Watch them go Sunday July
12th, 2009 here: http://www.ironmanlive.com
Watch them go Sunday July
12th, 2009 here: http://www.ironmanlive.com
We leave for the airport to begin our trip to Zurich in about two hours. There are a few things on my mind.
1. I’ve been slowly falling apart over the past week. First, I banged my shin on our square bed-post. This happens every once in awhile, with varying degrees of severity, but this was ridiculous, because it led to me banging my head on that lovely Arco lamp that we purchased recently, and then to the discovery of s bizarre niggling pain in my rib, and then when I went for my run on Sunday I discovered a grossly unhappy hamstring. And then, yesterday, in our open-water swim, coach had us come in on a particularly rocky shore–no, he didn’t see the rocks until it was way too late–and both Jim and I have multiple cuts on our feet. Owtch. They should heal in time, but…
2. My house is falling apart. I woke up this morning and stood over the sink, rinsing my coffee pot, and noticed a leak right next to me. Creepy thing is, it’s coming from the upstairs apartment, where no one lives. Eee. The maintenance guys came right away to turn off the water upstairs. Now, no more leak. But they’ll have to fix while we’re away.
3. I am really pretty upset at Twitter right now. I asked someone, quite nicely, to refrain from tweeting Tour de France results, since not all of us get a chance to see it until the end of the day. She refused, and, in turn, sent out a tweet out that asked why people get upset when results of things are revealed. This, in turn, resulted in a bunch of people calling people like me “whiners” and “losers.” I suppose this is going to be one of those web debates. I’m refusing to get involved. I just sent her a note thanking her for clarifying her position, and noted that I’d unfollow her for now and then re-follow her later. After the way she’s handled the situation, though, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. Too bad–she’s a bicycle tour organizer and I was thinking pretty seriously about joining her tours one day.
4. I was really excited for Switzerland last night, and today I’m just nervous. I hope I’ll be able to sleep on the plane! I love traveling, though. I’m sure it’ll be fun.
…that’s something that we’ll cover today in this installment of the triathlon primer.
The last leg of any triathlon is the run. There are one or two things you should know.
Things you should know
-Your legs are going to feel like crap after you’ve been on a longish no-impact bicycle ride. They will say things to you, like, “#@*%!” and “#*$&@!”
-Quick turnover–that is, the ability to put down one foot in front of the other at a faster rate than usual–is the key to faster leg recovery.
There isn’t anything you can do about the fact that your legs will feel like so much garbage after you’ve been on your bicycle.
However, you can help your legs get used to feeling like crap by engaging in brick workouts: swim right before you bike; bike right before you run. In other words, practice what you’d do in a triathlon. At some point, after you’ve done four or five of these, it will begin to feel normal that your legs feel like crap. (?) Yes, yes, I know. It sounds like bunk, and even slightly insane, but hey, this sport is slightly insane.
Don’t think, even for a second, that just because you’re doing that last part of a triathlon, you can slack off on your fueling and re-fueling. Odds are, you haven’t eaten or had nearly as much to drink as you need to, so you’d better keep on sipping that water and taking little nibbles of whatever yummy stuff you’ve got in your jersey pocket, or whatever they’re offering you at the aid stations. All in moderation, though–if you do like I did during a particularly harrowing half-Ironman about a month and a half ago and eat like a peeeeeg, things may not go so well for you.
Between the bike and the run, you might also consider re-applying some lube to the insides of your thighs and perhaps around your arms where your sleeves meet skin. You’ve been sweating a lot, and, um, frankly, the nice technical fabric you put on ages ago is probably just a little crustier with sweat than it was before. The guys out there may want to take care of their nipples. Bloody nipples don’t make anyone want to hug you at the end of a race. Blech.
As usual, pace yourself. This is where something new comes in. This year for Ironman, I’ve decided I’m going to adopt a run-walk strategy. I’ve never done this before, and frankly, it made me feel like a panty-waist. Everyone I’ve ever seen walking in a half-Ironman has looked drained, and, worse, embarrassed. But you know, eventually, I got used to it. And my pace didn’t suffer all that much. And, mentally (we’ll talk about that a bit more in another installment), it really helps me to know that after 8 minutes of running, I get to walk. Walk! Unheard of!
At the very least, my knees are much happier. They no longer feel as if they want to fly off and shoot around the room, wreaking all sorts of havoc before landing spinning at my feet. They feel like they kind of want to stay attached, the better to walk me to the bar, where a sweet pile of cheese fondue and a nice margarita will be awaiting me.
Right. We leave for Switzerland tomorrow. Forthcoming, though, we’ll talk about nutrition and the mental game, as they pertain specifically to Ironman. Thanks for reading, everyone! And feel free to write if you’ve questions!!
It’s a sticky, slightly breezy day today, like it has been most days here, with a pretty good chance of thunderstorms. Last night, our neurotic dog woke up needing to potty twice, which is bizarre for him, but…what do you do? You pull on your outside clothes; grab your keys and let him out, down the hallway to the elevator, and then stand out there while he moseys about, looking for an appropriate place.
I swear, he never did this when we had our own backyard. It’s like he’s checking to see how far he can push us. Then again, I’m not willing to rish an accident on the carpet. It would make him feel terrible, anyway.
Consequently, I’m feeling far less than well rested today. That might explain the terrible lateness of this post, or it might not. Whatevs.
Today is the day we discuss the longest leg in the triathlon for many people, the bike leg. There are a few things you should know.
The few things you should know
-The faster you pedal, the less quickly your legs will tire.
-You are more stable moving forward, pedaling, than you are moving forward, without pedaling.
-Bicycling is an all-body sport.
Why those things are important
The bicycling leg is your best chance to refuel. It’s also where you will spend the bulk of your time on race day, and where you will spend the bulk of your time training. It’s where you stand the most chance of improving your time, so you do *not* want to do like I did this season and willy-nilly skip bicycle workouts all over the place and then pay no attention to things like heart rate and cadence when you do finally get to your bike workout.
Although the advantages of training by heart rate are well documented, some folks still overlook the importance of cadence. It’s really important to keep your cadence somewhere between 80 and 90 rotations a minute. It’ll mean easier pedaling, and you’ll get stronger, faster.
You’ll be able to sustain a longer ride if you can keep your legs from tiring, and cadence is the key to that. Remember, you still have a run to do after your ride, so ride smart, maintaining a good speed, and let it carry you up hills where you can.
Learn to ride smart on the downhills. Know which speeds you can maintain without feeling unstable; a crash at a high speed wouldn’t be much fun at all.
Be sure to spend a fair amount of time on your bike, practicing things like eating and drinking. You won’t be able to stop every time you want to take a drink or eat something, so learn how to do that on the fly, and get comfortable doing it.
You are going to experience a few uncomfortable things your first couple of weeks on your bike. First, there’s a little spot between the shoulder blades that’s bound to cramp from holding yourself up (c.f. “all-body sport” above). And, your butt will hurt. Don’t worry; these things will go away with time, but there are things you can do to immediately alleviate some of the pain.
Things to buy
Triathlon is an expensive sort, and while there are things you don’t need to spend money on, I do think that buying a good pair of cycling shoes and pedals is one of the best things I’ve ever done in my cycling career. A proper cycling stroke means that you use the muscles in your legs on the upstroke as well as the downstroke (think of the motion you make with your foot when scraping a piece of gum off the sole of your shoe). Being clipped in to your pedals means you can use that stroke without worrying that you’ll lose contact with your pedal. If you’re worried about getting your money’s worth, don’t: I’ve had the pair I’m using in this weekend’s triathlon for 13 years, and they’re my only pair of road riding shoes.
Buy a couple pairs of cycling shorts. These are padded in all the right places, for all the important reasons.
I’d also invest in a Bento Box for your top tube. It velcroes right to your bike frame and allows you to access things like…food. It’s likely the best $14 you’ll ever spend.
Get a computer that will measure your cadence and speed for you. Some of the fancier models will connect wirelessly to a heart rate monitor so you can keep track of everyone right on your bike, but…I’m not that cool.
Also, spend the money and get some Body Glide. It’s an allatonin-based product that will keep your clothes rubbing from rubbing against your skin, and prevent chafing. Put it on your butt, and anywhere your skin meets fabric. Do it. It’ll help.
Finally, *do* get a road bike, even an inexpensive one. There’s nothing quite like flying over the course on one of these sleek, silent machines. I’ve hit a top speed of 38 miles an hour on my road bike, and although that’s not nearly as fast as the pros on a good downhill, it is really an unbeatable, unmatchable feeling.
More important, though, you’ll be on a machine that’s engineered to go long distance over an asphalt surface. If you ride a triathlon course on a mountain or a hybrid bike, you run the risk of wasting a lot of energy for no good reason.
Right, that’s it for now. Tomorrow, the run course.
…I speak, of course, of the legs of a triathlon. There are three: swim, bike run. Let’s break it down, shall we?
Legend goes that triathlon organizers built triathlon to be in the order it is now because the swim is the area that’s the most dangerous. You don’t want tired, zoned-out people flailing around in deep water. It’s bad juju, and bad liability, to boot. So they put the swim first, which means you get on your bike cold and wet. Well, that can’t be helped, and you dry off pretty fast, anyway.
The swim leg is most difficult for many people. Many triathlon organizers, if they make use of cut-offs (times requiring you to be done with specific legs, or the race itself, at a given time) give you the most time to do the swim, proportionately. For instance, I’ll probably finish the swim time in about an hour and a half, if I’m lucky and do everything right. The pros will finish in under an hour. But the swim cutoff time is still a whopping 2 hours and 20 minutes.
(This is what a swim start looks like. Messy, splashy, and fun. Also, confusing.)
Some things to learn
There’s actually not too much to say about the swim; really, it’s just something you have to get through.
More and more sprint race directors have cut the swim to 400 meters, or about a quarter of a mile, a distance that even only a fairly decent swimmer can get through in 10 minutes. I know people who have done that distance entirely on their backs, or using the breast stroke. Heck, I know folks who have done 800 meters in a sprint race on their backs. The point is, learn to do the crawl. It’s much more efficient, and you’ll be able to see.
Another skill you’ll need to learn is sighting. It’s the art of looking up every once in awhile to see where you’re going. In a pool, you’ve got the lap lines and the pool wall to guide you. In a murky lake, no such luck. You only need to sight every six or so strokes, but make sure you learn to do it. Getting lost in the swim portion of a triathlon is fodder for a lot of bad jokes at your expense.
Learn, as well, to breathe bilaterally. The theory is that it will help to keep you going in a straight line if you’re not just breathing to one side all the time, but I’ve found that it also keeps my neck muscles loose in a long swim. At the very least, it’s something else to focus on, which helps me to get through the time better.
Some things to expect
When you do get to your first triathlon, be sure to spend some time in the water before the race starts. A lot of people freeze up when they get into the open water. I’m not saying that this is going to happen to *you*, but you might as well prevent it if you can.
Then there’s the actual start of the race.
It feels like this:
Clif Bar on YouTube
No, I’m not kidding. Just be ready for it. There’s a lot of people, all vying for their spot to swim in, and you need to expect that you might be kicked.
You might experience some vertigo coming out of the water. This is normal. Once you get out of the water, start unzipping your wetsuit and struggling out of it. I’ve seen racers apply Body Glide to their lower arms and legs, both under the wetsuit and on the outer of the wetsuit itself, so it’ll slide against itself better and be easier to remove. Do practice taking your wetsuit off a couple of times, at least, in a hurry. You don’t want to be struggling in the transition area and losing valuable time. Don’t forget to pull off your goggles and swim cap.
That’s about it for the swim. Tomorrow, the bike leg.
I’ve been involved in multi-sport since 2001, and started doing triathlons back in 2003 as part of a project to get more urban women involved in outdoor sport (“Yes! You *can* have a two-martini dinner and still go for a five-mile run when you get home!”)
At any rate, navigating some of the terminology in triathlon is one of the things I remember doing first, so let’s start from the very beginning.
Technically, a triathlon is any sport that involves three sports, much the way that a biathlon can be anything from a cross-country-skiing-and-shooting-fest to a run-bike-run. But, strictly speaking, triathlon is typically defined as swim-bike-run, in that order.
(Cartoon images help me to remember which order events are in a tri.)
That Whole “Ironman” Thing
I can’t tell you how many people have asked me, when I’m doing an Ironman, “Wait, a full one?” Sometimes I get the same question when I tell people I’m doing a triathlon. Anything less than a full triathlon would be a bi-athlon, or a running or swimming or biking race. And anything less than an Ironman is a half-Ironman or an Olympic distance or a sprint race. (More on those later.) The term “triathlon” is not interchangeable with “Ironman.”
There is some controversy about the Ironman branding. I was very disappointed to realize that, since the people behind the Ironman brand also operate events at the half-Ironman distance, they are extending the Ironman name to that distance. They’re calling it “70.3” instead (the full distance behind an Ironman is 140.6 miles, exactly), so as not to dilute the brand of “Ironman,” I suppose, but I believe it’s backfired: Now, you can say you’ve done an “Ironman” if you did an Ironman-branded 70.3 event. They encourage it. I find it annoying. I don’t like the idea of making it sound as if I’ve done something I haven’t. For me, that will all change this year once I cross the finish line at Ironman Switzerland, and I suppose that, in the future, the collective memory will forget that Ironman once meant one specific thing, but…eurgh.
(This logo is fraught with controversy. Okay, just in my head.)
Remember a couple of days ago, when I was geeking out to the math involved in a triathlon? Get ready for some more geekspeak.
In order, from shortest to longest, the triathlons are: sprint; Olympic (or International); Half-Ironman (or “middle-distance”); Ironman. Here are the distance breakdowns:
Swim: 400-800 yards (0.25-0.5 mile)
Bike: 13 miles
Run: 3.1 miles
Swim: .93 miles
Bike: 26 miles
Run: 6.2 miles
Swim: 1.2 miles
Bike: 56 miles
Run: 13.1 miles
Swim: 2.4 miles
Bike: 112 miles
How to Get Started
Start small. Find a friendly local race to train for. Enlist some friends to train with you and race with you. Enjoy the process, as you become competent in several disciplines as once and gain confidence and strength. Swim outdoors when you can. There are a ton of training programs online. I used Trinewbies.com for awhile and enjoyed it.
(These are the girls who were in my virtual network for awhile. Loved doing a triathlon with them.)
Next, shop. Yes, do get triathlon-specific items. You could spend a ton of money, but you don’t have to: invest in a pair of triathlon shorts that will take you straight from swim to bike and through the run. A wetsuit, if your chosen triathlon requires it, or if you live in a colder-weather clime.
Next, set some goals. They can be anything: weight loss; time spent outdoors; a time goal. Just pick something and stick to it.
Finally, pick a nice, casual restaurant in which to celebrate your first triathlon. If you don’t finish the race feeling good enough to have a margarita (okay, I’ll admit this is my own personal benchmark), then…well, try again. Then repeat.
Tomorrow, we’ll talk some about the specific legs of a race.
I had a very good weekend, training-wise and social-wise. We took our time, sleeping in a little bit and taking our time getting ready in the mornings, since our workouts were shorter now that we’re closer to D-Day, and that made all the difference, since I’m largely a morning person.
At any rate, part of the terrific weekend was getting to know a bloke (Hi, Steve!) who’s doing some important work getting ShelterBox up and running in Denmark. He’s a British ex-pat and heard of my efforts on behalf of ShelterBox in the Ironman, and took the time on Sunday to engage in some chitchat over the Facebook transom. Talking to him made me think that there are perhaps a number of readers who don’t know exactly what I’m doing in this-here Ironman, so I’ll take some space in the days leading up to race day to describe some things like training and structure of races.
Today I’ll go over transition times. You’ve already seen some of the neuroses that happens (how many laps do I have to swim before I hit a mile, again? How many MPH do I have to hit before I can say that I’ll make the cut-off on time?) but one of the things that goes oft-overlooked is transition times. In adventure racing, the transition–the time between disciplines allotted for changing your kit around and prepping for the next leg of the race–can be incredibly slow. There’s re-fueling to be done, re-packing, map-reading, and sometimes, in the very long races, tooth-brushing.
But in a triathlon, the transition times can be remarkably fast, about two, three minutes between each discipline. This makes a relatively disorganized person like me break out in cold sweat. My friend Pamela, who is incredibly organized, is good at these things. Me, not so much. I have to practically write everything down, practice it over and over again.
So here’s what happens in a TA (“transition area”): You stage your bike, your shoes, any odds and ends you might need on the course, all the night before the race. (The Ironman organization practices a “clean transition area” policy, but we’ll talk more about that tomorrow, when I go over race structure.)
A typical transition area looks like this:
(Assume that my bicycle is on the left side of things.)
Every last minute counts in a triathlon. In the case of next weekend’s Ironman, it’ll count doubly for me, since I missed an entire cycle of training this year, all told, and I will need every minute I can get in order to make it in under the 16-hour cutoff for the race. Transitions are “free time”: you don’t have to get stronger or fitter to execute a good triathlon, and it can save you a lot of time if you do it right.
Things get set up very specifically. Ordinarily, I’d have my helmet, jersey, sunglasses, and bike gloves sitting on top of my bike handlebars, so I don’t have to waste time bending over one more time to pick something up. You can see that my socks are already sitting in my bike shoes, ready for me to pull them on and slip into my shoes. My shoes are entirely undone. I will put these on first.
Next I will pull on my jersey, which will have my number already pinned to the front of it. You can see it’s lying front down, since that’s the way I’ll pull it on. (One time, I put the pins all the way through my jersey. I had a bear of a time putting my jersey on, let me tell you. Lessons learned.)
My sunglasses are open and my gloves are as open as they can possibly be. My feet will be wet and likely covered in grass, sand, and dirt from the jog from the lake to the transition area, so the towel underneath all my stuff will serve dual purpose.
When I come in from the swim, I’ll pull off my wetsuit and set it out of the way. I’ll be wearing a sportsbra and my triathlon shorts underneath already. Then I’ll wipe my feet and pull on my socks and shoes. Sunscreen and lip balm goes on my face and neck only, since I’ll have pre-applied over my body before the swim and it won’t have washed or rubbed off in the water; then my helmet and my glasses and gloves. I’ll probably take a slug of liquid and some salt tablets (we’ll talk about nutrition at a later date) and scarf a bite of real food, like one of the granola bars you see on the towel.
Then it’s off to the bike leg.
Many, many hours later, it’s time to run. I’ll come in, undo my bike shoes, remove my glasses, helmet, bike gloves, slip into my running shoes, slap on my visor, and go after grabbing my water bottle.
A good transition will take somewhere between 3 and 8 minutes. Well, a girl can hope, anyway, can’t she?
Tomorrow, race structure.
I only say this because it’s gloriously sunny out, and I’m recovering from a nasty bout of food poisoning. People, let me just dispense one fine piece of advice: when you are three weeks out from a major race and just barely beginning to taper, it is a really, really bad idea for you to eat food from the hot/cold buffet at any eating establishment. The risk just isn’t worth it. Since I didn’t pay attention to this advice, I had to skip yesterday’s jog, which would have been an awesome walk in the woods with Jim and the hound. There is nothing in my belly except for ice chips and my eyelids feel as if they have been coated with sandpaper (this is no doubt a result of dehydration).
Jim and I had been looking forward to Saturday’s ride, which would have been our longest to-date and the first that we’ve had specific instructions to stay together. Jim is a much faster cyclist than I am under ordinary circumstances. Just to give you some sort of measurement, he does our usual loop, the 14-mile race loop we did for the first time this year four weeks ago, in about 45 minutes. I do it in about an hour and ten minutes. But our coach specifically has asked that I work on my cadence, and she thinks that following Jim around will both give me more confidence and a better feel for faster riding.
She’s right on both counts; it’s just a little disheartening to realize how little I retain of my desire for competition of this sort. Imagine, being told that you need to follow someone around in order to get some sort of feel for speed!
Well. I wasn’t any faster than I usually am, but my legs felt so much better, and I did get a feel for the speed I’d want to be traveling at. Plus, Jim bought me a neat little computer that tracks my cadence, and while I wasn’t as bad as I thought I’d be on the flats and the very slight uphills, my cadence on the uphill-uphills was absolutely dreadful. Oh well.
Anyway, here’s the loop we rode.
We did our prescribed 15-minute run at the end, and piled into the car for home and dinner, only to get stuck in traffic and not be able to go anywhere for a good long while. I slept. When I woke up again Jim was wearing the heavy-lidded look that says he’s not long for the conscious world, and we were still so far away from home.
A normal thirty-minute ride turned into a marathon hour and a half.
Anyway, home, dinner, and sleep, with the knowledge that the next day would be better, but not without the geeking-out that I seem to do every night now before I go to sleep. It looks like this:
and so on. All of that, of course, is the amount of time it’s going to take me to do the Ironman, based on the distances I’ve traveled and the training I’ve done. By my current calculations I shall barely eke in under the 16-hour cutoff point, and I’m OK with that, just so long as I finish.
We ran a few errands Sunday and had the aforementioned buffet lunch, and then I crashed hard on the couch for several hours. I thought I was just tired, but my beleagured little body was waging a war against either the corn-and-edamame succotash or the roasted cauliflower. I woke up, piled leftover fish and chips and grape juice on top of the mess in my belly, and promptly paid the price.
So after a sleepless night, I’m staring at a day of incapability to do work and possibly being late returning my library books. I’d like to actually pick up some new ones and write a book review and some more articles for The Examiner, but…I’m so tired. And hungry. Maybe I can stomach some chicken broth.
Egads. It feels like I’ve been running on weekend time forever. It sounds like a good thing, doesn’t it? Except, see, for us, in these peak weeks of Ironman training, well, the weekends are when we do our long workouts: five-hour bike rides on Saturday; three-hour runs on Sunday. After that, there’s not much to do but sleep and eat. There’s not much we’re capable of, really.
This weekend, we had a wedding to go to, so our long run was moved to Friday, leaving our Saturday free to travel. We also had a friend in town, apartment-hunting, although she wasn’t staying with us. And there were a few occurrences that made things feel as happy as weekends used to feel, before the days of long workouts that leave no time for regular life.
My sense of time is all screwed up. I know we only have a few weeks left until the Ironman, but it still feels a long way away. I guess we do have to get there, after all. At any rate, all of this is a round-about way of saying that I have a ton of impressions that are weighing with various pressures on my mind. In order of “weight,” then:
First, the wedding: My first-ever New York roommate got married. She also graduated as a Doctor of Osteopathy. Very, very cool. It was really nice to see her and participate in the wedding. (She had me do a reading. Yes, I got all weepy.)
Second, the awesome guys at Braithwaite Wallets donated a fairly large amount of money to ShelterBox by way of supporting me, one of their first clients, and my Ironman effort. I’d say something about how great their wallets are, and, in particular, how the one I bought from them has made my life easier, but all of that pales next to the the donation they made, and the level of gratitude I feel at their generosity.
Third, an old friend from junior high school has found an apartment in Brooklyn and will be moving here mid-summer. It will be nice to have her in the same state–we haven’t lived in the same state since college, really, and we weren’t really in touch then–and interesting to discover Brooklyn with someone who’s interested in some of the same things.
Third, I took this picture of Sprocket recently. I think he looks very thoughtful: “What am I going to make for dinner tonight?”
Fourth: I had a workdate yesterday with a new friend. I don’t think it was as successful for him as it was for me, but I’m grateful that he let me hang out with him. It’s always nice to get out of the house.
Fifth: I went to my friend John’s cafe to meet Tim for lunch. It was a really nice experience. Zanny’s Cafe is the result of a lot of hard work and I’m really proud of John for making it happen. I think it’s so awesome to have tangible proof of something you built and worked on.
Sixth: We saw another old friend on our way up to the wedding. Matt and Karla and their little boy Korbin are fascinating people. I love seeing them and I’m happy we’re on the same coast again, even if we’re not likely to see them more than a couple of times a year. The northeast is so much smaller than the midwest, and there is such a concentration of reasonably large cities (New York, Boston, Washington D.C., Philadelphia, for instance), that the act of going to visit a friend in another state does not immediately pack an entire weekend. I mean, obviously, it’s nicer if one can spend an entire weekend with friends, but it’s not as prohibitive as, say, driving to Indianapolis was. Here are Matt, Karla, and Korbin in front of their awesome little condo.
And here is the awesome radiator re-seller that we saw on the way to Matt and Karla’s (we passed it twice, looping around and around the Somerville streets).
What else? Oh, yes. We had a massive surf-and-turf dinner at Sarah’s wedding. She is not one to skimp on food, and she is also one to ensure that her guests are very, very happy. This combination leads to fat, happy guests.
Okay, fine, one more. Here is Sprocket’s poor hedgehog toy. I stitched up one of his eyes after Sprocket ripped it out, but I think it is finally beyond repair. Sigh.
Mike says that Twiglets are good with beer. So I am indulging in that, as a late afternoon snack, and I think it well deserved: today’s triathlon workout was 5 hours and twenty minutes of cycling followed by 15 minutes of jog, and it’s done now.
I give myself about two hours before I fall asleep on the couch with my Twiglets resting on my belly and an empty beer bottle clutched in my pruny paws. (This is what happens when you don’t hydrate well and then almost fall asleep in the shower.)
Anyway, we’d ridden about an hour and a half north and had come back most of the way to refuel when we saw the above photo. That tree wasn’t there when we rode up, so I’m glad we were not there when it fell right across the path, as I might have actually pee’ed in my pants if I had been anywhere near it. This is nowhere near as exciting as what Jeff Kerkove sawon his training ride today. We only have in common the fact that I bet Jeff would have also pee’ed his bike shorts if he’d witnessed either the tree falling OR that truck veering off the road, right into the bike lane.
We did the ride on the North County Trail, which is all gorgeous and mostly shaded, and a really lovely respite from the hilly course we’ve been riding at Harriman State Park. Here’s Jim on the path:
Also, the trail is on a rail line that used to run from Westchester County, where we live, straight up through Putnam County the next county up, and there are remnants of the old railroad still around. Here’s the Millwood train station.
I wish they’d do something with this station. Like, I don’t know, open an ice-cream shop. For bicyclists.
Now I want to do nothing but lie about on the sofa and read YA fiction. I could go do it outside, by our building’s pool, but I am *way* too tired to go downstairs.