Part II: The Bike--Holding Back and Keeping the Faith

When we left off, I had finished the swim. Here is a picture of the madness, stolen from Competitor’s site. Can you believe I am in there somewhere? Me either.... Also note--the men have red caps and the women white caps. Where are the women--that is the mystery.

(FYI, Competitor is where Marathon Mama, the most entertaining running/mommy blog ever) is housed.  

Anyway, from the picture the swim looks like a typical IM swim—but that water was so butt cold…

Onward.

It was a relief to be on the bike. I had been so worried about getting the shit kicked out of me on the swim and I had--but it was over! Thank God! The first part of the CDA bike course goes along the lake. It is not totally flat, but it is not hard at all, either. I saw my women friend who had started on the front line with me for the swim right when I got out on the bike and we chatted briefly about how hard the swim had been. She had hoped to finish in an hour, and had gone close to 1:06. This made me feel better. She rode ahead, and then I just settled in and let everyone in the entire race pass me.

Mostly it was men.  Hordes of men. They zoomed past me in swarms as if I were standing still. I tried to stay calm, but it was hard. Their speed and intensity made me tense. It was like a bad dream, really: I am hardly moving while the rest of the race zooms ahead of me and I end up coming in last.

I am not so fast on the swim—certainly not like my uber swimmer friends—Ange, Alina, and Steve—but I am fast enough so I beat plenty of men out of the water who then kick my ass on the bike. I had to remind myself that it was these men who were passing me. I just had to get through the first 30-40 miles of the bike, and then I would be with my people—the people who would be riding at roughly my pace. Some of these men hammering past me would go on to finish in under 10 hours—and some would finish after me—having burned up all of their energy in the first loop of the bike. There was nothing I could do about it. I needed to just relaxxxxxx…..

About 10 miles in I passed a woman with long white blond hair. Her bib read Lisa. Is that my CA blogger friend Lisa, I wondered? And then she shouted Mary! So it was her! I shouted back! Hey, Lisa! Later I looked her up and found out she swam a 56 minute swim. I had predicted she would be the first amateur woman out of the water, and I . was. right! I bet Lisa could’ve gone close to 50 min. at LP. Really—the swims are that different.

About 25 miles into the bike a man rode up to me and informed me that my spare tire was about to fall off my bike. I looked. It was dangling precariously, ready to fly free. UGH! I got off my bike and tried to fix it. It should have been securely taped, but Andy and I had fixed it yesterday so that it was snugly adhered with Velcro underneath my seat. It had seemed so secure! Never trust Velcro… Anyway. I spent at least three minutes messing with it before I gave up and left the tire on the side of the road. The bad thing about this, in addition to the fact that I now had no spare, is that the tire was not mine. It was Ange’s. I’m sorry, Ange! I will get you three to make up for it, and have them glued and stretched! (She's just finding out about this now, all....) I did go back on the course after the race to try and find it, but it had been scooped up.

So, I was without a spare, and it was 25 miles into the bike. Fabulous! I still didn’t really regret the decision to leave the tire. I couldn’t attach it securely without tape, and I was wasting a ton of time trying to do so. It was yet another race and learn moment: always tape the shit out of your stuff on the bike. It will fall off if you trust any gizmo made to keep it attached.

Once I got started again my instinct was to begin hammering to make up for the time I’d lost on the side of the road, but I reined it in. Calm down, Mar. Calm down… This soon became my mantra for the whole first loop. A woman with a 42 on her calf zips by? Calm down, Mar, calm down. A clump of men moving at 24 mph zooms past me, swarming around me like bees? Calm down, Mar. Calm down. I notice if I continue to move this slowly I won’t get in under six hours? Calm down, Mar. Calm down.

This is me remaining calm:

 

After mile 25 the hills start coming. The course is described as rolling. What does that even mean? I think of rollers as little hills, and these were NOT little hills. Another shot from the Competitor site: 

The course is less rolling and more simply divided into two parts—the easy part and the hard part. 25 miles of each loop is flat and fast, and the last 30 miles of each loop is hilly—very hilly. It is an easier course than LP FOR SURE, but it’s not exactly an easy course. Anyway, I ate. I drank. I ate. I drank. I peed. I peed a lot. It wasn’t that hot for the first loop of the bike, and I think I just peed out what my body felt it didn’t need. I figured out that the best place to pee was when descending. I can’t pedal and pee simultaneously. I have to relax and stop moving, and the only time that ever happened was I when going so fast downhill I couldn’t pedal. I spent time wondering if those behind me could see the pee dripping down my legs and soaking into my cool Zebra socks that Andy got my for my birthday.

On the second loop I met up with Christine--the woman who ended up 5th in our AG, and who would later rub my back as I puked in the med tent. We passed back and forth a bit, but mostly I stayed behind her. This annoyed her to no end. At one point she turned around and screamed, Just pass me! I couldn’t hear her. What? I shouted back. Just fucking pass me!!! she screamed. This totally surprised me, since in my mind we were like long lost friends, riding together—two females in a sea of men. Clearly that’s not how she viewed me! Anyway, I wasn’t drafting her—I was just holding off, occasionally getting close and then backing off again. In hindsight, it would’ve annoyed me if someone had done this to me too. I knew if I passed her I’d have to try to stay in front, and I was really trying to keep my watts under control. As is I had increased my average power by two watts over the course of the last 20 miles and I was flirting with averaging higher than the plan called for. I know two watts doesn’t sound like much, but when you are only riding in the range of 135 watts average—it is. To pass her and stay out in front would’ve required a surge I simply wasn’t willing to make. The problem, she needed to understand, is that we were riding the same pace—and that was that.

Anyway, I couldn’t think of a good comeback and so I just muttered bitch under my breath. I had been riding with this guy Greg for most of the ride, and he laughed, having heard me. Take her down! he said. I got your back. You gonna fight her for me? I chided.  I thought of a bunch of fabulous comebacks as I rode, like, “You just have such a nice ass, I wanted to stay in view of it… “ or “But I can’t pass, you’re just too good!” But I didn’t say anything in the end, because after all, I was being annoying and also I don’t like to make enemies. Later, after the race and in the medical tent, Christine found me and we chatted. She was, of course, so nice. We said nothing of our previous exchange. Isn’t that the way of things? And, as I mentioned earlier, she also helped me out. I thought I was done puking, but as we spoke another wave of nausea came on. I turned white and muttered, Oh no, I need a bucket again. She helped me back to a cot, and got me one, rubbed my back and watched me puke. Okay… now we really were friends. Thanks, Christine!… I so appreciate it! We had both wanted Kona, and didn’t get it this time--but she was only one spot off, where I was four. She did do Kona last year after having qualified at AZ, and she suggested I try AZ to get there. I’m not sure why—but I suppose it’s because it falls after Kona, and so many who have done Kona are still recovering when it occurs. But then I looked up AZ times, and I'm now convinced that it is just as tough to qualify there as it is at any IM race! I did learn that every one of the women who beat me at CDA have qualified for Kona in the past, many more than once, and many women who finished after me have qualified in the past too. I was in great, competitive company at CDA, that is for sure. 

This is me trying to stay calm after getting called out by Christine: 

Gotta love my mug here. This is my pitbull look, I think.

On the second lap I also saw Andy and the kids for the first time. They were standing at the bottom of the hill that led to our cottage, which is just off the far end of the bike course. It was awesome to hear their little voices screaming, GO MOM! and from Andy, You look awesome, Mary! that I had been waiting for. Later Jordan told me she couldn’t believe how fast the bikers were—including me—and that I must’ve been the fastest mom there. Of course, I wasn’t (ummm, can you say Amy McGrath?), but her comment still made me proud.

The bike went surprisingly fast. I was so focused on keeping my watts under control and on eating and drinking that the time just whizzed by. At mile 100 I still felt totally fresh. It was awesome! (Thanks for the riding advice, KP!) Still, I had spent the whole ride in aero, and when I sat up for a moment and lifted my ass from the seat I felt it… the burn. Oh my GOD my crotch was on fire! I guess that happens when you stay in one position for close to six hours on a hard seat without moving….I was surprised there weren't flames coming from crotch... it was that bad.

I couldn’t believe it when we were going down the chute to finish the bike. It’s over? Already? Oh GOD! It’s time to run! In the past I have always looked forward to the run. It means I made it through the bike and mechanical failure is no longer the big fear. Unfortunately, I’ve learned enough to know that in IM the bigger fear should be of physical failure on the run as opposed to mechanical failure on the bike. Just look at the marathon splits of any IM and you can see it—the run is total carnage for like 75% of the people who start the race. Still, I was prepared for this run and I knew it—I just had to believe it. I tried really hard not to be scared that things would go wrong despite my careful riding, eating and drinking. I had to keep faith.

I couldn’t straighten up when I first got off the bike. I felt like I was frozen into bike position! I hobbled over to get my bag off the ground looking like an old woman with really well-developed arthritis.  By the time I got into the tent, though, I was pretty much standing in an erect position again. In T2 I opted not to change my nasty shorts, but I did change my pee-soaked socks—exchanging my zebras for my cat eyes. I slipped on my new K-Swiss shoes which I love (Thanks, Tri-Bike!) dawned my Tri-Bike visor, slipped on my Garmin, and it was time to face the music. This was it: I was going to run this marathon, God Damn it. It didn’t matter how slow my pace or how pathetic my shuffle—I was going to run every last fucking step.

Finish time: 5:56. Off the bike I was in 11th position in AG, and my split was 14th AG. Not awesome, but also not so bad!