PRELUDE
When I had my stress fracture, I relegated myself to the gym to train and rehabilitate. And it sucked. After Chattanooga, I decided to back off the running to prevent some injury wannabes from fulfilling their full potential, but instead of heading back indoors, I decided to try some new things, and cycling was one of them. It started out as aerobic exercise to bide the time while my feet healed, but turns out, it's kinda fun.
I was invited to come to these weekly swim/bike get togethers up in Pflugerville - swim in Lake Pflugerville (500-1000m, you pick), then go on a ride (15 miles). I kept having conflicts till about half-way through the summer, but once I finally got myself up there to go, I was hooked. Swimming in the lake was way more fun than swimming laps in a pool, and the country roads through corn fields in Pflugerville was quite nice, and the company was great and everyone very welcoming and patient with this newbie who seemed to have some sort of incident every week (flat tires, falling over and bending in the derailleur, more flat tires, etc.). One time, a couple friends from my running group even tagged on a run around the lake with me afterward to complete our first unofficial sprint distance triathlon.
Somewhere in July, I think, I finally accepted that the Cactus Rose 50 miler was not going to happen this year, and that mixed with my new-found hobby made me set my eyes on the Livestrong Century Ride. It was about the same time as Cactus Rose, and it gave me a big goal I could train for without inevitably running myself into injury on half-healed feet.
I purchased an old road bike from one of the women from the swim/bike group for a good price, and as I've mentioned before in here, through the generosity of friends, acquired other necessary equipment for this expensive sport. Clothes, pedals, seats, and more...and a whole lot of knowledge too (anyone that knows me well knows I ask a lot of questions, and I have definitely taken advantage my friends' wealth of information on the sport). Friends started taking me out on long rides and would patiently wait for me to catch up here and there. Cycling, like swimming, was a humbling undertaking. This runner, with good strong running legs, does not yet have her biking legs. Friends would zoom up hills that I would huff-and-puff my way up, but it was still enjoyable.
I had planned on getting at least one good 70-miler in before the ride, but life happened, and the best I could do was a handful of 50 milers. 'Oh, if you can do 50, you can do 100,' people told me. 'Um, okay,' I would reply, only half believing them. I have been so busy with school that ride week snuck up on me. Sometime last week, though, it hit what I was about to undertake, and let's just say I got a little nervous.
Saturday, I planned out all my nutrition (plan: eat a lot the whole time), got all my gear together and headed to bed about 2 hours after I had wanted to. As I was pulling back the covers, I remembered that I hadn't switched out my pedals, which I had wanted to do because the right one had come off twice on me while riding, and not where you're picturing it would come off. The part that you unscrew to change them out - that part stays on, but the pedal itself comes off the pole that attaches to the bike. Anyway, it had only done it twice out of how many miles of riding? So, I thought, 'I'm sure it will be fine,' and went to bed. Famous last words...
RIDE DAY!!!
I woke up to a temperature of 41 degrees. A little chilly you could say. I didn't let myself dwell on it too much, though, and grabbed my things and headed down on my bike (the start line was only 2 miles away, but those 2 miles going home were not so insignificant as they were going there) to the start/finish area. I left my bag at the bag drop area, made one more 'In Memory' card for Mr. Gawrys, one of the most influential teachers I've had, in an area where you can recognize loved ones affected by cancer. There were too many more that I should have written. On that note, in February, I ran the Livestrong Marathon and made it all about me. Sunday, and the days leading up to it, I really thought about all the friends and family I've had that have been affected by cancer, and I wanted to make this ride about them. One common thread amongst all those people I thought about was their strength, so I decided to try to channel that strength to help get me to the finish line.
I lined up with the other 100 milers feeling extremely out of place and like a fraud. They all looked so experienced. Like pros. I had no idea what I was doing. I saw some friends, but they were in the middle of the pack, and I didn't belong there, so I kept moving to the back until it wasn't so crowded. I was worried about the mass start. I wasn't used to riding in a crowd, and I didn't want to take someone else out because of my inexperience. I was anxious to get started, though, as I was literally shivering just standing there. I had arm warmers, my ear warmer and half-gloves on, but then shorts and a thin jersey. I knew it was going to warm up and be a beautiful day, but damn! it was cold in the morning. Finally, they blew the horn, and we were on our way.
MILES 0-20
Did I mention it was cold in the morning? Oh. my. gosh. My hands have never been that numb, and not comfortably numb in any way. I was actually concerned at a few points that I was doing them permanent damage. I would go to brake and I wouldn't know if I had ahold of the brake or not, because I could literally not feel anything with my hands. I tried breathing on them. Couldn't feel the heat from my breathe. I tried putting them one-at-a-time in my armpit. No heat. I tried moving them. They moved, at least, but it hurt to do so. It was a little bit miserable. People were coming up behind me and commenting on how cold I looked. One guy said, 'I didn't know goosebumps could be that big,' and I overheard one guy say to a girl he was riding with, 'That girl looks COLD!!' By the time I stopped at the 20 mile aid station, the sun was mostly out, and once I had a chance to get my hands out of the wind, they warmed up, and it wasn't a problem any more, but wow. That was cold. I saw some friends here, which was nice. Even though there were a lot of people around, I was essentially riding by myself, and friendly faces were a nice break.
MILES 20-40
These miles went by fairly quickly. I remember looking at the course and elevation maps and noting that the hills were primarily from 20-60, and so far, by this point, it hadn't been too bad. I didn't allow myself to get too confident, though. Who knows what's coming. Well, I do know one thing that's coming. There's some sort of giant, super steep hill somewhere around mile 50 that everyone told me about. A lot of people walk it. Some try to ride it and have to stop. Some manage to make it to the top, but not without a Herculean effort. So, I had that thought to keep me entertained. I saw the same friends I saw at the 20. They were doing the 65 mile route, so that was the last time I'd see them, but I also ran into a couple guys I had done a long ride with a few weeks ago. They were new friends, and it was fun to see them out there. I rode with some of them out of the aid station, but they were going faster, so I let them drop me and would just see them as they were on their way out of the aid stations as I was coming in.
MILES 40-60
Holy schnikeys. Everyone talked about the giant hill. They all lied. It was 10 times worse than anyone suggested. Somewhere around mile 46, you come around a curve and bam! there about a mile away is this monstrosity of a hill. It looks vertical, and it was much longer than I had pictured. Now, I like to try difficult things, and I often assume I can do them (call it naive idealism), but when I saw that hill, my visions of being able to say 'I made it up the hill!' disappeared. All confidence left. Maybe you real cyclists reading this who know what hill I'm talking about think I'm over-reacting, but that was a big, freaking hill. As I neared it, I was riding and talking to a girl with a very fancy bike who had done this ride before (read: far more experienced than me) who was saying she wasn't even going to try it. She was going to walk, 'but good luck to you' she said to me. Great. Okay. I tried to muster up some fake confidence. You can do this!! (maybe) Don't give up!! (there's no way) Let's do this!! (what the hell, just give it a try).
Lucky for me, I have a granny chain, meaning a third 'big gear' in front (still learning the lingo....), or basically an extra easier gear that I can drop down into. I made sure to be down in that before I started up. Within the first couple of pedal strokes, I was sure I wasn't going to make it. It was so steep. And so long. I wanted to just stop, get off the bike right there, but I kept going. ~1/3 of the way~ It hurt. It was so hard. I need to stop. I can't do this. I was breathing so hard. I started weaving back and forth because straight up was not an option. ~1/2 way up~ There were people walking their bikes all around me. Another guy weaving. We got into this figure eight pattern so we wouldn't collide. Don't give up. If you give up, you'll regret it. ~2/3 of the way~ One girl had her shoes off walking. Almost there. I can't do it anymore. I could hear my breathing. My heart must be about to jump out of my chest. People were cheering at the top. Yes, that's what I need. Keep cheering. Just a few more pushes. Oh my gosh, I just might make it. Just. Keep. Going. ~And I was on the top!~
Granted I did it in the easy chain, but I'm not letting that belittle it for me. I was on top of the world (literally and figuratively) when I got to the top, and there were my new riding buddies cheering for me. 'We all made it!' one said and gave me a high five. I got a banana, filled my water bottles and headed on. Not only did I conquer that hill, but that was more-or-less the half-way point. Downhill from here! (in miles, that is) And every mile from here on will be the farthest I've ever gone on a bike. Let's do this.
From YouTube, a video of the Fulton Ranch Rd hill
MILES 60-80
These miles were a little tough. For starters, my pedal came off just past the 60 mile aid station. This was the second time that it had come off the first being right after the giant hill (not on it, though, thankfully), and it got me worried that the threading was stripped, and I wouldn't be able to make it to the end. I would have been so disappointed if I didn't finish. The 60s were also just mentally tough. I was alone. I was on pretty country roads, but that added to the aloneness. Plus, I was getting tired, and there were still so many miles to go. I couldn't think about all the miles left. 'Just working for 70,' I would tell myself. That 10 mile stretch was longer than any other, though. I don't really remember much about this section, except that it was mentally the toughest part, though, it wasn't as hard as some of the hardest places I've been while running, and I had no other choice but to just keep going, so that's what I did.
Making it to the 70 mile aid station was a much needed boost. It was good to see people, even if I didn't talk to them, and it also meant that I could start saying, 'Just working for 80' in my head, and 80 sounded a lot closer to the finish. I had only planned on stopping every 20 miles, but after the pedal came off the last time (it happened twice in this stretch), I thought I should stop at every aid station and give it a little tightening. So, I did, had a little snack and was back on my way.
MILES 80-100
I was getting worried that my pedal issue was going to keep me from finishing. So far, it had come off 4 times. I told myself I would ask the bike people at the 80 mile aid station to try to tighten it better than I could with my hands, but when I got there, I was so elated about only having 20 miles left that I just hand tightened it myself and jumped back on and left (after another snack, of course). Shortly after this, it came off again. This was becoming old hat. Right foot comes sliding off bike for apparently no good reason, brake, stop, get off, lay bike down, sit down and pull pedal off shoe, reattach to bike, say a little prayer that I'll make it to the finish, resume riding. I had it down pat by this time. After getting back on, one of my new riding friends came up on me saying his crew had gone ahead when he got a flat tire, so we rode together for the remainder of the 80s, went through the last aid station (oh my goodness, oh my goodness, back in Austin!!) and started heading down 1st street back to downtown. Last 9 miles. I'm actually going to do this! Somewhere around William Cannon, surprise surprise!, my pedal came of again. My friend went on, and I went through the routine and fixed it. I had lost all concept of social norms by this point, and sick of my runny nose (cold+wind...), blew two snot rockets right there on the sidewalk along busy S 1st in the middle of the day. A woman was walking down the sidewalk. She asked if I was okay. I was. I got back on and continued.
A rider came up on me right as I was getting going again and started up a conversation. I told him my pedal had come off 6 times by that point. He was fascinated and, lucky for him, got to see it come off one more time (thankfully, the last) somewhere around Stassney. I got that fixed and my newest friend took off. I passed a sign that said 5 miles to go. 5. miles. to go. :) I crossed Ben White and was all smiles. I know this stretch. It's three miles to the river from here, part of the marathon course, we run it all the time in my running group, and the best part - it's downhill. I don't know who designed the course, but they are a genius. Coasting downhill the last three miles of a century ride is pure joy, especially when your pedals stay attached to your bike! The view of downtown from S. 1st was possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. This is the closest thing to it I could find:
The most beautiful site in the world when you're 97 miles into a 100 mile ride that ends at the river.
FINISH
My friends have often told me that I look angry when I run, and my finish line pictures often exemplify that, but as I crossed the finish line on Sunday's ride, I had a genuine smile on my face as I raised my hand in the air and cheered. I did it! I rode 100 miles. I made it up that big hill, and I had a blast, and what started out as cross-training time-biding till I could run again has turned into something that I think I am going to enjoy for a while to come.
The rings at the front are called "chain rings". The rings at the back are called the cassette. What you have on the front are fairly typical in many jilly areas, a triple chain ring. What you use was the "granny ring".
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