Still Learning and Curving...

Once again, I shall use the horse analogy. Here we go.

No matter how physically fit you are when you first ride a horse, it doesn't prevent you from experiencing all the joys of beginner horse riding. This is for two reasons: 1) Riding "fit" is different from any other type of "fitness," and 2) Riding is less about muscle and much more about feel, confidence, and balance.

That being the case, it's impossible for a beginner to advance any faster than is safe or reasonable. After your first lesson, you literally can't move the next day, so going from never riding a horse, or only pony riding at the fair as a kid, to riding 8 horses a day is just not feasible.

Riding a bike is a skill acquired by most in childhood. The oft quoted phrase "It's just like riding a bike" exists for this reason. The actual, basic, physical action of bike riding doesn't take years and years of patient skill to pick up. Linking into this, the stronger one is physically before they start, the stronger and faster they will become on the bike in a relatively short amount of time, given they put in the miles and read up a little bit on technique.

BUT. Being a STRONG rider and being a SKILLED rider are not mutually exclusive.

Cue my entrance.

It's safe to say that I entered the sport at a relatively high level of fitness. I'm not Wonder Woman (though I do still have my costume from when I was 5), but I'm not a couch potato either. I've also read up and put in the time on the bike. The result? I can currently keep up with a solid B ride in terms of fitness and strength.

What do I lack?

Here's a brief story:

Last night I did a Ladies Training School B ride. We were doing a running pace line, keeping up a solid 18 mph average, and generally working our butts off. We were also not stopping. Finally, after about 12 miles, being completely parched, I called out to the leader, "Can we stop, please? For a second?"

Assuming I needed a breather, since I it was my first time out, he acquiesced. When he saw me immediately dive for my water bottle, he was incredulous.

"We're not stopping so you can DRINK, are we?"

Yes. We were.

Are you getting the picture?

I can keep up an 18mph average, and stay with the front group for the sprint to the finish, but then I fall over in the parking lot because I'm so psyched I stop paying attention to which direction I'm leaning. I can push up a hill in the big ring, but I fall over when trying to negotiate a tight opening in a gate when turning onto the Greenway from Strawberry Road.

I'm strong. But I'm not skilled.

It's an odd place to be, for sure. I'm excited to ride how I'm riding now, but I know that only good ol' fashioned time will give me the skills I need to really advance. Unfortunately, time moves at its own pace.

But also fortunately, I'm not too proud to sport a camel pack in the meantime.

Accidental Crusher

Hester Park - 28.7 miles, 17.9 mph ave

So I've been admittedly obsessive about my cycling progress, determined to use my ample (and blessed) free time to get up to a somewhat middle ground fitness level. I've been logging 100+ miles a week, every week, since starting my adventure 3 weeks ago. I've also been riding mostly solo or with one other person, thus eliminating the draft advantage. By asking my riding mates, I've found out that I've been averaging a 16-17 mph pace. I know that hills are still kicking my ass, but they are getting easier. I'm even starting to venture out of the saddle in attack mode, rather than passively spinning my way up at a snail's pace.

In that spirit, I decided to branch out into my first "official" B ride. Two days ago, I met up at 6pm for a ride that left out of Hester Park. I didn't know who was going to show up. Turns out it was guys. A whole bunch of guys. Some of them looked very hardcore. All of them were eyeing me up a little bit.

Now guy rides are usually a bit more, and understandably more, testosterone based. The harder core you get, the more friendly gets sucked out and the more kick-your-butt-don't-hold-me-back gets injected into the mold.

My conversations pre-ride (the two people who talked to me) went like this:

Them: So, are you new to the area?

Me: Yeah, I just moved here last August.

Them: How long have you been cycling?

Me: About a month.

::pause::

That was about it. The vibe was clearly on the "don't-hold-me-back" side. Even if they didn't MEAN to send out that vibe, that was the vibe that I caught. Definite "we notice you're little and a girl and have only been riding for a month" vibe.

Please let me say that I knew these were all perfectly nice people. But please also let me say that once a guy puts on bike clothes, and gets on a bike, more often than not, even if they are perfectly nice people in any other context, it's open season.

And I was on the menu.

So we begin.

First thing I notice? It's a lot easier than I expected. I was in the middle of the paceline, and coasted a great deal of the time. I also notice that chit chat is nonexistent.

First time I have to step up? We are coming to a sharp right turn, we are going what feels to be about 18mph, and we are not slowing down. At all. If I tapped my brakes, the guy behind me would be in trouble. So I muster my courage, remember my practice at Country Park, and TURN.

I make it.

Heart rate slows.

Eventually, it's my turn to lead the pace line. All I'm thinking is "don't slow down, don't hold people back, don't slow down, gogogo!"

So I do. I go. I kick it into the big ring. I see a hill. I build momentum. Up the hill, I stand up out of the saddle and keep at it. I can't breath, but I'm too scared to slow down.

Thankfully, there is a stop sign at the top of said hill. I reach it, struggle to catch my breath, turn around...

....and find that everyone else is behind. Waaaaay behind. Except for one guy who looks like he could eat my pace for breakfast.

"You crushed them," he says.

And I did. I also felt horrible about it. The last thing I meant to do was act like a jerk on my first ride. I also knew that I pushed myself to my limit to do it.

The end result, though? Well, I definitely felt like a part of the club for the rest of the ride. I even stayed with the front group and hammered it home, going about 19-22 mph for the last 4-5 miles and leading the group at that pace for a short time.

When we arrived back in the parking lot, I was met with smiles, Good Jobs, Great Rides, and other comments. To say that I was glowing could be an understatement. There's nothing better than feeling like you belong, like you passed whatever test you were silently being put through. People introduced themselves to me, asked me more questions, and even shared some great advice. One even suggested I ride one of the weekly B rides that I know to be somewhat harder core than the one I just completed. I was being invited into the club.

I know that not all B rides are the same, and each ride depends solely on the group that turns out. I kept up with this ride, but that in no way guarantees success on the next ride. I will be dropped at some point. It's inevitable. It's more certain than the sunrise. But still. This time, I kept up with the boys. For a former diehard Tomboy, it was a return to the glory days.

Rules of the Road

On October 24th, 2009, my local cycling community lost an invaluable member to a hit-and-run accident. He was an extremely experienced rider who knew and obeyed every rule of the road, yet could not control variables such as distracted or aggressive drivers. I never knew him myself, and was not a cyclist at the time of the tragedy, so while I of course supported my friends who knew and rode with him for years, I never felt a personal loss or impact. A white Ghost Bike was placed in memorium at the site of the accident.

When I first started riding, I knew that internalizing the rules of the road was not only the most important aspect to tackle, but also one that could save my life. Wear a helmet. Hold your line. Call car back when riding in a group when you see a car approaching from behind. Point out gravel, potholes, or other dangerous road hazards when riding towards the front. Give clear indications of your intentions through hand signals. Make direct eye contact with drivers when riding through towns or intersections. Take the lane when appropriate to keep yourself safe.

If I've missed one, please let me know.

My first two weeks of riding, despite my inexperienced state and my busy city streets, I was amazingly lucky to not have a single close call.

Last week, I did.

On Thursday I was with a fellow Velo club rider enjoying a pretty hard (for me) 25 mile ride around the county. I was definitely trying to push myself. When we reached the intersection of Church and 150, he suggested bypassing a dangerous section of upcoming road by riding a very brief period on 150 (a non cyclist friendly place) and then turning off to a quiet, well paved byway.

Sounds like a plan to me.

I hear a rumble from behind, call car back, and hold my line. The rumbling gets louder, and I know it's more than a car, even more than a truck. I hold my line and stay as far over to the right as I can. Suddenly, a blasting horn goes off in my ear, as a dump truck races by on my left close enough to touch. I can actually feel the driver's hatred of me. Me, a person he doesn't even know, who has every right to be on the road and is perhaps delaying his normal speed for two minutes, five at the very most, not even making him stop completely, just slowing him down a bit. He hates me. So much to so that he comes as close to running me off the road as he can without running me off the road. He wants to psychologically scare me as much as he can, since physically hurting me is against the law.

I've just been buzzed.

I knew the physical logistics of buzzing was dangerous in and of itself. A vehicle zooming by at extremely high speeds creates enough wind to knock a rider off course, as well as distract them to other road conditions. What I wasn't prepared for was the emotional aspect, which left me even more shaken than the fact that I could have reached out and touched the truck as it sped by had I the inclination.

Which of course also begs the question. Why are we all so angry? This man who drove the truck doesn't know me. I am a generic cyclist, nameless, faceless, and therefor an easy target for misplaced aggression. Had I been his daughter, wife, or friend, needless to say it wouldn't have happened. He was angry that he had to slow down. And please, let's be real, if you're one of those people who is angry at having to slow down, consider: What are you really angry about? A problem you're ignoring in your life? An argument you had with a loved one? A dead end job that's going nowhere?

Because it's not me.

In October, we lost a wonderful man. He was a tragic victim of emotional driving. I didn't see the accident. I don't know if the driver was distracted, angry, or both. I don't know if she realized that she ended her own life as well as the life of a loved friend, father, and husband. But she did.

I'm preaching to the choir if you're reading this blog. But please, people, go out and educate the unenlightened. Talk to people who "hate cyclists" and explain to them the dangers to both themselves and to the riders when they partake in emotional driving. Explain to them the laws of the road, and the responsibilities that all parties have to operate by them. Tell them that you, your husband, your child, your friend, is a cyclist, and to imagine if one of their children, spouses, friends were as well. How would they feel? How would they behave?

Yesterday, while riding with a group down Church St by 150, I saw a white bicycle threaded through with roses. The Ghost Bike.

Maybe you have seen a ghost bike, but not understood exactly what it meant. Now, hopefully, you do.

Please share the road.

Offn'Biking

Come on, you knew it was inevitable.

Two weeks ago today, I ran and developed tendonitis in my right foot. Little did I know how pesky and annoying this problem can be. Tonight, I tried a ginger run, 30 minutes slooow jogging and the walking back. Not quite as pain free as I'd hoped. So I have decided to take the rest of April off from running. No running. Not one step. No Owl's Roost Rumble, no epic trail crushings, no easy breezes on the greenway. I want to be able to come back in May completely injury free, so my whole summer is cleared for fun.

This, of course, means that Vincent is playing an ever increasingly important role in my life.

And fortunately, I'm hooked. Fish line and sinker, I'm head over heels in love with Vincent.

Vincent is reliable, can take a beating, isn't afraid to go fast and or slow, only sometimes loses his chain, and puts up with my shifts. He is not-too-tall, dark, and handsome.

With Vincent and other companions, I have:

Ridden up, down, over, and around traffic in Winston Salem for a 28 miler with some killer hills.

Led the way on my very own C ride as a sweeper, hanging back and hanging in there with some people overcome by Greensboro allergy season.

Hopped some speedbumps.

Logged miles with fabulous women, talking about women things (sorry Vincent...).

Explored 60 miles worth of gorgeous back NC countryside with my friend Elizabeth on an epic ride back from Pilot Mountain.

I've ridden about 240 miles.

I know I love running. But biking is everything I love about running in exponential form. I love to run in groups. Biking is normally done in groups. I love running because it keeps my mind active. Biking, even more than running, keeps your mind active due to shifting, varying terrain, traffic, and paceline etiquette. I love running outdoors. Biking is outdoors, and you get to see even more of it because you go farther. Add on the fact that cycling is lower impact and can be done on rainy days if you have a trainer? Badabing, badaboong. It's not rocket science.

So hanging up the sneakers for the next 2 and a half weeks, while it will be tough, will be made infinitely easier thanks to the new man in my life. Time to give my feet a rest!

Offn'Biking we go!

Ups and Downs....literally

28 miles, 15.5mph ave, pretty hilly (at least for me)

There are times when every athlete snaps mentally. Be it crying, yelling, moaning, or curling up into a ball and taking a nap by the side of the trail, everyone has a breaking point.

I'm notorious for avoiding this moment. I push myself, but not since I took the VO2 Max test did I feel like I was going to physically throw up due to my intense exertion. And that was done in a controlled, lab environment, where all I had to do was wave my hand (literally), and the pain would vanish at the touch of a button. Beep! Off goes the treadmill, down goes my pulse.

Today, I reached that moment.

I used this week to really get to know my bike. Fall over on it, go downhill on it (25mph!), take it around town and out in the country, climb a few hills, switch to the big ring, switch to my small ring, stand up, draft, learn hand signals and voice cues for riding in a group. All in all I've had a grand time.

Today marked my one week anniversary on Vincent (as I've thus dubbed my Masi). I planned to ride with my awesome Winston Salem crew for a ~30 mile loop to a local summit climb called Sauertown Tower road. I had not actually planned on riding up to the peak, but to wait at the bottom at a warehouse while everyone else had a grueling ascent and a zoomie descent.

The ride there was awesome. A little busy traffic wise, but flattish, and I felt like the pace was a bit quicker than it had been on my GSO country ride the previous day.

Then things started to get a little more upssie downsie. Everytime we hit a climb, I clicked it into the smallest gear and pedaled my tukus off. And everytime, my heartrate jumped up like a couch potato running their first mile. My legs hurt, yes, but my heart. That burned.

What also jumped? The little dial of my comfort zone. Notch by notch. Hill by hill. Heartbeat by heartbeat.

So when we suddenly turned left, and immediately began a very long, very steep, very long, very long (did I say it was long?) uphill, I knew something was amiss.

Wait....didn't we pass a warehouse a few seconds ago? Wasn't that Sauertown Tower Rd on that sign back there?

Check and check.

As I gazed into the abyss that awaited me, one thought shot into my mind: I can't do this.

Normally I reject such a thought, but panic started to take over. One of my fellow riders circled back to make sure I was ok. This is what happened:

- Hey, Sophie, how you doing, you going to the top?

- No

- You can do this.

- No ::gasp::

- How are your legs?

- How much longer ::gasp:: does this go up for?

- About another mile or so

- I ::gasp:: can't ::gasp:: do ::gasp:: this ::gasp::

- It's not that much farther, push through

- I JUST RAN A MARATHON TWO WEEKS AGO I CANNOT DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! ::GASPGASPGASP::

- Ok. How about to the next pole there. Can you do that?

- .....Yes. ::gasp:: Yes, I can do that...

- Good! How about to that green box? That's the start of the first switchback, you can make it there, just keep going, you're doing great.

Suffice to say, I made it to the green box. I did not make it to the top.

Can you see where the meltdown occurred?

In retrospect, I do feel bad that I snapped. On the other hand, I'm amazingly lucky to have friends to ride with who completely understand what snapping is like. They know (or will know after reading this blog) that people don't snap at other people. The snap is internal. They just happen to get the receiving end. It's not them. It's you.

And sometimes, you need to be snapped. I'm lucky to have friends who are willing to push me to my limits without dragging me over them. (please friends, do not drag me over them)

When I finally returned to the car, after a very hilly return which included a steep climb to the parking lot, where I then almost fell off the bike due to sudden exhaustion (almost), I felt at peace. Not triumphant, not defeated. Endowed with a concrete gauge of my starting point. What I can, and cannot, handle right now. GI Joe said it best: Knowing is half the battle.

I know my breaking point, now. This is not like when I fell at Uwharrie. That was due to improper nutrition, poor planning, and stupidity. This was purely skill and endurance and muscle fitness. And yes, mental toughness as well. Without snapping, I wouldn't know what to aspire to. Now I do.

Sauertown Tower Rd? Watch out. By July. Game on.

PS - Sat to Sat miles logged: 109 Not bad for the first week!

wtf

Day of Rest

Ok. Today, I am breaking my promise to myself. The promise that said I will not use this blog for mindless chatter or ranting. I am going to rant. My blog, my prerogative.

I have extensor tendinitis. In my right foot. It juuuuuust started on Sunday. Yesterday, I ran 9ish miles on a tough up and down trail, thus slamming it against the wall, sucker punching it, feeding it some sour milk, and stealing its lunch money.

Now I can't run. For a week. And guess what? I have a half marathon NEXT SATURDAY.

There are some steps I can take. I'm going to go ahead and get some new running shoes, even though these ones are newish, because they've been through a marathon, two drenching rain runs, and a few 17-20 mile runs.

I'm pissed at myself a little for not STOPPING yesterday when the pain FIRST happened and STUPIDLY assuming that it would disappear if I just wished it so. The scientology method of runners rehab. Or the Jiminy Cricket method. They are interchangeable.

Unfortunately, neither Tom Cruise nor the Good Fairy (are they also interchangeable?) will swoop in to the rescue.

I'm just sick of it. I'm sick and tired of being injured, even slightly, in one way or another. I'm sick of icing things and elevating things and not being able to simply full throttle it. Especially now that the weather is gorgeous.

My main consolation is the bike, which will keep me going heart wise until the big day, and to be honest, it actually could be a GOOD thing, because it will let my running muscles have more time off post marathon (they too were feeling a little beat up last night).

But please please please, CAN'T I JUST BE BETTER ALREADY AND STOP WRITING ALL OF THESE RUNNING BLOG ENTRIES ABOUT HOW I CAN'T RUN???

And scene.