I rode in the 50 mile Tour de Cure ride on June 5 and it is now July 5. There are a couple of reasons for a late report: 1.) I was mad that I got hurt and couldn’t run for three weeks so anything I wrote directly afterwards would have been marred by frustration 2.) I wasn’t really sure how to explain that I told my husband I didn’t want to ride with him.
I am now feeling better about my knee and about my decision to ride solo.
Mike and I had both signed up for the 62 mile ride thinking we’d have enough preparation and oomph to do it. Then a few weeks before the ride he received an invitation to speak at a prestigious conference in Lake Placid for work that conflicted with the date of the ride….long story short – the talk got moved and he came home late Saturday night to make the ride on Sunday. In the end we both thought doing 50 would be a better choice since he hadn’t really had any opportunity to prepare by riding to work (rain, rain, rain) and I had had two rides – a 10 miler and a 50 miler. I was still kinda bitter after the 3 ½ hour ride in the pouring rain a few weeks before (my bike was stuffed in the corner of my garage with its chain rusted, poor thing) and I just wanted an enjoyable ride with minimal misery. I did feel bad for telling my riding partner Sheryl only a day or two before that I was bailing on 62. I think she was disappointed but was overall a good sport about it---though she did sneak in an “I’m surprised, you usually tough it out”…ouch. I gave her short notice and she heard it first from Mike (bad, bad) so all was forgiven.
On our way up in the car it occurred to me that Mike wouldn’t have anyone to ride with since his riding buddy was doing 62. I had flashbacks of our bike rides together while living in Alexandria, VA. We enjoyed several long rides, including the scenic bike path to Mt. Vernon to visit the home of George Washington as well as the gravely, beautiful ride to Great Falls, MD. I had a heavy, purple Trek mountain bike that I loved but it was not fast. Mike also had a mountain bike but his was leaner, lighter (ok, it was probably the same as mine but this is what I recall). He was always way ahead of me and I was always behind, plugging along at my own sweet pace. I was a believer in joy rides, taking in the scenery, and he was a believer in getting a good workout. But now I have a road bike. A real bike. Mike had gotten it for me for my 40th birthday (my first brand new bike!) so we could ride together. And I loved it. It was fair that he would want to enjoy the ride by pushing himself…but it was also reasonable that I wanted to have a good ride and not obsess over pace per mile for three or more hours.
We started the ride out together. He was ahead, but very attentive. He wanted me to pass him. I did. He said I had a nice ass. I ignored him. A few slow people were ahead of me. Mike passed all of us. Then I was behind him. And then I went ahead of him. And then he was ahead of me. And so on. The shoulder of the road was not very wide so we did a lot of back and forth and couldn’t ride side by side. I told him to just GO. He insisted he wanted to ride with me. He seemed sincere. We continued on.
I had to pee. Uh-oh. I’m usually a camel. We had coffee in the car ride up. I had a Vitamin Water (“Endurance” flavored!) at registration. I looked down and saw 7 miles. I knew there was a rest stop at mile 10. We passed mile ten but then I saw a rest area around mile 11. Relief was in sight. I told Mike I wanted to stop. He said, “Already?” I knew then that I was going to hold him back. I knew that he would have ridden with me without complaint but this was a great opportunity for him to GO and have a great ride in Saratoga on this gorgeous, 75 degree and sunny day. If he had signed up for 20 rides and wanted to ride with me this time, fine, but this was the only long ride on our summer docket and I just wanted him to go and not worry about me or my bladder. I had to be direct so that we wouldn’t do the “No you go ahead,” “No, YOU go ahead” dance all morning. “I prefer not to ride with you” I said bluntly but softly. He seemed more surprised than hurt---he knew I meant no malice---and made sure I was SURE about riding alone. He rode off. I felt relief.
I started to tune into other couples riding together. One woman sounded annoyed, saying to her husband “Where are you going?” (Where did she think he was going?), to which her husband responded “I gotta get up this hill, hon. I’ll wait for you at the top.” This was mile 13. I wondered what tone she’d have at mile 35. And then there were the couples who dressed in identical clothing. Yikes. No thanks. Mike and I are in total agreement that unless we are on a team we’ll never dress alike. Ever.
I enjoyed the ride through rural Saratoga County. I saw interesting barns, ranging from the dilapidated to shabby chic. One had a big heart painted on the side that read, “WENDY AND BOB 1994”. Huh. I wondered how Wendy and Bob were faring. That the barn was still standing was a good sign. Did they have little Jimmy and Susie? No swing set in the back yard. Maybe they’re all grown up and in high school. Time sure does fly.
The mixture of homes on the ride was quite astonishing. There was an old, beautiful, colonial brick home with black shudders with a fancy sign out front HOME OF EDMUND JENNINGS, WAR HERO and then a nice paragraph of his Revolutionary War achievements. (This is indicative of how fast I am going, reading these signs along the way…). I wondered how Col. Jennings’s horse felt about living on top of this hill, poor thing having to hoof it up every time the family needed to leave the house.
And then there was a dingy home with a Compost For Sale sign leaned up against its mailbox next to a sprawling estate, and I wondered how neighborly they were to one another. How did Mr. Farmer feel when Mr. Stockbroker built a luxury home next door and jacked up his property taxes? Maybe they got together on the porch and shared cool lemonade on hot summer afternoons. Maybe they didn’t ever have eye contact.
I wished I had had my camera. I would have taken black and white photos of the barns with their crooked roofs. I have been known to stop on long runs if I see something spectacular or if something really catches my eye.
Hills, hills, and more hills. Mile 22. I felt an ache on the back of my left knee. Hmmm. It occurred to me that I may not have proper technique riding, perhaps hyper-extending my knee while pushing myself uphill. I tried to pay closer attention to form, cadence, etc. and avoided obsessing over the distance traveled. It wouldn’t do any good to turn around, I was nearly half way. I was not feeling tired. I felt pretty good other than the knee.
I passed by an old saw mill, a timber mill, and stopped again for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and water at a rest stop. The volunteers at this ride are always upbeat but not annoyingly so. For the most part, the riders are very pleasant too. The Tour de Cure staggers the starters with the 100 milers beginning earliest, then the 62, then the 50, 25, and 10 so that we all basically come in within an hour or so. At different points along the way the routes converge and we share the road with the other riders. I loved to see the 100 milers towards the end of the ride, clumped together like bees but with their long, lean legs pumping hard. The tough part was sharing the road with the 25 milers because many were families with kids, and occasionally (I’m being generous here) neither parent nor child has any concern for rules of the road. One parent stopped (!) to answer a cell phone call on a road with little shoulder and the child just rode on wobbily ahead. Dangerous. Stupid.
Mile 40. Final rest stop. I see the 62 milers. SHERYL!!! Yea! She is there with Jim, who was supposed to ride with Mike. He asks where Mike is and I pointed out into the distance. He rides off and Sheryl and I do the last ten together. She is BEAT from a ghastly hill that the 50 milers were spared but we settle into a nice pace for the last few miles and crossed the line together. We see Mike and first thing he asks me is what my time was. I looked down at my computer. 3:20. He said he rode in under 3 hours, and I knew riding separately was the right thing to do. He had a good ride. So did I. We went to the cafeteria and enjoyed tall plates of pasta.
Knee: UGH. 3 weeks no swimming, biking, running. Feels better now. Haven’t been on my bike yet.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Billy Ride (from hell)
Yesterday I did the Team Billy Ride and Walk for Research in Saratoga. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life despite the good intention of organizers and a good cause. A few weeks ago, Sheryl proposed the Billy Ride and encouraged me to get some miles in. I had only been on my bike once so far this season for a 10 mile, 7 mph ride with my 12 year old. I looked up the ride on active.com and saw that it was a benefit for brain tumor research in memory of a twelve-year old boy named Billy who died just shy of his 13th birthday. I assumed that it was a low-key, do-something-and-feel-good event, and was impressed that some 500 riders participated in 2010. The other draw was that the ride began at the Farmer’s Market in downtown Saratoga and went to Saratoga Battlefield which, I am ashamed to admit, I had never seen before despite having lived in Saratoga for ten years.
There was a nice stash of drinks, doughnuts, bananas, etc. at registration but I had already picked up a bagel with cream cheese and coffee at DD on my way up. I left our house quietly at 7:15 am not wanting to disrupt a family room full of 11 year old girls sleeping soundly from Hanna’s birthday party the night before. They had a couple more hours before their 9 am departure with Mike and Haley home to see them off. It was a really nice birthday party (and I did manage to get several hours of sleep).
I expected to see lots of kids and strollers at the start. Not so. It was raining lightly though, so perhaps the weather deterred families from participating. I saw maybe 100 people at the start, mostly diehards with a sprinkling of recreational riders. Great. I saw bright fancy shirts, pricey LeMond and Cannondale bikes, cool helmets, gloves, etc. I was wearing plain black shorts with a padded liner and a light blue running (gasp) jacket that had zippers for ventilation. Sheryl did say that her marathon friend Heather and her ironman husband JB were going. (That might have been a clue as to the caliber of participants) There was assurance, however, from the announcer that this was indeed a ride, not a race, and even JB assured us that he was not going to go out too fast, that he was going to ride with Heather.
We started off through the streets of Saratoga. There is no better downtown. I fondly reminisced of many, many walks through the town with our dog Hobbes and the stroller. I thought This is nice. I chatted a bit with Heather who said that her husband used to be heavy (can’t believe this, the man is chiseled), that she suffered a scary panic attack during a swim for a triathlon, that Saratoga is wonderful... Heather eventually moved up to ride with JB. Bye, bye nice Heather.
The drizzle turned to rain. How long could it last?? I looked up and saw only dark sky. I checked the computer chip on my handlebars. 5.7 miles. Huh. Only 44.3 to go. My socks were completely soaked. I kept my head down to minimize the rain hitting my face but my glasses fogged up when I did so. They stay fogged up for miles. Annoying. I took my glasses off and licked them. (Hey, I spit on my goggles at the pool, why not?) Mile 11. I needed to ditch the glasses. The rain was not letting up. I stopped so that I wouldn’t wipe out. I took water, shoved the glasses into my pocket. Got back on. My butt sent me a message: “HELL--OOOOOOO. You did not prepare me for this.” The skies were unmerciful. Oddly, there was nobody around us. Just Sheryl and me. Sheryl, the eternal optimist. Last year we had a great time doing the Tour de Cure, and she got me screaming “WOOOOOO HOOOOOOooooooooo!!!! while flying downhill at 35 mph. Her joie de vivre is inspiring. So far she had been upbeat but understandably not too chirpy. I thought to myself Let’s see how long her optimism lasts.
The route was well marked. We saw the turnoff sign for the 25 milers. I don’t know why it never once occurred to us to turn to do that route instead of the 50 for which we signed up. Bye, bye, 25 milers, you lucky dogs.
Rolling hills, rural pastures, farms that went on as far as the eye can see, horses and cows penned up alongside the road. The scent of lilacs. The pungent odor of cow manure. Pretty scenery but I kept my eyes on the road. It was difficult to determine whether a puddle on the road meant groove in pavement or gaping pothole. Not much traffic but cars flew past us. New Yorkers are not kind to cyclists. They were probably in their nice toasty cars thinking, “What in God’s name are those people doing out there in the rain, anyway!? C’mon. Move it!”
We turned onto Burgoyne Avenue so I knew we must be getting close to the Battlefield. Impressive entrance to the Saratoga National Park. Grey stone fortress with rows of soldiers’ gravestones lined up like dominoes. We had arrived. Cannons. Signs with historical information posted at lookouts. I made note to bring kids here to explore. Right then, though, I needed a water stop. We found it. The diehards were finishing up and already heading out to “the loop”. We saw Heather and JB getting back on their bikes. I was just getting off hoping my wobbly legs held. I took efforts to “stop” my Runmeter app on my iphone that was wrapped in plastic and stuffed in my pocket. I wanted to take credit for every bloody mile and have an accurate account of speed, distance, etc. Average pace: 16.8-- not bad all things considered…I took a couple sips of water and Sheryl looked ready to go. We noticed that once our heart rate went down we started to get pretty chilly. Our clothes were saturated. We were not even half way done. I tried to stay positive.
We rode off and…saw no one. Where did everyone go? They were JUST there. Of course there were no tourists with all the rain but there was a grey, testosterone-inspired truck with a Confederate flag covering its entire back window. Unusual sighting. Was he looking for Grant’s house in Gansevoort perhaps? Hah. I kicked myself for not noticing the license plate, a silly habit of mine dating back to childhood.
Again, it didn’t occur to us to skip the loop and cut the route shorter – which turned out to be a 10 mile circle – and we forged on. We saw an elderly male cyclist with a woman about our age and asked for directions. No room for error and we were not entirely sure how to get out of the park. And then they left us. We got out of the park and saw another man roadside with a popped tube. Sheryl offered him another but nobody had a pump. He called his wife for her to come get him. Bye, bye lucky man with nowhere to go in the rain but to wait for your wife wherever she may be.
Mile 38. This is when misery came on like a fever. When I am miserable, I get quiet. I was not one of those women in labor screaming obscenities. I didn’t make a peep. I actually thought of the misery of labor while riding. There were moments of pre-contraction-like dread. For instance, we saw a large truck in the distance barreling towards us. There was a cloud of road debris spewing around it, and we knew that we needed to ride through it. F*&^!!!. No time to make a plan. No where to hide. We sped downhill and sure enough, we passed the truck and felt its powerful wake spray us with dirt and pebbles and God only knows what else. I was so relieved once it passed that I was giddy. The awfulness of the situation made me laugh and nearly cry at the same time. Sheryl got something in her eye but managed. We slid into survivor mode. 10 fucking miles to go.
Mile 43. I was going so slowly uphill that I figured I might as well stop and take water. My legs were burning. My hands were numb. It occurred to me several hundred times that I was an idiot for signing up for 50 miles without any preparation, for riding in a relentless downpour when I am not even comfortable riding on roads when it’s nice outside. Just then a white van pulled up beside me. An attractive (maybe not but he was VERY dry) man rolled down the passenger window to see if I am OK. I told him that I am miserable, that this ride SUCKS. I was humorless. He smiled and offered me a ride, saying that no one will think any less of me for doing so. Temptation set in. I was actually tempted to get into a van with a stranger (I did note that he had no bike rack on his van) with the possibility of getting handcuffed and thrown into a ditch just so I wouldn’t have to finish this ride. I carefully contemplated for a minute or two. I declined, saying that my friend is ahead and that I can’t abandon her. He offered me some granola (some candy, little girl?) and I said no, that I have a soggy stash of energy bars in my pockets but thanks anyway. He seemed concerned that I would get hypothermia (perhaps my blue lips matched my purplish toenails from running??) because I stopped so I told him I needed to get going. And he left. And as I saw him drive off I wondered why I didn’t jump in. Bye, bye nice dry man with "granola" baggy.
I caught up to Sheryl. Yup, her enthusiasm had waned. It was gone, actually. Not much conversation. We kept going.
Mile 47. I finally knew where I was. We passed the crew boat house. Lots of good memories rowing while we lived in Saratoga. I told Sheryl we were going straight to Saratoga, that we were not taking the circuitous but safer route back to Farmer’s Market. Straight back. She was now shaking. I was mildly concerned we would end up at 49.89 miles on my Runmeter instead of 50 (the Tracy Influence) but didn't care. We made it back to downtown and zig zagged our way, breaking all kinds of rules of the road (like riding on sidewalk…but they were so bumpy my rear couldn't take it).
Mile 50.02 We FINALLY made it to the Farmer’s Market. But there was no Finish Line. Everything was packed up. It took us 3 ½ hours to do 50 miles in the pouring rain and there was not one ounce of food available. We saw trays of pasta in the garbage cans. Sheryl went to dismount her bike and toppled over onto the gravel. I saw this play out but I was not quick enough. In fact I was still on my bike saying, “Are you OK???” without moving. Someone tried to lift the bike off her but she was still locked in. She freed herself and got up. I felt bad I was no help whatsoever.
In disbelief, we walked to her car. We saw a few more bikes trickle in. We stripped down right in the parking lot and put on warm clothes. I looked at my iphone and saw that I forgot to resume timer at 22.5 mile stop at Battlefield. I realized I won’t get credit. No posting my distance on Twitter to impress my 12 followers. Sheryl said she was taking me to Lakeside Farm for lunch and that she hoped I would still open her e-mail messages. I said I'd open her e-mail as long as Chilled cosmo waiting for you is in the subject line. At Lakeside Farm we sucked down warm vanilla cappuccinos and chowed on scrumptious sandwiches. We said farewell to each other and I headed home to take a long, hot shower.
There was a nice stash of drinks, doughnuts, bananas, etc. at registration but I had already picked up a bagel with cream cheese and coffee at DD on my way up. I left our house quietly at 7:15 am not wanting to disrupt a family room full of 11 year old girls sleeping soundly from Hanna’s birthday party the night before. They had a couple more hours before their 9 am departure with Mike and Haley home to see them off. It was a really nice birthday party (and I did manage to get several hours of sleep).
I expected to see lots of kids and strollers at the start. Not so. It was raining lightly though, so perhaps the weather deterred families from participating. I saw maybe 100 people at the start, mostly diehards with a sprinkling of recreational riders. Great. I saw bright fancy shirts, pricey LeMond and Cannondale bikes, cool helmets, gloves, etc. I was wearing plain black shorts with a padded liner and a light blue running (gasp) jacket that had zippers for ventilation. Sheryl did say that her marathon friend Heather and her ironman husband JB were going. (That might have been a clue as to the caliber of participants) There was assurance, however, from the announcer that this was indeed a ride, not a race, and even JB assured us that he was not going to go out too fast, that he was going to ride with Heather.
We started off through the streets of Saratoga. There is no better downtown. I fondly reminisced of many, many walks through the town with our dog Hobbes and the stroller. I thought This is nice. I chatted a bit with Heather who said that her husband used to be heavy (can’t believe this, the man is chiseled), that she suffered a scary panic attack during a swim for a triathlon, that Saratoga is wonderful... Heather eventually moved up to ride with JB. Bye, bye nice Heather.
The drizzle turned to rain. How long could it last?? I looked up and saw only dark sky. I checked the computer chip on my handlebars. 5.7 miles. Huh. Only 44.3 to go. My socks were completely soaked. I kept my head down to minimize the rain hitting my face but my glasses fogged up when I did so. They stay fogged up for miles. Annoying. I took my glasses off and licked them. (Hey, I spit on my goggles at the pool, why not?) Mile 11. I needed to ditch the glasses. The rain was not letting up. I stopped so that I wouldn’t wipe out. I took water, shoved the glasses into my pocket. Got back on. My butt sent me a message: “HELL--OOOOOOO. You did not prepare me for this.” The skies were unmerciful. Oddly, there was nobody around us. Just Sheryl and me. Sheryl, the eternal optimist. Last year we had a great time doing the Tour de Cure, and she got me screaming “WOOOOOO HOOOOOOooooooooo!!!! while flying downhill at 35 mph. Her joie de vivre is inspiring. So far she had been upbeat but understandably not too chirpy. I thought to myself Let’s see how long her optimism lasts.
The route was well marked. We saw the turnoff sign for the 25 milers. I don’t know why it never once occurred to us to turn to do that route instead of the 50 for which we signed up. Bye, bye, 25 milers, you lucky dogs.
Rolling hills, rural pastures, farms that went on as far as the eye can see, horses and cows penned up alongside the road. The scent of lilacs. The pungent odor of cow manure. Pretty scenery but I kept my eyes on the road. It was difficult to determine whether a puddle on the road meant groove in pavement or gaping pothole. Not much traffic but cars flew past us. New Yorkers are not kind to cyclists. They were probably in their nice toasty cars thinking, “What in God’s name are those people doing out there in the rain, anyway!? C’mon. Move it!”
We turned onto Burgoyne Avenue so I knew we must be getting close to the Battlefield. Impressive entrance to the Saratoga National Park. Grey stone fortress with rows of soldiers’ gravestones lined up like dominoes. We had arrived. Cannons. Signs with historical information posted at lookouts. I made note to bring kids here to explore. Right then, though, I needed a water stop. We found it. The diehards were finishing up and already heading out to “the loop”. We saw Heather and JB getting back on their bikes. I was just getting off hoping my wobbly legs held. I took efforts to “stop” my Runmeter app on my iphone that was wrapped in plastic and stuffed in my pocket. I wanted to take credit for every bloody mile and have an accurate account of speed, distance, etc. Average pace: 16.8-- not bad all things considered…I took a couple sips of water and Sheryl looked ready to go. We noticed that once our heart rate went down we started to get pretty chilly. Our clothes were saturated. We were not even half way done. I tried to stay positive.
We rode off and…saw no one. Where did everyone go? They were JUST there. Of course there were no tourists with all the rain but there was a grey, testosterone-inspired truck with a Confederate flag covering its entire back window. Unusual sighting. Was he looking for Grant’s house in Gansevoort perhaps? Hah. I kicked myself for not noticing the license plate, a silly habit of mine dating back to childhood.
Again, it didn’t occur to us to skip the loop and cut the route shorter – which turned out to be a 10 mile circle – and we forged on. We saw an elderly male cyclist with a woman about our age and asked for directions. No room for error and we were not entirely sure how to get out of the park. And then they left us. We got out of the park and saw another man roadside with a popped tube. Sheryl offered him another but nobody had a pump. He called his wife for her to come get him. Bye, bye lucky man with nowhere to go in the rain but to wait for your wife wherever she may be.
Mile 38. This is when misery came on like a fever. When I am miserable, I get quiet. I was not one of those women in labor screaming obscenities. I didn’t make a peep. I actually thought of the misery of labor while riding. There were moments of pre-contraction-like dread. For instance, we saw a large truck in the distance barreling towards us. There was a cloud of road debris spewing around it, and we knew that we needed to ride through it. F*&^!!!. No time to make a plan. No where to hide. We sped downhill and sure enough, we passed the truck and felt its powerful wake spray us with dirt and pebbles and God only knows what else. I was so relieved once it passed that I was giddy. The awfulness of the situation made me laugh and nearly cry at the same time. Sheryl got something in her eye but managed. We slid into survivor mode. 10 fucking miles to go.
Mile 43. I was going so slowly uphill that I figured I might as well stop and take water. My legs were burning. My hands were numb. It occurred to me several hundred times that I was an idiot for signing up for 50 miles without any preparation, for riding in a relentless downpour when I am not even comfortable riding on roads when it’s nice outside. Just then a white van pulled up beside me. An attractive (maybe not but he was VERY dry) man rolled down the passenger window to see if I am OK. I told him that I am miserable, that this ride SUCKS. I was humorless. He smiled and offered me a ride, saying that no one will think any less of me for doing so. Temptation set in. I was actually tempted to get into a van with a stranger (I did note that he had no bike rack on his van) with the possibility of getting handcuffed and thrown into a ditch just so I wouldn’t have to finish this ride. I carefully contemplated for a minute or two. I declined, saying that my friend is ahead and that I can’t abandon her. He offered me some granola (some candy, little girl?) and I said no, that I have a soggy stash of energy bars in my pockets but thanks anyway. He seemed concerned that I would get hypothermia (perhaps my blue lips matched my purplish toenails from running??) because I stopped so I told him I needed to get going. And he left. And as I saw him drive off I wondered why I didn’t jump in. Bye, bye nice dry man with "granola" baggy.
I caught up to Sheryl. Yup, her enthusiasm had waned. It was gone, actually. Not much conversation. We kept going.
Mile 47. I finally knew where I was. We passed the crew boat house. Lots of good memories rowing while we lived in Saratoga. I told Sheryl we were going straight to Saratoga, that we were not taking the circuitous but safer route back to Farmer’s Market. Straight back. She was now shaking. I was mildly concerned we would end up at 49.89 miles on my Runmeter instead of 50 (the Tracy Influence) but didn't care. We made it back to downtown and zig zagged our way, breaking all kinds of rules of the road (like riding on sidewalk…but they were so bumpy my rear couldn't take it).
Mile 50.02 We FINALLY made it to the Farmer’s Market. But there was no Finish Line. Everything was packed up. It took us 3 ½ hours to do 50 miles in the pouring rain and there was not one ounce of food available. We saw trays of pasta in the garbage cans. Sheryl went to dismount her bike and toppled over onto the gravel. I saw this play out but I was not quick enough. In fact I was still on my bike saying, “Are you OK???” without moving. Someone tried to lift the bike off her but she was still locked in. She freed herself and got up. I felt bad I was no help whatsoever.
In disbelief, we walked to her car. We saw a few more bikes trickle in. We stripped down right in the parking lot and put on warm clothes. I looked at my iphone and saw that I forgot to resume timer at 22.5 mile stop at Battlefield. I realized I won’t get credit. No posting my distance on Twitter to impress my 12 followers. Sheryl said she was taking me to Lakeside Farm for lunch and that she hoped I would still open her e-mail messages. I said I'd open her e-mail as long as Chilled cosmo waiting for you is in the subject line. At Lakeside Farm we sucked down warm vanilla cappuccinos and chowed on scrumptious sandwiches. We said farewell to each other and I headed home to take a long, hot shower.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Bike Path
On Saturday, Tracy, Amy, and I set out, not knowing exactly where to go or how far to run. We headed to the bike bath (2 miles), continued past the Lock (3), went under the bridge (5) and to the train depot (6). We decided to keep our pace at 10 minutes/mile because it's good for training--go slow and long, and use speed for intervals, track workouts, etc. It was difficult to run that slow. We found ourselves at 9:30. The bike path was quite busy with bike traffic, joggers, and dog walkers. There were ARMY (reservists? possibly) soldiers training, and we cheered them on as they were being timed. On our way back, we laughed because the 10 minute pace seemed so s l o w going out but faster on the return. By the time we reached the baseball fields (9 miles) we were spent. Tracy made the mistake of saying that Dan was at the fields for practice, and we thought we could jump in his car and head back to Starbucks where our cars were. No such luck. No Dan. Amy's IT Band was hurting so we slowed down and we had a nice chatty jog/walk the rest of the way home.
Later that afternoon Jack had his baseball game. He rocked! He was down from having gotten cut from the travel baseball team and it was really great to see him have fun and do so well. He seems to enjoy first base and it's good for him to handle the ball more there than in the outfield. Beautiful night. We went to Smokey Bones for dinner. They post calories on the menu, and I decided against my usual Smokehouse burger (2,400+) calories and chose a warm spinach salad with steak (750) instead. Couldn't resist the Sam Adams lager, however!
On Sunday, Haley and I headed to the bike path. Hanna and Jack wanted to go too but had hockey. Poor Haley, she has probably grown a foot since last year and her knees practically hit the handle bars. She was a trooper. We went to the depot and stopped by the Lock on the way back(Lock 7 of the Erie Canal; Jack used to love going there for picnics when he was in preschool). The water was up but no boats were passing through.
I spent the afternoon staining wood for the mudroom cabinets which didn't go so well - stinky, sticky, sloppy. I can paint but not stain. More coats needed. SIGH. Left the staining for Hanna's soccer game. Very exciting! The girl can play. I love watching her evolve as an athlete. She has great natural ability and now that she has a few years under her belt she is really beginning to understand the game, anticipate, and execute. We left the game to go to Jack's cub scout moving up ceremony. Good tips on camping which we'd like to do this summer. Mike is trying to plan a trip to CO to go white water rafting.
Finished the weekend at Amy's with a bottle of chardonnay.
Today I brought my swimming stuff to work but didn't take the time to go to the pool. Cold and rainy, and I had lots to do in the office. Maybe tomorrow. It's been two weeks since I've been in pool.
Later that afternoon Jack had his baseball game. He rocked! He was down from having gotten cut from the travel baseball team and it was really great to see him have fun and do so well. He seems to enjoy first base and it's good for him to handle the ball more there than in the outfield. Beautiful night. We went to Smokey Bones for dinner. They post calories on the menu, and I decided against my usual Smokehouse burger (2,400+) calories and chose a warm spinach salad with steak (750) instead. Couldn't resist the Sam Adams lager, however!
On Sunday, Haley and I headed to the bike path. Hanna and Jack wanted to go too but had hockey. Poor Haley, she has probably grown a foot since last year and her knees practically hit the handle bars. She was a trooper. We went to the depot and stopped by the Lock on the way back(Lock 7 of the Erie Canal; Jack used to love going there for picnics when he was in preschool). The water was up but no boats were passing through.
I spent the afternoon staining wood for the mudroom cabinets which didn't go so well - stinky, sticky, sloppy. I can paint but not stain. More coats needed. SIGH. Left the staining for Hanna's soccer game. Very exciting! The girl can play. I love watching her evolve as an athlete. She has great natural ability and now that she has a few years under her belt she is really beginning to understand the game, anticipate, and execute. We left the game to go to Jack's cub scout moving up ceremony. Good tips on camping which we'd like to do this summer. Mike is trying to plan a trip to CO to go white water rafting.
Finished the weekend at Amy's with a bottle of chardonnay.
Today I brought my swimming stuff to work but didn't take the time to go to the pool. Cold and rainy, and I had lots to do in the office. Maybe tomorrow. It's been two weeks since I've been in pool.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Spring!
A poem by A. E. Housman to celebrate -- at long last -- spring!
LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
An English professor shared that poem recently at Union, and I thought about it on my run this morning (solo, 5.8 miles, 9:10 pace) through Central Park in Schenectady. Everything is in bloom. I can't remember the crocuses coming up but all of the sudden - WHAM! -- forsythias, daffodils, tulips, etc. The park has a really amazing rose garden which is something to look forward to. I like this run because it's flat and scenic. There are always people walking dogs and there is a dog park in the confines of old tennis courts---mainly rottweilers, doberman pinschers, pitbulls and mutts...the dogs of Schenectady. All of the owners have been friendly and responsible. I just don't like coming up behind them while running around the pond, but so far no worries. A nice run before work. I was late but worked through lunch.
LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
An English professor shared that poem recently at Union, and I thought about it on my run this morning (solo, 5.8 miles, 9:10 pace) through Central Park in Schenectady. Everything is in bloom. I can't remember the crocuses coming up but all of the sudden - WHAM! -- forsythias, daffodils, tulips, etc. The park has a really amazing rose garden which is something to look forward to. I like this run because it's flat and scenic. There are always people walking dogs and there is a dog park in the confines of old tennis courts---mainly rottweilers, doberman pinschers, pitbulls and mutts...the dogs of Schenectady. All of the owners have been friendly and responsible. I just don't like coming up behind them while running around the pond, but so far no worries. A nice run before work. I was late but worked through lunch.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
running yoga
This morning at 6 am we had our third running-yoga class. Tracy, Amy, and I are the only participants which I think works nicely. We are fun. Try not to be too silly. We came as: GRUMPY (Tracy), SLEEPY (Amy, just back from florida), and DOPEY (moi, no coffee, not awake, who am I?) expecting yoga to be the perfect panacea.
The class was heavy on the breathing (not to be confused with breathing heavily) which was disappointing to Tracy who is queen stretcher (not to be confused with queen on a stretcher). Yes, yoga transformed me from DOPEY to PUNCHY. We practiced breathing properly---full and rhythmic, using the diaphragm and ribs to fill and empty oxygen to our lungs. Inhalation, exhalation...energy and release. Ahhhhh. Ujjayi breath, no problem. 30 second rapid short breath sequences, bring it on. Alternate nostril breathing deserves more detail.
We sat "comfortably" (still very stiff, ouch) cross legged with left hand rested on knee, palms up with pointer finger and thumb touching. The right hand has thumb, ring finger and little finger touching. We started by closing our right nostril with right thumb and inhaling deeply for count of six or so seconds through left nostril. Hold for another 6 or so counts with pinky and ring finger pinching nostril closed. Exhaled "slowly and fully" through the right nostril...and hold. Repeat. I had only one thought throughout this exercise: snot rockets! If I worked my core and maximized my breathing capacity I could shoot a snot rocket to the moon. Women, I think, are shy about this. We hold tissues while running or stuff them into our running tights when we have no pockets. Men on bikes--watch out! Quick and assertive with their snot rockets. I am on alert while riding behind a man. Mike tried to teach me last year but with my cycling shoes attached I thought I might lean too much while blowing and wipe out. So I just sniffed away, used the back of my hand or surrendered my sleeve.
Anyway, we got to the stretching and did some challenging (for me) sequences. Lowering to Plank is difficult "Elbows in, Blair!" while keeping knees off ground. Also challenging was instructor "Gina" telling us to continue at our own pace. What? Remember that 20 pose sequence? I am a follower in yoga, not a leader. I peeked over at Tracy to follow her but I am very careful not to make eye contact because that could be disasterous. We make do. Overall, a good workout. I know that if I committed to doing these stretches at night (while playing Scrabble???) I'd have more tone, strength and energy.
The class ends and this time Gina does not ask us if we want to run (we said no twice before to extend stretching portion) so we sneak out, look at the ominous clouds above and head straight to Starbucks. Husbands have get-kids-ready-for-school-and-put-on-bus duty on Thursdays---another good, healthy reason to keep up with yoga!
Our coffee debriefing is enjoyable as always. Pouring, dumping rain outside, no guilt with passing up a run. No more grumpiness or fatigue or head in fog. A nice way to start the day. :)
The class was heavy on the breathing (not to be confused with breathing heavily) which was disappointing to Tracy who is queen stretcher (not to be confused with queen on a stretcher). Yes, yoga transformed me from DOPEY to PUNCHY. We practiced breathing properly---full and rhythmic, using the diaphragm and ribs to fill and empty oxygen to our lungs. Inhalation, exhalation...energy and release. Ahhhhh. Ujjayi breath, no problem. 30 second rapid short breath sequences, bring it on. Alternate nostril breathing deserves more detail.
We sat "comfortably" (still very stiff, ouch) cross legged with left hand rested on knee, palms up with pointer finger and thumb touching. The right hand has thumb, ring finger and little finger touching. We started by closing our right nostril with right thumb and inhaling deeply for count of six or so seconds through left nostril. Hold for another 6 or so counts with pinky and ring finger pinching nostril closed. Exhaled "slowly and fully" through the right nostril...and hold. Repeat. I had only one thought throughout this exercise: snot rockets! If I worked my core and maximized my breathing capacity I could shoot a snot rocket to the moon. Women, I think, are shy about this. We hold tissues while running or stuff them into our running tights when we have no pockets. Men on bikes--watch out! Quick and assertive with their snot rockets. I am on alert while riding behind a man. Mike tried to teach me last year but with my cycling shoes attached I thought I might lean too much while blowing and wipe out. So I just sniffed away, used the back of my hand or surrendered my sleeve.
Anyway, we got to the stretching and did some challenging (for me) sequences. Lowering to Plank is difficult "Elbows in, Blair!" while keeping knees off ground. Also challenging was instructor "Gina" telling us to continue at our own pace. What? Remember that 20 pose sequence? I am a follower in yoga, not a leader. I peeked over at Tracy to follow her but I am very careful not to make eye contact because that could be disasterous. We make do. Overall, a good workout. I know that if I committed to doing these stretches at night (while playing Scrabble???) I'd have more tone, strength and energy.
The class ends and this time Gina does not ask us if we want to run (we said no twice before to extend stretching portion) so we sneak out, look at the ominous clouds above and head straight to Starbucks. Husbands have get-kids-ready-for-school-and-put-on-bus duty on Thursdays---another good, healthy reason to keep up with yoga!
Our coffee debriefing is enjoyable as always. Pouring, dumping rain outside, no guilt with passing up a run. No more grumpiness or fatigue or head in fog. A nice way to start the day. :)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
track workout
Hit the track at 6 am this morning with Eileen, Kelly and Tina. Incredibly humid. Months of snow and ice, weeks of rain, and then yesterday was SUNNY and HOT...there is no telling what conditions will be. We did 13 minute warm up, 3x3 minutes "fastish" with 60 seconds in between. 13 minute cool down. Not too bad considering it was only my third trip to track in past 20+ years. I was careful not to go all out since sprinting at this point would probably cause injury. Will try to do speed on Wednesdays and build. Wonder what I could to an 800m in these days. Maybe once I get back into the running (as opposed to jogging) mode I will find out.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
ING
Feeling anxious about whether I got into the NYC Marathon or not...tomorrow at noon we can log in and find out. Either way there is the possibility of jumping for joy or crying my eyes out. Not sure which way it will go.
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