This week’s
blog is going to be a small journey through time. Let’s go wayyyy back. The year was 2011. OK, fine.
So it’s not that long ago. But in
my world, it feels like decades.
Last year I
– at 42 years of age – I was in the best shape of my life. I ran a marathon that took over five hours,
and completed an Olympic distance triathlon (1 mile swim, 28 mile bike ride,
6.2 mile run) in just under 5 hours.
That’s 10 hours of exercise in just two races alone. And that’s not mentioning the 9 races I completed
with NY Road Runners, the 3 other triathlons I completed, 1 duathlon, a 66
story stair climb, and the hundreds if not thousands of hours spent training
for all those things. And this year I
get tired just looking at it.
Don’t
worry, I haven’t become a couch potato again. I’m still training, racing,
eating well. Just as many of you faithful blog readers know, I injured my
Achilles heel, and the damned thing has taken over two months to heal. I didn’t run a step for over 8 weeks, and I
learned the hard way that anyone who says that deep water running is a perfect
proxy for regular running has either never tried actual land running, or never
recovered enough from their injury to get back into land running (because trust
me when I say that there is no person on this planet who started deep water
running as a means of recovery and loved it so much more than regular running
that they never set foot on land again.
Really, it sucks that much).
Almost
exactly a year ago I completed the Greenwich Cup Biathlon with my friend,
Jeff. The race is short (by my
admittedly skewed perspective): 2.5 mile run, then a 10 mile bike, then the
same 2.5 mile run again just in case you missed it and wanted to do it again. Jeff and I did the race last year to kick off
our multi-sport season, and I practically flew through the course. I finished the first run in about 20 minutes,
and finished the entire race in 1:23:55.
It was the perfect start to a season of mountainous bike climbs,
swimming through 3 foot swells, doing 12+ mile runs for months in order to
prepare for the marathon. Early in
January of 2012, Jeff and I signed up for the Biathlon again this year,
thinking it would be another great start to another superfit racing year.
Then, as
most of you know, I got hurt while training over the winter. I was pretty good about my food and paired
down my eating to match my less physical lifestyle. In the beginning of April I started running
again after a 2 month hiatus, but the damage was done. My fitness level was way below what it was
last year. Unfortunately, the calendar
didn’t slow down at all, so with just about 3 weeks of running and biking, I
stood at the starting line of this race, ready to make an absolute fool of
myself.
Fortunately,
this race is very casual, so instead of starting with a cannon or gunshot, one
of the organizers rang a cow bell. I
giggled as I started in the pack that rather quickly spread out. Jeff and I parted early on; last year we did
the entire first run together, but I knew this year that I couldn’t keep up,
and told him not to hold back. He
didn’t, so I faced the first run by myself.
The run was
almost completely flat, ridiculously scenic – and a complete pain in the
ass. I just didn’t feel ready, mentally
or physically, so this beautiful and flat run got the better of me. I had trouble catching my breath, I couldn’t
get into a good rhythm – and could I smell bacon? Maybe I could just pull over, follow my nose,
and barge in on someone’s nearby breakfast?
No, no, keep going Ali. So, I did.
After about
a mile and a half, I found a better groove.
I started passing a couple of people who’d gone out way too fast, and
that helped me to feel better (and yes, I admit freely that in the middle of a
race, I gain pleasure out of other people’s pain). Finally, we finished the run and got back to
our bikes. I grabbed a quick sip of
water, strapped on my helmet, and grabbed my bicycle. Off I went.
Now, for
me, the bike portion is always my weak area (umm, along with the swim and run…). Seriously, though, I am a very slow
rider. Very. Slow.
On training rides, Jeff often teases me that I have to remember we’re
not just on a pleasant ride through the country, and I should maybe just push
it a bit. A month earlier I bought a
speedometer for my bicycle, and that has definitely helped me to go
faster. For this race, my goal is to
keep it above 15 mph as often as I can.
So, when I push off, the first thing I do is look down and make sure I’m
over that. And then I realize that I’m
actually really enjoying pushing myself so hard. So, I push it a bit harder. Can I get to 16 mph?
The bike
course unfolds in front of me, and I keep going faster and faster. Well, except for the hills. Every now and then a hill jumps up to say
hello, and I hope to go 7 mph. Or maybe
6. Hmm, 5 is good, too. When I reach the biggest hill on the course,
I see several people jump off their bikes and push them up the hill. So, my goal at this point is “stay on and
ride.” And, I do. I get to the top using nothing but quads and
hamstrings. And I make it. I can’t
really breathe at this point, but I didn’t get off my bike.
After the
big hill, the rest is either downhill or flat.
There are parts where I go 18 mph, and one big downhill where I realize
that 21.4 mph is exactly the breaking point of my comfort zone and I tap the
brakes a bit to slow down.
Then, with
less than a mile left to the bike course, I hit a huge problem. Both of my calves cramp up SEVERELY (to any
mom reading this, picture giving birth out of the back of your lower legs. Yes, ouch).
I stop pedaling and coast, so that I can try to stretch out each
calf. As I deal with one, the other
starts to scream, though, like twin babies who both want to be fed and changed
at the exact same moment. Then somehow,
the cramp seems to enter my brain, as I think to myself, “I can’t do
this.” I’m not fit enough. I shouldn’t be out here. My new plan is to pull into the transition
area, dismount my bike and go home.
The cramps
subside enough to keep pedaling, and I tentatively make my way to the entrance
of the transition area. As I slow down,
a woman says, “Hey, are you doing the marathon this year, too?” I’m completely confused. I’ve never met her before, how does she know
about me running the marathon? Then I
smile. I realize I’m wearing my marathon
shirt from last year, and this woman is looking at me with a kind of awe. I smile and say, “Yup! Next year, too.” She replies with one word: “Awesome.” This seems to cure my legs and attitude, and
I hop off my bike and run into the transition area. I put my stuff down, suck down a Gu and some
water, and take off for the second run.
This time,
I have to admit that I’m the one who came out of the gate too fast. I started by passing about 7 people, and
ended it by having about 3 people pass me.
But, I ended. I finished. I crossed the finished line, I completed my
first multi-sport race of the season.
And please note that I said “first”, meaning that there will be plenty
others :-).
I looked up
my time, and it was, well, crappy. I
finished in 1:26:55, exactly 3 minutes slower than last year, and that was
after an excellent bike ride (minus the birth reminiscent contraction like
cramps in my legs).
This race
season is going to be a lot harder than last year’s. I’m not as fit, my head isn’t in as a good a
place. And I can’t wait for the
challenge.
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