IM Los Cabos: The Bike

If you missed IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O click here.

As I left transition, I kept thinking, what happened? Did I have a really good swim? Is his transition bag gone? Where is he? With the lead in my hand, I clipped my new shoe plates into my pedals and I rode.  We trained the bike Friday and Saturday and I was feeling pretty good about a sub-six hour ride despite the hills.  I am a hill-lover.  I love the climb.  I love the burn in my quads; the sound of a powerful exhale.  The thumping in my chest.  I love cresting a hill and dropping back into my seat.  I climb on my feet.

Practice Ride Friday.

 I love hills. Did I mention that already?

This picture is fully and completely stolen from finisherpix.com. The best pictures on the circuit.

As I set out, I found myself riding the familiar road to Cabo San Lucas.  There were some bumpy patches, and some aluminium speed bumps, but I didn’t mind either.  At the first turn around, I started to count.  How many minutes will it be until I see Ricardo.  I figured that I would take that time and double it since we now would be riding in opposite directions of the turn around. 

Boom.

I had counted about 2 minutes, which meant that he was 4 minutes behind me.  On the flats, Ricardo has been consistently faster than me, but on the hills, I am generally stronger than him.  But he has MUCH improved. I didn’t know how this was going to pan out.  The next turn around would be about 45km away.  As my mind raced I was passed by a woman in a green bathing suit.  There was a “V” on her right leg, indicating she was in the 55-59 age group. WOW. Admiration. Wow.

I raced my plan, taking water and Gatorade at every hydration station.  The water, I used to dump over my hear and arms, the Gatorade I drank.  I kept a steady flow of gel going as well.  One gel every 45 minutes to an hour.  We decided against Powerbars this time as we though our regular PB and jelly would do.  When I reached into my bento box for my sandwich bag, out popped my salt pills.  Hasta Luego sodium! I hope I didn’t really need those. And I bit the bag holding my sandwich open.   

I love peanut butter almost as much as I love hills.  The ¼ sandwich was goooooood.  And I put the bag back.  When I arrived at the hill, (see below marked “Big Ass Hill”) I grinned as I started taking hill points.  “Hill points” are the amount of people I pass on hills.  I don’t know how many I took until I saw a familiar green bathing suit standing on the side of the road. “Do you have what you need?” I yelled. 

“You haven’t got an extra CO2 cartridge do you?” She asked.

“In fact, I do.” 

This has been the first time in an Ironman I have been able to help a fellow athlete.  I stopped my bike and fished out my extra cartridge.  “Now, do you know how to change a tire?” She asked.

“That, I can’t help you with.” I responded.  I have changed one road tire in my life and it was not really me who changed it.  Knowing that this would be a time-consuming endeavor with no guarantee, I left her in the hands of the race-mechanics that ride the course on scooters trouble-shooting.  Ricardo would tell me later that she passed him.  

I got back on my bike and continued riding the 5.5km climb. 

Only one song came to mind. And only 5 words, repeated themselves over, and over, and over, and over, and over until I started singing it myself. 

The Long and Winding Road … da, da …. da, da …

 “Isn’t this fun.”  I yelled as I was taking another hill point. “We pay good money for this. Enjoy it.”  And I rode on.  When I got to the turn around, I started counting again.  If it’s more than 2 minutes, I have gained some time. 

4 minutes.  I was now 8 minutes ahead. If I could keep this pace, and Ricardo keep his, I might have a chance of “winning him” as my students would say.  And I rode back to start my second loop.

SMACK. POW. BOOM.  Like a Batman cartoon, the wind slapped me in the face.  The ride to Los Cabos would be just that.  An assault.  A wind assault.  A slap in the face, and a sound that hollers, “Ha ha ha ha haa, you are pedaling and not moving very fast …. Sucker!”

I would suffer until the turn around, scooping my peanut butter and jelly out with my fingers because the bread had been soaked with water as I doused myself.  I would wear a grimace instead of a grin, and remember, This is temporary.

But it wasn’t.

They were cross winds and when I turned around, it felt just the same.  Smack.  Time. Count.

6 minutes.  6 minutes = 12 minutes.  Indeed I was increasing my lead.

Now.  This is an important detail.  Ricardo and I went to a wedding on February 23.  This was supposed to have been a big training weekend, but, well, it was a wedding.  The only training we did was wine and dancing.  The night before the wedding, two friends of Ricardo’s made a bet on who would win between the two of us. 

Sidenote: Ricardo and I met at the finish line of Ironman Cozumel in 2011.  We have a similar pace.

So Jeroen bet on Ricardo, and Reuben bet on me.  We took a picture just in case there was ever a reason to not remember having made the bet. 

Yep.  That's a $1000 bet alright.

When I made my way back to the “Big Ass Hill” I was feeling spent.  My sub-6 hour dream was over and I was once again singing,

The LONG and WINDING road. 

And again, I began to giggle.That's when I turned to poetry.  Inspired by the butterflies and bees along the way, I began.

Bees and Butterflies,

Are two different things,

One flutters it's wings,

And one really stings.

That's as far as I got, but like The Long and Winding Road, I repeated it over, and over, and over, unable to come up with a second verse without fear that I might forget the first.  This is called Ironbrain.

Out and back and that was that – done deal. I had opened up the lead to about 15 minutes.  

Ricardo is a much better runner than I, but is he that much better?  His marathon was 10 minutes faster than mine back in May, but now … his run had improved, as mine seemed to have worsened.

IM Los Cabos: The Run: Coming as soon as my big ass pile of grading and report cards are done. 

If you'd like something to tie you over, do visit IM Brasil: The run. 

Fun fact:  The IM Los Cabos swim was actually 4.1km rather than 3.8km.  For real. 

Bike time: 6:31:33

T2:  2:05

I left the tent screaming, "I feel like a million bucks."

IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O

We decided that we would have two travel hats. The sombreros would be our travel item, and the cowboy hats would be for outings "on the go." Before leaving the house and asking the all-telling, "what am I forgetting?" I had just successfully ruined Ricardo's tri-jersey by ironing a patch to the chest on top of what appeared to be a cotton bag. It happened to be plastic. Oops.

We packed up the car and made our way to the airport. 

 

 Carb loading was now our strategy now and we made jokes about what we would be stuffing into our faces over the next few days. We hummed and hawed about what to eat at the airport, finally deciding on pizza. It would be the first of many slices consumed over the next few days.

We checked into our hotel and made our way to race registration. With a little delay in finding my kit, we walked around the expo and picked up a few items, a tri-jersey for Ricardo, some goggles and Gu, compression sleeves and tri-shorts.  The day was relaxing and I thought little about the swim.  The following morning I would get to do a practice.  For now, it was just relaxation and some TV; ok, a LOT of tv.  I watched 4 hours straight of American Idol and 2 hours of America's Next Top Model.  Along with that, we watched a video made by my co-workers.  Within, were messages from several of my colleagues along with all of my students.  The most prominent being, “Ms. D. you have to win your boyfriend.”  Grammar lesson on the horizon.

The practice swim always calms my race nerves. If I know what the water is like, I can anticipate the swim and get out of my head before the race horn goes off. So for the next two days, we swam, we biked, and we lightly ran.  After the swim I had an armful of jellyfish stings, but this par for the course. In Cozumel, it was a body full. So I was grateful. One sting on the inside of my bicep was in the shape on an anchor, so despite the itch, I kind of felt like Popeye.  Didn’t he have an anchor tattoo? 

In 1976,  Dave Orlowski raced the first ever Ironman.  He raced in a pair of jean short cut offs and stopped at McDonalds to eat.  He finished in 3rd place with a time of 13h59m.

 On Saturday we rode over to check in our bikes and leave our transition bags.  Knowing that my shoe plate was worn down significantly, I stopped and picked up a new pair along the way. Sure enough, on the way there, my shoe disconnected from my pedal repeatedly.  The plate had worn down so much that it wouldn’t clip into my pedal anymore. So I sat at my bike, racked at 419 and used my bike tool to change the plates.

   

Ironman really starts the moment you sign up.  It's not simply a one-day event. Ricardo and I have joked about making a video called, “The Real Ironman” where we show you what’s really involved.  The farmer blows that smack you on the cheek, bathroom stops along desolate stretches on highway, toilets that don’t flush, the tears that fill up goggles, riding 125km on belly full of wine and champagne from a spontaneous Friday night with a friend, turning the lights out at 8:30pm.  But all of the sweat and tears are transformative. They can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich feel like Thanksgiving dinner, make the salted rim of a cold beer taste like it was part of you all along, and make a 3000m swim feel like flight. Training transforms you.

We checked in, and went back to the hotel.  And yes, I watched more American Idol.  I don’t even know if it was a current episode, but I enjoyed hearing Nicky Minaj’s voice and critiques.  We organized our bags, tattooed our numbers and age-group letter on our legs, and kissed goodnight. 

I thought "E" was boring, so I gave Ricardo what looked more like a hieroglyph for the race.

 At 4:00am the alarm rang and we were up.  We had a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and took a few for the long bike ride. We suited up and locked the door behind us. Off we went to catch the bus. 

When you get to the race start there are a few buses.  One bus takes the bike "special needs" bag.  This bag is available to you at km 90 of the bike. You might put in some advil, a tube, some chocolate bars or whatever else you might "need" at 90k.  Another bus takes the run "special needs" bag and then a final bus takes the "race morning" bag. Ricardo or I have never retrieved our special needs bags. This time was no different, other than the fact that we didn’t even prepare them. We made our way to the bikes and loaded up the nutrition we would be taking on the bike. I had forgotten to put my sun glasses in my swim-to-bike bag, so I went off and loaded these in along wit a bottle of water that I could wash my feet with after running up the beach. 

Me, forgetting that the glasses on my face needed to go in this bag the day before the race.

 Back at the bikes Ricardo asked a guy in the next row to borrow his pump.  Having pumped up my tires just the day before, I hummed and hawed about filling mine.  Not wanting to be lazy, I took the pump and unscrewed my air valve.  With the front tire full, I moved to the back, unscrewed the valve and clamped on the pump.

As I started inflating, I heard some air escaping.  This is normal if the pump isn’t securely fastened.  But then:

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.  There's no after psssss.  Just one foul deflation.  All the air.  Gone.

"What was that?" Asked Ricardo, as I held up the entire valve of the tube.  I calmly walked my tire to the mechanics, and pleaded, "Quien es lo mejor para cambiar mi camara?" Who is the best to change my tube (or camera … I am not sure if camera is Spanish or Portuguese for tube)? A kind man took my wheel and went to town.  Telling me that he could screw the valve back on and I could use the same tube.  Sounded good to me and in a flash, he was done.  I took my bike back and racked it.  We headed off to drop our “race morning bags” and of course, I forgot to put my flip-flops in them.  Off I went to add them to my swim-to-bike bag. 

We walked down to the swim warm up and gently nestled into our suits.  I zipped up and adjusted my cap, and then tucked Ricardo into his suit and zipped him in.  He will most likely never ask me to do this again. At the water’s edge, we looked at each other and I am not sure which one of us asked, “Do you really feel like doing a warm up?” The response was “no.” And we made our way to the race start joking that that was the fastest warm-up ever. 

The Ironman announcer bellowed, “un minuto … “ One minute to race time. We hugged, we kissed and we wished each other a great race. The horn roared out.

Ricardo and I have spent the good part of the last four months exchanging the following jokes.

Me: What do you want me to say?

Ricarco: What?

Me: What do you want me to say when I pass you on the bike?  Do you want me to yell something?

Ricardo: So I will go back and shower, and then meet you at the finish line.

Me: Oh good, cause I will already be there and showered after waiting for you to cross.

Ricardo: Are you gong to be ok?

Me: What?

Ricardo: Will you be ok? When I beat you again?

And then there was this.   

His screan saver since February.  He would point to the black hamster and say, “Ricardo”, then switch to the white/brown more aero hamster with gloves, and behind, and say, “Diane.”  Only he would repeat this 5+  times.  Giggling each time.

 Off we went, all aiming for a yellow triangular buoy in the distance.  I caught the second swell.

 

 As I reached it, as with all of the buoys, I was tucked tightly inside, the closest of all swimmers to the buoy, which meant only one thing at the time.   

Claws, feet in the chest, arms that seemed detached from peoples bodies, and small space that probably looked more like fish flopping out of the water, than athletes rounding a buoy.  I quickly found a swimmer who didn’t kick and who’s pace was similar to mine.  And then I drafted.  Careful not to bat his toes, but observing his feet with every exhale.  I stayed behind him until about 3000m when I had decided to execute my race plan. Ricardo had drawn up a plan on a napkin at breakfast the day before.  This was my strategy, hit race pace at 3000m, and I stuck to it.  Pretending the water was my sandbox I clawed my arms through it making my way from buoy to buoy, feeling like a torpedo, I exited at 1:24 and change.  Respectable.

I ran my way into transition, picked up my blue bag and changed into my bike gear, and set off to unrack my bike.

To my complete surprise, Ricardo’s bike was still on the rack.

Ricardo is a MUCH faster swimmer than I am.  What happened?  As I went through the possibilities, none compelled me to figure it out.  I unracked and made my way to the mounting line.  The race had changed.  I was expecting to chase him on the bike, hunting.  Now I was the hunted.

I mounted and I rode. 

Swim time: 1:24:28
T1: 8:41 (what???)

IM Los Cabos: The bike click here.

The Slowest 120 Ever

Counting to 120 isn't that hard right?

Depends.

Yesterday I counted to 120 in the pool. 120 laps. It was a 25m pool, so it's really only 3000m, but I didn't lose count. It mattered to me. I needed to reassure myself that 3000m was both doable and desirable at the same time.

This is how it went.

I dominantly breathe to my right because of a slap tear in my right shoulder. 

Push off the pool edge.  Breathe. Exhale 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe 1 ...... Breathe 1 ..... Breathe. Flip Turn ...

(this series takes about 30 seconds)

 ... 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 ..... Breathe 2 .....

(again, about 30 seconds)

One hundred twenty times.

So that's what I did. I counted so slowly that it took me an hour and 4 minutes.

I am not complaining. Not at all. I chose to count to 120, really, really slowly.

DO try this at home. It's amazing what you don't think about.

Oh ya  - doable: yes; desirable: 20-60, no; 60 - 120, very much so.

Peace out.