PBP
'07 or Bust! (Becky
Reilly, May 07)
I've been holding
my breath on this one because I wanted to finish the qualifiers first.
This past week I've been absolutely exhausted but simultaneously relieved and
excited to be done with this part of the season. I also like to get a
little distance from an event before I can intelligently reflect on things.
Intelligence is relative here, after all, to most people outside this group, the
miles we ride make us lunatics : )
Way back in January, I emailed Dan and told him I'd like to come out to to do my
first brevet w/ LSR, the 200K out of Weatherford. Little did I know what
that day would turn into. Here I was completely new to the
randonneuring scene, sporting a trash bag over my kit and dish gloves over my
winter gloves - which, btw, I thought was terribly clever, heading out to do
what would quickly turn in to one of the most heinous rides of all time.
Before we left the parking lot, Dan slapped a plastic bag under my helmet,
probably thinking to himself this girl's gonna bail for sure ; ) Well,
without George Evans, I'm sure I would have bailed. He stuck by me every
mile and stopped the numerous times I had to chug-a-lug hot cocoa to thaw out my
hands and warm my core temp. Never once did he say, "My gawd, you
look terrible." In fact, all he ever did was smile and continue to
encourage me. I can never repay him for that day. I did finish, odds
stacked against me as they were.
Unfortunately a week later, I went out for an easy 75 w/ some teammates and
noticed my knees were not performing quite up to par. Having had knee issues in
the past, I contacted my coach immediately and we discussed the various
scenarios and possible scaled-back workout schedule changes. This was more
than a little upsetting seeing how Feb 3 was my next planned brevet. The
pain persisted and I made an appt w/ an orthopedic I'd seen before for the
knees. In the meantime, I was to be off the bike entirely. Not content to
sit idly by as my aerobic fitness dwindled, I decided to learn how to swim.
It was pretty ugly, negative style points for sure, but at least it got my heart
rate up and was kind to my knees. I felt I was at least not going
backward. The knee guy couldn't see me until mid March. That was a
hard blow. But he's worth it so I waited.
After 4 full weeks off the bike, I had started doing super easy recovery zone
type rides, zero intensity and no hills at all. This was all very bizarre
especially because only 6 month before I'd survived Mt. Washington without any
knee pain whatsoever, but I wasn't 40 back then either ; ) I had only a
couple of weeks to prep for the 300K out of Cleburne and was getting nervous.
Doctor visit came and went. Glory hallelujah, the x-rays were clean and I
got some heavy duty anti-infalm Rx, which I enthusiastically took for 4 weeks
along with icing knees after each workout.
My 300K: the wind on the Cleburne course was a big factor on the inbound and I
admit I struggled more than a little. Unintentionally got some bonus miles but
made it back in one piece. That was my first solo night riding experience.
Very strange. You start to think the most bizarre things when you're tired
and out alone, like how far can snakes jump, and, is the Chupacabra indigenous
to Texas?
My light failed 8 mile from the finish, and I found myself using my cell phone
to look at street signs. It worked, but I was very slow as a result.
Lesson learned: always have TWO back-ups.
A whole month until the 400, I was able to do regular mommy/wife stuff and get
out of my deficit spending bike time wise for a couple of weeks. I'd done
a road race out of Mineral Wells a year prior and was a little familiar with the
area. That was a plus. Because I'm pretty much still scrimping and
saving for airfare, I opted to drive in from Dallas
that morning and sleep in the back of my car that night. I figured the
reduced sleep would be good conditioning anyway. In my RUSA booklet, I'd
read that a 400K can actually be tougher than a 600K because people usually
don't take a nap break. Although I felt pretty strong going in to it, I
really had no idea what to expect.
My longest ride ever had been the Cochise
Perimeter Classic out of Douglas,
AZ, and that was a 3 person team with full SAG whenever we wanted it.
This was going to be another animal entirely. I had already figured out
that randonneurs were insane, which is why I dig you all, but this ride was
going to better my personal best distance by a few miles so I really wanted to
"do it right". By mile 103 I was suffering. Icing the
knees at a convenience store and unsure how I could continue, the endurance
riding gods sent me Marlene and Will. They saved my skin.
Endurolytes, ibuprofen, encouraging words, special therapeutic oils, you name
it, they had it. I was starting to recognize there is nothing solo about
randoneuring at all. People are not just willing, but wanting to help out.
I was speechless.
The last 50 or so miles were slow going to be sure. I was drifting off and
not able to hold a good line which really worried me. By the time we got
to Possum Kingdom, it was terribly late and even a bit chilly. The 4 or 5
climbs we had left took it out of me entirely. The descents were even a bit
tougher because my hands were blistered and sore from braking and shifting all
day. Those were some screaming downhills for sure. Finally we made
it back to the motel and I was so happy to take my baby wipe "bath",
change into my comfy clothes and sack out until 8:30 or so.
Driving back to Dallas
that Sunday morning I stopped at a Churches Fried chicken in Arlington.
I NEVER go to that kind of place. But that day I ordered a piece of chicken,
some mashed potatoes with gravy, coleslaw and the greasiest fried pie ever.
No scraps left. Just a box and sack. Got home and slept another 5
hours. My poor husband must feel like a cycling widower and my 2 boys
nearly orphans :(
Back-to-back brevet weekends are killer. Especially a 400K followed by a
600K, but I was so close, and I could taste it. I wanted to be done with
the series and was willing to leave my family for 4 days to get it done with Bob
Riggs' Houston group. Truth be told, I had ZERO desire to get back on that
Mineral Wells course for 600K at the end of May. That would be my fail
safe only.
375 miles just sounds so made up. I'd be riding my bike farther than my
drive down to Houston!
Crazy, but necessary. I was actually excited and talking it up to all my bike
people. At the last minute my brother Sam said he wanted to come do leap
frog, going from control to control to make sure I was doing ok. That was
HUGE.
The heat, humidity and wind last weekend made for an extremely challenging
couple of days, yet I was very focused on riding within myself, not burning
matches and not getting discouraged. Lee and Jim helped a lot there,
thanks a million, guys. Lee was way stronger than I was but wouldn't leave
me in the dark, which was especially awesome when we came in to Kulow. I
would have been doggy dinner for sure.
On Sunday, it was hard to shake off the previous day's 222. My legs had
zero snap, nausea was getting the better of me and the sleep deprivation
headache was screaming in my ears. The hilly windy sections were
especially sapping, and had it not been for my awful renditions of various Barry
Manilow, Captain and Tenille, Wings, James
Brown and Sesame Street Songs, I would have had a harder time managing
those tough sections.
Washington on the Brazos was my personal low point of the entire weekend.
I was genuinely concerned I would be hard pressed to make the time cut.
Had a mini break down, reassessed, got back on the bike and just took it a few
yards at a time. It is slow going like that, but it will get the job done,
eventually : ) I used to think when I was hurting, others were impervious.
Now I realize everyone feels it about the same, some people are just faster.
One of the many ironic parts about the 600 occurred near the finish in Pattison.
Two years ago 3 other women and I did the W3 team time trial on that stretch
just before the left turn by the elementary school. We got first place, my
first gold medal ever in cycling. Last Sunday, I was doing well to hold
9-10 mph in that wind. I ride a men's racing saddle. Bad idea for
distance. The last 4-5 miles I was standing as much as I could. ANY
contact with my saddle was borderline excruciating. Had I not been
liberally applying Chamois Butter all day, I'm confident I'd have spent some
time in the ICU ; )
With an hour and 42 minutes to spare, I pulled in to the motel parking lot. Sam,
Lee, Jim, Bob and some other riders I hadn't met were there cheering me in.
Sam shook up the bottle of el cheapo champagne I'd put in the fridge (because at
heart I'm the eternal optimist) and sprayed me and my bike. All I could
think was "SOPRO" : )
It felt good to be still. It felt good to be done. Most of all it
felt good to have stuck it out. I didn't do it alone. I'm not sure I
could have.
I told several people I could have sworn I smelled the sea air from the Gulf,
the south wind was so strong that day. They just think I'm nuts.
Maybe I am.
Becky