenge with each sunrise; the feeling of utter wastefullness, followed by pure elation and release, the glory and anguish of competition………………

I ride my bike because I feel at home in the saddle, more so with each mile that passes beneath my tires. I ride because I am want to work hard, in the effort and time, and one day see the results of this dedication. I ride because I have so much to learn and strength to built.

But most importantly, I ride because it makes me happy. Because long after the sweat is dry and the mud is wiped away, I remember the feeling of being on my bike, the sense of power and freedom and strength, and I smile.

Also posted at On the Go-Go

Banana Belt is canceled for today.

The forecast called for snow, but we went anyway; over the pass, through the snow and to the west side of the cascades.

The drive was eventful to say the least. 4 women, 4 bikes, and a dog in Mary's Eurovan. The roads were dry until just pass Camp Sherman, and almost instantly, snow covered the road sides and trees that lined the highway. We crested Santiam Pass and just on the west side, we hit a deer. Mary couldn't have handled the situation better and after taking a couple deep breathes and assessing the damage, we decided to continue on. The van, though injured, was still drivable, the damage only cosmetic.

As we rolled into Forest Grove the temperature read 41F. The forecast must be wrong, it doesn't snow in Forest Grove and the snow level is very rarely 0 ft.

After dinner and a bike cleaning session, we snuggled into bed, turned the clocks an hour forward and quickly fell asleep. I hoped to sleep well; I was excited and nervous for Sunday's race.

Each race I learn something about bike racing and training. I was hoping to put all the pieces together and come out of Banana Belt #2 with some upgrade points. In preparation for the race, I put some thoughts on paper.

1. Patience
2. Tactics
3. Power
4. Will

I am not nervous, but instead determined; not to win, but to race well. If racing well equates to winning, I will be pleased, but racing well and not winning will serve me better than to win without the satisfaction of knowing I truly tested my strength and power and will.

And while bike racing is much different than running, I can't help but recall the quote by Steve Prefontaine:

"No one will ever win a 5,000 meter by running an easy two miles. Not against me. I am going to work so that it's a pure guts race. In the end, if it is, I'm the only one that can win it".

The alarm went off at 6:30, a glace out the window revealed snow…. "It will melt", I told myself. I pulled on my Sunnyside Kit, long tights, hat, jacket and then the news came in….

Banana Belt is canceled for today.

Disappointment swept over me, but only briefly. "We will ride" Carrie announced and everyone smiled in agreement.

And ride we did. Adorned in all the clothing we had, we rode; out to Hagg Lake, around the race course, through snow and slush and mud. We stopped to capture the event, which would have more aptly been with skies and not bikes in the foreground. Our toes lost feeling and we hammered up the hills. If we weren't going to race, we were still going to get our workout in.

Mary led up the first hill, Carrie the second, then it was my turn. We all worked together, pushing ourselves harder than we would have alone and encouraged one another as we crested and made our way down the other side of each roller. Amanda got quiet, her toes were freezing.

We braved the weather for an hour and a half and headed back toward the hotel via Old Highway 47. The hot tub was our next destination, quickly pulling off our soaking wet, dirt covered cycling tights.

We drove to Portland to ride bikes in the snow; couldn't we have done that at home?

We rode bikes when we should have been skiing; it's March, what were we thinking?

We froze our toes and ate continental hotel breakfast, and slept in beds that were not our own…. And we will do it again.

It is not only from the race that we reap the rewards of training and sweating and riding in the mist of winter. It is from the friendships made, the smiles captured and the memories held that, without hesitation, motivate us to pull on our booties, pin on our numbers and ride in the snow, because really, there isn't ever a finish line.

Banana Belt #1; 2/3 racing, 1/3 pain

A race like this is a true test of motivation…. You drive 5 hours to line up in the rain. The entire weekend is organized around a 33 mile race, an hour and 4 minutes of riding, 25 minutes of utter pain.

When we awoke in the Forest Grove Best Western on Sunday morning, the sky was clear and the weather looked promising. A few scattered clouds were overhead, but nothing like the black, ominous canopy that so often covers the west side of the Cascades. Breakfast of oatmeal and eggs sat heavy in my stomach, I was feeling anxious.

We; myself, Mary, Renee, and Amanda (all from the Bend Bike N Sport Team) arrived at Hagg Lake Boat Ramp C just after 8am, with plenty of time to warm-up beneath a bright blue tent, and quickly realized that rain doesn't necessarily mean cold; we soon were removing layers as our trainers spun in the background.

At 9:25am, with no neutral roll-out, the large Cat 4 Women's field was off. The first lap was full of nerves and a bit faster than at Cherry Pie. We all stayed in the lead group and I was feeling strong, confident, and bit more patient than previously. After the peloton crossed over the damn on the first lap, Lindsay Fox was off the front and stayed there for a little longer than I felt comfortable with – so I tried to organize a little chase. It worked and she was reeled back in, but the energy expended was in vain, as we were soon "neutralized" for no apparent reason (this happened 6 times during the first 2 laps of the race).

Lap 2 played out about the same for the front group…. The pace was steady, the hills were hurting some, helping others and those just trying to hold on were popped out the back. I felt strong on the uphills, but suffered on the descents; having trouble holding the wheel in front of me; for fear of slipping out on the wet corners (I will have to work on that).

At the start of the 3rd lap I had just taken my GU and guzzled some water. This was it, I was in the front group, I was strong, only one lap to go… be patient, don't rush it, protect yourself for the next 7 miles and then go.

We crested a slight hill about 1 mile into the 3rd lap when I realized I had a flat. My front rim pressed against the pavement, I had no choice but to stop and signal for the neutral support car. Because there were a number of riders who had slipped off the back, but were still in front of the support vehicle, it took what seemed like "forever" for the car to reach me. A new tire was passed over, the flat one taken away and with a slight push from the race official I was off.

F*#*$*, F(#$*%, F#$*^ was all that was going through my mind...and then it cleared. I thought of only one thing for the race; catch those girls. This is were the pain begins.

I could see the flashing light of the official's vehicle, but just barely. I got into the drops and rode. I rode as fast and as hard as I could. I charged the hills and took risks on the descents. Without one else around, I was not as nervous on the slippery corners. I quickly picked off the girls that had earlier fallen back. None of them were in any position to help me.

I rode alone, time trialing around the lake. When I turned onto the damn I could see the group just exiting it and pushing forward. I glanced at my watch. My HR was 187. I swore again and pushed on all the harder. I didn't feel much, except my legs burning as I rode up the Lee Hill. 3 miles to go and I knew the group would be pushing too. The Men's Cat 4 field was approaching, I wanted to have sign on my back reading, "I didn't get dropped, I flatted". I caught on to the back of that group, holding on for the last 200M of the race, rolling among them at the finish. We caught the tail end of the leading Women's group, but I couldn't make a move, I couldn't advance my position, all I could do was finish.

I rolled through the finish to Mary and Amanda who were just riding up the hill to the cars.

I was frustrated and upset, but this somewhat subsided when I learned Mary had placed 3rd. I rode around the parking lots a couple of times, partially to cool down, mainly to decompress.

It was just a race, a race I had trained through, yet another learning experience and chance to test my true fitness level. I couldn't deny I was disappointed, but as I took a deep breathe and saw Mary's beaming face as I approached the car, I couldn't help but smile.