Tour De Shunk

Mike and I are officially finishers of a century bike ride! We actually finished 101.3 miles today, complete with heavy winds, rain in the late miles, and a total of 8500 feet of climbing. Oh yes...no taking the gravy train on our first century out. We chose the Tour de Shunk, voted "Most Challenging Century Ride" by League of American Cyclists. Infamy right here in our own little corner of bfe America.

The greatest part of the whole thing (second, actually, to the obscene amount of mini candy bars at each 25 mile aid station...that was unbeatable), was that we only decided to ride Tour de Shunk officially at 11:15pm last night, and when we headed out on the route at 9am this morning, only planned to ride 50 miles.

Tour de Shunk is a century that offers 25 and 50 mile options. The 25 miler has its own course, while the 50 is the first 25 of the century and then you turn around and come back. Miles 18 to 23 involve 1250 feet of climbing. When we got to the 25 mile aid station I was adamant about the rest of our day and I told Mike "I'll take 75 miles of unknown over what I know about that 25 miles, thanks". It was that bad. And veteran riders all assured us that the first 25 miles were the worst, and the rest of the ride much easier. Turns out they are liars.

Liars, liars, pants on fire.

Mike stopped speaking to me around mile 35 and I don't blame him. We'd been climbing steep and steady for about five miles and the top of the hill was no where in sight. His last words to me before the long silent pause, were "what you've done today is the equivalent of signing up for a trail marathon because you completed a half marathon a month before and haven't run a step since. This is a huge HUGE mistake." It was a really good analogy. He was completely right. It was so ugly out there, and we were only 1/3 of the way home. But I had already had my spirit broken once this week (I wore all black on Wednesday as an homage to that incident) and I refused to be negative. I just pedaled and smiled and tried my best through my huffing and puffing and intense saddle pain, to enjoy the gorgeous scenery.

The lunch stop came somewhere just after the 40 mile mark. Even after a banana, nutrigrain bar, and two mini candy bars at mile 25, I was famished. One and a half pb&j's, another banana, a small bag of chips, and two more mini candy bars later, we moved on out to: more uphill. "This is the last bad one pink socks, I promise you!" shouts one of the three friendliest, most wonderful liar pants I've ever met. And then we got to mile 55ish. The spray painted signs on the road told us to turn right, but that couldn't be right?! Because the right hand turn was onto a chipped road that went straight uphill as far as the eye could see. It would be a cruel joke if this road were a part of the course. Liar pants #1 says to Liar pants #2 "this wasn't a part of the course last year was it? I don't remember this?!" It was somewhere on that hill I stopped smiling and my internal dialogue went from "well, at least its not raining, oh it's so pretty out here. I don't feel that bad"...to a string of negative thoughts laden with profanity. I hoped with everything in me that a course support vehicle would come along and I could catch a ride back.

But we made it to the top of that little booger without seeing an aid vehicle. And the next, and the next. And then we were at the "75" mile aid station, which is really at mile 67. Mike, feeling fine and seeing the light at the end of the dark tunnel I threw him in today, loved me outwardly again. Of course he loved me the whole time, he just likes to play snarly once in a while. Just one of the many things that make him perfect:) More mini candy bars. Some gatorade. And we left to....what?!?!...flat roads!!! A beautiful 8 mile, pancake flat stretch of road. It was heaven. There was drafting. There was aero position. (Oh yes, add to Mike analogy - "and you're doing that trail marathon in racing flats!"...yep...last minute decision to go and our pedals on our tri bikes meant the cervelo and trek were christened today in a way only the roads of Sullivan County Pa could offer). There was smiling again.

Liar pants 1 and I stuck together to the finish w/ liar pants 2, and 3 making numerous appearances, waiting up for us to make sure we made all of the turns. The last 25 miles were rolling. I use the term rolling in the sense that you went straight downhill and then straight back up and down and up and down and up. For whatever reason, I didn't feel that bad at all anymore. I just kept pedaling, talking, smiling, and getting out of my saddle as much as humanly possible because my hiney was oober uncomfortable.

And then it was over. And there were massages, and spaghetti, and story telling, and more mini candy bars, and coffee. I am SO thrilled to have made such a terrible decision at mile 25 this morning, because the outcome was terrific! We've ridden our bicycles 101 miles! 101 really cruel miles! It hurt, and it was so hard, but we did it! The bad news: we now have to ride 11 more miles...and swim 2.4 miles...and then run a marathon...in 9 months. Holy crap, those of you who have completed an ironman, I bow to you, and I'm wet my pants terrified of what that day will be like next July. But just like the sign said at the bottom of "pip squeak mountain" (a really cute little 5 mile climb this morning that was undoubtedly FAR easier to get up thanks to its cutesy name...gag me), "take it like a baby...one little step at a time!" So I'm going to appreciate the baby step we made today, and try hard not to dwell on how small 101 miles of cycling really is in the big picture of July 22nd, 2012.

Spinning: No dogs or cars, lots of sweat.

I've already divulged that I'm a nervous nilly weenie on a bicycle. It's weird because I always love the experience of going out and riding my bicycle, but it's not an activity I sit on the couch and think "ooh, I could go for a bike ride about now". I think that about running. I've even grown to really like my swim time. The "what ifs" of cycling make it less appealing to me.

What if a dog runs out at me? What if a car runs me off the road? What if someone is texting and doesn't see me and hits me from behind? What if a car squeaks too close to me and I go off the shoulder (which are like two centimeters wide and a mile high around here) and I bite it?What if I get to a hill that is so steep that even in my lowest gear I just can't do it and I fall over? (The last one is by far the weirdest and least probable, but I seriously contemplate it, and I like to think the first step in getting better is admitting all my neurosis).

After a great outing, I can answer all of those with "mmm hmm...yep...what if?...who cares?..you're a ridiculous idiot". But by the time I've got my shoes off, the idea of a ride on the road with cars, and gas trucks, and texting teens, and dogs, oh my...has already lost its luster.

Compliments of my mom Christmas 2008, I have an indoor trainer that (sadly) gets more use than my bike ever does on real roads. The bike on the trainer is a sweat fest. Within fifteen minutes it's heavily beading, and from 20 on it's pouring. Leave a puddle around your area kind of pouring.

But even sweating that much, I always wonder how much of a workout I'm really getting on the trainer. Am I really pushing myself? I know I don't emulate sprints and hill climbing. I just pedal hard at a comfortably difficult resistance and watch tv. And sweat.

I've seen advertisements for a "local" (keep in mind, local here means you can get there in an hour by car, eww) bike shop's spincore classes. 45 minutes of spin, 15 min of core. I've always wanted to check it out. Yesterday I did.

As the instructor was setting up my bike he asked what I wanted out of the class. "To suck less as a cyclist...I'm a runner who signed up for a triathlon." I don't know if he was doing me a favor, or if every Wednesday is like this (I'm assuming it's the latter), but seeing as I was not only pouring sweat but also saying to myself "you can NOT turn your knob down, you can NOT slow your cadence, suck it up or they'll all think you're weak" throughout the whole class, I believe that if I stick with it, I will ultimately suck less as a cyclist.

The core part was great too, and no doubt a much needed break for Mike who I routinely demand be my core and strength training coach in the living room. The poor guy just trying to watch Jon Stewart and there's me "Mike...I need to do core, tell me what to do. Mike...is this a good push up, or do I look ridiculous? Mike..."

I also really enjoyed the company. It was so much fun to be a fly on the wall for an evening. I was coming off an extremely rough day at work (the kids were, as always, fantastic, but yesterday was one of those rare days I had to deal with adults and oh my...I chose the right profession for me...kids = astounding, adults = drive me batty!), and it was just so nice to have no one know my name, no one know a thing about me, and no one care. They have a really fun little spin group vibe going on, and I just gritted my teeth through the workout, enjoyed the fellow sweat, and giggled at their warm up and cool down banter, including their informing me that I could sell my eggs for $5000. Nothing says welcome quite like an estimate on your reproductive materials! (Which, for the record, I'll be keeping tabs on).

And so, hopefully, many Wednesday evenings this winter can offer Mike a break from personal trainer (don't be fooled - I'm really only inspired to do core or strength work a maximum of twice a week...and that's an ambitious week), and myself a break from the worry and fear of dogs, gas trucks, and distracted drivers while still getting some bike fitness in.

26.2 love.

Every marathon I've run has started with a controlled anxiety attack: yes, today will definitely be THE day my heart explodes. It's a really weird thing to think and worry about, but it's all just part of the routine for me. Every marathon I've run, up until this weekend's, has ended with the mantra "just finish and you never ever ever have to do this to yourself again".

I woke up before the alarm at 4:30am Sunday with the usual pre race "oh my poor heart" jitters. Though I still had no goal, and still had no idea what was a realistic expectation in my current fitness, I had decided days before to put my happy cap on, run comfortably, try my best not to let the clock get me down, and enjoy the experience.

I had a complete and total blast.

Over 26.2 miles I made friends, ran through steady pouring rain, splashed in puddles, ate (and enjoyed!?) gu....and vanilla sandwich cookies...and a milky way. My stomach never became upset. My legs never stiffened up. I never once said to myself "just finish this...".

I finished in 3:21:27 elated, feeling wonderful. To put it in perspective, I've run three marathons in the last 18 months attempting to squeak in under my pr of 3:09:30. Boston '10 - a painful 3:12, Wineglass '10 - an excruciating 3:12, Boston '11 - a 3:11 that hurt so badly "just get through this..." didn't even begin to cut it.

9 minutes. Roughly nine minutes over the course of 26.2 miles is all that separates running hell and running utopia. Should I feel a bit deflated now knowing that I've put myself through so many hells when heaven was only roughly 20 seconds a mile behind me the whole time?

I don't regret those failed PR attempts though. Those runs that left me all hunched, cobbled, shuffling, crying, and deflated. Nothing attempted, nothing gained. But Sunday's 26.2 was a breath of fresh air. A reminder of how great an experience the marathon can be. And a big reminder of how lucky I am. To have my health; legs, lungs, and (gulp) heart, that allow me to run 7:42 pace for over 26 miles and love every footfall of it. And the best running friends in existence, who I missed sorely Sunday mornings during my running funk of summer 2011 and I am excited to get back and training with! And family who stand in whatever elements the day has to offer to cheer me on. And a husband who not only supports, but encourages and shares (exudes!) this crazy habit.

Next up: Boston 2012. The plan: friend making, puddle jumping, vanilla sandwich cookie eating? Shuffling, moaning, failed PR attempt #4? PR setting, ass kicking extravaganza? TBD. For now, I'm just thrilled to have mended my broken relationship with the marathon.