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Marty had been kind enough to invite me out for some epic Death Ride prep a few Saturdays back, but I'd already signed up for Pescadero on that day. So when he suggested Mt. Diablo hill repeats for this past Saturday, exactly 2 weeks before the ride, I jumped at the chance. He's a seasoned distance cyclist (about a million successful Death Rides, Terrible Twos, Paris Brest Parises, etc.), so I knew this was all part of his finely tuned scientific training plan.
A couple riders passed us, going up the Walnut Creek side the first time, and after glancing at Marty's Death Ride 2001 jersey (which did not match his 2000 headband), one of them asked him if he was going to earn the jersey again this year. Marty said "naaah" with faux nonchalance (parlez vous francais?), and then asked them if they were training for it. They said that they were, and that this was their last big training ride before the big event. So Marty asked with faux nonchalance when the actual ride was, and they said it was on the 12th. And then, as they continued upwards and out of earshot, Marty looked at me with a freaked out expression and said, "Wow. That's soon." And that's how I found out Marty's nonchalance hadn't been entirely faux; rather, it was born of ignorance (naiveté?).
Merde.
So much for scientific. Actually, the whole exchange was a bit bizarre, on a couple different levels, because (a) the ride was 2 whole weeks away and even I know that only an idiot would taper that early; and (b) Marty had made a room reservation for the weekend of the ride as recently as the 19th, and he'd emailed me immediately thereafter, urging me to do the same before things filled up. So it couldn't have snuck up on him. But Marty also just had dental surgery, and teeth are connected to all sorts of important things that you wouldn't think they're connected to. Like bloodstreams to vital organs. This is why people with unexplainable maladies sometimes get asked, "have you had any dental work lately?" by medical diagnosticians. Could be a clot on the pons. Or an artificial tooth implant that had traveled through a larger artery and landed precariously on his parietal lobe. Or is memory associated with the temporal lobe? I forget. Whatever! Poor Marty.
Tracy joined us as well. She's not doing the Death Ride, but she's training for this year's Black Sheep Adventure! She was waiting for us at the wrong church, but she and Marty saw each other as we drove by around 9:35 (only 5 minutes late, even though I'd gotten lost twice driving the 2 miles from my house to Marty's!), so we got ourselves together at a very leisurely pace, and finally took off together (probably around 10:15?). We'd all decided to ignore the health advisory to stay indoors (1400 wildfires burning in the Bay Area, and counting).
Of the three of us, I definitely suffered most. The first time up was fine, but the descent was painful (not a good sign - it's important to be able to recover on a Death Ride descent; they're loooong). When I got back on my bike after the ranger station the second time up, things got exponentially harder, and hotter (a temperature inversion; Tracy had noticed, and was explaining how a temperature inversion works, but I was having trouble focusing, so please don't quiz me). The steep grade at the tippy top sucked. I bought a coke at the museum shop/lookout, and the ranger congratulated me. But I told her congratulations were not yet in order; we had to do it again. So we descended back into Danville. The descent felt endless. The final climb was OK at first, because I was moving pretty slowly, but my back was throbbing by the time I'd made it to the ranger's station. While stopped there (about 2/3 of the way up from the Danville side) I had tried to convince Marty to commit to 4 climbs total, because I felt I needed to know that I could. He was having none of it. He said we should do it three times, build on that over the next week of training, then rest. What he said made sense, though he could have been talking out of his toothy cerebellum or something. Anyway, when I glanced at my watch it was nearly 4pm and we still had about an hour to the top by Tracy's estimate. At the top, the parking lot was deserted, and it was hot. None of us had brought sunscreen with us, and I'd only remembered to slather my face in the car before we left, not my body. It was 5:05. The shop had closed while we were chatting at the water fountain, so no coke. Ah well. Back to Walnut Creek! I glanced at the horizon several times on that last descent, willing the valley to come closer, and eventually it arrived and I found Marty's car, 70 miles, 11,400 feet of climbing, and close to 8 hours after I'd left it. Marty drove us in a couple circles looking for Jamba Juice, which, when we ultimately found it, had morphed into a different smoothie establishment. Tracy and I wanted savory anyway (we'd been devouring Gu and Clif bars all day), so we left Marty to his smoothie and went next door to the burrito joint. Hit the spot. Once sated, we headed home, and after a shower, I headed to Jessnmel's to watch billions of Arrested Development (recently discovered, and perhaps the funniest show ever!!!) episodes while stretching on my yoga mat in their living room. Ahhhhh.
Hobbled over to Eden for a bike re-fit on Sunday. Rick swapped out my stem yet again for one with a steeper angle, assured me it didn't look ridiculous and that it was safe, and adjusted the seat and handlebars, all for more upright positioning. he also mentioned that my choice of Death Ride gearing was a bit surprising. Ack. Well, I don't have a triple, and that part's not changing....
...to someecards.com for consideration (under "APOLOGY" or perhaps "SOMEWHAT TOPICAL"), in response to a wacky San Francisco Chronicle article...
NEWSFLASH!!! I had an elbow breakthrough this week. I've been tres, tres depressed because I haven't recovered full range of motion, and it's been quite tender on the bike, enough to make me reconsider the Death Ride which has been a major goal of mine for months. So, after being totally down in the dumps to the point of whining ad nauseum to Mom The Nurse, she strongly suggested:
a. Going to sleep early every night (completely irrelevant, but she saw an opening to give motherly advice and somehow worked it in);
b. Contributing more of my salary to my 403b (ditto); and
c. 2 Naproxen, once a day, for 3 days, to break the pain cycle.
I don't generally take pain meds, but I was desperate, so I tried it. Lo and behold, today (Naproxen Day Two) at PT I was almost able to get the arm straight! At 7:30 in the morning, when I'm least flexible! I started the session at -10 degrees instead of the usual -20, and went down from there. My therapist told me it was our most successful session yet, and to keep doing what I'm doing. But I think I'm going to stop at Day 3. Unless anyone out there has an extra liver.
Also taught my first spin class Thursday night. I forgot a few things, like making sure everyone was on the same page as far as resistance on the wheel, and explaining the "lingo." Oh, and one of the veteran spinners told me the tempo of my music was much too fast when we were grinding up some huge hill I'd manufactured. Whatever: The bottom line here is that I burned 920 calories in an hour!!!!
I awoke yesterday morning at 5:30, and walked into the living room, where I slammed into a scent wall of Febreze "spring and renewal" fabric refresher (I had chosen sleep over laundry the night before). I checked my kit, and it was dry (whew - I'd superstaurated it with the spraybottle less than 6 hours before), though I'd stop short of "renewed."
I paused for a moment to feel sorry for my friend Shmel, who would be doing almost all the day's driving across the Bay to/from Pescadero.
After dressing and packing up (no time for brekkie), I got into my car, which promptly took 580 westward on autopilot. I really need to get that fixed, because Shmel lives east of me. Stupid, dumbass car.
I got off the freeway and tried to figure out how to fix my car's mistake on the roads, rather than turning around and getting back on the freeway going east, because I guess at 6 am on a Saturday morning, high on Febreze, I think I'm some sort of bigshot. A mistake, it became clear. I found my way back to 580 amd called Shmel to (1) tell her I'd be a teeny bit late, and (2) ask her again for directions, just in case, because I'd left them at home (bigshot). Shmel was plussed (i.e. "the opposite of nonplussed"), as always. "Calm and encouraging" is how I'd describe Shmel in pretty much any given stressful situation, and this one was no different. Upon arrival, I got all my crap, plus the trainer I'd arranged/driven to borrow at the last minute the night before, and we stuck it all in/on Shmel's car. Then Shmel drove us to Peets as a favor to me (brekkie!). She waited in the car.
Needless to say, a spillage situation had just occurred at Peets when I walked in. The yellow caution sign was coming out, floors were being mopped, drinks were being re-made, and the wait was excruciating.
I eventually got my breakfast (fat-free apricot vegan scone, because despite the unappetizing description, they're surprisingly really yummy, and big-gulp iced caramel latte) and hopped into the car briefly pondering what my bladder etc. situation would be when we got to the start, and the fact that I had on bib shorts (you can't just drop trow; you need to take off your top first). I let those thoughts go as Shmel handed me the mapquest directions and we took off, commencing girl-talk as we headed toward the race.
If you want to get super duper technical about it, I guess I was the navigator, because I was sitting in the seat often occupied by the navigator (when there is one), and I happened to be holding the directions.
We missed the San Mateo Bridge entirely. We then saw some Dumbarton Bridge signs, but kept going (with my strong encouragement, because I was pretty sure the San Mateo Bridge comes after the Dumbarton). It was getting late.
Once we hit Mountain View, Shmel realized we'd gone way too far down 880, and she turned off on 237 in a panic, and then 101, while I scrambled to figure out how to get to 84. I was getting nauseated because I had to look backwards to grab the map, and find my glasses. The signage sucked and we ended up on some street that wasn't 84. After a u-turn at the "no u-turns" sign (interesting that they had a sign in place for that!) and vehement denunciation of the inadequate signage situation, we ended up on 84, which had *gasp* stoplights! We didn't have time for stoplights! And we were behind dilapidated trucks full of leafblowers!
Leafblowers are the bane of Shmel's existence, and she has plenty to say about them. Unfortunately, she made me promise not to tell anyone what she said on this particular morning. Anyway, that's not the focus here. The focus here is another Shmel commentary, as she was noticing the time (it was slipping away and we had many miles of twisty road ahead of us) and was starting to unravel:
"We're behind another truck of f*cking illegals!!!"
Immediately, she felt terribly, and said she had nothing against them...
"But they drive f*cking two miles per hour because they don't want to get pulled over, and I CAN'T DEAL! I have a f*cking race!!!"
I think it's OK that I'm recounting this part, because (a) she didn't specifically tell me not to, and (b) I changed her name.
And of course we both had to go to the bathroom, and that always gets worse when you're stopped at a red light, we noticed. Well, unbelievably, we got there in the nick of time (the first heat rode by us as we were parking and everyone was looking at us incredulously as we careened on twisty roads to the start as late as we could possibly be - it was obvious we were trying to get to the race in time; we had bikes on the roof), and I (totally stressed out at this point and severely car-sick to boot) ran to use the nature facilities as Shmel got naked and changed next to the car and then spilled Hammer Gel all over herself and the trunk and used my bottle of water to get unsticky, and then we biked over to registration to get our numbers pinned, and so much for the trainers we'd brought! No time for a warm-up! Fortunately, things were running late so we had a moment to compose ourselves as they were starting the other groups (female 3s,/4s/masters went last, yay!). And then we were off.
I was off the back immediately. The pace was just too fast to sustain. 2 others were behind me, and one passed me (I never saw the second again; I assumed she dropped out). I ended up passing her back, later (I'd offered to work together to get up Stage Road, but she didn't take me up on it, so I drafted, and I think she must have bonked). And then I passed someone else on lap 2, but I think she was a master's racer, so I may have finished last in the 3s/4s group (of those who finished).
The feed zone was interesting. Both bottle cages on my bike were in use, yet they offered to pass me a full bottle as I was riding by! And I was thinking "where the hell am I going to put a 3rd bottle?!" so I didn't grab it. Then on lap 2, I stopped (because I really needed water; I was out), to ask how it was done, and the guy pointed to a bin full of used water bottles and said I toss one out and take the new, full one. And I looked at him. And he said, "Oh. You want to keep your water bottles." And I said yes (they have sentimental value!). And he said, "Well that's a first." And he poured the water out of the new, full water bottle, and into mine. And I was on my way.
As anticipated, it was a pretty ride, and I'm glad to have gotten my feet wet. Next time I'll bring my crappiest water bottles. And I won't get totally lost riding those last few miles from the finish (at the top of the hill) back to the start, which prompted a panicked "I don't know where the hell I am!" call to Shmel, and required her to come pick me up.
I'm racing tomorrow - Pescadero. It's my first real road race (accidental entry, then 10 miles, then accidental exit doesn't count). I hear it's not flat. And I'm at the worst part of my cycle right now and my back hurts particularly badly this month. And I now have an ulnar nerve "bruise" (this was the doctor's diagnosis when I called him in a panic 2 days after Tuesday's "aggressive" PT session, because ever since then it's felt a bit like I just hit my funny bone, pretty much constantly, and gets worse during stretching exercises, and I simply haven't been able to wear my nighttime splint for the pain, and my ring and pinky fingers still haven't regained full sensation. And I just now realized my kit's dirty, and the laundry machine is in use (surprise!) and it's almost 9 pm and I have to get up at 5:30 am.
So yeah, everything's coming together.
OK, it's actually not all bad. I got my 12x25 cassette (which came standard on the new bike) switched out for the 12x27 from my old bike, at a moment's notice less than half an hour before my bike shop closed, despite the fact that the shop was having some huge sale and was chock full of people. So now I have an extra gear (I'm going to need it). And a teammate of mine left a trainer on his front porch for me to grab so that I could get in a nice warm-up tomorrow morning.
Rats. I just realized that's two fewer excuses I have for a DFL finish. That's OK...I've heard it's a pretty ride. And I'm going to a BBQ in Half Moon Bay after! Yay!
I LOVE MY NEW BIKE!
It's a pound lighter than my old one, for some reason. I think it's the wheels, which are skinnier. Skinny wheels can be a teeny bit scary.
So the inaugural ride was Saturday, or "Touchstone-and-related" day! Went up Tunnel to Grizzly, down South Park and Wildcat Canyon, across the 3 Bears, and back up Wildcat after lunch in Orinda, and then up South Park (ugh - but this kind of stuff happens when you're with Marty...at least it wasn't El Toyonal, which also tends to happen when you're with Marty). The elbow did OK!
Sunday was TO-and-related-women day! Up Tunnel to Skyline, down Redwood, pause for fun kit photo opportunity (thanks Lauren! Gosh, who's the dork wearing the visor?), and up Pinehurst (while passing I think 3 unicycling women who were coming down Pinehurst) . By the end of this ride (actually, more like by the beginning), my bike was feeling heavyheavyheavy, and my back was killing me even more than my elbow, so I turned toward home at the top (I believe that's the first time I've left before the end of a Mel ride!) and heeded my teammates' recommendations: called Rick at Eden for a fitting as soon as I got home. He hooked me up! Saw me that day despite his no-weekend-fittings rule, spent almost 2 hours with me, had me on and off the trainer for a gazillion adjustments including shoe cleats, swapped out my stem for a better one at no charge, and threw in a TO discount. And he told me I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, who I later learned was a Jew from Philly! Well no wonder! They were together 7 years. I asked him what happened, and he said everything was great as long as he did everything she said. Well no wonder!
Can't wait to test out the fit on a long ride. If I can manage a long ride. I've been feeling like a zombie for two days. Unbelievable.
In other news, I went to the orthopod for a follow-up on the old elbow today. He's concerned that I still can't get full extension (I'm at about -12 degrees after the physical therapist has been tugging on it for 20 minutes). Apparently, the bone fragments calcify, and this may cause rubbing/friction which limits range of motion. He said therapy needs to be more aggressive at this point. So I punched him with that arm. Haha! No, actually, it means I need to force it. So the tension is going up a notch on the Dynasplint tonight, and I'll see if I can sleep through the pain. No problem! I laugh at pain! Except when I'm crying...
