The Summer of Climbs: Carter Lake

Carter Lake is a destination/ride that locals frequently cycle (and drive to as well for boating, camping, and so on). On one of the regular routes I travel via bike, it is not uncommon to have brief conversations with other cyclists who ask if Carter is where I'm headed. I always shake my head, assuring them that I am not, and we generally part ways at the same location on the road - they go off to do their climb to the lake and I tackle whatever distance I am up to for the day.

It's no secret that I am not a climber. While it's impossible to avoid all of it in this geographic location, I am extremely adept at bypassing areas that require any sort of sustained, difficult climbing. Climbing is just not easy, and often downright difficult, so I find that I would rather enjoy a long ride than put myself through the pain of climbing into the mountains. However, at the end of winter I proclaimed (to no one in particular) that this would be the 'summer of climbs.' I told myself that I would not avoid these sorts of rides and would in fact set out (purposefully even) to do these types of routes. I have no idea who took over my body when I said such things, but I suppose I did actually say them.

Looking south from the marina at Carter Lake

There are a multitude of these types of local rides, but many are currently closed off to cyclists (or at least aren't exactly safe to travel due to the flooding last year). I have regularly talked about starting this summer of climbing, but I've started off very slow this season. I've had some injuries to contend with which have kept my mileage down, and I haven't had the time to do the longer rides that seemed to happen earlier in the season last year.

On Friday evening, Sam informed me that he wanted us to ride together Saturday morning. The idea was not particularly appealing to me in the moment. It's not that I don't want to ride with Sam, but he's had far more miles on the bike, and particularly long distance rides, than I have this year and I wasn't in the mood to have to race to attempt to keep up with him. Even when he's not trying to, he doesn't seem to be able to help himself and before I know it, he will disappear out of sight unless I constantly keep tabs on him. We've worked on resolving this by having me ride in front; however, this option gives me anxiety because I often hear him coasting behind me which, frankly, makes me feel like crap because I can't maintain the speed he would like to travel. It is simply easier for me to ride by myself and for him to go with a group who is happy to have someone to race against.

I never really committed to a ride on Saturday, and as morning came about, I was even less enthused about the idea of riding together. Sam mentioned briefly the idea of going up to Carter Lake, and truly this was about the last thing I wanted to do. I was in a lot of pain and exhausted as I hadn't slept but a couple of hours. I knew he expected to go though, so I begrudgingly got dressed, filled a couple of water bottles, and went outside to meet him.

As we started out, I knew I was in trouble only half a mile in to the ride. I already felt like crying, which is never a good sign. I felt weak and drained. I simply didn't want to be on a bike - at least not like this. A couple of miles in, I laid into poor Sam, who, I'm sure wasn't at all surprised by my outburst. I must've been louder than I thought because I recall passing some cyclists who were staring in our direction as I blubbered through my snot and sobs about how this isn't what I wanted to be doing [on a side note, I swear I don't cry on every ride, but I seem to write about it frequently here]. Sam said we could turn around, that we didn't have to do the ride, but that he just wanted us to ride together because we never do anymore. I knew he was right, but I just wasn't at all in the condition to do a ride like this. I kept pedaling though, figuring that I'd just go slow and deal with whatever came my way. After all, how bad could it be? Sam knew I was in no shape to take on something more than 20 or so miles, and surely he must understand that I was in no way ready to climb, so, yeah... just keep pedaling.

*Image from Google Maps

Here's the thing with Carter Lake. I've never actually been there. We've lived here for over 11 years now and I had no idea what to expect. I knew roughly where it is geographically, and I knew there was a decent climb (and not a fun one, from the overheard conversations of others), but I wasn't even aware of the distance to get there. Additionally, I'm currently riding on a road bike that was intended to be a back up. It's not properly equipped with gearing to do climbs on greater than let's say around 5-6% grade - and even those are difficult as I find myself mashing even in the spinning gears to get up fairly mild hills. If I were in better cycling shape at the moment, perhaps it would be a little different, but for the time being, I am not physically where I need (or want) to be.

At this point, we were still in familiar territory for me, but that was about to change quickly as we turned and headed north. It was actually nice to be on a road that I didn't know. Although I could anticipate what might be coming, it wouldn't do me any good. I had to just enjoy the moment and deal with the hills as they came. There were a few rolling hills and then it turned into a steady, gradual climb. "Is this the worst of it?" I asked Sam, as I kept pedaling. He replied with something to the effect of it not being much worse than at that moment. Somehow, I knew he was lying. Maybe it was the hesitation in his voice, or the fact that I had just finished scream-sobbing at him (and I'm sure he didn't want to go through that again), but I knew there was something I should be fearing on the approach. Yes, here is where the Jaws music should be playing.

A few minutes later, Sam says, "That's it. That's where we're going." Mind you, he is behind me, so I don't know if he's pointing or not, so I assume it is the hill in front of us (I'm not very bright people - definitely not bright). "Oh," I say. "That doesn't seem bad at all. I can definitely do that. The one in front of us, right?" For the record, that was not right. Not even a little bit. We turn and head west and at this point I'm still believing that, even though it was a bit tougher to climb, it was still not as bad as I'd imagined. People are passing us, but that's been happening all morning, so we just keep going. We stop a couple of times to adjust a few things, but all in all, I feel okay. My body was tired at the start, but I'm starting to feel a little better now that we're a bit in to the ride. Maybe this won't be as bad as I think, I tell myself. Perhaps I have inflated this in my head to be something it just isn't.

Sam asks me to stop at the ranger station just ahead. I do so, willingly, as I am getting tired from even (what I will soon learn) is the easy part of the climb. As we pull over, Sam points ahead of us. "That's where we are going," he informs me. I am confused, but nod along. Then, suddenly I see a car zig-zagging up a road and realize what I'm being told... that the road I cannot see is where we'll be riding. "So, is that first part I can see the worst of the climb?" I inquire. "I just don't know if I can do anything more than that." From where I was standing, it looked to be a completely vertical line up. Sam tries to reassure me that it is the worst of it, but somehow, I know he is yet again not exactly being truthful... or perhaps he just doesn't remember as it's been a good amount of time since his last ride to Carter. "How far is it exactly?" I ask. Sam points to an electric pole that seems almost invisible it's so far away. "You see that pole? That's the peak of the climb." Ugh, I think, as I watch cyclists who are on the road now. They seem to be in pretty good shape, but they aren't moving all that fast up the hill.

Then Sam begins to speak again, "Look, we don't have to do it. We can turn around right here and go home. I'm not going to tell you that you have to do the climb." Man. I really hate it when he does that to me. He knows that  my stubbornness will always win out over physical limitations. "Really?" I say. "I'm going to come all this way, just to stare at other people riding up there and not do it?" and with that, I started pedaling. I'm not going to lie. I really didn't want to do it. I had been watching a man on a mountain bike climbing up the road and it didn't look like fun, but dammit, I wasn't going to turn around after all of that just to come back another day and try again.

As I pedaled, I kept telling myself that I wasn't in a hurry. Goodness knows there wasn't any way in the world I was going to get up any faster anyway. At the first zig in the zig-zagging road, I stopped. I was having a difficult time breathing and my legs felt like they were going to give out beneath me. A few more cyclists passed by and it seemed effortless for them, which wasn't helping my self-esteem. I got back on the bike and pedaled to the next corner, stopping again - not because I really needed to, but more because I was scared of what appeared to be an even steeper portion of the road (and for the record, it was indeed steeper).

"I don't know if I can ride up that," I said with my voice starting to quiver. I could feel the tears forming but I knew I couldn't cry because then I definitely wouldn't get up the hill if I was choking back tears. It's a horrible feeling to honestly believe that you don't have the physical strength to do something that others are clearly doing (and without all of the stops), but I figured the worst thing that would happen is I'd roll backwards down the hill - which would be scary! So, I decided that image would have to be the strength I'd use to get up the rest of the way. I heard, "Keep going! You're almost there now," from Sam behind me. I know I was frustrating him with the stops up the hill, but it was nice to hear something to keep me moving forward.

I'm used to the rolling hills on the first and middle section, but the last part was more - far more - than I anticipated. Apparently, I have a LONG way to go during my summer of climbing. :O)

And then, we were there. At the top of the climb to the lake. Even though muscles were quivering, I really didn't feel too bad. I could hear my stomach growling though, and I knew that wasn't a good sign. It'd taken far longer than I think either of us anticipated to get to the lake, and I was not at all prepared to be out for more than about an hour and a half or so. "Do they have any sort of food at the marina?" I asked, and the reply was that there should be something there. The items available were not exactly what I needed, but it was something to get me through since I was not aware enough to bring a gel pack or even some type of sports drink with me for the ride.

A (thankfully) cloudy day to Carter Lake.

We chatted for a few minutes about the climb. Sam said he thought I could have made it up in one shot, but understood that it's difficult the first time to know what to expect. I wasn't sure about being able to get up in one run, but thinking back on it now, if I'd had proper gearing on the bike and been in a better state of mind, it was likely doable. He reflected on his first run up the hill and how different it was from his ability today. He talked about the downhill and how it made it all worth while as well. I was actually looking forward to the downhill too and so, we got on our way again.

One of my main issues with climbing (other than the difficulty) is that I have extreme fear of coming down steep hills. A nice 2-5% grade is fabulous - something that I can enjoy, but when it feels as though I am going to fall over the front end of the bike coming down a hill, I scream like a little girl and try desperately to brake the entire distance. Knowing this, I'd have thought Sam would've turned us around and come home the same way we had ventured out, but that isn't what he had planned. Instead, he had us continue on so that we would go farther north and come down the back side of the lake.

Not knowing what was on the other side, and hearing that Sam had enjoyed "going down the back side" on past trips up to the area, I wasn't concerned. I should have known better. As we started down, at first it was okay, but suddenly there was an extreme drop in grade. I was clutching the brake levers for dear life and saying, "I don't like this... I don't like this," pretty much the entire way down. I'm sure I screamed a few times in there as well. Part of me wanted to just let off the brakes and go for it, but even holding them tightly, I was still careening down the hill in the mid-30 mph range. I didn't want to know how fast it would be if I hadn't been braking (but as I'd learn later, my darling Sam said he's easily come down in the mid-40 mph range - yikes!).

The quick drop was more than I was looking for on this ride.

I was informed that the rest of the way home was "pretty much down hill," which was a relief as I could feel the fatigue and hunger setting in. Although I'd been okay at the marina, things were quickly catching up to me and just finding the mental strength to carry on seemed inordinately challenging. We chatted about lunch (always a bad idea when one is hungry and still having to move his/her body), but it certainly wasn't feeling as though we were going down hill. In fact, I would've bet that we were actually traveling up hill. Sam continued to tell me that it was just "a bit more," but in my mind it was going on forever. I pulled to the side of the road. "I just can't do this anymore," I told Sam. "I don't have it in me today." This would happen a few more times over the next half mile, and I was getting extremely frustrated.

The frustration was not with Sam, but with myself. I believed that I was in far better shape last summer at this point in the season, and I knew that I had traveled longer distances, but my body was done. My hands were killing me, my ankles were oddly strained, and I simply didn't have the will to go on. Somehow, I got back on the bike at which point a woman and her cycling mate passed by stating something like, "It's a sneaky little climb here, isn't it - just enough to slow you down," but of course, I almost didn't catch the last part as they were speeding along quite merrily and swiftly. I couldn't help but curse them in my head. They'd done nothing to me, but I was irritated that my body was failing me (or more accurately, that I had failed my body by not training better).

At approximately mile 30-32, my body was done. I pulled off the road, threw my bike down and started walking down the road. "Free bike to whomever wants it," I started yelling at no one. I was crying again, so angry that my body was not cooperating with me. By the time Sam caught up to me (he'd stopped to pick up my bike and roll it back to me), I was ranting uncontrollably. "Why do I even bother? What is the point of this? This is never what I wanted. I just wanted to ride bikes and enjoy it, not be tortured and feel like shit at the end of a ride. I can't even make it home for God's sake. I'm so pathetic that I can't - even - make - it - home!"

I sat down on the side of the road and a couple of passing cyclists asked if I was okay. My back was to them, but I nodded yes and they kept going. Sam sat the bikes down and kneeled beside me. I was sobbing again as I muttered out loud to no one, continuing to bash myself for being so incapable. "This is just sad," I said, "So pathetic." I wish I could explain the amount of pain I was in, but at that moment, I felt worse than I had at the end of my first century ride (for which I was also ill-prepared). My hands hurt so badly that it felt as though I had sharp rods being jammed into my wrist and palms. I was thirsty (because of course my water was gone), it was getting hotter, and I think, more than anything I had convinced myself that I was broken.

Sam and I chatted for a few minutes, sitting on the side of the road and then I said, "I can't make it home. I physically cannot make it home." "Okay," he said, "I'll get home as fast as I can and come back for you in the car." We discussed the route we'd take, but I told him that I'd probably just walk the bike up the road in a few minutes and stop under some shade.

As I watched Sam race off, I felt even worse. Was I really going to just sit there on the side of the road and wait? It sounded appealing - but, not really. I had just climbed something I'd avoided for years now and then I wasn't even going to attempt to keep riding to get home. It just didn't feel right. I picked up my bike and got back on. I told myself that it didn't matter how slow I pedaled because Sam was coming back for me, but I just needed to keep going. If I needed to get off and walk, that was fine, I told myself, but just keep moving forward.

As I rode, I thought about how disappointed I was in myself and how I know that I am capable of doing more, but I also recognized that I need to cut myself a little slack and that sometimes the body just isn't feeling it - and there's not much to be done about it. Before I knew it, I was back in familiar territory. I knew what the rest of the ride home was and somehow, that improved my cadence. I started wondering how far I could get before Sam would be there to pick me up. The speed picked up a bit and I hit a spot that I knew was just a little over 6 miles from home. "Six miles isn't very far," I said to myself and kept right on pedaling.

I was keeping a watchful eye out for Sam, but I still hadn't spotted him, odd as that seemed, so I just kept riding. I pedaled up a few short hills, going as slow as I needed to, I traveled along the highway, grateful for a very slight down hill portion, I pedaled through neighborhoods, by schools and parks, and then as if without warning, I was only a block from home - and just shy of 50 miles, and having climbed more in a single ride than any other ride to date. I smiled and cried as I realized that I had made it home without the need for a rescue. That I had actually completed it - painful as it may have been.

Ride profile - For the record, it seems Sam was right and most of the ride home was fairly down hill - but it definitely didn't feel that way.

As I came over the ridge and looked down to our home, I saw that the car was gone. When I checked my phone, there was a text message from Sam stating that he was on his way 10 minutes prior. I sent a message back stating, "I'm home." A minute later, my phone rang and Sam said, "Where are you?" to which I replied, "I'm home." There was a pause and then he asked in a perplexed voice, "How did you get there?" I replied, "I rode here. How else would I get home?" The phone went silent again. "Uh, okay. I'm on my way back. I'm pretty far out, so it'll be a few minutes."  Later, Sam and I would talk out his confusion - both about how it was that I made it home when I seemed near death, and about how we never spotted each other on the roads.

To this moment, I still don't understand how we never crossed paths, but how I made it home - that, I understand a little easier. Despite the fact that I really did think I was physically done that day, there is something in me that will not give up - no matter what happens or how bad I feel. Whether that's a positive trait or not, I still haven't decided, but I think Sam put it best when he said, "I guess it shouldn't surprise me. It's not the first time you've been 'done' and still made it home... You just got there so fast." In the end, I completed my first Carter Lake climb, and even if it wasn't the prettiest, fastest, or best ride I've completed, I hope it will be the motivation I need to keep climbing this summer - and hopefully, they'll get better down the road as I get stronger and better mentally prepared.

Gettin' Cranky

As a quick note, if you haven't had the opportunity to check out Life on Two Wheels (hint: there's a link to it just over there <---), please check it out. Josie has some amazing stories to share - both about her own riding experiences and interviews with others who bike. She also just put up her interview with me, so if you'd like to read more about how I got into biking or more random thoughts, head on over. I believe it's the first of two posts - because, as anyone who's ever corresponded with me knows, it's tough for me to be brief.

No matter how many rides I take - be they training or simply for transportation - the thoughts that run through my head never cease to amaze me. I can get so lost running from one idea to the next that I often wonder how I wound up pondering a certain topic and have to retrace my steps to figure out what it was I was actually attempting to work out. In many ways, cycling is therapeutic and a means of allowing myself simply to get lost in all of the jumbled thoughts though, so I try not to fight it too much.

Some days there is nothing in particular that I am hoping to work through and I find these the most amusing when it comes to flow of thoughts. I think that allowing myself to just roll with whatever comes to mind is sometimes more interesting, entertaining, and helpful than when I have something specific I hope to resolve. On one ride recently, I experienced one of these days during which I had nothing in particular to work out.


The first thing I notice on rides like these is that I almost always have a song that is running through my head from the start of a ride. There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of rhyme or reason to it, and the songs range in age, genre, and have nothing (generally speaking) to do with anything that's going on in life, but on this particular ride the song He's a Rebel by The Crystals was running through my head. How and why it got tangled in the mass of thoughts running is beyond me. I know the song, but it isn't anything I've heard recently, so the mere fact that it somehow wiggled its way into my consciousness was amusing.

Throughout the ride, as I push to get up a hill, I focus on this song and sing (out loud, sadly for those in ear shot) [Just because he doesn't do what everybody else does, that's no reason why I can't give him all my love...He's always good to me, always treats me tenderly... 'Cause he's not a rebel oh no, no, no, he's not a rebel oh no, no, no to me.] It becomes a sort of focus when all I wanted to do was anything but push up the climbs.

Not the specific bridge I was riding over, but this is a great example of one that appears in need of repair.

Strewn in with this song is a plethora of thoughts. One random string starts with a glance over at the mountains. Snow is still gracing most of the peaks, but much of it has melted and is starting to over run already burgeoning rivers. Just then, I pedal across a bridge and I can't help but wonder about the integrity of this particular bridge after the flooding at the end of the season last year. Many of the bridges are in need of repair and an image of me pedaling as I fall to the ground beneath crosses my mind. I wonder if anyone would ever find my body, or if anyone would even know where to begin to look for me because I am horrible about letting anyone know where I'm headed. Thankfully, this thought leaves quickly and I am already over the bridge.

The thought of flooding brings up the biblical story of Noah and the Ark, and I ponder what it would be like to suddenly see the water rising and have nowhere to go... and to have to hunt down two of every animal and build such a huge boat to keep them all safe. Oh, the smells that would be present on a rig like that!

Just then, I pass some road kill - what I think was once a bunny or perhaps a squirrel - it's difficult to tell at this point as it has lost most of the form that would distinguish it as one over the other. Dead animals on the road always make me a bit queasy, and the only thing that saves me with this particular former animal is that it is so decomposed that there isn't much left. I picture a little bunny family, waiting for mom or dad to return home. I always wonder if the animal was a lone critter, or if a fur-family is out hunting for him/her - and if so, do they ever find their deceased relative? Do they have a little bunny funeral at home, remembering the good times and bad? Do they warn other bunny's about venturing out in the same direction?

At this moment, I question my sanity and focus on the ride again.

[He's a rebel and he'll never ever be any good...]

I realize that my feet are going numb. I think about stopping, but I just want to push through the ride. I've recently switched out pedals (again), which makes me think about all of the awesome people here who comment and offer suggestions. My recent experiment is with a super-wide and grippy platform pedal (I'm sure a post is forthcoming on these specific pedals) that I found on a clearance table at a local bike shop. The width has been great for supporting my foot and keeping it stable, but doesn't seem to have done much to remedy the numb feet. But, my current suspicion is that the numbness has more to do with a pinched nerve in my back than it does with pedals, shoes, and so on.

The thought of all the awesome people who comment here has me trailing off into a variety of subjects. I think about some emails that have been exchanged and wonder about a particular individual who wrote asking about some city bike suggestions. I can't help but wonder if she ever found what she was looking for in a transportation bicycle. I think about how my own thoughts have changed over the years about biking for transportation and the bikes that have been comfortable and convenient for such things.

Suddenly, I hear a whizzing/whirring sound, and assume a cyclist is coming to pass me. Instead, I discover that it's some sort of insect that is traveling beside me in the brush, making an all-too-familiar sound of a TT bike and rider coming up on me. I laugh at how similar the two sounds actually are to each other.

[See the way he walks down the street... watch the way he shuffles his feet]

As I'm pedaling, I realize that a restroom break would be phenomenal at about this moment, but understand that I now find myself in the middle of nothing. There are bushes (sort of), but I believe I can make it through. I ponder an article I read recently about women in India fighting for toilets. Toilets. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live in fear of rape or death because there is no safe place to relieve oneself; to live with men waiting for me to come out into a field so that I'm in a vulnerable position. I wonder how we can be so advanced as a world and still live with so much poverty and injustice.

[Just because he doesn't do what everybody else does...]

I pass a man on the opposite side of the road with the hood of his old van open. I smile as I come up on him. He says good morning. I ask if he is okay or needs to borrow a phone. He responds that he thinks he will be okay and carries on about his business. As I roll just beyond, I ponder turning around for a moment, just to be sure, but decide to keep moving. I wonder how many motorists drove up on this scene and just left him standing there. I know there's nothing I could do for him other than offer a phone call to someone who could help, but it reminds me how grateful I am that most cyclists will ask if I am in need of assistance when I'm stopped on the side of the road - even if I'm just stretching or taking a quick photo.

The man's van reminds me of those I would hear about in the news as a kid. It was all white, and had no windows in the back. I recall the stories about children being abducted in these sorts of vans. I question why I didn't feel uneasy stopping for this particular individual as the circumstances could easily be a setup for trouble (on a lonely road with little traffic, stranger with a van, etc).

I recall similar incidents from my past and the stories shared with others when they ask why I would stop for such a person. One incident in particular comes to mind of a gentleman beside his motorcycle in the heart of Los Angeles traffic. This was before cell phones were as prominent as they are now, but I was in a transition period and had no other means of communication, so I happened to have one. As I looked ahead in traffic, I could see this man on the side of the road. He was covered in tattoos on his neck, face, arms, and pretty much anything exposed, wearing all black, and looking (I'm sure to most) like someone to avoid. As I finally reached him, I pulled off to the side and told him I was on my way to work, but I could offer him a phone to call someone if that would help. The look on his face was priceless and I will never forget it. The relief that swept over him as he said, "Thank you so much. No one would stop. I just need to call my boss to come and get me." I hold on to that memory as a reminder to never judge a book by its cover - and also to trust my instincts.

['Cause he's not just one of the crowd...]

Intuition is a fascinating thing. It's so intangible making it easy not to believe in or trust it. Still, it has allowed me both to experience things that others might not have participated in, and helped me avoid potential disaster. A similar story from my past comes into mind. This time, many years later, but in this version it was a middle-aged, well-dressed woman in a sedan on the side of a highway. I had a similar thought to the motorcycle guy, but as soon as the idea crossed my mind, I got sick. Something didn't sit right with me about the situation. When I would think about it later, it would seem odd that this scene would make me ill-at-ease, but I would be very thankful as I learned that there was a woman on local highways who was pretending to be alone and stranded. When a female would stop, her boyfriend would jump out of the trunk and they would kidnap the person. Whether or not it was the same individual, who knows? But I always mentally juxtapose those two stories and chalk it up to intuition - or if nothing else, good luck.

Before I even realize it, I am drained. Not just getting a little, but I am completely lacking energy. I stop to open an energy shot, thinking it will give me the boost to get home, but deep down, I know it's too late. The rest of the climb home will be slow and I think about various friends on the route back. Maybe someone will just take me home. But, that isn't the way I operate, so I pass their homes one at a time, knowing that I will feel much more accomplished to have finished the ride than to take the easy way out. I have a big hill I'm climbing now, so I go back to singing.

[When he holds my hand, I'm so proud...]

Suddenly, a little chirpy, brown bird appears in front of me on the road. S/he is approximately 10 feet in front of my wheel, and as I approach s/he moves another 10 feet forward. When I get closer, the bird moves another 10 feet or so in front of me. This continues several rounds until I reach the top of the hill, at which point it flies off in another direction. I thank the bird for giving me the motivation and something to chase as I continue pedaling home.

I end up finishing my longest ride of the season thus far, and find myself amused as I briefly relive all the disjointed thoughts that went through my mind on this particular ride. Really, it wasn't much different than any day on a bike though. Riding a bike is always a great way to clear things out - even if I didn't know there was anything that needed clearing. Sometimes, it's just a time to let the random thoughts come. They can be healing in themselves as I reminisce about good times and bad. "Okay," I say aloud to no one, "Let's get this day going." I get to work, humming He's a Rebel, smiling the rest of the day.

Forest for the Trees

There are times when it's challenging for me simply to get out of bed. Thankfully, these tougher days are few and far between, but I've had more than a couple of weeks of those days and I'm finding myself incredibly frustrated. I go to bed at a reasonable hour, wake up early (not too early) and I rise feeling more exhausted than when I went to bed. I know I have been experiencing some stress, but when isn't life at least a little stressful? Everything just seems to be going wrong. It's as though I started off one day having a bad moment, and that moment snowballed into a day, and then multiple days, and now working toward multiple weeks (which is not something I'd like to see happen). I find myself angry about things that I would normally just let pass over without a second thought. I can feel my body wanting to sleep in the middle of the day. My body is involuntarily twitching (my eyes, muscles, etc). Everything I attempt to paint 1) never gets finished, and 2) looks like complete garbage - and since that is my job, well, you can imagine that it's sort of like sitting at a desk in an office for several days (or weeks) and not actually doing anything (it sounds great, but the reality is it's boring and demotivating). The more trouble I have during the day, the worse the next day feels, and I never dig out of this dark hole that has enveloped me.

Even my bike riding has suffered. Typically, I'm excited to get on my bike - whether it's a short trip just to pick up some things at the market or a longer training ride. The excitement is simply not there at the moment. Not only is there no excitement, but I am close to dreading going for rides. I have forced myself to go for a couple shorter training rides and they have not been pleasant. Still, I do go. Then, one particular day last week, I told myself that I was going to go on a ride whether I liked it or not. I could literally feel my eyes closing, wanting desperately just to go to sleep, but I knew I had to get out. If nothing else, I needed a change of scenery.

My self-convincing started with some talk about only needing to go for a few miles. Normally, I say this to myself knowing full well that I just need to get out the door and everything will fall into place. I'll end up riding more miles than I intended, and return home feeling better. On this day, however, I wasn't convinced that a short ride would turn into a long one. I didn't even want to put on appropriate clothing to exit the house, let alone bike-riding attire. Still, I talked myself into putting on some shorts and a jersey and drug myself out the door with a bottle of water and a key. I was almost (but not quite) angry to be heading out for a ride. It was as though I was being scolded and told by a parent that I had to go out; yet, I was fully aware that I was only doing this to myself and no one can make me ride.

I was so unenthused I didn't even do my typical (mildly) obsessive check of the air in my bike tires, patting of my saddlebag to check for the spare tube, and so on. It was almost as though I was willing something to go wrong, simply to be able to return home and have something to complain about - something that would seem more valid than the depression-like symptoms I'd been exhibiting for no real or discernible reason.

As I got out on the road, I could feel myself internally whining. On this particular day I had an appointment scheduled, so I knew I had a very limited time frame. I tried to shake the "poor me" thoughts and told myself that I needed to appreciate it and get in what I could. As I got a couple of miles in, I very slowly passed what appeared to be a bike commuter on his way to work. I could almost sense him pushing on his pedals harder to keep in front of me, but I smiled politely and nodded as I rode by, trying to seem human and not like the roaring, slimy beast I more accurately felt I was on this morning. No reason to take out my frustration on another human, and beyond that he'd done nothing to antagonize me.

In that moment though, something sparked inside of me and a mental game began. Despite the fact that I'm fairly certain the rider turned off the road about 1/4 of a mile after I passed, I was convinced he was right on my tail, and I internally began an imagined game of sorts, stating (in my best Gandalf voice) 'you shall not pass.' And so began the ride that would turn out to be my fastest average ride to date.

Not only was it my fastest average to date, but it was nearly 2 miles per hour faster. How did this happen - and how do I make it happen again? It's not the first time that playing a kind of mental game helped me kick it into gear or to get a faster overall time, but 2 mph is a significant gain for me (okay, it's a significant gain for anyone) - particularly as I am not in personal cycling shape at this point, and as you will recall, I was barely able to get myself out the door for the ride at all.

The strangest part of all is the realization that even this accomplishment did nothing to change my mood. One would think that after such a feat (and it definitely was for me), I would be able to work out of the funk, but instead it felt like any other day and any other ride. A kind of "so what" attitude settled in and it didn't seem anything would shake me from it.

Over the weekend, I headed out with Sam on another would-be ride. Recalling the "victory" I'd experienced earlier in the week, I tried to believe that I would be able to duplicate that ride, but even as we prepared to leave the house, I could feel my body protesting. About a mile and a half down the road, I ran over a patch of glass and got my first flat of the year while riding. I took it as an omen, while Sam reminded me that this is part of riding a bike and it wasn't a big deal. He was right - this is part of riding and I knew it - but I still wasn't happy about continuing on. Everything felt achy, I was dizzy, my hands hurt, my feet were already numb, and I could feel myself giving up. I made it a few more miles before I said, "You're going to have to ride without me. I just don't have it in me today." Not wanting to ride alone, Sam returned home with me, which just made me feel worse because I know he needs to get in training for a ride he'll be racing in next month.

Normally, this would be the point at which there would be something positive or uplifting that would happen or that I would realize, and I wouldn't feel [as] guilty for writing such a gloomy post. That didn't and hasn't happened, however. Instead, I've gone into self-exploration mode and realized that there is something (or several somethings) bothering me and they seem to be adding up. It's partially social media (both its time-sucking capabilities and often lack of usable/useful content), my art (inability to create and/or creating complete rubbish), bicycles (more specifically lack of appropriate riding buddies and/or bike fit - depending on the day), physical location (questioning whether I've found my place in this world), and a slew of other tidbits I could throw in to the mix.

I know that I have a very cyclical sort of personality and that there is an ebb and flow to my emotions, thoughts, and so on. I want to believe that this is simply a down point and life will return to whatever is "normal" soon. Another part of me, however, wants to use this extended low to create change. While I despise feeling this way, I sometimes find that my greatest improvements, modifications, and growth happen during these times. I find myself wanting to build a tiny traveling house and roam this country. I want to throw off the shackles of living the way most of us are trained/brought up to live and simply see what happens. I imagine us selling off nearly everything and taking the dogs and a couple of bikes to just see what's out there - to have experiences that aren't part of the every day, to actually speak to people face-to-face, to get a better understanding of simply who I am and why I am here.

But, I have many dreams and thoughts throughout any given day or week, and I realize that this sort of life -even temporarily - would have its own costs and pitfalls. It's not practical or realistic in many respects. Logistically and financially it could be a complete nightmare. The reality of giving up nearly everything simply to find ones self and to explore may not be the wisest of decisions. The analytical and practical side of me fights with the let's-be-free part, and the battle itself is sometimes enough of what I need to let the ideas go. Still, a person can dream, and sometimes the daydreams and fanciful thoughts are enough to get me through the less exciting or down moments in life... and, who knows? Perhaps the 'let's be free' side will win out one of these times and it will start an entirely new life adventure, or maybe this is the adventure and weeding my way through it is all that is needed.

Cycling in Boulder County Flooding

The last several days I have bemoaned all of the rain we're currently experiencing on the front range of Colorado. There are lots of areas in this country that receive huge amounts of rainfall on a regular basis. This part of Colorado is not one of them. For the most part, I think of this area as a desert - a really high, tree-lined, pretty-in-the-Spring desert. If it does rain, it's for a total of about 10-15 minutes during the summer months. It's usually on the hottest of days and we all look toward the sky, thanking the heavens for a little bit of relief from the heat. The current happenings have well-surpassed these more typical, quick, summer rain sessions. Our city is cut in half at the moment because of flooding. Those on the upper side of town (literally, as it is at a higher spot) seem to be okay, but those on the lower half (again, physically - I'm not making any socio-economic points here, I promise) are without power and are flooding.

One of our kickboxing instructors took this photo early this morning. The situation has become worse since this time.

The ground is saturated, and we still have a projected three more days of rain. Main Street is collapsing, as the river has risen so high that the asphalt on the bridge is now crumbling. When Sam left for work this morning, I was concerned because although I was fairly certain he'd make it into work, I wasn't convinced that getting home would be as easy to do. After a couple of hours at work, they decided to shut down business for the day and sent everyone home, but, as I had predicted, the roads north and south were now completely closed off to traffic. After spending an hour and a half attempting to get the 9 miles home, Sam decided to park the car and walk.

Post by Longmont Times-Call.

The local paper has posted the video above and others like it showing just how much flooding is actually taking place. It's absolute madness for a place that is used to feet of snow in the winter, but not this amount of rain in the summer. It's easy to get caught up in all of the craziness, and as I've expressed, even for the inhabitants of our small home, it has been a bit insane... but, it's not all chaos and flooding.

Yesterday, the ground was just starting to become saturated - though that has changed significantly in the last 24 hours.

Yesterday, I left the house just as the rainfall was increasing. I just couldn't stand the idea of not riding anymore and since the weather-jockey's are anticipating several more days of this, I figured I might as well get out and attempt to ride in the mess of things. The ride yesterday was short, but pleasant. At just under 20 miles, it was long enough to feel that I wasn't missing out (at least not much).

Most of what I traveled was dirt/gravel roads. Perhaps not my brightest move because the ground was quickly becoming over-saturated, but I managed to make it back to paved roads without issue. I thought it would be enough to get me through to the end of this seemingly never-ending storm, but when I woke up this morning, I saw no reason not to venture out again.

I put out a photo and message to friends... "If I'm not back in two hours, you'll know I died doing something I enjoy! :O)" While I don't want to make light of a situation that is actually quite serious and even a bit scary, I don't want to live in fear, nor do I want to miss out on potential training rides with a big ride headed my way in just a couple of weeks. I decided to head out and if things got too bad, I'd simply turn around and come home.

The roads were wet, it rained and hailed on me as I rode, but I managed to pick areas that weren't experiencing the level of flooding that is taking place through much of the county and region. In the photo above, it looks as though I'm just out on a rainy day for a little ride.

One of the things that stood out to me during the last two days of riding is how non-special it really felt. There have been a few individuals who like to state that I am a crazy person for going out in this weather, or that think I am some sort of near super-hero for "braving" the elements. The reality is that it felt good to be out. I didn't do anything stupid, or head in a direction that I knew ahead of time would be unsafe. I didn't take a bike with slick tires that would go super fast, but rather one with knobby tires that has some weight to it and could handle potential, small hazards on the roadways. I got wet, yes. Many of us are ill-prepared for rain here, and I am no exception, but it really didn't bother me until I returned home and realized that I was quite cold from getting soaked through.

I was amazed to discover that no one was out riding - at least not the back roads. All of the usual racers who whiz by me were nowhere to be found. With the exception of a few cars that were likely just trying to get home, I didn't have to share the road with anyone. It was a really wonderful time to take in the beauty that has been created because of all this rain. It's certainly brought destruction with it, but to be able to still see green this time of year in this area is quite a treat.

Rain gear is en-route as I type, but by the time it arrives, the weather will likely have returned to a more normal state and this crazy flood that has happened will be a thing of the past. Although some will probably remember it for the pandemonium it created, I plan to keep memories of this storm as a time during which I got to ride the roads without traffic, to be the "crazy girl" who "toughed" it out riding through the storm, as a time when I got to appreciate all that is truly around me. I liked being that person... maybe I'll bring her along with me after the rain passes and normal life resumes.

Manufactured Motivation

As I have been working to finish a couple of centuries this summer, I try to get in at least three training rides each week. One ride is a distance ride, simply to see how far I can go. One ride is a "push it" ride to see how fast I can go. The third ride is generally something in between, a recovery(ish) sort of ride, or if I'm really feeling adventurous that week, I try to make it a nearly all climbing ride. The week doesn't always break down this way (for various reasons), but it seems to be a good way for me to push myself, and by the time I throw in a couple of runs each week, and multiple rounds of kickboxing, it seems to be enough to keep me on the right track. Not to mention the casual, commuting-type rides I get to go on intermittently throughout the week.

*Image here

There are days when I'm supposed to go on a training ride and it just feels painful from the start. As much as I try to boost my mood before I leave, nothing seems able to counter the tiredness on these days. I had one such day fairly recently after taking almost an entire week off from any sort of bike training. Normally, I wouldn't allow that to happen, but my body was just in need of a break from some (or many) of the activities I have been engaging in, so I was trying to cut myself some slack. One would think after a nice long break, I'd be ready and excited to get back on the bike, but my heart and head just weren't in it.

As I got out my bike and pumped up the tires, I sighed heavily out loud. Muttering to myself (about nothing in particular), I pulled my water bottles and threw them in the cages, made sure I had my keys, and off I went. I have learned that on these days, I just have to let my body do what it can and not try to force something. This day was supposed to be a speed day, but I could tell that it just wasn't in the stars. Continuing to talk to myself, I kept saying that this didn't have to be fast, but just to get out and go. As much as I hate feeling this way, I also know that if I just ride, I can almost always talk myself into doing what I set out to do - even if it isn't as fast as I would like.

For once, I actually had a route in mind. I knew it would be mostly climbing for the first half and then a very slight descent with two steeper but shorter climbs on the way home. Knowing how I was feeling, I believed if I could just push myself to get to the midway point, it would be an easy ride home. "Okay, you're going to push yourself to the turnaround spot," I coached myself. "There's no reason you can't do this... you've had plenty of rest days." Amazingly, this seemed to work. As I got going, it wasn't the fastest I'd ever traveled the route, but I knew I was doing okay. When my legs were more warmed up, I kept trying to push myself to go faster and even though I really don't like climbing, I think it's a great way to test my improvements in strength and endurance while riding. I reached the half way point and congratulated myself silently. "Ah, now I can relax on the way home."

Except, I didn't really want to relax. I felt good at this point. My muscles were a bit fatigued from trying to push through at a faster pace on the climbing section, but I wanted to see how quickly I could do the return ride. Up ahead of me, I saw a slender male with quite muscular calves pedaling in what seemed to be a very speedy rhythm. The thought that ran through my mind was, of course, "I will never catch him." Still, he was in front of me and I figured it was something to shoot for and to keep me motivated. About a half mile up the road, I had caught him. I wasn't sure what to do. Mentally I was trying to will him to speed up because I really didn't want to pass knowing that he would likely just speed past me a bit up the road. He wasn't increasing his speed, however, and didn't appear to be ready to make a break for anything. I had a decision to make, and I made it quickly.

"On your left," I said as I was next to him, "Good morning, too." I was not prepared for the response I was about to receive. The first thing out of his mouth sounded similar to the air rushing out of a just flattened bike tire, "Ppshhh!" Which was quickly followed up with, "You've got to be kidding me."  At this point, I was already several feet in front of him, and I couldn't help but smile. Now, who knows what this response was supposed to mean. Perhaps, like me, he had been talking to himself and was having a bad morning. Maybe he was upset with himself that he wasn't able to get the power he normally has when riding. It's possible he had been talking aloud all along and I just hadn't had the awareness to hear it, or he noticed some sort of malfunction on his bike that just so happened to coincide with my passing by. However, in my mind, it had a very specific purpose and meaning. I couldn't help but believe the real thought running through his mind went something like, "Seriously, this chunky lady is passing me?!!?!"

I told myself in that moment that he would not catch me. Of course, I have no way of knowing what he was really thinking or the intended purpose of his statement, and for all I know, he had no desire to catch up to me anyway. I do know, however, that I never saw nor heard him again after that moment. Something in that small instance clicked my brain into overdrive through, and I was ready to pedal as fast as necessary to keep ahead of him. I felt myself pushing hard the rest of the way home, believing that he had to be right on my wheels. Whether intended as an insult or not, I am amazed to discover what these sorts of incidents can do for me physically and psychologically. The ride home was fast, and I was motivated - by what? I'm not exactly sure.  All of it was manufactured motivation, as I truly have no idea what was going through the other persons head. Yet, somehow this short moment in time gave me the shove I needed to average a faster ride on this route than I ever have before.

The question I then have to pose is, how do I motivate myself to achieve this sort of feat when there isn't someone present to motivate me? Obviously, I am physically capable of doing the work, so what is it that keeps me from achieving similar results on my own? I do have it in me to push myself - I did it during the climb to the halfway point - but how do I keep this same motivation for every ride, and every time I need or want to push myself? It is in there, and it's possible to bring it out, so I think I just have to work on finding real drive, instead of utilizing these moments of seemingly made-up determination based on perceived insults. Perhaps you have experienced something similar, or have thoughts on the matter. What do you use as your motivating factor(s) to get you to push through the more mentally difficult times? Do you have "bad" days when riding, even when you actually do want to ride? I'm curious to know if others experience similar types of rides/feelings. Ultimately, I seem to have decided that perception is what matters, and whether that perception is fact or fiction is irrelevant and unimportant; but deep down I really want to know that I can motivate myself when necessary without feeling as though I need that extra from some exterior source.

Living in the Present (in thanks of a bicycle)

Most of my life, I have struggled with being in the moment - with living in the now. Whether this was a learned behavior or something I was born with, I'm not entirely sure, but some of my earliest recollections are in regard to thoughts about the future. As a child, I frequently found myself daydreaming about what my life would be like at 16 (I would finally be able to drive - wahoo!), 18 (I would be an "adult" and could "do whatever I wanted"), 25 (I would be through school and have a fabulous career that I loved), 30s (I would be old, "like my parents" and probably have a spouse and kids), and even my 80s (when I would be sitting in a rocking chair, knitting for my grandchildren). I should note that almost none of those thoughts were a reality when the time came (Well, I can't speak for my 80's just yet, but I suspect very little is as we dream it as children).

I have a theory that part of my reasons for wanting the future to hurry up and happen was that the present wasn't as great as I would have liked it to be. Perhaps daydreaming about an idealistic future is what kept me somewhat sane as a child and teenager? I have no doubt I could be analyzed for years by professionals who would have various thoughts on the matter, but what I have learned about myself is that as an individual who grew up living in the future, shifting to a life in the present moment is a mightier task than it might seem on the surface. It's not that I have a terrible or torturous present life, nor that I don't enjoy the people, places and things that surround me, but to this day I find myself living for some future, pick-of-the-day moment.

It never ceases to amaze me, however, that riding a bicycle can somehow turn an individual who almost exclusively lives in the future into one who can actually focus on the very moment I'm in. Something about the effort, time, distance, or sometimes strain keeps my mind from wandering into the future, and actually holds me in the present. There are times when I wonder why I want to continue to pursue longer distances on my bike, and I find myself questioning if it has something to do with being able to just enjoy (or loathe, struggle through, etc) the moments while riding. When I set out on a ride, I have no plans to take me in a particular direction. I don't know what challenges await me until they are just there in front of me and I have to tackle and deal with them head on, in that moment. I have choices to make. I can climb the hill or not. I can take a different path or not. I can stop completely and rest on the side of the road or not.  It's a lot more difficult to plan what I intend to do when I have no idea what is in store for a particular ride.

Through the distances on my bike, I learn that I am able to live in the immediate moment and am capable of making perfectly sound, reasonable, normal decisions. I don't start thinking about a ride next Tuesday when I'm riding now, and I certainly don't ponder an upcoming hill that's 10 miles away because I don't know what is coming until it's within sight. I also don't arrive at a climb and say, "Gee, I should turn around so I don't have to ascend this hill at all." Sure, I may think it sometimes when I'm having a rough day, but I power through it nonetheless. After all, how else would I complete the ride?

Although I hadn't really considered it until recently, I am certain that transformation takes place in those brief instances. Those moments of pain, fear, self-doubt and eventual victory that take place as I struggle (at times) to make it; the last few pedal strokes as I reach the top of something I never thought I could or would attempt; the instant I decide that I am strong and able to do anything I chose to do; those nanoseconds when I, without contemplation, commit fully to moving forward, onward, upward... these are the moments that are changing me, perhaps even helping me shift (pun intended) into the person I always wanted to be.

I am so grateful for these experiences on a bike - and even more so for the extra challenging and grueling ones - because they are showing me exactly what I am made of and that I am able to live, breathe, and thrive with life in the present moment... even when those moments seem insurmountable.

Mind Over Matter

The last several weeks have had me far more stressed out about my upcoming 100-mile ride than I should be. I wish I could be calm and collected and just "know" that I can do it, but the more riding I do, the less capable I feel, which can be quite disconcerting to someone who just keeps telling people she is going to do this ride - and before the end of summer. I want to feel confident, but the more 30-40 mile rides I complete, I realize just how far 100 miles is going to be, and searching out flatter routes in this area is challenging and adding to my fears.

This week, I made a promise to myself that I would break through the 40-mile barrier just to prove that I am capable of increasing my mileage, even if it is in small chunks. What spurred this action? I suppose it was a number of things. But one of the big ones was finding out that a friend of ours had passed away. He was just starting a new job after several years of unemployment, and was on a plane coming home when he had an aneurysm. It was sudden, unexpected, and as his wife has shared, no one could have predicted or stopped it. He was nowhere near an age that he should be gone, or even thinking about leaving his wife and daughter behind.

The death of someone close is always thought-provoking for me. I wasn't particularly close to this friend, but Sam basically grew into adulthood with him - meeting in the army and forging a friendship that would last... well... through his lifetime. They had their times of being close and distant, but they always remained in contact. The passing of someone known reiterates to me that I can never take life for granted. We don't know when our last moment may be on this earth, and our time here is very precious and fleeting.

What does the passing of a friend have to do with riding? Not much, but I can say that riding is always a good time for me to ponder all that is going on in my own life. It allows me the freedom to work through things that otherwise might take up time with those I love. The reality is, the "road" of life is unpredictable, and sometimes riding the physical roads is great therapy.

The day I decided to attempt my "longer" training ride it was hot. Much more than I would prefer (though it is typical for this time of year). I packed up water and a snack, headed out to see where the road would take me, and how far I could get in the time I had to spare. I knew it wouldn't be a fast ride, but I wasn't concerned about any of that: miles were all that mattered. Most of the ride was lonely, and I had a lot of time to think. Sometimes that's a good thing, but on this particular day I would have preferred some company. It didn't take long before I started questioning the "why" of the century ride. Who am I trying to impress and what am I trying to prove? Is there a reason for any of this? What does 100 miles prove exactly? Doesn't regular riding seem more important than some arbitrary number?

I was comfortable on the bike, but it was a very slow ride. Every mile seemed to take an eternity, and I had little climbing to accomplish so I couldn't even claim fatigue from the stress of hills. I started to question my body and its capabilities. I began to wonder if I shouldn't just head home and live to ride another day. I just wanted to cross the 40-mile marker and couldn't seem to get there. "This fat body just won't let me do it!" I started telling myself. "Why would I think I am capable of anything more?" The tears started falling when I realized that I was allowing myself to fail; that I was offering excuses in an attempt to permit myself to give up. At 34 miles, I was done. Mentally and physically, I'd had all I could handle. The glaring sun and heat had beat me down, my water was gone, and although I wasn't actually hungry, my body was telling me that it wanted food... real food. My brain was telling me to stop and try again another day, so I headed home.

Yes, I gave in to all of the garbage I was feeding myself, but some little flicker of hope (or maybe insanity) sparkled deep down, and as I rode the few miles home I told myself that I would get a little bit of food, refill my water, and head back out... and I did.

As I got back on the bike, my body was displeased. Again, I was perfectly comfortable, but I was tired and the mid-90-degree temperatures (even with the rare cloud cover) were not helping. I was riding slower than I had been even before I stopped to refill, but I was determined to get beyond the threshold of that 40-mile mark. Why was every pedal stroke such an effort? I simply couldn't understand why my body was so fatigued after such a relatively short distance. Then, just as I was feeling hopeless, I looked down and saw this:

I had surpassed the 40-mile mark... finally!  Ultimately, I ended up riding just over 53 miles - far exceeding what I thought I could, or would do that day.

The mind is a powerful thing. I am convinced that I can talk myself into or out of almost anything. Sometimes the mind is willing and the body refuses to cooperate; other times the flesh is ready, but the head is weak. Finding the times when the two necessary parts overlap into a state of cooperation seems to be challenging, particularly when riding distances alone. But, knowing the way I felt on this ride, and seeing that I was capable of going beyond what I'd hoped to do that day despite the obstacles, helps me understand that I really can accomplish this ride. It may not be fast, and all of the stars may not align to have a perfect day, but it is doable... and I will finish what I have started.

Why will I ride 100 miles? I will do it because I want to prove to myself that I can...Not because someone is making me, or because I think it will impress anyone (far better people have done far more, certainly). I will do it because I don't know when my last day could be on this earth. I will do it to prove to every person who ever said, "You can't (or shouldn't) do that," that they were wrong. I will do it because I am strong, and capable, and willing to put in the time and effort to accomplish this goal. In the end, that's all the reason I need.

Couch-to-Century Training?

Training for my promised-to-self century this summer is underway. I will be the first to admit that it hasn't gone well to date. I'm putting in mileage, and attempting to switch between "power" and "long" rides, but neither seem to be moving me in a positive direction toward the ultimate goal. I've begun to question how I even did a 50-something mile ride last summer because as of this moment, I have yet to go on a ride of that distance.  Many things run through my mind, including simply giving up the idea of the century this year - and perhaps giving it up entirely. I find myself thinking about people who do these sorts of rides on a whim and then see myself completely exhausted after a 30-mile ride. I cannot help but think, "What's wrong with me?"

*Image found here

I titled this post "Couch-to-Century" because that's the way I feel I need to be trained. I don't lay about during the day not doing anything. In fact, I do what I consider to be a decent amount of movement. On just about any given day, I work out 2-4 hours (doing kickboxing, running, cycling, etc), and that's not counting any kind of transportation cycling. I give myself a day off, and an "easy" day as well, but I just never seem to get to a point that I can add to my distance. From what I've read, based on my cycling ability, I should be "ready" to complete a century two months from the start of training. I really don't see that happening.

At just over a month in now to the more focused and serious riding, I feel completely incapable of even covering half the distance. Yesterday, I finished (and I use that term loosely) a 38-mile ride, and thought I was going to die by the end. I was exhausted, could barely pedal, and I'm still not sure how I made it up one of my least-favorite climbs at the very end of the ride (I certainly owe thanks to the family who had just arrived home as I was thinking to myself, "Man, just get off and walk up the hill!" Their "You can do it" encouragement is certainly the only thing that got me to the top). Sure, I was getting pelted by hail for a good portion of the ride, and the seemingly never-ending head wind didn't help matters, and I didn't exactly plan the best route as the majority was constant climbing... but shouldn't this be a fairly doable distance by this point in the season?

The thing is, I have no desire to "race" a century. I just want to complete it. I'd prefer to not be near-death at the end, but as of this moment, I have no confidence that even if I decided to kill myself I could finish the ride.

The plan for the century has actually turned into a potential double century this summer (thankfully, not on the same day). I am still planning on my unsupported ride before the end of August, but I've also signed myself up for the Venus de Miles century in late September. What was I thinking?!? Seriously. I don't know how I let myself get talked into this. With the Venus ride, I can always choose a lesser route, but I'm still terrified that I have talked myself into something I won't be able to complete.

All of that said, I carry on with training, believing that somehow I will be able to add mileage to my rides and eventually make it to the end point. I have days when I wonder why a "transportation cyclist" would want to do this to herself, but I suppose a challenge is sometimes necessary to see what we are capable of completing? Or, maybe I just enjoy a good torture session once in awhile?

Roadside Un-fixable

I'm starting my bike training early this season. In the past, I've waited far too long to get going on some longer, more challenging (this is code for riding hills) rides, and I have plans in the works for this summer, so I don't want to be out of bike-shape and not be able to do what I would like.

*Image found here

The first "real" ride I went on resulted in a broken/seized rear hub. It was one of those rides that just started off horribly. I felt tired, run down, and as though my legs weren't doing what I needed them to do. I decided to take a trail to the back roads rather than navigating through the car traffic, but spots that are typically quite easy (even over the winter) were brutal. I kept asking myself what was wrong with me, but just assumed it was lack of sleep and/or lack of bike training over the prior months. When I finally reached the back roads, things were going from bad to worse. I would try to crank harder on the pedals and it felt as though the bike was fighting against me. I assumed it was because I was traveling on a slight uphill and carried on.

Finally, I'd had enough and decided to turn around. I got about a mile out from the turn around spot and my bike literally began to stop. I could hear what sounded like my saddle bag dragging on a tire, but when I felt behind me, there was plenty of room between the two. What gives? I decided to just pull off the road and take a look. As I dismounted, my bike wouldn't move - literally. I went to spin the back wheel and it wouldn't budge at all. I had a brief moment of panic, but called Sam to ask if there was something I should check... of course, he didn't answer. So, I started looking at the brakes to make sure they weren't rubbing (they weren't), the saddle bag was well above the tire (and wouldn't make it so the wheel wouldn't move at all anyway), and I couldn't see anything that would be blocking the wheel from moving.

A few minutes later, Sam returned my call and went through pretty much everything I had already checked. "I think I'm stuck out here," I finally said, "because I just can't get it to budge and I can't leave the bike here." A friend ended up coming to get me and after some finessing to attempt to cram the bike into her car, I made it home safely.

My plea for assistance was quickly answered. :O)

Later, Sam determined that the inside of the rear hub had actually bent. Apparently the skewer had come loose and was tightening itself from the opposite side. Eventually, it simply broke the hub causing the lack of movement while I was pedaling. In many ways, I felt better about the initial ride out... after all, at least it wasn't that I was so out of shape I couldn't pedal anymore (or at least that's what I'm going to tell myself). I, however, was not thrilled about a broken hub that I've only ridden on for about 400 miles (or so). I suppose these things happen though, and the replacement part is en-route, so there isn't too much to worry about (I hope) for future rides.

The lesson I learned from this is that I can't always be prepared for anything that might happen on the roads. A flat tire I can deal with, but not a broken hub. Have you had an experience out on the road that was more than you could handle with the limited tools in your bike bag? What would you do if you were in a situation that wasn't repairable on the side of the road?

Happy Weekend!

Today, I went on my first longer bike ride since, well, probably November (or so). I've been riding, but all of the trips have been very short, so it was a bit odd (and fabulous) to be able to just enjoy a more lengthy ride.  I am amazed at how much a relatively short long ride has me hurting and exhausted. I suppose it is a reminder that even when I've been continuing to work out, it takes a bit to get the legs back to where I'd like them to be.

Image found here

To all of you, just wanted to wish you a happy riding weekend! Hopefully, you're able to enjoy some snow-and-ice-free riding wherever you may be in this world of ours.

An "Easy" 10 Mile Ride

A few days ago, I was contacted by an individual who had found a photo of me with my bike through the website I use to log calories and exercise. She's in the process of trying to lose a big chunk of weight and just started riding her bike recently. The photo of my progress caused her to ask if I'd be willing to "friend" her so that I could help encourage her during this process. In her request, she stated that the people she typically finds who ride are so skinny, and she just wanted someone who knows what it feels like to have some extra meat on her bones. I was happy to oblige.

Image found here

On Saturday, she had a small note in her feed that she hadn't made it out to ride, but was planning on attempting a 10 mile ride on Sunday. The longest ride she'd taken to date was 6 miles. I assured her it was entirely possible to do the ten miles, and to help motivate her, I was going to ride "with" her. The plan was that we'd check in after our respective rides, so it would help keep her accountable and on track, and it would help me actually get out on a little ride too knowing that I'd have to check in with someone. Sure, it was supposed to be my "day off" from exercise, but at this point, I figured a 10 mile ride wouldn't be much and it would seem like nothing at all.

Boy, was I so very, very wrong. As luck would have it, I was able to con Sam into coming on the ride with me. I told him I wasn't planning on racing through it, but just going on a leisurely 10 mile ride. Unfortunately, the only riding I've done over the last few weeks has been very short rides (less than 4 miles), and I don't think I was aware of how quickly this would turn me into mush. As we were riding and trying to figure out which direction to take, Sam mumbled something about this "taking forever." I shared that I, too, was feeling it and thought it was just me. It's not that I haven't been working out, but riding just hasn't taken the priority it normally does. By the time we had reached 6 miles, we were both ready to call it quits.

Sure, it was cold out (but not that cold), a bit on the windy side, and we'd both not slept well the night before, but neither of us could believe how difficult it ended up being to do those "easy 10 miles." We ended up averaging a little over 12 mph, which certainly wasn't speedy, but wasn't crawling either considering the uphill portion of the ride was fairly significant, but we both got home feeling like we'd just rode a century (or what we imagine a century would feel like).

While I know that simply adding some mileage to the rides each week will quickly remedy this problem, I was really quite alarmed at how quickly everything turned. How are your legs holding up as the seasons change? Are you still able to ride at the same pace? Has weather got in the way of longer rides? I'm curious to know if we're the only ones who've already seemingly "lost our legs."

Training Rides Will be the Death of Me

As the day of reckoning closes in on me, I've done my best to get in as many training rides as I can for Venus de Miles. On the most recent ride, I decided that I should find the nearest, uphill ride I could complete in about 2 hours. Locals often take off up Nelson Road, so I figured it was worth a try. Before I had started, I was well advised and versed in the stories of this road. Sam has even moaned more than once about the "false flats" and even "false downhills" on that road. Many times I've taken Nelson to 75th and travelled north into what is known as Hygiene, but never have I actually taken the bike to the edge of the mountains at Foothills Hwy. Little did I know what awaited me.

*Image from Google
Though difficult to see here, the "A" marks an approximate half way point from Hover to Foothills Highway

I decided to leave from kickboxing and head out. By the time I actually reached Nelson Road, I was already feeling the exhaustion (this is what happens when one goes to a class and then decides to go for a "training ride"). I could feel myself slowing down, but I expected this to take place because although the road looks flat, it is definitely uphill when heading west.  I shifted and let myself spin (something I rarely do). I'm trying to save my knees which haven't been doing great the last few weeks, so I figured I was in no hurry and would just take it as it came to me. As I looked ahead, I could see a nice downhill area coming. I was excited that I wouldn't be climbing for a bit, and couldn't help but think, "What are all these people talking about?"

As if experiencing some kind of karmic joke for even thinking such a thought, my pedaling slowed even more. I seriously thought that perhaps I had a flat, and kept trying to check out the rear tire while continuing to move forward. Everything looked fine though, so I just kept pedaling. "Ahh, this must be the false downhill everyone talks about," I thought to myself. I continued on... pedaling... pedaling... slower pedaling... and even slower pedaling. "It must level out at some point," I muttered to myself, but the uphill just kept coming.

Stopping so as to not kill myself. As you can see, there was still more climbing to do.

Finally, I had to stop. My hands were killing me and I was thirsty, so I pulled over and just stood in the heat. I debated whether or not to just turn around and head home, but I felt as though I just had to get to the end of this, if for no other reason than to experience it for myself.

Despite the skies looking foggy, this is actually smoke that has arrived from fires in Idaho and Montana.
Looking east at the climb to my stopping point... for the record the part that looks like it's down hill, really isn't.

As I got back on the bike and started pedaling, I wondered why I was doing this to myself, but still I kept going. Other cyclists came whizzing past me. In those moments, I understood the benefits of a 15 pound, carbon road bike, certainly. Here I was, climbing up the hills at about 5-8 mph on my approximately 40 pound steel bike (with all my stuff in the saddle bag). I'm sure I looked ridiculous to them, but I figure to each his/her own. Everyone was cordial and polite, so perhaps they just thought I was lost... or they thought I was an absolute moron.

As I continued to ride, I couldn't help but wonder when it would end. Finally, I just couldn't see the highway getting any closer, and decided that I needed to turn around and head back so that I could actually get work done. I was a bit bummed because I wanted to experience the entire length of the road (and I regretted it even more when I got home and realized I was about 3/4 of a mile from the end of Nelson). The downhill back was A-MA-ZING! I rolled down at about 35 mph, and actually scared myself a bit at how fast I was travelling.

All in all, the rides are coming along, but I have to admit that I wish I had more time to train. Every time I complete a ride, I realize that I should've started this much earlier. I am doing my best with the time I have though, and hopefully that will be enough. I only have a few more rides to get in before the big day, but I remain hopeful that I can finish when the time arrives. Anyone else preparing for an organized ride/race in the near future? How do you prepare?