My First Duathlon, Part 3: Surviving in a Desert

**If you're just joining this story or missed either of the first two pieces, you can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

Most of us have seen movies of people in the desert, lacking energy and wandering in search of life with nothing and no one else around. That's the best analogy I can think of in an attempt to describe these moments I was experiencing. There were people all around me, but the only thing I could see was a scene of hot, dusty, dirt and gravel all around. My only motivation for continuing to move forward was water. There was definitely water up ahead and I had to keep moving to get to it.

I'm pretty sure people passed me. I recall making nonsense comments as they ran by. If you asked me details about it though, I have no recollection of any meaningful banter or conversation.

Water. Water was my only goal.

Certain that I'd been walking for hours (though actually not), finally the aid station was visible in the distance. Like a mirage, the tent wavered in the heat of the day. I may have been talking out loud to myself at this point, but I was determined to get to the water.

A reasonable person may be asking him/herself why one would set water as the goal, knowing that there would be no motivation for the return trip of the this final leg of the race. Well, when one is in the state of mind I was those sorts of thoughts don't enter the picture -- at least until in the midst of it.

I had finally reached the water. Precious, hydrating, life giving water. That paper cup of cold water was the best thing that had happened in my life to date. It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, but it's how I felt in that moment. I requested another and another, and yet a fourth.

The volunteers were looking at me strangely, but dammit, I was thirsty and I was going to drink until I was content. I savored the moment. I walked to the opposite side of the path and took more water from volunteers there. I wanted to bathe in the water, but I suddenly realized that I now had to make the return trip to the finish line.

Shaking my fist at the sky I proclaimed, "Why do you mock me?!"

Truly, I think delusion was setting in now. I was picturing myself in an epic movie, except that it was real life (or what behaved as real life) and this is where I was going to lay down and end existence on this earth. It was so far back to the finish line. There was no way I was going to make it back. No way.    No.   Way.

I let out a huge sigh. I took two more cups of water. I started to cry.

My body hurt so badly. The pain I was experiencing was setting in now that I'd found the water I had needed.

"Suck it up," I sobbed to myself, "You can't just stand here forever." And with that, I headed back to the finish. Very, very slowly.

It was a bit ridiculous. Though I hadn't had months of training for the event, I was trained to some extent. True, I wasn't accustomed to completing the distance while experiencing the pain I was in presently, but I did not want to quit. I was not going to quit because I could still move.

Shortly after leaving the aid station, I was thirsty again. How could I have consumed so much water and still be thirsty?! I thought about going back for more, but backtracking would not have been wise. Despite my thirst, my stomach was sloshing with water, which was creating quite an uncomfortable feeling on top of everything else.

My steps were getting shorter and shorter. Soon I was shuffling along like a 90-year old who's had hip and knee issues her entire life. This is what I have to look forward to, I thought. The great thing about this thought was that it actually focused on life beyond this race which meant that I stood a chance of finishing the mission.

I wanted to run. Really. My brain was telling me to do so, but every time I would attempt it, my body declined the invitation. It was one of the most frustrating instances of my life. I kept trying to coax my body into cooperation. The faster you go, the quicker this will be over. I'd pick up my leg and attempt to run, but my attempts were met only with failure. It was no use. My body was doing all that it could.

After wandering this desert for weeks (or maybe what only felt like weeks), I spotted Sam off to my right side. He was walking very slowly, about 20 feet away, in the same direction I was headed. Why was he walking so slow? I wondered. Then, I suddenly understood that it was because I was walking that slow and he was attempting to stay with me to show support.

Suddenly, whatever little hope had been keeping me moving collapsed inside. "I can't do this," I cried. "I don't want to do this anymore." I don't know if it was the comfort of seeing Sam and knowing that he wouldn't make me finish, or the reality that my body truly felt as though it couldn't go on, but I had to let it out, to share with someone who would understand that my body couldn't take any more.

"You are almost to the finish," Sam responded. "Just a little bit more to go." He moved in closer to me, likely realizing I wouldn't bite his head off as I had during the riding portion. I just wanted the torture to end.

"I can't see the finish. Where is it?" I asked.

"It's there. I promise," he smiled as he pointed off to some random point ahead. "Do you see all those people up there?"

"Yeah," I sobbed like a dejected, pouting child, head hanging low and shuffling my feet even slower.

"That's where you're going. You're almost there."

The dirt and gravel path had become a paved road again, so at least there was that. I wouldn't be tripping on real or invisible rocks anymore.

My bitterness about other people actually being able to run was taking hold by the last part of this race.

"But, I don't want to do this anymore," I whined again. Somehow stating it a second time, I thought, was making a more emphatic proclamation despite the annoying whining that accompanied the statement. I was convinced Sam would pull me from the race course and save me from complete destruction.

"You can do it," Sam replied.

Not what I was looking for, I thought to myself. I actually can't do this - my body has made that quite clear. As I was thinking these very words, Sam began distracting me with tales of happenings he had witnessed during the event.

I have no idea what the specifics were for these stories, but it must've worked because before I knew it, there I was, a few hundred feet from the end.

"I'll see you on the other side," Sam said and disappeared off into a crowd of people and tents.

I had made it -- somehow -- to the end. It was right there in front of me.

I have to run through the finish line, I told myself. It's a short distance and it will all be over. My body was broken and I was still in need of water, but, inexplicably I want to know that I had run through the finish line if there was any possible way to get my body to make it happen.

Picking up my feet, I attempted to run. I'm not certain what I was doing was actually running, but my brain told me that I was and that was all that mattered in the moment.

My broken and battered self trying to run across the finish. On another note, with all the backside shots taken of me over the years, I am pretty convinced I could stand in as a body double for my father's mother. It's amazing how genetics are just inescapable - both the physical characteristics and athletic aptitude (or lack thereof, as in my case).

Smiles greeted me all around as I passed over the finish. Participant medals were given out and a nice, cold bottle of water was forced into my hands.

Ahhhh. Relief. It was over. The rescue plane had landed and saved me from my desert death. I drank that bottle of water faster than any water I'd consumed. It was the best water I had ever tasted.

It was a bit of an anti-climactic finish, despite the internal drama and physical pain throughout the race. Together, Sam and I walked back to the parking lot in an attempt to find our car. I thought about my initial plan to ride to the start line as we walked. I would've really loved to have done so, but it wasn't in the stars for this particular race. The 25-30 extra miles on the bike that day may have actually been my doom, so it was a wise decision to choose a less physically taxing form of transportation.

After the race, I was asked by a relative if I would do another duathlon. It was a little too soon after the event and the answer was a vehement "No!" With some time and distance in between though, I realize it did exactly what it was supposed to do: Provide extra motivation to keep me pushing through the season. Plus, the memory of the pain is starting to fade, so, on this side of things and with some perspective, I've modified that answer to "Maybe," which almost always turns somehow into an "I've-signed-myself-up-for-an-event," within a very short amount of time.

In truth, had I given myself more time to train, I likely would've done better, even with the particular physical limitations of the day. I think it would be nice if I could find a duathlon that was a bike-run-bike instead of run-bike-run (though I'm not sure these exist), but what I appreciated about the duathlon is that it pushed me outside of my comfort zone and forced me to do something I am not as comfortable completing. I'd still rather do an epic bike ride than this sort of event, but it was an interesting change-up that allowed me to rework the way my brain (and body) are used to working.

Ultimately, even though time was pretty much thrown out the window, I complained a LOT during the final leg of the race, and wanted to quit more times than I can count, I did cross the finish line under my own power and within the time constraints. That was truly the only goal... and the one that mattered most of all to me.

**Thanks to Sam for documenting the day's journey in photos as best he could. Without him, I'd have no photos to share with this retelling of the race. I have to also again thank him for dealing with me during the race. I am eternally grateful that he is always there, even when the crazy sets in.

My First Duathlon, Part 2: Is Finishing Possible?

(Part 1 of this post can be found by clicking here.)

I agonized over what to do about the race. I don't like spending money on activities I can do without cost at any point and on any day, but once I sign myself up I always feel as though it's a commitment to show up and complete it unless something truly catastrophic happens.

This was bordering on disastrous with my inability to run, but as the night prior to the duathlon wore on, I could feel my brain talking my body into at least trying. I am not a quitter. I may occasionally throw child-like tantrums in the middle of difficult challenges and have to talk myself through it, but I don't like giving up.

By bed time I had decided I was going to the race and while I knew I would be fortunate if I was able to walk the running portion, I was also aware I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try.

Surprisingly, I slept pretty great that night (an unusual occurrence for me pre-race). I woke up on my own before the alarm and everything went pretty smoothly. The pain from my pelvis being out of place was still there, and I seemed to have developed other pains in my calves and ankles over night, but I was ready to go and give it whatever I could on this particular day.

Sam was taking me to the start line and had his bike with him. His plan was to cut through portions of the ride on dirt trails to attempt to see me come by on the roads at various points. He was concerned about being fast enough to get to certain intersections, but I'd told him not to worry as this would definitely not be fast on my end.

When we arrived, I went to set up my bike in the corral for the second part of the race. One of the officials was at the entry and marked my arms and leg with my bib number and age. Looking around, there were a lot of people participating in this event. There was barely room to squeeze my bike into its spot, but we were able to get it set up and then had time to wait.

We watched the rounds of swimmers take off for the triathlon race before it was time to start the duathlon.

This particular event also has a triathlon taking place at the same time and had started a bit earlier than our arrival. We walked over to the swim area to see some of the happenings there and as time closed in for my start time, we meandered over to the line.

I could feel my stomach flopping inside. I was already regretting showing up, but I was talking myself through my plan. It was quite simple... You are just going to walk. Put one foot in front of the other until you get back here. Then, you get on your bike and pedal.

It seemed simple enough, but there are time cut-offs. If I didn't make it back in time, the officials wouldn't allow me to get on the bike. As I stood at the back of the pack, allowing everyone to get in front of me (I didn't want to slow anyone down because of my issues), I tried to put the thought of not getting back out of my mind.

The starting gun was fired and we were off.

There were some truly fast people. We started off on a bit of an incline and by the time I actually crossed the start, there were some at the front I could no longer see. I had to put that out of my mind though. You are doing your own race, not theirs. You are injured. Just put one foot in front of the other and walk until you can't anymore.

It's easier said than done though. I walked and I walked alone. Every single racer was in front of me. Normally, this would motivate me to work harder, but in the physical state I was in, I knew I had to just do what I could and not worry about where anyone else was in the race.

The funny thing with races is that we truly don't know what is going on for another person. We can't know what sort of injuries they're fighting through, what kinds of daily struggles they deal with, nor how much or little s/he has trained for the event. In my experience, I find that people pre-judge me (as humans sometimes do -- we just can't help ourselves) based purely on what I look like. Yes, I am larger than the other people racing, but sometimes the "atta-girl" responses I get from people tend to piss me off. It's as though they think I sit on the couch all day eating and it's the first athletic endeavor I've ever attempted.

On the flip side of this, not every comment comes off as condescending and it is nice to have people who are racing together sharing encouragement. The high-five's while passing (it was an out-and-back running course), the "good job" comments, all of the little things that many participants are willing to do to help keep others going is fantastic. When those up at the front of the pack are willing to offer words of encouragement, I find it extra special. They actually stand a chance of winning and to make the effort to say something or give a thumbs up is truly what sportsmanship is about, in my opinion.

A few weeks prior to this duathlon, I had picked up a new toy. Last Christmas, I had bought Sam a smart watch and I had thought it might be a good thing for me during my training. I had time to test it out before the event and never had any trouble with it, but about 10 minutes in to this first leg of the race, the watch had decided my heart rate was of utmost importance and wouldn't show me anything other than that screen. It was infuriating when I was trying to keep track of time, particularly as this hadn't happened at all during training.

At this point, I was worried that I would need to speed things up so I decided to try running a bit. I wasn't sure I could physically run, but I wanted to give it a try. Up ahead walking was a couple decently in front of me but close enough that it was possible to catch them. I decided I would try to run until I caught up to them and then go back to walking. The first few steps of running were very painful. Very. But, I think I've become pretty good at knowing the pains I can push through and those that require me to be more delicate. As I caught and passed the duo, I thought maybe I could do a bit of running periodically.

Because my watch was being uncooperative, I set visual points and would walk to those and then begin running until the next fixed point I selected. It was working fairly well and before I was even aware of it, I was back to pick up my bicycle and head out pedaling.

I had truly been looking forward to this portion because I believed it was where I'd be able to make up some lost time. Changing shoes, adding a helmet and downing some GU were the only things on my mind. I tried not to be overly concerned with going fast in the transition and, for the most part, this seemed to work well.

I have ridden the bicycle course many times over the years, but I had not ridden it at all this year or even last. My memory had told me that the first 4-5 miles would be climbing and then it would primarily be a downhill sprint back to the third leg of this race. I pictured passing people as gravity took over and arriving back to start the second run with ease. However, as I soon discovered, my memory seems to make up whatever it wants to believe as the course was almost nothing like I'd recalled.

The first few miles were in fact climbing, but the climbing seemed to continue much longer than I'd believed. Oh well, I thought to myself, it is what it is and I know there will be some downhill portions coming.

Less than half way through the biking portion, I could see lights flashing in the road ahead. Motorized traffic seemed to be coming to a complete stop, but I was still free to ride as I pleased in the shoulder area of the road. As I approached the lights, I could see that officers were blocking the road entirely and forcing vehicles to turn around. Off to the left I could see a road bike that looked completely mangled and a group of riders heading in the opposite direction gathered around each other. To this day, I still don't know exactly what transpired, but I could only hope that everyone was okay.

Just as I approached the officer who was directing motorized traffic back in the direction we'd just come, a behemoth of an SUV suddenly started to swerve into me. The officer had been trying to direct both the cars on the road and the cyclists coming through and he was informing me that I should continue on behind him on the shoulder; however, the motorist mistakenly took this as a message for him to swerve into the shoulder and dirt on the side of the road and attempt to go around.  It was at slow speed and I could feel it coming so I was actually yelling at the driver, "NOT YOU! NOT YOU!!!"

I had my arm pressed against the side of his vehicle as I was pushed on my bike into the dirt off the shoulder. I decided at this point my best course of action was to simply stop riding, so I hit the brakes and dismounted. At this point, the motorist finally realized what was going on (I'm sure the look of terror on the officers face was a big indicator) and the driver rolled down his window and profusely apologized. While I appreciated the sentiment, it wouldn't have done a whole lot of good if I'd been injured or worse. Still, I didn't have time to be angry about it because I was in the middle of a race for goodness sake.

Waving him off, I continued down the road. Finally! I was getting some downhill time. "Ahhhh... This is where I shine!" I actually said it aloud. I couldn't help myself. Sadly, the relief lasted only a brief time before climbing started yet again. Hmm, I thought, I don't recall this having so much climbing.

Still, I persevered, waiting for the downhill that I was convinced was coming.

My hands had been going numb (a story for a different time, but it had to do with the bike I was riding) for several miles now. I kept shaking them trying to get feeling back. It was a no-go on that front, but up in the distance Sam was approaching. At least that would be a nice distraction.

The course shared the road with motorized traffic. This was part of the mild downhill section that brought me great happiness for a brief time.

"I thought I missed you," Sam exclaimed as he about-faced and came back to ride with me.

"You can't ride with me," I responded quickly. I know it sounded harsh and I didn't mean for that to be the first thing out of my mouth, but the rules are very clear in that no one can have aid or assistance on the course, nor can another rider be within several feet of another. This was made abundantly clear on several occasions and I didn't want to get disqualified because Sam was trying to check on me.

Sam backed off, but I knew I had to stop for a minute because I could barely feel my hands.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just going to eat a GU pack and then I'll be on my way again." I needed the relief of a few seconds off the bike to pull myself together. Sam continued to ride on.

Shaking out my hands, I consumed the GU and got back on the bike. Up the road, Sam was waiting again. I knew he was trying to be helpful and supportive, but I could feel the agitation welling up inside. What didn't he understand about the fact that I couldn't have him on the course riding with me? My response, unfortunately, came out in a distressed, snapping manner.

"Please!" I said again, "You can't ride with me! They will disqualify me if anyone sees you riding with me." In retrospect, I don't know why I was so worried about it. It's not as though I was at the front of the pack, Sam was riding behind me not in front so there was no advantage, I certainly wasn't winning the race, and I hadn't seen a course official since the start line, but I was still overly concerned with the rules for some incomprehensible reason. Maybe it was just the reality of knowing I wasn't in any condition to be doing this race at all, but now I just wanted to finish and didn't want any reason to be unable to complete the goal. Honestly, I didn't have any intention of hurting Sam's feelings, but I was just in pain and wanted to be through the race.

Sam seemed unfazed and told me that he would see me at the transition. Turning around, he headed back to the transition spot. I felt bad as I rode on. I didn't understand why I'd snapped at him in that moment, but I couldn't focus too much energy on it. Later, the reality of my harshness would set in to a greater degree.

After what felt like an eternity of low-level climbing, I returned to the transition area. I can honestly say for the first time in my life I was actually wanting to be on foot instead of on a bicycle. The lack of feeling in my hands had become too much and I was highly uncomfortable on the bike. While the machine itself had been fine, the two of us together had been a very poor combination that day.

Gearing up for the run (or walk, in my case) once again, my head was filled with doubt. I was so thirsty! All of my water was empty and there was no one at the transition area to provide a refill. I knew there was water at the halfway point of the run, but that seemed so far away when I was presently in need. It was also incredibly hot. What had started out as a lovely day had become something unbearable (one of the consequences of being slow during a summer race, unfortunately).

The good news was that I was making or very close to making my personal time goals - somehow. I'd been a smidge slower on the first "run", and slower on the bike than I wanted (my watch had started miraculously working again), but maybe I could make it up during the final run. Or, at least I was telling myself that in the moment.

As I crossed back through the running shoot, a spectator at the start yelled out, "Run! You can walk later."

Oh, how I wanted to punch her. Genuinely, if I'd had any sort of extra energy to expend, I may have done so.  I say that now, but even with my extreme disdain for this woman in that moment, I don't think I really would ever strike another human in this type of situation. I think she thought she was being encouraging, but when a racer is injured, dehydrated, and generally just not in a good place, it's probably not the comment to make.

Didn't she think that I wanted to run? If I had any ability to do so, I would have. But my body was broken. My spirit was broken. Now, I just wanted to cry. I desperately wanted, nay, needed water. My back was killing me and the thought of having to complete another run, no matter the distance, seemed impossible. Frankly, I wasn't sure I could even walk for any length at this point. Why had I wanted to be on foot again so desperately?

Still I continued down the path. I was barely moving. Sam would later tell me that I had a nice waddle going on... thanks, Sam. Though, I knew precisely what he meant. I was hurting and I truly didn't know if I could make it to the end.

*The 3rd and final part of this post will be up soon! Thanks for reading along and for your patience as I finish up the post.

Part 3 is up now and can be found here.

My First Duathlon, Part 1: Training for a Duathlon While Recovering from Injury

Earlier this past summer, I wrote about why I participate in races occasionally, but in August, I participated in a summer race for which I had little time to train.

To provide a brief background, I had been searching for something that would motivate me to work a bit harder as we worked nearer to the end of summer than I might if I had nothing to aim toward and a duathlon presented itself. I have never in my life competed in a duathlon, but this event, while a challenge for me, seemed like a doable distance and course to complete, so a bit on a whim, I signed myself up just a few weeks prior to the race.

*Image found here

Almost immediately, I had buyer's remorse (participant remorse?). I wasn't entirely sure this was my smartest move. I've had a lot of issues that have kept me from running much at all this year, but I also knew when I signed up that walking portions was a possibility. I'm also far more comfortable with other types of physical movement. If someone told me there was a competition in a few weeks involving strength, I believe it would be less intimidating to me. Still, I didn't want to walk the running portions of the race and the internal nagging persisted as I continued to ask myself why on earth I'd have signed up for a run-bike-run race?

Obviously, the two tasks I need to undertake for this race are running and biking. Fortunately, I'm on a bicycle at some point just about every day, but I knew that my distances were going to have to advance and I'd need to have some focus on speeding up my usually casual-leaning pace. Riding a bicycle doesn't terrify me the way running (twice) does. Riding a bike is easy. It can be challenging on different terrain/inclines, but for the most part I get on a bike and go, down shift or up shift as needed, and pedal.

Running doesn't come as easily. True, it's still just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, but my body tends to fight me much more when it comes to this form of movement. As anyone who's read here can tell you, the injuries my body has dealt with over the last several years have brought a challenge to even riding as far as I'd like. My injuries span from feet all the way to shoulders and have varying levels of intensity and need of coddling. For instance, my pelvis comes out of place at least once per week. Running or even walking when it's out (as one might imagine) isn't the easiest thing to do. I also deal with genetic issues that truly will always keep me at a slow pace when it comes to running.

Still, I can train as long as I don't try to push too hard when I'm experiencing immense pain, and as long as I take care to listen to what my body is telling me.

My regular workout usually takes place at the gym. I vary exercises but usually find myself on a treadmill, lifting weights and mixing in my own random sets of cardio exercises that I've taken from various sources over the years. I also try to include stretching at some point, but it's one of those areas that I really should include more regularly.

When starting to train for the duathlon, I figured it would probably be a good idea to actually practice the way things would go for the event. So, I started running, biking and then running again.

My first try at it, I figured I'd take it easy, starting with 1/3 the running distance, most of the biking distance and then 1/3 the running distance again. I had decided to train only on the treadmill, even knowing that running outside is a different sort of beast, but also accepting that it would do less harm to the parts of my body that I needed to keep safe.

On the first run, I ended up completing 1/2 the running distance because I felt I didn't need to back as far down as I'd initially thought, but I will say that the most challenging part for my brain (and body) was returning for the second round of running.

As stated earlier, I'm used to riding to the gym to work out and then riding home, but there was something about that extra run before the return trip home that threw my mind in to chaos. I could feel my brain telling my body that we were done and to stop moving, so it was a bit of a mental struggle to refocus and tell my legs to keep moving. Of course, practicing helps with muscle memory so this fight wouldn't be such a struggle going forward.

The ride home after that first attempt, even though I live only a couple of miles from the gym, was not easy. Although the distances had not been great, the three hours I'd spent moving meant that my body was looking for some sort of nutrition. It's as though I'd forgotten that there is a difference between a workout and training for an event, but my body was definitely reminding me.

With the second try, I incorporated some GU into the riding portion of training, which helped tremendously. My brain felt clearer as I started the second run, I didn't feel as though I was going to collapse, and even the bike ride home was a little easier. I still hadn't quite got the nutrition part correct, but it had gone much better than the first round.

Unfortunately, injuries still plagued me into the third week and I was starting to wonder if I'd be able to compete in this event at all. Having difficulty walking, let alone trying to run was causing mental distress. I pondered deferring my participation until 2018, but I really wasn't ready to give up quite yet.

Still, as I did not have much time between sign up and the actual race day, I tried to determine the best ways to utilize what was available to me. Running a lot would be good for this type of event; however, my body doesn't tolerate it well, so instead I spent some time walking uphill and doing other cross training activities such as jumps and short, faster sprints in order to try to build up what would be needed for this duathlon.

Surprisingly, my body was doing pretty well and I was beginning to think that I might actually perform decently at the duathlon. My back was holding up, my knees weren't hurting, and even my pelvis had been staying where it needed to most of the time.

By the first part of the week of the duathlon, I was feeling great! In the back of my mind I had minor moments of doubt, but I was pretty sure that my body was as ready as it could be given the short amount of training time, and I was experiencing only minimal pain which was already a win for me. I even made a comment to Sam that I was feeling good and thought I could do well at the race.

The debate about what to wear for the event had been plaguing me too. I had tried a few combinations during my practice duathlons, but nothing seemed to be to my liking. If it worked well for running, I was uncomfortable on the bike and vice versa. The last thing I want to be doing during a race is tugging on clothing. Ultimately, I had decided on my triathlon knickers because they are easy to run in and still have a small amount of padding for the bike.

The top portion was where I was struggling though. After trying several bike jerseys I own, I wasn't happy with the way they behaved while running. When it came down to it, I didn't need the pockets on the jersey because I had a bag for the ride and could keep GU in the pocket of my pants while running, so I decided to wear a work out tank and hope that it would be sufficient.

My workout plan was in place for the week leading up to the race too. I continued to exercise but took things a bit slower than usual to ensure that my body would stay well.

Unfortunately, the day before the event, my pelvis decided that it was time to pop out of place. I had been having some neck issues and could not turn my head so I had made a trip to the chiropractor the day prior, insisting that he only adjust the upper part of my back/neck as all had been so great with the lower portion of my body.

After the adjustment, my neck started to feel better, but I was then dealing with lower body issues that were making it difficult to walk at all. I was kicking myself for going in for an adjustment, but knew that I really needed to be able to turn my neck during the race. Still, had I just left things alone I was fairly certain none of this would be happening.

The night before the race, I was convinced that I shouldn't show up to the duathlon at all. The majority of the race was running, not biking, so I didn't think I'd be able to fake it to the finish line. I was mad at myself for spending money on a race that I'd known would be a challenge even in a good state, and now I was experiencing so much pain just putting one foot in front of the other to walk through the house that I was pretty sure this just wasn't going to happen.

"What do I do?" I asked of Sam, as I held my hand up to my aching hip. "Do I go anyway and try, and if I can't finish, at least I gave it a shot? Do I just forget it and not bother. I really don't think I can run at all, and I'm honestly not sure I can even walk very well."

Unfortunately, Sam didn't have any wise words for me. I completely understood. It's not really possible to tell someone else what their body is capable of doing, but he definitely sympathized with my plight and was aware that I was not in a good state. I knew he wouldn't blame me for dropping out entirely before I even got to the start line, but I was still (as much as it perplexed even me) trying to figure out how I could complete what was in front of me the following morning.

*Part 2 is in the finishing stages and will be available soon.
**Part 2 can now be found by clicking here.

Being Sick and Cycling

Illness and I are not the best of friends. When I find myself feeling under the weather, I can definitely turn into a mess very quickly. The biggest issue for me is not the fact that I don't feel well, but more that I really dislike being stuck indoors, or worse yet, confined to bed. Not every round of being sick is confining, but when the long ones do occur, it really stinks and I find myself trying to keep up with all that would normally be happening instead of taking the time to rest. I gather up tissues, take some vitamin C, and attempt to keep up a pretense that everything is fine and it's just a "little sniffle."

*Image found here

This is hitting close to home for me at the moment, and I have to say that spending time sitting around is definitely not my favorite use of time -- especially during the summer. Warm months are a commodity and one that I prefer to use to its fullest before it disappears and I'm left with cold and snowy days. To add to the current dissatisfaction with being ill, I have an annual ride coming up this weekend and I'm concerned that I both haven't had enough training time in the saddle and that I won't be well in time to participate.

It all started on Sunday and has become progressively worse with each passing day. Initially, I shrugged it off as allergies and didn't think much of it, but by Monday, it was definitely feeling more flu-like than something brought on by allergies. Tuesday I woke up and told myself that I had no choice but to get in a longer ride because I would need to back off during the few days prior to the ride, but I really was feeling horrible. Miraculously, I somehow completed the 50+ miles that I needed to get done, but I paid for it the rest of the day.

*Image found here

Whether the ride I went on made things worse or not, I don't think that's something I can really know. From research I've done in the past, the professionals claim that if it's just a head cold (sniffles, etc), it's perfectly acceptable to continue exercising, as long as one listens to his/her body; however, if the person is running a fever or the illness is in the chest (like a cough), bed rest is the answer. I may have broken that rule (don't tell anyone), but I actually felt better riding my bike than I did sitting around. There's something about being stuck in a room that makes me feel worse and being able to be in some fresh air was amazing. I may have overdone things mileage-wise, but I survived... and so, I just have to hope I didn't do more damage than good and prepare as though Saturday is still "on."

Now, I'm sucking down Emergen-C and taking other various items in an attempt to get this to move on quicker. It's amazing how many home remedies are out there, and how many products companies attempt to sell us that will supposedly help us heal quicker. I can't help but wonder if any of it really works. Of course, there are those who insist that Zinc, Vitamin C and/or Airborne are the trick to getting over an illness faster. They may be right, but I've generally not had a lot of luck with anything actually working other than rest and letting the cold or flu run its course. I have realized that we really (as a whole) don't want to rest and instead try to fight our way through sickness, believing that we are somehow capable of continuing on when our bodies are telling us a different story.

*Image found here

Not only do I seem to crave the most horribly awful foods when I have a cold or flu, but I always seem to want large quantities of them. In more specific terms, I find myself desperately wanting simple carbs drenched in fat - like french toast with butter and syrup or fried cheese quesadillas. While I realize that more balanced meals provide the nutrients our bodies need to recover, I never cease to be amazed at the cravings that come on with being sick.

What have your experiences been with illness and continuing an exercise plan, or specifically in regard to cycling? Do you opt for bed rest, or do you try to fight your way through it? Do you have any specific food cravings or items that seem to help you recover quicker?

Quick and Significant Hill (Mountain) Training for a Non-Climber?

As some are already aware, there is an annual ride I participate in and even though I say I'm not going to ride it - every - single - year, somehow I end up getting talked into doing it anyway. This year, I registered early to save myself the frustration because I knew inevitably some person, moment, or event would present itself and miraculously I would be doing the Venus de Miles ride. Why fight it was my motto this year and I started annoying friends and family early on to help me out with fundraising. I don't mind the fundraising, actually. It's the one consistently positive attribute of this ride and the money goes to a cause I whole-heartedly support. I also expressed plans early in the summer to complete my first ever century ride. So, since VdM has a century option, it seemed like a great idea to just go ahead and sign myself up. Even though I ended up completing my first century on an unsupported ride, I was still excited to participate in this event, if for no other reason than to compare the experience of riding alone versus riding in a supported, group event.

Venus de Miles starting line - August 2012

In past years, the 100-mile ride has gone up into the mountains and (among other reasons) this has kept me from really wanting to participate. However, when I first got a look at the route map earlier this summer, it had changed significantly. I realized no part of it was going into the mountains (Yippee!!!), but I also was not exactly thrilled with the roads we'd be riding. Many of them have no bike lanes, no shoulders, and they also travel through extremely high speed and high traffic areas. I was starting to rethink my decision to do the century with VdM. I even had a back up plan to ride a shorter distance with the group and then complete a century on my own just to avoid the route that had been planned. Oddly, VdM still had no route approvals just a couple of weeks ago and I started to wonder if the ride was going to take place at all. Then, just as I was starting to believe I was getting out of the ride this year, route approval came in... However, the ride had been changed back to climbing up into the mountains. This is where the big sigh was let out. This is also where panic set in.

I am not a climber.

Lots of people say it, and many actually aren't climbers at all, but I am really not a climber. I like to blame the excess mass on my body (which I'm sure doesn't help), but I've seen plenty of big guys rock the hell out of climbs, so I really don't think that's the problem. It's also not the bike as I've whittled my way down to a pretty light and fast bike. The sad but honest truth is that I just don't seem to be able to do it. I do climb hills, and I never walk them, but they are the most painfully slow climbs I think one could experience - even when they aren't notoriously difficult climbs. Knowing that the first 60 miles of the ride will be climbing (in one form or another), I am really concerned. The worst part of the climbing is that the actual mountain portion doesn't even begin until half way into the century. Call me a wimp, but four thousand seven hundred and sixty-four feet is a lot of climbing for me. A lot.

100-mile Route Map

In case you missed it in the photo above... this is what the climbing looks like. Yeah, see that scary, large hump to the right side of middle... that's the part I'm dreading the most.

Yes, 4,764 feet of climbing to do... and a lot of it will be starting as I'm getting tired

I have less than three weeks to go and I have no idea what to do to train myself for this sort of climbing. The century I did on my own was about half the feet of climbing this ride will entail, and I planned much of it to be early on in the ride, not after the half way point. In addition to just being naturally ungood (yes, I'm making up words again) at climbing, I have an injured knee and have been experiencing aching while doing even the most minor climbs over the last several weeks.

So, fabulous people of the interwebs... I need help, suggestions, thoughts... anything you think would be valuable to help me out as I attempt to train myself to climb in a very, very short amount of time. I know I can do the distance, but I am not so sure the climbing won't take me out of this ride earlier than I would like. I'm also a bit fearful of being able to finish out the distance after expending all the energy to attempt to get up the big peak, so any thoughts on that matter are certainly welcome as well.

Musings from My First Century Ride

Typically, writing posts comes fairly easy for me. This post is a bit different. I cannot begin to express how many times I've imagined what I would say in a post after completing my first century. The problem has been that I've struggled in the aftermath determining what it is I want to share, and perhaps even more so, what someone would want to read. I had a lot of self-reflection time during my many hours in the saddle, and it's almost as though I worked through things that I cannot describe in words. I cried (more than once), I laughed at things that seemed amusing, I buckled down and focused when needed, and actually enjoyed most of the ride. 

To some cyclists, perhaps a century ride has become of little significance, and to those people I can understand not wanting to read some random individuals' report on her first century. I can also appreciate that there are those who are waiting for the blow by blow recounting of what took place. I am quite certain I will be unable to please either side of the aisle, so I have decided to just go with what feels right. If you are up for reading through it, please feel free to do so, but I am writing this post for no one other than myself... mostly as a future reminder to self that I (spoiler alert for those continuing) was able to accomplish something I never truly thought I would or could do...

It was a beautifully clear, blue morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. On any other day I would have been rejoicing to see such a gorgeous summer morning, but this was one day I was hoping for cloud cover. I was already starting out an hour and some change later than originally planned, and the heat was making itself known. Not quite the hottest of summer days, but still warmer than I'd prefer (especially being somewhat heat sensitive).

The night prior, I had told myself the morning would bring the start of my first century ride. I didn't tell a soul. It's easier not to feel so bad if I couldn't actually complete the goal if no one knew about the plan at all. I told Sam and a couple of others that I was planning a "long training ride" the following day, but I knew I was gunning for the "big" goal. Perhaps it was a bit early in the training process. After all, the longest ride I'd been on to that point was just over 60 miles. Was it asking too much to jump to 100 so quickly? I was simply ready to get it "over with" and wanted to make it happen. In truth, I needed it to happen because it was causing undo stress to have this seemingly huge goal looming over me.  It's funny. When I say I'm going to do something, people seem to expect that I am going to complete it. It almost felt as though if I couldn't finish this I would be a complete failure in the eyes of all who were aware of the goal. In truth, I have no doubt everyone would be accepting of whatever reality came about, but I don't enjoy disappointing others (nor myself), so I began to feel manufactured stress from the situation. Finishing the 100-mile ride was no longer optional.

There were, of course, some issues throughout the day. It started with getting approximately three hours of sleep the night before. I woke feeling extremely sleep-deprived and my body was not doing well. My hip was aching from a kickboxing class a couple of days prior, my knee was throbbing, and I honestly wasn't feeling up to the ride. I continued to get things underway, however, and prepped what I'd need for the day. Wow! The day. Yes, this was going to take the day to complete.

Early on, I passed by the kickboxing studio - just as class was about to start. I considered not riding at all and instead stopping for class. I longingly looked at the window of the building, mentally waved to everyone, but kept pedaling. There are plenty of days to do kickboxing... this day was about accomplishing another goal.

Fairly flat for this portion (though that didn't last long)

If you read my early summer post about the plan to ride a century before the end of August, you may recall that I wanted to do a flat route. Living at the base of the Rocky Mountains, this is about the least likely scenario one can possibly imagine. Anywhere I ride, there would be climbing involved, but I hoped to keep it to a minimum. Not planning the route didn't exactly help this goal though. I am surprisingly adept (often without even trying) at figuring ways to keep climbs to a minimum, but today I told myself I was just going to go and deal with what arrived in front of me.

As I began to warm up, I felt a little better, but somewhere around mile 18, I began to second guess my decision to not stop at the kickboxing class. I was preparing to climb a small hill when all of a sudden my knee cap felt as though it might fall out (I realize this is highly unlikely - but it's the best way I can describe it). Unbelievable pain went shooting through my body. "Great," I actually spoke aloud. "Just what I need." I shifted to a super-spinning gear and made it up the brief climb. I was convinced I wouldn't make it to mile 25 at this point. The knee continued to ache for several miles, but I was going to keep going. I continued to repeat to myself on every climb, "Take it easy on the knee," meaning that I had to spin, whether I liked it or not.

Probably one of my worst decisions about this ride was that I had absolutely no idea where I was heading. I hadn't pre-mapped a route, so I figured I would just ride until I hit 100 miles. It seemed somewhat reasonable when I started, but as I continued, I realized how bad an idea this really was. I rarely know where I'm going when cycling alone, but I think on a ride of this length, it would've been a good idea to have an idea of some sort of direction. Ah, well... que sera sera.

Mentally dealing with the idea of the 100 miles seemed the biggest challenge. As I started out I was attempting to figure out how to break the ride down so I wouldn't be thinking the entire time, "I still have fill-in-the-blank miles left to go." I had decided I had two different break-downs: 10 mile increments and 25 mile increments. I also reminded myself that I could stop when I needed to and that there was no prize for finishing without stops. This would cause its own sort of battle toward the end of the ride, but it worked fairly well to keep me motivated.

My goal was to complete the ride in 10 hours. Ten hours seemed reasonable with climbs, and I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain any sort of speed, so the goal was simply to finish - even if it took longer than 10 hours. When I stopped at the 40-mile stop, I couldn't help but think another 7 hours on the bike might kill me. I had to remind myself that I was 2/5 of the way completed, and almost to the half way point, so there was no reason to get discouraged.

I continued to hold out hope for cloud cover. The weather forecasters had promised clouds and showers, but they never came. Early in the afternoon I started seeing big, white, cumulus clouds coming over the mountains, but somehow they never quite managed to cover the sun. As long as I kept moving though, the heat didn't really seem to be too much of a bother.

There was nothing horribly eventful to report until I hit just over 75 miles. I had done as large a distance as I could think of and was re-entering town. Now what? I still needed to complete nearly 25 miles. Should I just go to the local multi-use path and trudge back and forth until I had done the miles? I was starting to feel the tiredness sneaking in at this point, and I knew I needed to avoid severe climbs, but the idea of going back and forth on a trail system with people walking dogs, skating, running, and so on didn't appeal to me. Instead, I chose to take a loop route that I ride frequently. I knew it was only about 8-10 miles, but I thought I could probably complete it twice and be close to done. The ride home from the end would still be about 5 miles, so it was worth a go.

Fatigue was definitely setting in at this point. I found myself needing to stop more and more frequently. They weren't long stops, but they were becoming closer together which concerned me. Thinking back on it now, I believe it was more of a head game than an actual, physical tiredness taking place. Yes, I was tired, but I knew I had more in me.

Just as I came around the corner of a small climb, I had to stop. It just so happened to be directly in front of a small church. I couldn't help but say a silent prayer. All I wanted was to finish. My pace had slowed (I could feel it), and I knew my hands and feet were simply done, but I believed that there was nothing stopping me but my own mind. Truly, I was almost done anyway. I repeated that I could complete a 15 mile ride in my sleep, got back on the bike, and continued on.

I will admit, I cried for a brief moment when I saw the GPS turn to 100.00. I was almost home, but the emotion of realizing I had actually completed a goal that seemed so monumental was exciting and overwhelming. I had actually done it, crazy as it seemed just a few weeks prior. Even stranger still, I had done a century ride on an aluminum bicycle - again, something I never thought I would ever, ever be able to do.

I wish I could say this ride felt epic, or at least that it was so painful I would never want to do it again (I in fact uttered very similar words at one point toward the end of the ride, stating that I could not understand why anyone would do this more than once in their life). The reality is that the entire day felt pretty normal, and in the end, very anti-climactic. I left for the ride quietly, saying just a few words to our dogs who were lounging around the house. I returned to a quiet home and a very much appreciated cold bottle of water and a smile from Sam. It was as though I had gone to work for the day and returned home as normal and expected.

Somehow, I kept climbing fairly low considering the terrain in this area - I ended at just under 2,000 ft climbed

Frankly, I'm not sure what I expected. Balloons? A banner and giant megaphone announcing my success? A confetti-filled parade? I suppose I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but it really did feel like any other day. In the end, I can say my body wasn't really hurting - at least not in the ways I anticipated. I expected my backside would be in dire straits and that my legs would be completely worthless, but both areas were actually fine. I was experiencing fatigue and some numbness in my hands, as well as soreness in my feet (it was only the second time I had worn new cycling shoes - Note to self: BAD IDEA!), but overall, I didn't feel miserable. I definitely didn't want to be on the bike anymore that day, but I certainly didn't hate cycling at the completion.

True, it was not the prettiest, the best, or the fastest century ever, and I had many thoughts throughout during which I believed I should have pushed myself to go a bit faster or harder, but for a first round attempt, I do think it was respectable. I had the opportunity to see what I am capable of accomplishing and to have yet another realization that I actually am stronger and more capable than I often believe. Perhaps it could have been more enjoyable to ride with another person or group of people, but I think this was the perfect way for me to experience my first 100-mile ride.

What Does an Athlete Look Like?

Tomorrow will be the fourth month in a row that I'm testing in kickboxing. There are those who think that I shouldn't be testing this quickly (myself included, at times) between belts, but I have to admit that the challenge of doing so definitely keeps me motivated, and striving to become a better me. At some point, this will no longer be possible as I will need too many classes to test each month, but in the meantime, I find myself debating whether or not it's a worthwhile cause to continue to do the tests each month for as long as I can. As I have mentally debated this over the past several weeks, I've often thought that there is no real reason for me to be pushing myself like this. What is it that's spurring me to action, exactly?

As I've been pondering this very idea, Sam brought to my attention something that I found odd, but intriguing. We were discussing the hang up that I have about the "6 month time frame" with losing weight and working out. I'm always fearful during the 6-8 month marker because in the past (as I've mentioned before) it is the point at which I generally give up and go back to my old ways. We were discussing how things feel different this time because it's not a "diet" that I am doing, and there's nothing to "go off of." I've viewed this as a change in life that's maintainable - which was the whole purpose. Still, I have my doubts because when one is crossing into unknown territory, it can be frightening - even if I'm aware of what can and has happened in the past. As we were having this discussion, Sam uttered something in the middle of a thought that stuck with me. He said, "Well, you're an athlete now." I laugh just typing it, and I laughed aloud when he said it while we were chatting.

I'm not an athlete. I've never been an athlete. I'm uncoordinated, unskilled, clumsy, awkward (at times), have always been picked last for every sport I've ever played - not to mention being overweight and the limitations that brings. But, the thought stuck with me, and I pondered it a bit more. An athlete? Me? I suppose it's possible. I train several hours a day, I'm often healing some sort of "war wound" from training, I'm aware of when, what, and how often I'm eating, and I have goals for myself. I'm becoming better at the things I'm doing, and finding ways to challenge myself. Is it possible? Am I turning into an athlete? I honestly don't even know what to do with that thought. I'm not the athlete... I'm the fat girl, who's not good at sports. The latter title seems much easier to accept than the former, and I'm trying to determine why.

The eternal optimist when it comes to others, I find the stark opposite to be the truth when it comes to myself. I am happy to cheer on others, and know full well that they are capable of anything they put their mind to doing, but I can't seem to believe the same for myself.  It's not as though this is restricted to the current situation either because it runs across all areas of life. I doubt everything I do and expect that what I'm doing is never good enough to call myself "fill_in_the_blank." I'm not an athlete, I'm not an artist, I'm not strong, I'm not a cyclist.  It's as though I have some kind of never-achievable idea of what it is I should be in order to call myself by whatever title. But, the reality is that I am all of these things, and the only one who doesn't yet believe it ... is me.

Some day though... one day, I will know that I am an athlete and I'll have the confidence to proclaim it out loud.

Miscellaneous Thoughts: Winning/Losing Battles

Although I have yet to mention it here in this space, boot camp training came to an end at the beginning of this week. The month long adventure into intense outdoor workouts at local parks was fun, but I was definitely ready to return to the kickboxing studio. I discovered that I am, without a doubt, the least in-shape person in the class (or at least who showed up to the workouts), and confirmed my knowledge that I am definitely not a runner by any stretch of the imagination. I also learned that I am so fortunate to have an incredibly supportive group of people around me, who constantly motivate me to keep going, try harder, and to never give up on my goals. Even though I am definitely the slowest individual (physically, not mentally - I swear!) I can say that I attended every single boot camp during the month... and as a reward, I received an embroidered hand towel with my name and the studio name on it. I couldn't help but giggle a bit. The usefulness of the prize did not go unnoticed, particularly as I seem to be the one who is constantly dripping with sweat.  For a person who typically runs colder than average, it's amazing the buckets that pour out of me during class.

*Image found here

On the cycling front, I have been recovering from last weeks' attempts to get in longer rides before my big ride with Venus de Miles at the end of the month. Unfortunately, the wrist damage from those rides last week has been more intense than I would've liked and it's prevented me from getting in long rides since Saturday. The doubts about my ability to do the 51 miles at this point continue on. Part of me thinks that I just need to get in what I can and go for it anyway just to see if I can make it happen. The other part of me thinks it's quite stupid on my part to attempt something that I likely won't be able to finish, and that it would make more sense to opt for the shorter 33 mile ride that doesn't go into the mountains. I suppose I will have to make a judgement call when the time arrives, but until then, I still plan on doing my best to get some time and distance in the saddle.

Last night, Sam and I had a discussion about my mental state and what I'm focused on at this moment in time. As a whole, I find that I am better off when my energy goes into kickboxing goals, cycling, and the like. When I focus too much on losing weight, it becomes so easy to get distracted and/or depressed at the rate of loss. While the overall numbers don't seem so bad, I know that a large chunk of it came off in the first few weeks, making the average for each month much lower than it should be, in my opinion. However, when I think about the past and how I've attempted to lose weight by dropping calories so significantly that I could barely function as a human, I realize that I am so much better off allowing myself a larger amount of calories and just working my butt off. I'd rather have the energy to do all the activities I want to do, see it come off slower, and know that I can do this for life, rather than see it drop off over night, but never be able to participate in anything.

Pain, Training & Motivation

I recently decided to move forward with participating in the Venus de Miles ride that takes place in New Town Prospect, Colorado. I've done this ride the last couple of years and decided on the shortest route (33 miles) for each of those. Both years I have struggled with making it to the finish line due to hand/wrist issues, but for some odd reason, this year I apparently thought it would be a great idea to do a longer route (51 miles). While the distance in itself will be a huge, huge challenge for me because of the hand problems, it also has a portion that climbs into the mountains. If I haven't mentioned it prior, I am not a hill climber on my bike by any stretch of the imagination. I will go to great lengths to avoid hills that I don't like, even making the ride miles longer.

*Image found here
Not looking forward to climbing any portion of these - at all

In an attempt to get myself used to being in the saddle and more importantly on the handlebars for many hours, I've been trying to get in some longer rides. One ride I typically will set a distance and do that mileage, no matter how long it takes me. On another, I'll set a time goal and know that no matter how far I go, I have to stay on the bike for that length of time. Then, the other rides I try to do something in between the two. It all comes out about the same generally, but I think it's a mind game for myself. If I know I only have to go "x" distance, if I pedal faster, I can get through it quicker... or at least that's what I say as I'm trying to motivate my legs to cooperate.

Today, was a "time" ride. I had gone to my kickboxing boot camp for an hour before the ride, and then decided that a two hour cycle-fest would be fair. Considering I will probably be in the saddle for about 6-7 hours when I do the ride, it's not even a third of what is coming for me in just a few weeks. The short of this story is that I was amazed at how badly I struggled with this ride. At about 45 minutes into the ride, my hands began going numb and my wrists were aching. While I did end up finishing the time (though I had to stop a couple of times for a few minutes just to stretch), I am beginning to doubt myself and my ability to actually carry through with this goal.

I've started to ask, "What is motivating me to do this ride?" I'm asking this question because I fear that on the day of the ride, I will simply want to give up when it gets tough and call it a day. It's difficult to be in pain and keep moving forward. I know I'll have to decide if it's pain I can live through, or if it's the kind of pain where I really should stop before I get hurt even worse. While I try to figure out the answer to my own question, I continue to train, and hopefully, the motivation will find me before the day of the ride.