OffnRunning?

Since when?

Not since March 31st, that's since when.

This fact didn't depress me until recently. Very recently. Last week recently. I was driving home from lunch, the weather was spectacular, and I thought to myself, "This would be a perfect day for a run on the Greenway."

Except that the "run on the greenway" was 7.2 miles, and I had maybe clocked about 12 miles.

For the entire month of May.

And zero miles for the entire month of April.

Cue panic.

This month, June, I will start running again. Tomorrow morning will be the first of a regular series of three weekly runs for me. At first, just 3 miles, with a "long" run of 6 on Friday. Then each week, I'll bump up one more mile per run. My goal at the end of the month is two normal runs for me (6-8 miles) and one long run of 10+ miles per week.

BUT.

I do not want to overdo anything. My long runs will be capped at 13 miles tops. I figure being able to bang out a half marathon will leave me in good shape for September.

I don't want to stop running. Running is portable. Running is centering. Running is empowering. Running got me through some tough times, and gave me something to focus on when other aspects of my life went blurry. As much as I love cycling, and God do I love cycling, for me to give up on running would be for me excise a part of myself I'm not ready to cut off.

So tomorrow, June 1st, 2010, I am once again OffnRunning.

Accidental Century

The Century. In the cycling world, this means 100 miles. It is not as difficult in any way as a marathon, but it is also not something to be entered lightly or without some training. They are supported (which means stocked rest stops where your entry fee gives you the right to stuff your face), well organized, and widely attended. Some of them have gut busting intentions (a local mountain century here is charmingly called Blood, Sweat, and Gears), others are slower and rambling.

I had signed up for my first century, the Fletcher Flyer, about two weeks ago. Last Saturday I did my thus far longest ride distance at an event called Cheers n Gears: 80 miles. I rode with a friend 20 slow easy miles to the event, and then blazed a 19.6 average for the next 62 organized miles, stopping to (yes) stuff my face at mile 32, and lazing at a vineyard drinking wine and eating pasta at ride's end. Hence the cheers.

Today, I gracefully backed out of plans for a 75 mile 3 mountain climbing ride in favor of a 62 mile 18/19 flattish ride that left from Lewisville at 8am. I thought it would be a nice ride before my century on the 6th, and the pace was fast enough to be interesting without the possibility of bonking, especially since this was a group ride, NOT a supported ride.

It was lovely. Well organized, fantastic strong riders, double pace line, no hammering or breakaways or sprints. It was exactly as advertised. We stopped halfway at a gas station for a little break, and the ride style allowed for easy conversation with your "partner" along the way. We got back to the parking lot with an 18.9 average. Not blazing, but not standing still, either.

I started driving home feeling awesome. Apparently, feeling a bit too awesome, because I realized that a C/B ride left from the Farmer's Market (which I was driving right by!) in exactly 30 minutes.

Perfect! A 16/17 mph spin to cap off my total at around 90, a perfect step up from last weekend! PLUS, I had refueled and rested my legs for a good 45 minutes. What luck! What timing!

I pulled into the parking lot, unloaded my stuff, and gamely prepared for the ride. It was a set route, so everyone but me knew the way. But I wasn't worried. 16/17 mph? meh.

Except that the ride leader was at the beach this weekend.

Very quickly, the pace turned from 16/17 to 19/20. This is my upper limit. This is what I average when I'm fresh on my Tuesday night rides. This was fast for me at my best. This was just plain fast.

And fast for a lot of other people as well, because very quickly we split into two groups. I was still hanging with the front people, though, and when I could tuck in and draft, things were fine. The momentum carried me through.

We never stopped to regroup, though. Leaders were riding through stop signs when cars were coming, clearly meaning that not everyone would be able to go at the same time. Which also meant that whoever was left behind (hand raised), had to double time WITHOUT a draft to catch back up to the group.

After two such incidents, both of which times I managed to catch up, my previous 62 miles reared their heads with a vengeance. It was mile 19 (28ish total). We were coming to a big hill. It was my turn to pull. Instead, I gracefully let the person behind me take it, and dropped back so I could get in line.

Well, take it he did, to a whole new level of pain. He hammered up the hill, with everyone else following behind.

And just like that, I was dropped. For the first time.

Sooner than I would like to admit, I couldn't see them anymore. I wasn't worried, though, because the group behind me would eventually sweep me up.

Or not, because the group was SO far behind me that they turned off on a road I didn't know I was supposed to turn on.

Yes, ladies and gentleman. I was not only dropped on legs that had gone about 80 miles at a hard pace, but I was also irrevocably and utterly lost. With no cell phone (why take a cell phone? I'm riding with a big group!)

Never fear. After lucking upon a road I recognized and knocking on a door for directions, I found myself pulling into the parking lot 8.7 miles over the normal route. A few gentlemen who were waiting for me were about to go driving in search.

The stats?

96.99 miles

17.8 average (which says a LOT about how fast we were initially going, since I slowed waaaaay down after the droppage).

An accidental century.

Am I completely happy about this? No. My body got whacked out today. Tomorrow is not going to be fun. My muscled are spent, and who knows what my arms/wrists/elbows are going to feel like. I gambled and lost.

At the same time, though, I was SO CLOSE to winning. Really. I honestly believe that if I hadn't had to bridge the gap (bike speak for catching up to the group) twice with tired legs, I could have gone on with the big boys for the whole shebang. I'm still up and walking, still coherent, and still ready to play. I rode 96.99 miles, baby! Fast miles! I'm a demon! I'm a beast! I'm a little bit stupid! I'm a little bit disappointed in myself for NOT staying with the group! I'm psyched for the Fletcher Flyer! I'm psyched for Tuesday night!

In other words, when not even getting lost when exhausted on a wicked hot day can sap your enthusiasm for a sport, you know it's for real.

Lost Data

About 4 days ago, my hard drive broke on my less than 3 years old Macintosh MacBook. It started to make these sad, clicking noises while I was surfing the net. Which turned to angry grinding noises. Alarmed, I tried to force quit the program. No go. No go on anything. So I shut the computer down, only to turn it back on and be greeted with the White Screen of Death.

No worries, I still had apple care, which would replace the hard drive, and they could dump my data at the store from the old one.

Or not, since it was a MECHANICAL failure, not a SOFTWARE failure. Data retrieval would mean a sterile, dust free room, microscopic tools, people with white gloves, and $2000.

Fortunately for me, I wasn't quite as irresponsible as I at first thought, and I backed up my info October 29th of last year. My pics, my music, and my documents were for the most part intact.

What wasn't intact?

My bike log.

A bike log may not sound like a big deal, but it is. It tracks your progress as a rider, you can actually see your numbers go up while you simultaneously feel your body get stronger. It's scientific proof of improvement. My first rides were clocking in at 20/25 miles and 15mph averages. I remember how brutal they felt, how nervous I was before each time I got on the bike, the butterflies as I drove to the starting location.

Then, there were the milestone entries. My first "B" ride, 17.4 mph average, riding with a group of guys on a "real" group ride. Coming out on top at the end. My first Ladies C Ride, with an 18.3 mph average over 28 miles. My first Farmer's Market ride, my first ride with a real chance of getting dropped, and ending up with a 19.1 average. My first Battle Ride: 32 miles and 19.6 mph average. Not to mention the lap rides with hill repeats, the solo rides, the rides with old friends and new, rides that pushed my distance and rides that pushed my climbing skills.

It's a journey to be sure.

Of course, now it's all gone.

I've started a hard copy bike log so the same disappointment will never occur again (I have a good track record of keeping hard copy journals of all kind). And I know that I can remember the gist of my progress, if not the statistical details.

Still, a loss is a loss. Though the mourning period has already, fortunately, come and gone.

The Inevitable Title Change

Come on, people, we all knew it was coming.

I am now offn'runningn'Riding in GSO.

In fact, I am riding much more than I am running.

This isn't too terribly surprising, given that I become extremely enthusiastic extremely quickly about things I'm into.

What is surprising? That I'm as into it as I am.

Running, I felt, was my thing. My escape, my long term future expression of myself as an athlete. After my marathon, I had plans for faster marathons, speed drills, interval training, even attending a marathon camp to kick start my training.

Of course, I had plans for speed drills, interval training, etc, before the marathon also. I just never wound up doing it. Why? Because speed drills and interval training are no fun. Running at a nice easy pace while chatting with your friends? Going out for a run on the trails, experiencing the outdoors at your own pace? Fun.

When given a choice, I almost always opt for Fun over No Fun.

The downside of this fact as related to running is that while I no doubt got stronger, and could run for longer distances, I never pushed myself in any other way than longer distances. Because try as I might, I can't, and never could, push myself.

Until now.

I like to train on the bike. I like the feeling of getting stronger, trying to stay with a group that rides slightly faster than I do, mashing up hills in the biggest ring on a training ride while my "coach"/ride organizer encourages me to push harder. Harder, faster, stronger. I feel like I demon. I feel like a beast.

And I love that feeling.

The best part? It's still not about competition with anyone but myself. Yes, my co-riders push me to higher levels, and inspire me to ride up rather than ride down, but not every ride needs to be balls-to-the-wall. I also love coasting along with my girlfriends, winding our way through long epic rides at our own pace. There is balance.

With running, I could never find that balance.

Fortunately for me, my laissez faire running style need not be maligned, as it fits in perfectly with my riding. I couldn't do both all out hard core and stay sane. For the summer at least, I will enjoy training and testing my mettle with the bike, and I will enjoy tootling along the trails at my own pace.

And so, off we go, running and riding and enjoying it all.