Shiner GASP

Driving to Austin to do the Shiner GASP, all I could think about was how woefully unprepared for this ride I was.  While the rest of my cycling group had done long rides, I was in Garner with my Senior class.  The longest I had ever ridden was 65 miles, and that had been about six weeks ago.  I was nervous but excited, intimidated but exhilarated.  I had already convinced myself time didn't matter, just get it done.

Last year, everyone suffered from the heat.  This year, thanks to a freak front, we sat in the parking lot getting ready for the start in 39 degree weather. I didn't want to dress too heavy, knowing once the sun came up I would get warm fast, so I sat there and shivered. Pictures were taken, and then off we went.  

For the first few miles, I concentrated on two things - get used to the adjustments Wally did to my bike, and trying hard not to run into anyone after the mass start. At mile 7 I began to be able to feel my fingers, and at mile 10 my legs had adjusted to the bike.  All was good.

Our first stop was at mile 17.  Both Esmeralda and German had told me the importance of taking advantage of these stops.  Janie was the support crew for Esmeralda and I, and I tell you this: never underestimate the value of a good support crew. I got rid of my jacket, and Janie asked if I needed water.  I realized I had not touched my water or food yet.  Okay, got to pay attention to that on the next leg.  A few minutes of rest, and off we went again.

There were certain markers I wanted to pay attention to - mile 25 (CapTex bike length) and mile 56 (Austin Half Ironman).  Mile 25 went by and I felt great. It was a good sign. 

This course was going to be challenging because of the sheer number of inclines and hills (Esmeralda said she stopped counting at 23 last year), and the wind that it was famous for.  I had hoped that with the front it would be a tail wind, but at mile 30 the wind shifted and was either a head wind or cross wind. Oh well, it was nice to dream.

The first few inclines (Esmeralda told me they were not hills) went pretty well.  I wanted to race smarter, not harder, so I paid attention to the more experienced riders as they passed me.  I had always been of the opinion that you muscled your way up a hill - shifting down was a sign of weakness. I quickly was schooled on the difference between determination and stupidity.  Riding a 100 miles - determination.  Killing your legs by not taking advantage of the fact your bike has different gears - stupid.  After trying a few different combinations of shifts, I found one that worked for me.

I had wanted to keep my nutrition as natural as possible. Relying on the experience of my trail running friends, I had PB&J and dates stuffed with almonds.  I either timed the food or ate at the first pang. It worked really well, and I would do it that way again.

At mile 45, we had a food station waiting for us. Remembering that this was supposed to be fun (and I was having a good time) I stayed for longer, chatted up some of the other riders and chowed down on some pizza.  Cheryl, who was out to support crew for her husband and friends, said she was awed by us.  I was taken aback, and asked her why.  She said that while she was driving the course, she had realized the incline of some of the hills was greater than the angle at which a plane took off.  I hadn't really though about it that way. I saw a hill, gave myself exactly five seconds to think "oh...my...gosh" and then chanted "I think I can, I think I can" until I got to the top.

When my Garmin registered 56 miles, I was euphoric.  Not only had I made Half Ironman distance on a very hilly course, I still felt like I could run.  This was good news. 

This sign pointed to one of the rest stops in the second half.  Not very encouraging :)

I made sure to look around as much as possible during the ride. Rolling hills, beautiful trees, horses, cows, green everywhere.  I have this thing for old buildings. I love to take pictures of them.  There were so many gorgeous old, abandoned buildings, and had I not been concerned that if I got off the bike I may not have been able to get back on, I would have taken pictures of them all. I did take this at mile 91 rest stop.

As I said before, 65 miles was the longest I had ridden before Shiner.  When the buzzer went off for mile 65,  I was happy.  Two thirds done, and I felt good.  That lasted until mile 66.  I don't know if the wall I hit was mental or physical, but everything hurt.  The wall lasted until the rest stop at mile 73.  When I got there, I got off my bike, and for the first time, sat on the ground. I stretched my legs, and got my brain in order.  Janie filled my bottles (she really was awesome) and Cheryl messaged some life back into my legs and shoulders. I told myself that after ten minutes, I was going to get up and get going.  My body obviously listened, because when I got back on the bike, I felt good again.

At the mile 83 rest stop, I found the definition of irony.  We had at least eight hills between the rest stops, and what town did we wind up at? 

Whoever came up the that town name was a very wishful thinker.

Esmeralda told me that the rest of the distance would be mental.  I believed her.  I had gotten past my wall, but my body was tiring.  At mile 87 my mind broke. The whole question of why I was even doing this came into my head.  But a funny thing happened (on the way to Shiner...sounds like the prelude to a bad joke): I remembered the article from my last post.  I was doing this not only for myself, but to honor those who believe in me.  So I repeated that over and over again - I am honoring those who believe in me...Sally, Xavier, Hannah, Kim, German, Maggie, George, Mari, Carlos 1, Carlos 2, Javi, Lisa,...and just kept adding names.  When I couldn't remember any more, I started over. It got me to the final rest stop at mile 91.

I went to sit under a large tree for my ten minute rest.  As I sat down I said "ouch".  The guy next to me told me that I was probably going to say more than that when I tried getting up again.  I smiled and thought this guy didn't know me very well. I stretched and thought about what I had done.  Only nine more miles - overall I felt pretty good, tired and sweaty but not exhausted. I got up (without making any noise) and got on my bike.

As I rode out of the town I noticed something incredible.  Families sat camped out on their front lawns, waving and cheering us on.  It was small town America at its finest.  I didn't know what was really odd to me until I turned onto the final highway stretch - there was not an electronic device in sight. Kids played soccer, on a tire swing or played cards, but not an ipod or cell phone anywhere. 

Looking up, I saw the biggest hill yet.  I thought, "Really?  They couldn't have put this at the beginning of the course?" geared down, and made my life focus the five feet in front of me.  At the top, my left leg seized.  Not cramped, but completely seized up in pain.  Every rotation my leg throbbed. I have a fairly high pain tolerance, have given birth and had kidney stones, but I tell you, in that moment, if somebody had given me a butter knife, I would have cut off my leg to end that pain. Mile 93.  Seven miles to go.  This was what training for Ironman was all about - would I cave, or would I keep going?  I kept going, and climbed five more hills, leg screaming the whole way.

Mile 99 came, and Janie was waiting to take my picture at the Shiner town sign.  Not feeling very picturey at the moment, I still stopped thinking that I would want the memory later.

She tells me, "Now lift your bike over your head in victory!" Um, no.  Other bikes weigh 3-5 pounds.  Vin weighs 16.  There was no way I was getting her over my head at that point.

Stopping must have released whatever happened to my leg, because I finished the last mile feeling good, tired, but good.  The CyclePaths who had already finished cheered me in, and I let the idea that I just finished 100 miles really sink in. CapTex no longer seemed as scary as it did, which was probably why my coach allowed me to do Shiner in the first place (sneaky little devil). Not once did I consider stopping, and now I know what's in store for me in Ironman.  

                                          

There is still a year of training, but I can go into it with the knowledge that while I may bend, I will not break.

Today, I woke up wondering if I was going to be able to walk.  Shockingly, other than some stiffness in my knees and my left hip, I'm fine.  Guess that means I'm going running tonight - woo hoo!