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.

The Climb

Over the weekend, Sam and I participated with a team as part of a stair climbing event. The rules were simple: In one hour, climb the 50-something flights of stairs (in the tallest building in the region) as many times as possible. Although we were part of a team, our results would be individual. Our team, comprised of a group of several friends and a couple of new acquaintances, did an amazing job (with the exception of myself). Among our group, we had a 3rd and 6th place overall finisher, and a 3rd, 6th, and 8th place finishing spot for the females as well.

I had known this event was coming for several months. As I recall, we signed up back in late November or early December when I was somehow convinced that it would be a good idea for me to do this event. Truly, I think the team wanted Sam, and I knew the way to get him on board was to sign myself up, whether I was capable or not. I have definitely had time to train, but the problem has been that as soon as I seemed to be getting some relief from one injury, I'd fall victim to yet another and it continued to slow me down.

Never once did I actually climb a set of stairs in preparation for this event. It's not something I'm proud of, but in some ways, it may have helped me mentally because I had no idea what I was in for on event day. I did crank up the incline on the treadmill, used the elliptical at the gym, and when weather permitted, rode my bike. However, none of these were proper preparation for this type of event, as I quickly became aware of what I was in for at about the 5th flight of stairs.

On my way up, I knew I would be slow. We'll leave out the fact that I carry more weight than probably any other climber. But even excluding that fact, not only had I not trained on stairs, but I have multiple injuries that keep me from any sort of speedy pace with this type of event.

We had been instructed at the start to move to the outside wall if faster climbers were approaching. Having people pass in this manner felt a bit awkward to me; so instead, I would speed up to get to the next landing, and wait as a climber (or climbers) passed. Then, I'd carry on.

Reaching the top of the climb on the first pass, I had asked someone for the time. When I realized how long it had taken me to get up the first try, I knew I had no chance of getting to the top a second round within the time permitted. Still, I rode the elevator to the bottom with other participants, and started up again.

No matter, I thought. I can always get on the elevator at some point along the way and come back down. I couldn't see a reason to not keep going until time was up. What I hadn't realized in that moment is that getting on the elevator at any level wasn't a possibility, and that in order to get out I'd either be climbing to the top, or would need to walk back down the stairs to the main floor, the latter of which wasn't a possibility because another group would be starting a single-ascent challenge as we were wrapping up.

As I climbed, I continued to stop at each landing to allow faster people to get by with ease. When people were no longer coming up from behind, I realized time must be up. A bit of disappointment set in. I started to contemplate my decision to continuously stop to allow others to pass me and realized that had I not done so, I likely would've made the second trip in the allotted amount of time.

Still, I continued to move upward. It gave me time to think, and what choice did I really have anyway? Speed hasn't ever been my strong suit, but never was that more obvious to me than in this challenge as climbers continued to lap me (repeatedly). I have always been able to endure distance, but time is the factor that inevitably gets me. Had I been given unlimited -or even significantly more- time, I would've continued to climb the stairs and probably would have completed several more rounds. But, that was not a possibility on this day.

It would be easy to say that I just shouldn't or won't participate in timed events, but I think there is a benefit to doing these sorts of challenges - even knowing that I may very well be last.

First, it is still a marker of achievement, even if it is comparably much slower to others. Just because someone is slow, it doesn't mean s/he cannot get better, nor that s/he shouldn't attempt new endeavors. We all start somewhere and when the only place to go is up for improvement, it's actually a bit more motivating - at least to me - to keep pushing forward.

It is also an excellent reminder that I have my own strengths. I am not the fastest, nor even fast, but I have the ability to keep going. My endurance (and stubbornness, at times) can be a valuable tool. It may not get me to the finish line first, but I know that I can complete what I start - given that I'm in the right state of mind.

Additionally, I know how to pace myself. Several individuals passed me who looked ready to collapse (In fact, one of our own teammates had to get oxygen at the end of the climb from pushing a little too hard), and others were grunting and groaning in pain as they struggled to get up one last time. I was breathing hard too, but oddly, despite all of my injuries, the only thing hurting was one of my pre-event injured feet. I know that for me, as long as I keep moving, I can get to any point I desire.

This event was a good winter time challenge for me, and a nice break from the significant amount of upper body training I've done over the last few months. It's also a good reminder as we move into cycling season that there is always work to be done, no matter where a person starts. I don't know what bicycle adventures are in store this year, but I know my strengths and the areas that always need work. Even more importantly, I am slowly becoming aware that it's okay that we each have different abilities. It makes the world an interesting place to live - and even to compete in.

My point, more so than any other, is not one in which I'm trying to make myself feel better for being slow (it's never fun to be the slow one), but rather that I have come to accept that people are different. Pulling on each others' strengths, rather than making each other feel bad, seems to bring out the best in all. No one made me feel guilty or as though I wasn't pulling my weight during or after the climb. When my teammates (and even strangers) passed me up the stairs, I tried each time to take a moment to encourage them because they were each doing the best they could.

Part of being on a team means that we take the good with the bad. We must accept that not everyone may have trained as rigorously or that someone may be injured or ill on event day. In the case of this challenge, it was of no consequence if we all stayed together and my turtle-like speed wouldn't affect anyone else's outcome, but it was great to see others I know doing well and it was good motivation to continue to work toward healing.

Have you done any challenges that took you out of your comfort zone? Did it push you to do other events outside of those you previously thought possible, or did you find it better to stick with the things you enjoy or do well?

100 Miles of Nowhere: Giving Within Giving

If you are a fan of the Fat Cyclist blog, you may be aware that Elden has an annual event during which he encourages members of "Team Fatty" to sign up for a 100 Miles of Nowhere ride.

The event takes place in individual participants cities (which is the best part - no place to travel other than out your own front door). The purpose of the event is to raise money for Camp Kesem which provides youth who have a parent affected by cancer an opportunity to have a break from everything. It's an important organization to him because his family and his children have been affected by cancer.

Fatty's t-shirt for 100 Miles of Nowhere participants
*Image here

As I was reading his post this year, something stirred inside of me. I don't normally participate in this event because it takes place late in the year and I'm always certain that the ground will be covered in snow. In reality, the event can happen on any day, so it's honestly a pretty flimsy excuse, but it's worked for me thus far.

I'm also generally ill-equipped physically to cover 100 miles on a bicycle, making the idea of committing to this ride something of a challenge. Perhaps this excuse is less insubstantial, but frankly it's still not a great reason, particularly as the money is going to a good cause whether I complete the distance or not.

The last several months there has been a lot going on in the world. I have felt like I need to do something - something for myself and to help the world in some small way. I've had my own challenges with riding this year and have covered about 1/10 the distance I'd normally cover in the summer months (maybe less).

I've also been dealing with injuries that have provided ample time for me to whine about my inability to actually do much.

It's made for a difficult riding season and has frustrated me beyond belief. The longest distance I've traveled in one stint throughout 2015 was just under 40 miles... and that was back at Easter when Sam and I rode to Boulder to see what sort of stores might be open. Not exactly my most glorious year.

When registration came up for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, I thought maybe it would be an opportunity for me to get in a longer ride. One of the best parts is that the day could be of my choosing.

Still, I hesitated. I'm in no way prepared physically to take on this challenge by any means.

Then I wrestled internally with my lack of community involvement this year and the reality that I've not done much to help myself or anyone else. I do think it's important to give to our home area as well as to give to those afar who we may never actually meet in person. So, perhaps I could turn this 100 MoN into something mutually beneficial?

That got my wheels turning - the mental ones anyway.

"What if I did my own 100 Miles of Nowhere?" I said to Sam one night as he was trying desperately to go to sleep. "I mean, it wouldn't be nearly as grand or get the donations that Fatty's event will, but it could be an opportunity to involve our friends and community and hopefully get a little help for an organization here in town that would benefit." Sam nodded along, probably because he just wanted me to be quiet so he could go to sleep.

But, the idea was now rolling. I just needed to pick an organization (because there are many locally) that we'd want to help a bit this year. Plus, we'd have to figure out a route that went, well, nowhere.

Part of the 100 MoN is that it has no real destination. It's just a short path that the participant repeats over and over (and likely over) again. I didn't have a firm grasp on a route quite yet, but I had an idea of the organization I'd like to help locally.

The organization I want to help in some small way is the OUR Center. We have donated items to the center in the past, but I know that they do a lot of good locally in many forms. Some of the resources and assistance they provide to people in our city and the surrounding communities are:

- Temporary family shelter or housing assistance
- Rent/Utilities assistance
- Healthcare expenses assistance
- Local transportation
- Daily hot meals
- Groceries
- Clothing
- Child Care

I know that a large portion (larger than many non-profits) goes directly to client services and assistance, which is great because donations are getting to those who really need the help.

It is also an organization that speaks to me personally. As someone who in the past has lived without a home and food, if I can do a small bit to help someone else in a similar situation, why wouldn't I?

Rendering of the future OUR Center
*Image here

The OUR Center is in the midst of a huge building project. Their services are spread out over the area and a centralized, much larger facility is currently being constructed near the center of the city to offer services in one location. Not only do they need financial assistance to build this center, but also to continue to provide the services throughout our community.

After making the decision to attempt a fundraiser to help out the OUR Center, I also decided to sign Sam and me up for Fatty's 100 MoN, so it would be a kind of double benefit. Fatty gets our support for an organization he likes to help and hopefully we can help an organization locally that is important as well. Sounds like a win-win, I thought.

But, here is where I need some help from you. The point of this (other than challenging my body to do something it is absolutely, in no way prepared to do) is to help out a local organization, and this is where you come in.

You can help in two ways:

1) I would love it if you would take a moment to donate - in any amount - to the OUR Center. You don't need to send a check. You can make donations directly via their website here in any amount.

If you can spare $1, that is outstanding. If you can skip one morning coffee and donate that amount, I would be ecstatic. If you are able to give more, I would do (internal) somersaults (let's face it, there's no way I'm doing any flips, especially with current physical restrictions).

2) If you would be so kind to help spread the word to others, that will only help build the base of request number 1 above, and will aid in getting more to this organization.

Now, I know how things like this go. We see a request and think either that our one measly dollar isn't going to do anything to benefit anyone, or believe that enough others are giving that we don't need to. I have to tell you though, those one dollar donations add up.

Imagine if every person who saw this post donated just $1. One dollar. It doesn't sound like it would do much on its own, but imagine if 200 people donated that dollar, or 500 people or 1,000 people. What if they all gave $2? Then, imagine that each of those people asked just one other person to donate $1. What a great gift we could give to a resource always in need of help!

Please, don't ignore this request or think that your donation won't help. Every single amount will allow the OUR Center to offer just a bit more to those in need.

I very, very rarely ask for financial resources from those who read here, but I'm asking today that you take a moment, go to the donation page here and give an amount that won't put you into financial hardship. It will definitely help those in need.

Some information about the donation page...

The page allows you to specify where you'd like the funds to go within the organization. If you're particular, pick one of the categories, otherwise you can choose to allow the OUR Center to select where the funds are best put to use.

There is also a section down the page that allows donations to be left in memory or honor of someone. If you have a person in your life that you'd like to donate in memory of, please feel free to put in his/her name. If you don't, simply type in Endless Velo Love or G.E. of Endless Velo Love in the name box.

Whichever you choose, please also send me an email after your donation (endless velo love AT gmail.com - take out the spaces and replace "at" with the symbol) with the amount you've donated so that I can keep a running tally of our cumulative donations (I'm also trying to get a local company - or companies - to sponsor dollar for dollar donations, so this will help provide a total of these dollars).

Remember: No amount is too small.

If you'd prefer I not use your name in any posts or social media, just let me know in the email and I promise not to do so... however, I wouldn't use identifying info beyond a first name (and perhaps a city or state) or a nickname/screen name, so there shouldn't be too much concern for anyone.

My plan is to ultimately share the total amount raised with all of you so that you know just how much good a little bit of giving can do.

I'm also debating a giveaway for those who donate. I have a few (bicycle-related) leftover items from holiday time giveaways last year. I was also pondering pulling a randomly drawn name from the list of those who donate. The winner would receive a small portrait painting (completed by yours truly) of a pet, friend or family member. Let me know what you think about this idea and what you'd have interest in potentially winning.

As for the date and route for the 100 MoN, that information will be forthcoming. I know the route will probably be a relatively short distance that gets repeated until we reach (hopefully) 100 miles, but we've yet to actually settle on a route, so that may change. The ride will all be completed within a single day (most likely sometime in mid-October - which means I don't have time to train - Argh)... which also means Sam may be dragging me with his bike by a rope by the time we've covered any kind of distance. I'm glad at least one of us is physically prepared to take this on.

As always, thank you for reading here, and please help by donating whatever amount you can and by spreading the word. Remember, your donations are tax-deductible and will be greatly appreciated!

To Venus or not to Venus (de Miles, that is)

In the weeks leading up to the Venus de Miles ride, I was swearing up and down that I was absolutely not going to do the ride. I say this every year and still end up riding, but things have been different this year. I genuinely just couldn't see myself completing it.

Friends, acquaintances and family kept asking about my participating, and I continued to reply with the same, somewhat canned response. I haven't ridden enough this year to do VdM. I didn't want to do VdM. My injuries are such that it would take me far too long to complete the distance I would want to do.

A week before the ride, I was making the exact same statements. Sam was laughing at me stating that he knew I'd be riding it, regardless of what I was saying, but I continued to reassure him that I wasn't going to do the event this year. At this point, I was pretty sure I had him convinced because I myself was certain that I wasn't riding.

I had absolutely no plans to do Venus de Miles. I've ridden every year for the last 6 years and there was no reason in my mind to do it again this year. The ride gets larger and women seem to get crankier with each year that passes, so I just didn't want to put myself through it. I'm in no way in physical shape to complete this ride anyway - short or long distance.

Then, two days before the ride, I started questioning the decision. I went on a ride to clear my head and to really ask myself some questions. 1) Why would I want to do the ride or conversely, why was I avoiding the ride? 2) If I did participate, what distance would I be willing to attempt? and finally 3) What bike would I ride for something happening in less than 48 hours?

*Image found here

As I rode, I questioned everything. I knew I didn't need to ride Venus, but at the same time, I've also been whining about not having any events this year. My body is not conditioned to do anything more than about 15 miles though, and my bikes are a headache all their own at the moment. Even the bike I was riding was clicking and crackling and making all sorts of noises it shouldn't be making. Why would I want to put myself through this?

I continued to debate even after I finished my ride. I went home and read, pondered and tried to come up with a reason to do VdM - or not. Either way, I just wanted a real, definite decision and with little time left to make that last minute decision, I had to choose quickly.

There were honestly more reasons not to ride than there were to complete it. I looked at the shortest distance (which is only a tad over 30mi/48km) and thought that if I stretched, on a good day, perhaps this one would be doable. While my head wanted desperately to ride, at minimum, the metric century, I thought it foolish to attempt such a thing.

Still, not one bike was really screaming at me to be the one to complete this ride. While any of the bikes could handle any of the distances, I wasn't sure my body felt the same. It's amazing what lack of training does to a body.

I had been waiting for a new set of handlebars to try on one of the bikes and for some reason there had been delay in the shipment. When I looked at the expected arrival date, they were scheduled to land the day of the ride. The problem was, the bike best suited to get me more easily and quickly through the ride was the one waiting for these handlebars.

In truth, the handlebars I'd been using were causing a significant amount of hand pain even on short distance rides, so I wasn't sure I'd make it through without a lot of discomfort. Besides, I still wasn't certain that I even wanted to do VdM, so perhaps I should just let it go.

As I continued to debate back and forth, I made a deal with myself. If the handlebars arrived as scheduled the day of the ride, I would choose to forego it this year. If by some shipping miracle they arrived before, I'd go ahead with the shortest distance ride.

I was happy with that decision because I knew it pretty well took me out of any possibility of riding VdM this year. I breathed a sigh of relief and went on with life.

But, as the bike gods would have it, things wouldn't be that easy. The handlebars arrived the day before VdM, causing me to internally roll eyes at myself for making such a deal. Of course the bars arrived early - why wouldn't they?

It's not as though anyone was aware of the deal I'd made though. If I wanted to back out, no one would be the wiser. I thought on this possibility for a bit, but then decided that there must be a reason I was supposed to ride.

*from Venus de Miles

Reluctantly, I signed myself up to ride. Less than 24 hours before the start, mind you.

I did not tell a soul, not even Sam.

Unlike past years when I've felt physically prepared/comfortable with whatever distance I'd selected to travel, this year I was actually concerned that I wouldn't be able to ride the really rather short distance. Self-doubt is a huge potential pitfall to a person who hasn't covered typical riding distances.

Part of me was aware that the length of the ride really wasn't long and that I had in fact covered this distance earlier in the year (though it has been many months now). The other part of me kept screaming FOOL - You are a fool! Why would you do this?!

I'm pretty sure the latter voice was the one winning out, but I tried to keep my composure.

As is tradition for my VdM rides, I would be on a bike that is not only relatively new to the fold, but was also undergoing last minute changes that I wouldn't be able to thoroughly test prior to the ride.

Figures, I thought to myself. It wouldn't be VdM if there wasn't some kind of concern about the bike.

The night before the ride, I barely slept. If I had 3 hours of actual sleep, I'd call that generous. I just couldn't fall asleep and then woke up just a couple of hours later, unable to drift off again. I was exhausted, but just couldn't seem to get back to sleep. By the time 6a rolled around, I gave up and just got out of bed.

I was trying to act casually and pretend that it was just any other day. I fed the dogs, ate some oatmeal, and started to prepare water bottles.

Sam and I have had a tradition on Saturday mornings since my back therapy/recovery began a couple of months ago. Prior to the back issues, we would get up early and ride to kickboxing together, but because I've been unable to attend class (doc's orders), I ride Sam part of the way and then split off to do a ride on my own while he's in class.

I don't get to ride for long because class is less than an hour, but it's enough time for me to feel that I'm doing something, rather than vegging out on a sofa becoming a giant lump of mush. Afterward, we meet up at the end of class and head home.

I was doing my best to make this VdM ride as low-key as possible. Nothing in me wanted this ride to be a big deal, so I still hadn't let Sam know what was happening. Instead, I told him that I was going to go on a longer ride and that he shouldn't wait for me after class. I told him I'd meet up at home at some point, and he seemed to be accepting of my desire to ride a bit longer than usual without questions.

In the meantime, I knew that I would have about an hour to wait for start time. Initially, I'd thought I would do a short warm up ride, but I was well aware that with my lack of training this year, too long of a warm up would probably take me out of this ride before the end. So, instead I headed over to the start line.

When I arrived, the last of the metric century route riders were just taking off. I went to pick up my bib number and decided to get into the corral because I could place myself toward the front of the line, rather than getting stuck behind a bunch of people who inevitably have problems at the start.

As I stood there, I realized that in some ways it was a little sad not to have Sam there with me. It's sort of a tradition for him to ride me to the start and he usually shows up at some point along the route to make sure I'm okay. On this particular day though, I was kind of glad to know that I was just going on a ride and that it wasn't an "event."

The start line seemed a little down too. There were a handful of women standing in front of me, but most of the organizers and event crew had wandered away, likely because the next wave at the start line wouldn't be for another 50 minutes or so.

As I stood for a few minutes, I kept thinking about how long I had until the start and then suddenly it occurred to me, why not just leave now and get a head start? Now, I realize that this isn't exactly what the organizers want. They want everyone to wait for their wave to begin, mostly, I'm sure, because course marshals and rest stops aren't yet set up; however, I knew exactly where I was going and I knew I wouldn't require any rest stop aid. In the blink of an eye, I made the decision to just roll out on my own.

Part of my reasoning for wanting to leave before everything got started was that I know that the first several miles are climbing and I just didn't want to be surrounded by people as I huffed and puffed my way up what most would cover with ease.

The initial ascent is a mild grade and wasn't so bad, but just when riders think they're through it, the climbing gets worse. Granted, had I done any real climbing at all this year, I probably wouldn't have had so much anxiety about this portion of the route, but knowing that my back is not in the condition to power through much and the fact that even on my longest rides I hadn't climbed more than a total of a few hundred feet, I was concerned.

While riding up one of the less-steep portions of the start, I thought perhaps I should just turn around and head home. I was feeling quite weak between lack of sleep and no training, and I knew that steeper grades were in store for this ride. Because I hadn't really answered my own questions about why I was doing this ride, the simplest solution seemed to be to turn around. But, I didn't.

My path headed up continued as I talked myself through very short sections. Just get to that signal up there, I'd say in my head, or make it to the top of that next little peak. As the route turned, I continued to climb. Looking down at the Garmin, the grade also continued to get steeper and I started to think that I may have to get off and walk the bike. I was determined though to keep pedaling.

It was early in the ride and I was already fatiguing. See, this is why you shouldn't have signed up, I couldn't help but tell myself. I was trying to spin, but even spinning felt like a grind up the small hills. I tried to look at the positives, such as the fact that it was still cool-ish out and if I'd been at the start line waiting, I wouldn't have even begun yet.

Next came the gnats. To me, there is nothing worse than these annoying little insects buzzing about my nose and mouth when I can barely breathe as it is. I yelled, aloud, to the flying creatures and asked them to please just let me be, but it was as though they didn't understand a word coming out of my mouth and continued to fly about my face and head. I tried getting more stern with my request, but nothing seemed to help.

Eventually, they let me be, though unfortunately it wasn't until the top of the worst of the climbing.

As I reached the peak of this portion of the route, I reminded myself that I was through the steepest of the ride. It didn't seem to be of much comfort though because I knew I'd be turning and climbing (although not as steep) yet again.

While I was trying to enjoy a small amount of downhill reprieve, a man out riding the local roads came flying past me. I was riding the brakes because I know there's a traffic signal at the bottom of the descent and was shocked to see someone barreling down, seemingly prepared to rip right through the light.

The rider did stop at the signal, thankfully. I caught him just as the light was turning green and couldn't help but ask, "Doesn't it terrify you to come tearing down that hill?" to which he simply replied, "Well, I guess after 20 years of riding, it doesn't really faze me." Fair enough, I thought. He asked about the route and where he could avoid event riders and I attempted to help, although I wasn't entirely sure I was certain where each of the routes were headed.

A long stretch of the next portion is kind of a blur to me. You know that feeling when you haven't slept and you feel as though you aren't entirely in your body? That was pretty much where I was for a good chunk of this ride. I was grateful to be heading into more flat land territory (or at least flat-ish land) and I was starting to see more event riders now.

I cannot express how nice it was to see some people again. Other than the man who had passed me on the down hill, I had spotted only a small handful of riders, spaced out periodically through the route.

Now we were actually riding through town with cars, walkers, joggers and city cyclists on their way to whatever they had planned for the day. It was a bit surreal to have gone from lone roads to quite populated streets. Even though I know the area well, it was as though I had fallen asleep and suddenly woke up, surrounded by people.

In reality, my body was not doing well. It didn't help that participants were doing things like passing without a word or passing on the right (even worse, I thought). I was shaking my head and muttering to myself, wondering why it is so difficult for people to let another cyclist know when they are approaching/passing. But, I knew I just had to let it go.

One of the things I like least about this particular ride is that many of the women seem to view it as a race. When I first started riding VdM several years ago, the pull to me was that it was supposed to be a time of sisterhood bonding, a time for chatting as we ride, meeting new people, and riding at a pace that allows for extended conversation. Instead, more often than not, participants come by as though they are going to "win" VdM.

There is no time tracking for this ride, so it makes little sense to me. There are no winners or losers, and the only ones who won't finish are those who give up along the way, have a mechanical that can't be dealt with on the road, or who aren't at the finish by 4:30p (which allows 10 hours for the century, 8.5 hours for the metric century, and 7.5 hours for the 30 miler).

In my mind, this event started (and continues to be) a way to raise funds for a good cause and is supposed to be enjoyable. I seem to be in the minority with this thinking though and I sometimes struggle to understand what others are trying to accomplish on the course.

While I understand that people have different paces and will ride faster or slower (which is great!), I really have grown to dislike all that takes place during this ride. Between rude cyclists, bad behavior on the roads, and those who whip by as though their only purpose is to beat everyone else to the end, I just don't find it enjoyable any longer.

There were a few women along the way who were friendly and we had brief conversations. I appreciate them very much, especially on this particular event day because I was struggling to get through even the easiest portions of the route. I think their few words along the way are what helped see me to the end.

When I got home, Sam was waiting at the back door for me. I was a little surprised that he was there waiting, but I'm sure he was concerned about how long I'd been gone, particularly as he knows my rides have been very short lately.

Then in an instant he saw my bib number. "Ah," he started, "Somehow, I knew something was up." I just smiled while he held open the door so I could walk the bike inside.

This year was an interesting mix of emotions and physicality for me. I don't think I've ridden a VdM in the past that had my body feeling so ill-prepared.  Mentally, I struggled much more than I have at any event in the past. I felt soft, broken, incapable even. I was grateful to finish and even more so that I hadn't been foolish enough to attempt a longer distance, but I had also made some realizations by the end - both positive and negative.

I believe I have finally realized that after many years of the same behavior on the roads, it's time for me to bid farewell to this event. I think it's great that so many women continue to ride and participate, but I don't think this is the right choice for me. If I want to ride a race, then I need to find one that is actually a race, and if I just want to ride, then I'll ride.

A renewed appreciation for transportation riding has also made itself known. I realized how much I love just traveling around our city to complete errands, get groceries, visit friends, and so on. While that has never gone away for me, I was reminded that I am at home on a bike just tooling about our city - or even traveling to neighbor cities. I appreciate feeling the wind in my face and watching the seasons - or even the day - change.

Getting my body healed is extremely important. I don't like knowing that what is normally a short distance for me to ride is going to break me. Even as I sit typing today my body is feeling the ramifications of this event. I need to get strong again, and I need to not fear being able to complete even the shortest climbs. But, it's going to take time - and patience with self is not my strongest virtue.

I am grateful to have a partner in life who may think it odd that I wouldn't share that I was participating in this event, but who also understands that sometimes I just don't need or want the fanfare that can come along with formal declarations of intent.

There is a part of me that is disappointed that I didn't (and likely won't) get to participate in a short touring ride this year. I think that these are the sort of long distance endeavors that I would like to complete in the future though. I have a feeling that being able to just go and see places I don't see every day would be a great possibility for me.

Ultimately, I am happy that I was able to ride Venus de Miles, and I'm glad that I was able to cover the distance without any catastrophic issues. I think more than anything I am grateful for the time to be alone with my thoughts and to sort some things out. VdM may not be in my future plans, but it's been an interesting partner each of the last six years, allowing me to learn something about myself each time I have ridden. For that, I am quite thankful.

L'Eroica Event

I am likely one of the least-aware people when it comes to upcoming riding events. Generally when I find out about an organized ride of any sort, it is purely by accident (or because I happen to live close to the starting line). So, it wasn't all that surprising to discover that there is a new event taking place not far from where I grew up - and in just over a weeks time.

*Image found here

A new Eroica event (or perhaps I should say events) is starting in 2015 and taking place in cities across the world. From Spain to Japan there are several rides (in a handful of cities) taking place over the coming months.

Someone please correct me if I'm wrong, but my understanding of these type of events is that they are an opportunity to bring old into the new. I picture riders of all ages and backgrounds coming together to ride vintage bicycles on rolling hill routes similar to those in Tuscany. The events upcoming (or at least the one being held in California) doesn't state that the cyclist must ride a vintage bike, however all riders must ride something that looks "historic" or is in fact vintage, as well as dress in attire of the vintage-bicycle era.

Although I don't currently own any vintage bicycles, I cannot help but want to attend this event. My curiosity is taking over and I'm attempting to figure out a means to travel in less than a week to California to be able to ride what seems to be an interesting route. I think the Hillborne could be classified as a "historic-looking" bicycle to some people, right? Okay, maybe I'm stretching a bit, but in all fairness, it isn't common to see lugged steel sitting in most bike shops these days. Additionally, it doesn't fit the requirement of having vintage drive train equipment, so I think it is very quickly eliminating this as a possibility for me, sadly.

I would expect that there would be many vintage bicycle lovers attending and participating in this ride and I am dying with curiosity to know what sort of bicycles will be ridden. While I don't know that I care for all of the necessities of the ride (see the Regulations section through the above link, if you're curious) and the exclusions, I can still appreciate the desire to bring out some of the beautiful bikes of the past.

In a day in which most bike manufacturers turn to modern materials, I think it's an interesting idea to bring to the front the materials used in the past.

Have you attended and/or ridden in an Eroica ride in the past? What was your experience? Would you want to ride a vintage bicycle on a long, rolling hill route, or are you happy to have your modern bicycle along with its modern components?

Riding in the Rain

The weather we have experienced locally in recent days and weeks is absolutely entertaining to me. Just when I believe I have the patterns figured out, the experiences of past seem to take a turn. The only term I can come up with to describe our weather at the moment is very Seattle-like. Seattle residents may completely disagree and having only been to the airport in their city, I am probably not a good judge of such things. However, I continue to use the term because when the day is full of grey skies and random showers, it just seems appropriate.

*Image from National Geographic here

I am aware that some people are simply not "rain people," and I happen to cohabitate with one such individual, so it is interesting to watch as his moods, attitude, thoughts and so on change when we have longer stints of cloud cover and rain (or snow). I have to admit, I am a sunshine person myself, but I really don't mind having a bit of pacific northwest weather either, particularly knowing that our hot season will be approaching soon enough and I fear the extreme heat far more than getting wet or dealing with cloudy skies.

There was an exhibit opening at our museum this past Friday evening that happened to also coincide with the beginning of the Art in Public Places "Shock Art" opening, in which the public is invited to come and see local artists' ideas for painting the switchgear boxes around town. [Side note: If you are a local, please do take the time to stop by the museum at 400 Quail Road - next to the Rec Center - and vote for your favorites. They will be on display until noon on June 11.]  After a long day of running around, I wasn't entirely certain Sam would want to ride, but when I inquired, he seemed ready and willing, so we proceeded as planned. The weather had been much as described above, but I had no idea the torrential downpour that would begin as we arrived at the museum.

It started with a rumble and I asked, "Is that thunder?" It was difficult to make out the sound as there were many people wandering through the museum and I just wasn't sure what I was hearing. As we meandered by the floor to ceiling glass to the courtyard, we could see tremendous amounts of rain gushing from the rooftop. "Wow!" I said. "What is going on?" I really was perplexed, although I should not have been. I should know to check the weather a little more carefully, but we watched for several minutes as the downpour continued. The drops were absolutely massive and after our flooding at the end of last summer, I think many locals have a small amount of panic when that much liquid begins to come out of the sky.

Normally, if I'm anticipating this sort of weather, I have the appropriate gear to get where I need to without becoming soaked through; however, this was not one of those days. Cotton summer dress and light wool sweater was all that I had on me. Sam was no better and was lacking the extra layer of the sweater I had at least managed to grab on the way out the door. We waited until things had lightened a bit and decided that we didn't want to take the chance it would get even worse, so we headed out. Standing under the cover of the front entrance, we stared at our soaked bicycles. "Well, we are getting wet whether we like it or not, so we might as well just go," was the only thing I could think to say. A few departing individuals wished us luck as we made our break for it. All we could do was wave and laugh at our ill-preparedness. Thankfully (at least if we go the more direct route we took home), we don't live far from the museum.

What caught my attention specifically about this ride was that I was grinning ear-to-ear the entire ride home. I couldn't help myself. First, I found it amusing that the short time we'd ventured out had brought such an extreme shift in the weather; but beyond that, I was actually enjoying myself. I love splashing in puddles and getting to feel the water pouring down - whether walking or riding. When I looked ahead at Sam, I could see he was absolutely miserable. He was upset with a vehicle that had splashed him as they drove by, and I knew that all he wanted was to be home. At one point, I had to stop to wait for traffic to clear because there was a closed portion of the path that I couldn't get by without entering the main motorized traffic area. By the time I caught up to Sam, I knew he wasn't happy. I know that I have fenders on my bike (and he does not) which helps keep the splash of water beneath away from my body, but I honestly wouldn't have cared either way. It was simply comical and fun to be "stuck" in this rain. I did feel badly though that he wasn't enjoying it as much as I was at this point. Ultimately though, I understand it just really isn't his sort of weather.

Slowly, we are arriving at more typical weather (meaning sunshine until some point in the afternoon, and then a quick downpour of rain), but I'm finding myself wanting to actually go for a ride as the storming begins, and I can't help but wonder what is wrong with me? I suppose I am simply wanting to enjoy something that I know will be a rarity in the coming weeks and months, and in part, it feels like I'm getting to relive a bit of childhood - splashing and playing - for a small snippet of time.

Denver's VeloSwap

For years we've talked about checking out the Denver VeloSwap and it just hasn't happened. This year, we decided to finally stop in and see what the excitement is all about. Frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect, but it almost immediately took on the feel of a trip to a large-scale flea market and the Las Vegas strip all at the same time - except that it revolved around bicycles instead of mass amounts of drinking and gambling. We've heard lots of good and bad stories about this event, so it really could have gone either way.

If I were a better blogger (which we know I'm not), when I attend such things I would be smart enough to remember my camera, but that just doesn't seem to happen. Someday, I hope to just have a camera embedded in my forehead and then I won't have to remember anything (unless of course our heads become removable, in which case, what my father used to tell me - that I "would forget my head if it wasn't permanently attached" - will become all too real). I did snap a few camera phone pictures, but they aren't of the quality nor number that can accurately convey what this event is, so I will share a few of those, but also direct you to the album on VeloSwap's Facebook page to get a better sense of what it's all about.

When first entering the swap, the giant, green bike above welcomes everyone to the event. It was rather amusing to watch people stop to take photos with it, and I have to admit, we did the exact same thing. Part of me really wanted to climb up on it and sit on the saddle, but somehow I don't think I would've made it very far before being thrown out of the building. I do try to behave in public, but sometimes things like this just call to me and it's very difficult to restrain myself. However, we moved on quickly before I acted on my childish desires.

The front part of the complex consisted mostly of newer items or products that consumers could try out. There were also a few bicycle-related art booths in this area, as well as bicycles and other parts being sold, but perhaps one of my favorite stops for the day was Green Guru. The company's products are made here in Boulder, Colorado, but to see them working at a live event was truly fascinating.

The sign above informed visitors that they could make their own upcycled wallet, and there were definitely people trying this out. The person would pick out the materials to be used and then hop on a stationary bicycle and start pedaling. The pedaling then powered the battery being used to operate the sewing machine that brought together the wallet for the individual.

I chatted briefly with this young woman who was (as you can see) really excited about this process. The company uses old tubes, wetsuits, banners, and PET recycled plastic bottles to create products that can be used for outdoor activities such as messenger bags, panniers, pant leg/ankle straps and saddlebags. They also make accessories like the wallets being made during the event, drink can cozies, zipper pulls and laptop sleeves.  I love that they even have places throughout the U.S. where people can donate items to be upcycled into their products.

Their table and booth were full of items to check out. While the items aren't necessarily the most colorful because of the materials being used, its such a great way to use something that would otherwise likely end up in a landfill.

Moving through the event, we quickly realized just how many people were present and how difficult it would be to maneuver through the crowd. It's always challenging for me in these types of situations because I find that people are so focused on what they are looking to find that they will trample anyone in his/her way. This became less of an issue as the day wore on and people filtered out, but as I would learn later, it seems that arriving early is really the way to go if one is looking for specific items. By the time we arrived (about an hour and a half into the event), many of the items I would've been interested in purchasing were long gone. I was later informed that there were also boxes of new pedals, as well as strap-on LED lights from Knog and Bookman priced extremely well that had all vanished by the time we were in the building.

The crowd was thinning at this point as we neared mid-afternoon

The day was not a waste, however. There were a plethora of bike parts to be found for those looking to start a project or missing that last item to complete a build. Prices seemed to vary from booth to booth, but the bargains were there to be found. Bicycles and frames were abundant... although finding the "right" one could be more challenging depending on what a person was seeking. It also didn't appear to be a great place to find many parts for those in search of classic bike paraphernalia. There were a few exceptions, but as a whole, the event seemed to cater to those looking for complete bikes, frames and parts from the more modern era, and specifically geared for road and mountain bikes. For example, I was attempting to find a 700c wheelset with an internally geared hub for a build project that's been sitting about for a long time, and it was likely not going to happen at this event. Regardless, there was plenty to be discovered and lots of things to muse about while milling around the complex. Toward the rear of the building we discovered some fun, older bicycles as well (where I may or may not have purchased a 70's Schwinn, and may or may not have drooled on some beautifully restored 40's- and 50's-era cruisers), so there was a bit for every taste and desire, even if the percentages swung to one side of the fence over the other.

All in all, it was an interesting experience and we purchased a couple of odds and ends to have in the spare bike parts drawer. If you happen to live in an area that hosts a VeloSwap, I think it's worth the small entrance fee, if for no other reason than the experience and spectacle of it all. If you attended, I'd love to hear your experience and/or what you thought of the event as a whole.