Every time I do the Crusher I swear off all bike races for the rest of the year. At least while I am actually racing the Crusher. This year was no different. I'm pretty sure I am done racing bikes til cross season.
At this point, for this go around, I have lost as much weight as I ever have I am down 20 pounds since the dreaded deuce.
I have become a faster cyclist. Faster than I was anyway. I am also looking pretty good naked if I do say so myself. I have to because no one else will say it.
But I am not done.
I look at all of the guys who are slaughtering these races and they are still at LEAST 20 pounds lighter than me. At the risk of sounding like an anorexic high school girl. I want to be skinnier. I still have a big wad of chewed bubble gum around my waist. I am not sure how much weight I need to lose to get rid of that. But I am ready to move into phase two which is to lean up. The improvement I showed this year at the Crusher starts the wheels turning that I might be able to improve that much again. I am certainly not predicting that next year I will be competing for a top ten spot in the age groupers at the Crusher but I now believe that it is as least plausible that I could improve that much. There is a whole winter between me and next year so let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.
With no event on the immediate horizon to shoot for I am going to have to find a new goal. I haven't quite sorted that out yet. I would like to lose another 20 pounds. I have at least that much in man-breasts and gut.
I am debating taking a drastic step. I may start doing something like Cross Fit. Cobourn asked me if that means I have to buy a pair of those stupid Vibram toe shoes. God, I hope not.
I don't really know anything about Cross Fit other than there are probably going to be kettle bells involved. I have used weights a little in the past and they seem to have helped a lot. Not totally committed on the Crossfit thing yet. I'll have to fast and pray about it. Heavy on the fast.
Short term, keep eating better and riding. Long term, try to make the changes permanent. Just say no to the breakfast burrito.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Done Crushing.
Phew. Crusher number 3 is done.
Last week I was in the unusual position of trying to decide the best way to taper before a big event. In the past I have always joked that I was tapering when I didn't ride. Others were gradually doing smaller easier rides, riding less often, making a plan. Luckily, a busy schedule helped me make the decision to do one short ride in the week leading up to the Crusher. Probably not ideal.
I didn't ride much, but I didn't do anything nuts food wise. Maintaining my weight in the upper 170's. I was optimistic. I think it was that optimism that started to work against me. I became nervous about the race in the few days before it. Not sure why. I knew I could finish the race. I knew what to expect. But I was pretty nervous. Jeff pointed out that it was because I had let expectation creep into my mind. In previous years I either didn't know what I was getting into, or I was in such bad shape that simply finishing was going to be an acceptable outcome. I had done a lot of work(for me) and was beginning to worry that it was all going to be for naught.
So, stomach butterflies in check Cobourn and I headed for the Fillmore Beaver area. The weather was going to be perfect for me. Which is to say miserable for most. Heavy rains all day Friday. As we drove up to Eagle Point Ski Resort and our accomodations there was an active mudflow across the road. We checked in and began preparations for the next day.
The Crusher is a mechanically self supported race. Meaning that if you have a problem with your bike you better be able to take care of it on your own. There is mechanical help available, but if you accept it you do not receive a placement in the rankings. I have always fretted about this and so I loaded three pounds of spare tubes, tools, and CO2 onto my bike. With water bottles my 19# Beverly was now a chunky 25#.
Saturday morning we headed down to the start without breakfast. I hit a C-store and grabbed a bunch of high calorie stuff. Peanut rolls, Nutter Butters and a Monster Energy drink. Pro.
The larger field this year was noticeably less friendly. No wise-cracking, no laughter. All game face. Lighten up boys, you aren't going to win. At the gun we headed out of town fast. the group stayed together longer than it has in the past. We soon caught the big group of 30-34 racers that contained Cobourn. They hooked on and the group was now nearly twice as big. We held together until a couple miles before the pavement end. At which point I thought it wise to let the bad men go. Once onto the dirt the packs tear apart. This is where I settle into a pace. I was running a little on the ragged edge of where I was comfortable. It was possible that this would betray me later. As I neared the top of the first climb I found a second wind just as I got into the big meadow and the second aid station. Metallica's "Motorbreath" went on repeat in my brain. This was a good thing. Soon I was at the top of the big downhill. In the interest of having plenty of brakes I turned a barrel adjuster out to where my rear brake was actually dragging a little. It worked perfectly and I was comfortably heading down the steep, rutted, washboard road. Once you hit the pavement you get the only recovery in the entire race. A 35 mph coast into Junction. This leads into a paved climb and a headwind. I found myself alone. I usually try to tuck into a pack at this point but there wasn't one to catch. I found a lone dude on a mountain bike but I don't think he understood what "work together" means. Sitting behind me and when I would pull of, riding next to me. Silently. Luckily a swift pack came up behind us and I jumped in with them. Or at least I tried. I was hurting all of the sudden. We were doing 18-20 across the flat into Circleville and I just couldn't hang on. I was worried I was falling apart. We turned onto the dirt and into the Sarlac pit. This is officially the worst part of the race. Hot and sandy. Loose. Just a desert grind. At which point I remembered something. My rear brake was still adjusted to drag. DERP! Quickly spun it out and started feeling better. So much better that I made it up the KOM climb. For the first time. Ever. No stops. No walking. No cryi...nevermind.
I had been trying not to check the clock. I wanted to just ride my own race. I had a goal of 6h30m in mind. I thought this was attainable and was better than I had ever done. Pulling out of the last aid station I checked the clock and started thinking that I might actually come in around 6 hours. Maybe less. I wasn't exactly feeling like a rockstar but I was surviving. Soon I was on the white gravel of Gun Sight Meadow. Or as I like to call it "Angel Push Meadow". The road smooths and the wind is frequently at your back. The road rolls up and down and you are bolstered up by the knowledge that the worst is over. The last rough dirt descent takes you onto the pavement and the three mile to go mark. I was slightly under 6 hours. I pushed as hard as I was able. At this point that wasn't much. I was once again all by myself. I soon came to last sadistic mile. 500 feet of climbing in one mile. At the end of the hardest race I have ever done. I passed the one mile mark and my Garmin beeped it's hourly chime. That was six hours. Damnitt. I pushed through to the finish and came in at 6h10m. The disappointment of not coming in under six hours was soon overcome by the elation of being nearly an hour faster than my previous best time. A full hour and a half faster than last year. I am elated.
What a day. What an event.
Last week I was in the unusual position of trying to decide the best way to taper before a big event. In the past I have always joked that I was tapering when I didn't ride. Others were gradually doing smaller easier rides, riding less often, making a plan. Luckily, a busy schedule helped me make the decision to do one short ride in the week leading up to the Crusher. Probably not ideal.
I didn't ride much, but I didn't do anything nuts food wise. Maintaining my weight in the upper 170's. I was optimistic. I think it was that optimism that started to work against me. I became nervous about the race in the few days before it. Not sure why. I knew I could finish the race. I knew what to expect. But I was pretty nervous. Jeff pointed out that it was because I had let expectation creep into my mind. In previous years I either didn't know what I was getting into, or I was in such bad shape that simply finishing was going to be an acceptable outcome. I had done a lot of work(for me) and was beginning to worry that it was all going to be for naught.
So, stomach butterflies in check Cobourn and I headed for the Fillmore Beaver area. The weather was going to be perfect for me. Which is to say miserable for most. Heavy rains all day Friday. As we drove up to Eagle Point Ski Resort and our accomodations there was an active mudflow across the road. We checked in and began preparations for the next day.
The Crusher is a mechanically self supported race. Meaning that if you have a problem with your bike you better be able to take care of it on your own. There is mechanical help available, but if you accept it you do not receive a placement in the rankings. I have always fretted about this and so I loaded three pounds of spare tubes, tools, and CO2 onto my bike. With water bottles my 19# Beverly was now a chunky 25#.
Saturday morning we headed down to the start without breakfast. I hit a C-store and grabbed a bunch of high calorie stuff. Peanut rolls, Nutter Butters and a Monster Energy drink. Pro.
The larger field this year was noticeably less friendly. No wise-cracking, no laughter. All game face. Lighten up boys, you aren't going to win. At the gun we headed out of town fast. the group stayed together longer than it has in the past. We soon caught the big group of 30-34 racers that contained Cobourn. They hooked on and the group was now nearly twice as big. We held together until a couple miles before the pavement end. At which point I thought it wise to let the bad men go. Once onto the dirt the packs tear apart. This is where I settle into a pace. I was running a little on the ragged edge of where I was comfortable. It was possible that this would betray me later. As I neared the top of the first climb I found a second wind just as I got into the big meadow and the second aid station. Metallica's "Motorbreath" went on repeat in my brain. This was a good thing. Soon I was at the top of the big downhill. In the interest of having plenty of brakes I turned a barrel adjuster out to where my rear brake was actually dragging a little. It worked perfectly and I was comfortably heading down the steep, rutted, washboard road. Once you hit the pavement you get the only recovery in the entire race. A 35 mph coast into Junction. This leads into a paved climb and a headwind. I found myself alone. I usually try to tuck into a pack at this point but there wasn't one to catch. I found a lone dude on a mountain bike but I don't think he understood what "work together" means. Sitting behind me and when I would pull of, riding next to me. Silently. Luckily a swift pack came up behind us and I jumped in with them. Or at least I tried. I was hurting all of the sudden. We were doing 18-20 across the flat into Circleville and I just couldn't hang on. I was worried I was falling apart. We turned onto the dirt and into the Sarlac pit. This is officially the worst part of the race. Hot and sandy. Loose. Just a desert grind. At which point I remembered something. My rear brake was still adjusted to drag. DERP! Quickly spun it out and started feeling better. So much better that I made it up the KOM climb. For the first time. Ever. No stops. No walking. No cryi...nevermind.
I had been trying not to check the clock. I wanted to just ride my own race. I had a goal of 6h30m in mind. I thought this was attainable and was better than I had ever done. Pulling out of the last aid station I checked the clock and started thinking that I might actually come in around 6 hours. Maybe less. I wasn't exactly feeling like a rockstar but I was surviving. Soon I was on the white gravel of Gun Sight Meadow. Or as I like to call it "Angel Push Meadow". The road smooths and the wind is frequently at your back. The road rolls up and down and you are bolstered up by the knowledge that the worst is over. The last rough dirt descent takes you onto the pavement and the three mile to go mark. I was slightly under 6 hours. I pushed as hard as I was able. At this point that wasn't much. I was once again all by myself. I soon came to last sadistic mile. 500 feet of climbing in one mile. At the end of the hardest race I have ever done. I passed the one mile mark and my Garmin beeped it's hourly chime. That was six hours. Damnitt. I pushed through to the finish and came in at 6h10m. The disappointment of not coming in under six hours was soon overcome by the elation of being nearly an hour faster than my previous best time. A full hour and a half faster than last year. I am elated.
What a day. What an event.
The other day in the bike shop I was asked if I was "...ready for another participation ribbon at the Crusher." The point was understood. I am at best a civilian and at worst a hapless wannabe.
I have never been so proud of a participation ribbon. Or beer coozy as the case may be. . I came no where near the overall winner. I came in just ahead of mid pack in my category and I couldn't be happier.
Once a year I go to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and do the hardest thing I am ever likely to do. This year I did it faster than I have ever done it before. Next year I intend to do it faster.
God Bless Burke Swindlehurst and all those who help him put on the Crusher in the Tushar.
See you next year.
Once a year I go to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and do the hardest thing I am ever likely to do. This year I did it faster than I have ever done it before. Next year I intend to do it faster.
God Bless Burke Swindlehurst and all those who help him put on the Crusher in the Tushar.
See you next year.
Monday, July 1, 2013
PMA
Things are coming together. I won't go as far as to say coming together nicely but they are coming together. Saturday I was supposed to ride the Bear Lake Monster Century but it was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, I made plans to ride with Joe and Tim in Park City. It was originally going to be a gravel grinder to work out the bugs for Crusher, but when a feasible route could not be figured Joe suggested the route for the DNA Empire Pass climb from last year on road bikes. I blindly agreed with the caveat that I needed to be back for a family commitment at noon.
We set out at 6:30am from the Canyons and headed for Oakley and points east. A BEAUTIFUL ride. Cool, gentle grades, smooth shoulders, beautiful. Soon after we started Joe's sciatic nerve started to bug him. And by bug him I mean, every pedal stroke shot pain down the back of his legs. He wasn't having fun. We pushed through the first thirty or so miles and when we looped back through Midway we were instructed to leave him if he fell off the back. He would head to his buddy's house in Midway and call his wife. When I checked the clock I realized I was going to have to go quicker than I thought I could to be back in Lehi at noon. As the climb into Wasatch Mountain State Park began, Tim had a chain come off. When I shouted back he said he was fine so I put my shoulder to the wheel and pushed along.
The Midway side of Empire Pass is a belligerent pig. It tips up immediately. From there it climbs 3K in 7 miles. The scenery, the lack of cars, the lack of other riders, the shade, are all mitigated by the sheer pitch of this monster. At one point a switchback got so steep that my front tire came off the ground. When I shifted my weight forward to keep it down, my rear wheel slipped. You are constantly fooled by what seem like horizons just around the next bend. Then the road takes a hard turn the opposite direction you want to go. I was dripping sweat. When I stood up on the pedals sweat would drip from my beard and hit my front hub with a splash. I went through a bottle and a half of water before reaching the top. Upon reaching the top I hesitated for a minute to see if Tim was coming. I had figured Joe couldn't possibly have made the climb with his leg/back pain. I decided my personal commitment was more pressing than Tim's safety so I dropped down into PC and hustled back to my car. It turns out that both Tim and Joe were together and not far behind me.
While not the biggest climb in Utah Empire is significant. For me it is significant because it is Crusher-esque and I was able to ride it non-stop. I have yet to clean the Col d' Crush. By my calculations Empire is longer but Col d' Crush is steeper. If I can make it without stopping I am going to buy myself ice cream.
My weight is going pretty well. I have dipped into the 170's, barely but I am hovering within the "need to empty my bowels" margin of error. The good news is when I eat fast food or garbage it now makes me sick. Don't worry I am still able to muscle through every once in a while, but for the most part I am eating better. I look sexy as hell. No kidding. I can't be left alone with myself. My pants fit, I need a new shorter belt. My moobs are down to A cups.
The truth is I don't know how all this is going to come together. Last year I didn't train at all, the year before that my training was sidelined a few weeks before due to illness.
I have never come into the Crusher "on top of my game" I wouldn't say I am there yet, but if Strava is to be believed I am as strong right now as I have ever been. Maybe more.
Also tonight I finally got Commander Beverly Crusher put together. The tire situation worked out, things adjusted. I think it will be the right bike.
Right bike. Slightly above average for me fitness. Positive Mental Attitude. Look out Tyler Wren. Here comes the fat kid from Utah County.
We set out at 6:30am from the Canyons and headed for Oakley and points east. A BEAUTIFUL ride. Cool, gentle grades, smooth shoulders, beautiful. Soon after we started Joe's sciatic nerve started to bug him. And by bug him I mean, every pedal stroke shot pain down the back of his legs. He wasn't having fun. We pushed through the first thirty or so miles and when we looped back through Midway we were instructed to leave him if he fell off the back. He would head to his buddy's house in Midway and call his wife. When I checked the clock I realized I was going to have to go quicker than I thought I could to be back in Lehi at noon. As the climb into Wasatch Mountain State Park began, Tim had a chain come off. When I shouted back he said he was fine so I put my shoulder to the wheel and pushed along.
The Midway side of Empire Pass is a belligerent pig. It tips up immediately. From there it climbs 3K in 7 miles. The scenery, the lack of cars, the lack of other riders, the shade, are all mitigated by the sheer pitch of this monster. At one point a switchback got so steep that my front tire came off the ground. When I shifted my weight forward to keep it down, my rear wheel slipped. You are constantly fooled by what seem like horizons just around the next bend. Then the road takes a hard turn the opposite direction you want to go. I was dripping sweat. When I stood up on the pedals sweat would drip from my beard and hit my front hub with a splash. I went through a bottle and a half of water before reaching the top. Upon reaching the top I hesitated for a minute to see if Tim was coming. I had figured Joe couldn't possibly have made the climb with his leg/back pain. I decided my personal commitment was more pressing than Tim's safety so I dropped down into PC and hustled back to my car. It turns out that both Tim and Joe were together and not far behind me.
While not the biggest climb in Utah Empire is significant. For me it is significant because it is Crusher-esque and I was able to ride it non-stop. I have yet to clean the Col d' Crush. By my calculations Empire is longer but Col d' Crush is steeper. If I can make it without stopping I am going to buy myself ice cream.
My weight is going pretty well. I have dipped into the 170's, barely but I am hovering within the "need to empty my bowels" margin of error. The good news is when I eat fast food or garbage it now makes me sick. Don't worry I am still able to muscle through every once in a while, but for the most part I am eating better. I look sexy as hell. No kidding. I can't be left alone with myself. My pants fit, I need a new shorter belt. My moobs are down to A cups.
The truth is I don't know how all this is going to come together. Last year I didn't train at all, the year before that my training was sidelined a few weeks before due to illness.
I have never come into the Crusher "on top of my game" I wouldn't say I am there yet, but if Strava is to be believed I am as strong right now as I have ever been. Maybe more.
Also tonight I finally got Commander Beverly Crusher put together. The tire situation worked out, things adjusted. I think it will be the right bike.
Right bike. Slightly above average for me fitness. Positive Mental Attitude. Look out Tyler Wren. Here comes the fat kid from Utah County.
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