Gary is fond of saying that at least three things will happen on race day that you don't expect. In my case, things started to go south even before the starting gun.
It took THIRTEEN HOURS to get to Tucson. It took three full hours just to get out of the L.A. area, and then we sat at a dead stop for two hours on the 10 Freeway about 100 miles out of Phoenix as Arizona Highway Patrol dealt with a horrible road accident. (We saw at least three – two on the way out, one on the way back.) The three hours were my fault, bad planning, left town too late Thursday. The accident was beyond my control, nothing I could do.
So I sat stewing in traffic, feeling horrible, doing the math, realizing I'd get to Tucson around 6:30 a.m. if we were lucky, behind a full day of sleep. Without being rested enough to ride, I started to spin worst case scenarios that I'd blown the race before it even began. And then I remembered another Gary nugget of wisdom – it's not about what happens to you, but about how you react to what happens. So instead of feeling sorry for myself, I started to formulate a plan for how I would spend the Friday before race day. I figured we'd get there around 6:30 a.m., I'd go straight to sleep, get up before noon, eat, go check in, then come back and go back to sleep. I'd eat again around 5ish and then asleep between 8 and 9. And I made the single best decision of the whole trip – Gary had originally suggested a light ride Friday just wake up my cardio system and muscles. I decided it was more important to sleep and decided not to ride. It made all the difference. And I was oddly calm by bedtime Friday – no anxiety, no trouble falling asleep.
We had four alarms set to go off at 4 a.m. – my cell phone, Kathy's, the alarm clock and a wake up call. I got up feeling rested and calm. I fueled, loaded the car, dressed in layers and we were out at the starting line by 5 a.m. Even at that early hour, we were about 100-200 people in. Once the Gold section filled up completely we appeared to be in the first third. We had a collapsing chair so I got to sit comfortably while the other riders stood around. Kathy had done so much to help me prepare and stay focused but here she was at her very best.
She hung with me, babysat the bike while I went to the bathroom (four times!! But only once on the ride!), helped me stay warm and fueled and relaxed, and took all my layers and debris and belongings with her when the start came close. I got quite a few envious looks for having such an amazing support team!! (I also got, according to Kathy, a few snickers at the lineup of GUs taped to my crossbar but no one was snickering at mile 90 when I still had fuel in easy reach … )
Then came the starting countdown, and we were off. We moved out pretty quickly and, within the first two miles I already counted four riders to the side with flats. There were also a few accidents within the early portion of the ride. (Somewhere around mile 70, I rode over something and heard an alarming POP from the rear wheel. I was convinced I was about to get taken out with a flat – a dreaded rear flat, at that – but it never happened.)
The biggest challenge in the opening was to remember my training and not go out too hard too soon. Controlling my emotions has always been my #1 weakness, and I was determined to get it right, and I did for the most part. I let the most aggressive riders whiz past me, and hung at a solid clip up through the first riverbed crossing about 8 miles in. Among the things I'd do differently next time is I'd pick up the pace crossing a bit. I wasn't strolling but I could have saved some minutes at both crossings, for sure. Fortunately, they were both dry although walking through sand involves its own challenges. I got to the other end, skipped the Krispy Kreme doughnuts being handed out, clipped in and went off.
The first 40 miles went like a dream. I was in a big pack moving at a great pace and, above all, I remembered my training. There was no daydreaming, no mind wandering. I was focused on the road, on the riders, on my gears and my fuel. I lived in the drops even when everyone around me was in the hoods. And I snagged the wheel of a tandem that was really booking along – I know that I made key time gains as I rode with them.
We got stopped at two traffic lights. I pulled off my warmers at the first light but didn't have time for one my legs, so I rode to the next river crossing with one leg warmer on. It's during this stretch that I made my first mistakes, and I think I lost the most time here. Simply put, I found myself on my own – as Gary promised I would. I hadn't hung with the group and I couldn't see anyone behind me yet. So I decided not to try to kill myself – I tucked into the drops and kept it as easy as I could until another group came by. But it took a while and I had several unhappy minutes out there.
Once the next group rode through, I hooked onto them and rode them to the second river crossing. This one was much longer than the first but I pulled off my leg warmer right at the start and got across as best as I could. At the other end I did my first refueling stop. I filled my water bottles and added liquid GU2O powder to the bottles. I grabbed a banana and, again, was gone. My first official aid stop and I know I was out in a minute or less. And shortly afterwards, I had the treat of spotting Kathy out at the side of the road, cheering me on. Good thing, as I was coming in to the hardest part of my ride.
A few things happened. First, I once again found myself on my own, and through some hilly and windy stretches. There were not a ton of riders around, but I spotted one ahead of me, and caught up to him and rode his wheel. After some recovery, he and I worked together until we caught a small group which helped us catch a larger group. But around the 85 mile mark I definitely hit the no-man's-land Gary had promised – the end was too far away to visualize yet.
This was compounded by a freak problem – my bike computer had switched to odometer view, which was around 863 miles or so. So as I looked down at distance, expecting the miles to rack up, there weren't moving at all fast enough. (863.2 moves much more slowly than 86.32.) I began to despair that I wasn't making any gains but decided that something had gone wrong with the device so I'd just have to finish without it. I refocused, and that's when I noticed I was in odometer view. (It was just an unfortunate coincidence that my odometer reading was so close to my distance. If my odometer had been 500 miles or 1300 miles, I'd have noticed it immediately.)
Around this time my shifters started acting up. They were not as responsive as they had been earlier in the ride. I noticed I had to press them harder, and they didn't react as quickly. I began to worry that they might fail altogether and I'd had to ride in on one gear. But it never got that bad. I also had a mild, unnerving hiccup that I attribute to tiredness. Taking a curve, I misjudged and rode off the road into the sand shoulder. The bike began to wobble furiously and I was sure I was going down (at about 19 mph) but somehow I managed to stay upright and get back on the road – shaken but not stirred. (I still have to remind myself to relax in the turns. When I do, leaning easily, almost limply into the turns, I sail through. But when I tense – as I did here – it's always much hairier. Lesson learned.)
I made my final and only non-river-crossing stop in the late 80s somewhere – just a quick pee and water bottle refill – but when I got back on the road I was alone again. After a few minutes, I caught the tail of three other riders, and I sucked wheel for a while, recovering energy. Then the first of my two great lucky breaks happened. A team of three tandems whizzed by and I made a split-second choice to hop on, jumping from 18 mph to 23 mph. (I heard one of the three guys say "There he goes" as I hooked on and hung on for dear life.)
I hung with the tandems into the low 90s but their pace was becoming too much for me, so I decided to drop off and wait for the next group. But I stayed in the drops and didn't get crazy slow, and right around 95 I hooked into a group of maybe 30 riders that I rode all the way in. They were moving at around 21 or 22, and though I was tired I knew this was my opportunity – if I lost them I wouldn't have a strong finish, so I hung with them all the way.
As I was having my last GU – around 103 – it popped all over my glove. I had no idea how sticky that stuff is – they should call it GLUE. My glove kept sticking to my shifter and I finally had to pour a little precious water on the shifter to clean some of the mess off.
From here to the end it was about hanging with the group and kicking it up in the last two miles. I really began to push it coming down the final stretches, even though my thigh began to cramp (telling me that once again, I hadn't hydrated enough.) I sucked some Gatorade down, popped some bioplasma and kept powering into the finish line. Surprisingly, I felt OK at the end, and after I drank some Gatorade and hugged Kathy, my very next request was for my phone to call Coach Gary to report my result. Afterwards I tried to sleep but it was actually harder to sleep with the race behind me than it had been the night before.
I know that this account has been long on the physical aspects and light on the emotional/spiritual side of things. I suspect those are going to take some time to fully sink in. But I began this training telling Gary that I wanted to know I could achieve something that didn't come easy, that didn't come naturally. I know now that I did, that I can. I am not the same person I was when I set out to do this – an experience like this really does change you from the inside out. It was difficult, yes. Grueling at times. But I never doubted I could finish. Of course, I know the process isn't really over yet – not even this race is really over yet, as Gary has been warning me. (Post-race depression is an all-too common pitfall.) And what got me here is what got me here. I got here with hard work and training but also with luck, with support and love and help from people around me. I didn't do this alone and I know that it's only a beginning, that there's so much farther to go.
But the great part is I get to go there now.
Congratulations, Mark. This is really an accomplishment.
Posted by: Scott O'Connor | November 22, 2005 at 07:09 AM
Congratulations. Excellent recap to boot. I know my sister has enjoyed a similar experience in training/running her first marathon. I look forward to hearing about your second ride.
Posted by: tito | November 23, 2005 at 08:57 AM