Seattle to Portland...merely a training ride: In three parts

Part I: The Ride


Meg and I rode (with our friend Meghan...see side bar) the STP in a day. This is a ride from Seattle to Portland and folks can do it in one day or two. We opted for the one-day version, a total of 205 miles...twice as long as my furthest ride and quite possibly my longest workout ever...perhaps with the exception of ultimate frisbee tournaments. But frisbee tournaments are always punctuated with short breaks, slamming oranges and bagels, and smoking pot, so the two really don't compare unless you count the pot part. I'm kidding...I never ate the bagels.

Anyway, there was no pot...we were definitely feeling the pain, after mile 150 anyway. Up till then, Meg, Meghan, and I were just zipping along (avg. 17.0 mph for the entire 205). We felt good, we took turns leading our pace line of 3 and joining on to others. It was really fun and great to be riding with two women who are competitive with themselves but are not about beating others. Just great! Meghan is a hell of a climber...kicking our asses up every hill. Meg is rock steady and is truly the energizer bunny....in fact I think she is still riding between the two cities. I'm not clear why...but I felt like a mother hen protectively watching over my chicks...sometimes riding in the back of the pace line to make sure all was well...that and that I got the best drafts of the day.

I joke, but I really did want to make sure my besties were not being hit by all the riders (sorry fellas...but mostly you guys) who would pass within inches without so much as a chortle. ON YOUR LEFT....say it with me boys...three little words that could mean the difference between a great day riding and a traumatic head injury. I see you all Lance-Armstrong-wanna-live-strong-and-be-like-mike-boys trying to win a ride that a) is not a race; and b) did I mention it wasn't a race? But really to what end are you passing so closely and saying so little?


We rode strong and finished strong...if a bit snarky and a tad nauseated. But, 205 miles in one day....that my friends is 93 more miles than race day. I feel a distinct psychological advantage!



Part 2: Lessons from the Road


1. We learned something about our need for better hydration...but we aren't sure what we learned

2. Chamois butter (aka butt balm) is an ointment of the gods

3. Training for the event is better than not training for the event

4. 4 hours of sleep for 4 nights in succession may have a biblical ring, but it makes for a long ass bike ride

5. Chip seal sucks

6. Real food is better than fake food

7. 205 miles is 130 miles further than anyone really needs to ride in a given period of time

8. We are rockstars

9. The STP really only needs to be done once ever

10. We googled it (not from the road....but we thought about it there)....people actually compete in things called Enduroman competitions....these are Ironman x 2 or 3!! Seriously...look it up.

Part 3: Jen gets on her social justice soap box...again

Enough of the complaints....at least about the riders. I'm unclear as to why...but there is an ongoing conflict...war is too strong...perhaps an ongoing "police action" between cyclists and motorists....as if the two are mutually exclusive. I don't know about you, but I also use a car as do the majority of cyclists. There are some folks who do not...and bravo to you I say! Anyway, most of us cross-over and can really relate to the frustrations of sharing the road from both points of view. When I'm driving...I sometimes don't see the cyclists at night...or if they run a stop sign or if they are just doing everything right and are in the bike lane. Then...when I don't see them and I nearly hit them I feel scared and want to lash out...at them...as if it is their fault that I nearly killed them. When really, I didn't see them and am blaming them for my mis-step. Bad form, Jen.

When I'm a cyclist...I couldn't be more irritated with the honking, the yelling, the gestures, the fake "loss-of-control-and-now-i'm-in-your-path," the speeding, the opening of car doors to scare you, the not seeing you and then blaming you for not seeing you. These things bother me. So you see...I understand the tensions...but really, is there a need for a battle of the roads? Can't we share? With the price of gasoline bicycles will soon be all any of us can afford anyway.

To add insult to injury...some (a small minority) of young white men seem to think it is their right, ethical duty, job even, to yell obscenities and threats at women cyclists. These are the same characters who likely feel that women's bodies are theirs for consumption. And, sometimes they combine the two beliefs and yell things like, "I can see why you are riding a bike fat ass" (white male yahoo as conveyed to me on STP, 2009).

Now as my partner said...this is a bit like going to the Ironman and yelling at the women competitors..."You should be swimming, biking, and running you fat ass." Doesn't make much sense now does it? Let's see....I'm swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112, then running a marathon and you are doing?? Oh that's right...NOTHING.

But, it doesn't stop the sting to have critical consciousness and an ability to outhink the yahoos, and some seriously snarky comments, does it? No...the sting of that sexism and the women-body-hating misogyny is no less...because the targets of forms of oppression end up doing some of the oppressor's heavy-lifting...by internalizing the narratives. I've written on this before....and you know that I am the owner of 38 years of anti-women's bodies narratives....all of which I resist and attempt to overthrow....and then a yahoo yells at me, and I am a pudgy 12 year-old believing that her very physical existence is an assault on what women "should be." And, I even hate that pudgy 12 year old, and then I feel guilty for hating her, and then I hate myself for hating myself, and then I hate myself for hating myself for hating myself...and the spiral continues until my head explodes.

When this kind of stuff goes down it makes me want to hole up in the house with my girls and listen to Free to Be You and Me until...you guessed it...my head explodes. That the yahoos of the world can still reduce me to a pudgy 12 year old who didn't deserve the shit she got in the first place...first pisses me off, then just saddens me. She was a cool kid...a smart kid...a great athlete who struck out all of those boys who called her names and had a hanging jump shot by the time she was 14. My body has worked for me...and it did again on Saturday and it will again on September 7th.

To all the yahoos: My body is not yours to consume for so many reasons...but mostly because you can't f*cking catch me!

Getting Through the Hard Parts

I have to say, in all of my fantasies about IRONMAN never did was I able to conceive of the feeling in my body that this level of training would generate. I have at times vacillated between a sense of euphoria and strength I have never before known and the feeling that I have actually hit a brick wall in milliseconds. Thankfully the average of these feelings leaves me most frequently with a sense of awe and determination that I can get over the brick wall and an acceptance that I will continue to be tired.

This weekend Trina and I experienced some really tremendous workouts together. Our 50 mile ride pushed us to the brink with an unexpected series of long rolling hills. We took a new ride and we were unaware of the hills until they were on us like white on rice. Ordinarily this would be fine, but we had just finished the tour de blast and were, well, tired of hills. But we rode on.

Our 15 mile run was fun and we worked every mile to take control of our bodies and the mileage....and it worked! We operated like a well oiled machine to get one another safely and successfully from mile 1 to the final 15th mile. Our trip included a mix of concrete and bark paths and one quick stop at home to get our camelbacks off and our waste packs on. We learned that camelbacks are TOO HARD to run with....but that water packs around the waist are a god send in the 90 degree heat.

Last night, after recovering by consuming my weight in food and water, we shopped for our weeks groceries and planned our workouts for the next week and month. The distances that we have planned out (based on Meg's experience and coach and the million books that we have read), are certainly doable, and they are TERRIBLY scary. Not scary like "I don't want to jump out of this perfectly good plane", more scary like "oh dear god I have to go up THAT mountain on my fixed gear bike?" But we know that we have felt this way before and that we will likely feel this way again. This is the psychological part of our preparation, right?

As for our groceries, we are focused on increasing our consumption of fresh fruits and vegetables every time we eat anything. We have also included a menu of whole wheat pasta dinners with vegetables for the week. Protein sources include turkey, fish and chicken this week. We will begin juicing carrots for Trina in the mornings to help get her calorie consumption up with foods she can tolerate with the intense schedule.

We can hardly believe we are 9 weeks from race day. After so many months and years of dreaming it is incredible to see the date approaching so quickly. We love this and fear this simultaneously. Bring on the armor...we're going deep!

A mountain, a bird, and misogynist discourse

A mountain
As Sassy-Femme noted, we rode up Mt. St. Helen's to get our climbing legs on. For me, the ride was great for many reasons: 1) SF and TT (their longest and steepest ride ever) showed incredible endurance and mental toughness getting up to the top of that ride; 2) it was beautiful and you could see the mountain (which is more often than not, not the case); 3) i was riding with my sweetie who has a depth of stamina that bouys and astounds me; 4) TT followed her intuition and her body so that we all stayed safe, healthy, and happy; and 4) i felt really strong.

I am excited about the bike portion of the triathlon and know that Meg and I will have a strong race. We plan on doing the entire race together, pushing and/or pulling each other to the finish. When Meg did her first IM two years ago, I saw a couple doing the whole thing together and it was just really sweet and powerful to watch them support each other through the physical, emotional, etc. ups and downs of the race. The race as a metaphor is not lost on me.

A Bird
Update on Jeoff, who we are now simply calling the Roadrunner because I don't know how to pronounce both of the F's in his name: We went back to his spinning class last week, even though I had not forgiven him for smiting my compliment. Meg decided that the Roadrunner must be loved for his performance and not for his interpersonal skills. He should be watched and not spoken to. He should be theatrically enjoyed and not befriended. Sage advice...so I will be content to spin my little legs off and simply bird watch.

Misogynist Discourse
I have an issue with my body....have since I was a kid and I come by it honestly. My mother thought she had a "weight problem" as did both of my grandmothers....perhaps their mothers before them. Shocking! A woman, with a hang-up about weight? Really, in this country?

Yes, as trite and platitudinous (so not a word) as it is...I have always struggled with my body image. Now, I have been thin, chubby, awkward and round, curvy, muscular, lean, flabby, and somewhat overweight...but always powerful, athletic, and able to take up physical space. Through all of those shapes I have thought the same thing: "I am fat. I am not what a woman should be. I am not what a woman should look like. I am fat."

OK people....i have internalized this misogynistic discourse not only at the hands of my mother and my mother's mother and her mother's mother's mother. Notice how we hold the women responsible for perpetuating misogyny. This fat discourse is really a U.S. fairy tale and not the good pro-woman kind like where....hmmm....are there good pro-woman fairy tales?

So, I learned this disgust for my body, my fat, my "bigness," and I continue to struggle to find both my strength and my beauty. As a kid, I thought that I was in the wrong kind of body because I loved baseball, basketball, running around, getting dirty, climbing trees, digging holes, making forts. I learned my gendering properly and thought there was something wrong with my "girl-ness." I was that girl that everyone called tomboy and I mostly wore the label with pride. But, I thought inside, "I'm not what a girl should be...and I'm fat." I know this is not a unique story...I think in some regard that is exactly my point. It isn't unique because the misogynist discourses surrounding gender and weight are pointed and purposeful, these discourses police us. Yeah, yeah...Judith Butler says it better...so go read her blog.

You know what....now that I'm into this discussion this far....I don't have the wherewithal to continue. I think my point is....I continue to struggle with this...even though my body is going to move 140.6 miles in one day in three different kinds of events and sometimes all I can think about is how fat I might look in the damn wetsuit.

more on this later....i will just continue to subvert these discourses even as they inhabit my body.

5200 feet in 42 miles is INCREDIBLE

Have you ever stood on top of the world? Have you ever stood in the shadow of a majestic mountain in awe of its magnitude and beauty? There aren't words to describe the way that this can take your breath away. While we did not stand on the 'actual' peak of the world (hiking Everest seems just the other side of insane to me), we did cycle Mt St Helens this weekend. That's right. We cycled UP a mountain. For those of you who choose NOT to cycle, up mountains or down to the corner store, let me share a few statistics. First, we climbed, that's right, climbed on our bikes, for 42 breathtaking miles. And let me clarify, when I say 'breathtaking' I mean, 'can't breath where did the oxygen go I think I'm a fish out of water' kind of breathtaking.

The average incline over these 42 miles was 4%, this includes the 6 miles of down hill that occurred JUST prior to our final climb of 8'ish miles at 13% incline....13%! If you aren't sure of the intensity that I intend to convey with my bolded text let me say, it was WILDLY steep and intense. Over the course of our ride we gained 5200 feet in altitude...yep, 5200, that's five-thousand-two-hundred feet...aka a freakin' mountain. So, you ask, how high is 5200 feet? Well, if the word 'mountain' doesn't put it into perspective for you, try these statistics on for size: the Seattle Space Needle is a mere 605 feet; the Stratosphere in Las Vegas (which feels freaky high when you're on the top) is only 1,149 feet high; and finally, the tallest building in Chicago, the Sears Building is only 1,730 feet high. While it's true, we did not scale the mountain's face straight up with our bikes tied to us. We did however ride up the side of a mountain. It was incredible.

During this kind of a ride one is likely to experience a profound range of emotions. For example, at mile 10 I was euphoric and strong. Mile 20 I was hungry and strong. Mile 23, I was sweaty, worried and starving. Mile 27 I wondered what the heck I had gotten myself into and how long it would be until there was another food stop (it really is all about the food for me). At mile 30 I dug deeper, got inspired and realized that I needed new life goals. Mile 35 I cried from a deep sense that I would never reach the top. At mile 36 a car stopped and the passengers (looking fresh and NOT stinky) asked why we were cycling up the mountain. They offered us A bottle of water (as if a single bottle of water would somehow help at this point). I laughed and asked if they had whiskey, of course they did not, they were driving. It should be noted that I have never before consumed whiskey or even considered drinking it, but mile 36 seemed like the perfect time to start. At mile 40, after about 5 hours and 15 minutes of climbing I finally settled on the comforting feelings that only one thing can inspire. Christmas carols. And so I sang...the remaining assent to the summit. They were, without doubt, the very worst renditions of 'Peace on Earth', 'Silent Night', 'The 12 Days 'til Christmas' that one has ever heard. Thankfully I was so out of breath at 5200 feet that my 'singing' was really more like a quiet 'spoken word'. If only I had had my microphone.

At the summit I was inspired, thankful, elated, and terribly stinky. Stinky like you have never thought was possible. But I was also deeply appreciative. I had not expected that this kind of group ride could inspire such a deep sense of appreciation. I appreciated my body for not letting me stop or wreck any number of times. I appreciated my bike for only dropping its chain ONCE and never having a flat. I appreciated the food (I really appreciated to food), the volunteers, the sunshine, the wind (when it was behind me), the wide and clear bike lanes and the company. I appreciated the beauty of the mountain range and the opportunity to see a mountain that I have never seen so closely. I appreciated my beautiful partner and my phenomenal friends for joining me in this trip and pulling me up the mountain. But most of all, I appreciated the fact that I was done. I mean come on...it's a MOUNTAIN for crying out loud. I will say, it is certainly worth taking the DRIVE up to see the beauty that is Mt Saint Helens. But, leave your bicycles at home. (wink)

My First Tri

Some may think that it was naive, ambitious or even INSANE to sign up for an Ironman before having completed even a single triathlon. And yet, here I am. I've come to think, in my young and inexperienced wisdom, that sometimes it's best NOT to know what one is getting into. Honestly, had I known first hand what training really meant I might never have believed that I have what it takes to really prepare and complete an IRONMAN. And yet, here I am; entry paid, hotel and flight secured, bike tuned, training in progress. Finally, under the wise and beautiful wisdom of my wife, I did my first tri yesterday.

Thank the gods and goddesses, I LOVED it! I have always had the feeling that I would like the sport. All the gear, the multi-sport intensity, the gear, the bragging rights, the idea of pushing myself to the limit and laughing as I cross to the other side....it's righteous. To actually do it; to be in the water and feel first hand the nauseating mix of thrill and panic...THAT is bliss.

The water temp was 63 degrees; aka freakin' cold! And while I was standing on the beach, goosebumps collecting on my drying skin, I could not get my mind to accept, or even acknowledge, that I would be diving in to swim the short 900 yards in mere moments. It was very reminiscent of the morning before my comprehensive exams two weeks ago. There was nausea, there was denial (lots of denial as I am an accomplished denial'ist), more nausea and then the gun. Thank god, in my comps there was no wet suit (can you imagine?), and well, no gun (despite what my mind kept telling my body). But still, that feeling on the beach was uncomfortably familiar. So, the gun went off and I tried to swim. I say tried because despite my intense comfort in open water and relentless training hours, the moment I put my face in the water I had the uncontrollable desire to gasp (for you non-swimmers, this is a VERY bad idea...gasping underwater). This went on for about 400 yards (oh goody!), but then magically, all was well. My brain adjusted to the cold water, my heart rate slowed and I began to swim and enjoy myself. The end of the swim felt amazing and I was actually sad to see the end come so soon. I felt like I needed the mother of all do-overs. But just as I thought of the do-over my lovely wife jumped out of the water beside me (where did she come from?), seaweed dangling from her right ear, and she ordered me to 'RUN!'. "Oh" I said, "dear god". And so I ran.

Running while stripping of a clingy outfit of neoprene and rubber is nothing what it looks like in the adult movies. :) It's weird. Here I am in front of a million people with cameras, running, wet, looking ultra-UNhot, stripping of my rubber. It was a surreal moment. So, naturally, I waived, as you do.

The bike was easy and fun. I wanted to chat, hang out and ride along. I forgot, this was a RACE. So, I rode, but in the back of my head I kept hoping secretly for a bakery or a donut stand at the turn around. No such luck.

The transition to running was wonky, weird and willy-nilly. My legs were the equivalent to an adolescent child rebelling against an 8:30 curfew. I said run, they said stop. I said run, they said f-you. I said run, they said, 'I hate you'. So I kept running, well, I should be honest, I plodded. I found the argument with my legs entertaining as I don't and will never have children. Suddenly I felt like this was one of god's cruel little jokes. Just 'cause I don't have kids doesn't mean I can't get payback...and this made me laugh, nervously, but laugh all the same.

Trina was amazing. Her ride, her run, her swim kicked m-f'ing bum! She was great. A COMPLETE warrior and the motivation to keep me moving faster than my normal 'this is a training run' pace. :)

So, when all was said and done, 1:52 later, there was never a donut stop (so this WAS a myth), and there was never a beer stand. However, I did have an immense feeling of joy that I had finished and enjoyed the process thoroughly....after all, that Ironman entry is non refundable!

Here's to my next 'tri', the tour de blast and more gear! Keep on training!

Training in the Midst of 'Life'

All the times that I have watched Ironman on TV (and I've seen a lot) never once did I consider that these athletes in all of their varying shapes and sizes had lives. Lives that required attention, time, work, studying, and/or effort that was entirely separate from their Ironman training experience. Now however, as I am prepared to take my PhD comprehensive examinations, more than ever I am cognizant that no Ironperson does this thing without other 'things' happening concurrently. It would be helpful if on the number bibs people could have their name AND what they had to 'do' while training. "New Mom", "Waistaff", "Lawyer", "New groom", "Barista", "Plumber", "Therapist....we all need one", "PhD student". These would really help me put things into perspective. :)

So during this first 'phase' of training I have also been preparing to take my written preliminary examinations AND my oral proposal/defense. Yesterday, the day before the 'party' started it was as if the universe decided to 'play' with my head. I ended up having to cancel my run, but did get my swim in. But with the way the day went, I'm freakin' lucky I didn't drown in the five feet of water in the lap pool. Man, I'm telling you; yesterday, I fell down three times (not that it is unusual for me to fall down, I do this with relative frequency...but not usually three times in one day), the power went out campus wide while I was printing and editing my proposal, I dropped my 'reduced fat' Oreo (please, what a contradiction) down a long flight of stairs (a travesty!), when printing (the second time) my proposal the copier made up blank pages randomly throughout the 600 I had to print...fun. Thankfully I got through the day relatively unscathed and having done my swim workout. Today I am to ride for a few hours...seems simple enough. First I just have to write and pass the first day of exams.

I wonder if there are any people to do Ironman who are 'sorta' into it. Are there any Ironpeople who 'kinda' do life, 'sorta' like to train, 'kinda' take life by the horns and mold it into submission?

Unintentional Day of Rest

Today, Meg and Jen awoke to ride on Vashon island to find themselves transformed into slug-a-beds.

We could not get out of our princess and the pea bed let alone ride the 45ish miles of hills. So, today was an unintended day of rest and super-fun-family day spent with Lucy, Papi, and Grandma Flowers/Lis/Marty/Grando/Momo (can't decide what she wants to be called).

The lesson to those who might be reading this, in other words our parents and the other authors, every now and then....you just don't have what it takes and you have to follow your body. Our bodies were headed directly into our mattress.

When Meg did Coeur d'Alene two years ago....she had some moments about this far in to the training where things were getting difficult and she was really tired...and that was without a 5 month-old in the house. So, we are trying to be gentle with ourselves, knowing that we are way ahead in terms of our biking mileage and we feel strong.

Tomorrow, however, we run....14 miles. Slug-a-bed be damned!