Headed for Boston

Yes, I'm heading for the Boston Marathon.

Did I forget to mention that?

I've been saying this all week at work, and some people actually thought I'd be running it. Oh, I crack myself up.

No, I'm going to watch D.C. Rainmaker and, from across the pond, Thomas from Diary of a Rubbish Marathoner, break the sound barriers. I hope to actually meet Thomas, cuz I have a few sweet presents for him from D.C. (sorry, Ray, don't be sad), and at least get good photos of both.

I'm staying with my college roommate and meeting a former work colleague, both of whom happen to be professional photographers. I will try to cajole them into taking photos for me, because mine will probably suck.

In other news, I failed to set any PRs this weekend. (I know, hard to believe, right?) Instead, I did a 6-mile preview run of next Sunday's Pike's Peek 10k, the target race for my speed development program. We met at 6:30 a.m. and ran down Rockville Pike, which has been described as "an asphalt jumble of car dealerships, strip shopping centers and fast-food restaurants," which is putting it kindly. It was gross.

I drove home, showered, changed, and raced up to Centennial Park, Columbia, MD, for D.C. Tri's annual brick-nic, which you may remember from last year.



I remember being on a hybrid bike last year and not being able to ride the full 17.5 miles. I remember walking up one hill. It was brutal.

This year I hung out with some New New triathletes and the memories came flooding back! All those worries about clipless pedals and flying downhill, riding in traffic, and falling over. Wait...that was just last week.

I could definitely see the difference in my fitness level. This year I did the full distance, managed all the uphills, and felt fine, even on not-so-fresh legs. Everything was perfect. Well, it would have been perfect if Henry Ford had never been born. I felt quite homicidal by the end of the ride because of the $#!@ cars that sped by every few seconds. I especially appreciated the pickups that drove close to me on purpose and then leaned on the horn. Helps to get the old heart rate up.

Since I had already run, I got to skip the Brick part of the Brick-nic, which is just as well, because I couldn't really stand up straight afterwards. All I can say is: Four months of spinning does not equal four months of cycling. Ah well.

The gang.


Modeling the latest in headbands.

Next: How Runner Susan singlehandedly changed my love life.

So Much Fun It Should Be Illegal

How come no one ever told me how much FUN triathlons are? HOW COME? I want answers.

D.C. Tri held a "brick-nic" today, at Centennial Park in Columbia, Maryland.




What's a brick, you ask? (Remember, there are No Dumb Questions.)

What's a "brick" and why is it named so?

* Bike-Run-ICK!
* That's how your legs feel for the first part of the run.
* Named by Mark Sisson and Scott Zagarino one day in 1988 after they completed a Bike-Run workout -- "Just another brick in the wall".

The "nic" part--well, that's from picNIC. Get it?

The regular part of the club was there, riding and running the course in preparation for the upcoming Columbia Triathlon . The new triathletes were riding the Irongirl course, with a 10-minute run afterwards. A brick.

I have to admit I did NOT want to go. I even called Number One Daughter (OK, R, we'll rename her D¹), to whine about it. I hadn't signed up for it, I was nervous about it (It was Far Away! There were Serious Triathletes there! People I don't know!) and she told me to HTFU and go and do it.

So I did.

I carefully printed out the "cue" sheet (Why is it called that? I have no idea. It's also known as a "map" or "route") and then after feeling very smug for having printed it out, whereas some Other People Did Not, I promptly left it in the portapotty at the meet-up site.

Which wouldn't matter so much if I was going to be say, riding with Other People. And not 100 miles behind.

After much hemming and hawing about "Do I wear the jacket...or not? Will I get hot? But what if it rains. Then I'll be cold," everyone got sick of hearing me and we all left.

We were on some major roads with some major traffic and an itty-bitty shoulder.

I took this while driving the course afterwards. I'm not crazy enough to take pictures while riding! Only while driving.




I felt good and confident. Right up until I reached for the map in my 27 pockets and could find it nowhere.

Sh**!!!!

That got my heart rate up. Especially because one of the tri-club peeps had said about 100 times before we left, "You will get lost without this map."

Somehow I kept catching people at red lights, or whose bikes had broken, or whatever, and got enough directions to keep me on the right path.

Just for the record, I'd like to state that I have NEVER RIDDEN HILLS before. Or run them. Or even seen them. The course was rolling, long, rolling, looooong endless hills. Like this:
Again, afterwards, in the car.

And this:
This was called something like Mount Kill Me Now Road

Which is where I dropped the chain, or it dropped me. Whatever. It fell off is what happened. Luckily, there was another slow-ish woman in front of me, riding with her AWESOME triathlete brother. I yelled (or cried) and this fellow came back and got my chain back on.

I was instantly smitten.

But that was nothing.

John and his sister Barbara took off up the hill and I soldiered on. Only I noticed a high-pitched whining noise, that got faster as I got faster. It was ANNOYING, and it was coming from my bike.

When I got here:
You don't see THAT in Bethesda!

I caught up with them and said "Do you hear something?" as I passed by. Um yeah. They did.

They both stopped and John pretty much took my bike apart. The bike wheel was misaligned or something.

It was VERY interesting:
You seeing what I 'm seeing?

And that's how John SAVED MY LIFE.

Soon it was time to turnaround. I cut my ride short by 3 miles so that I wouldn't keep people waiting.

14.5 miles in 1:30, a whopping 9.67 miles / hour.

It. Was. Awesome.

It was the most fun thing I've ever done in my life.

And the run? Was. Cake.

Cake!!!

Not the usual I-can't-feel-my-legs thing.

And then we had a big picnic, and the next time I get married, I'm doing it in the middle of a triathlon.

A bike store exploded.

A gear store exploded.

L-R, New friends, Lindsey and Sandy, and moi.

The whole group.

And to top off this very long tale, when I got home I discovered a check for $600 in my mailbox, something about an "escrow overpayment."

Now if I were smart and clever, I would totally put that money in my teensy little savings account.

Or if I were smart and clever and spoke Latin, maybe I would say carpe diem, I gotta buy me a lighter bike.