Saturday was a long ride as usual. Got on the trainer at 5am and hopped off at 8am. It's amazing how you can get used to almost anything - even 3-hour stationary rides. It was so refreshing to hop off the trainer and hit the road with some teammates after for a nice, easy 50-miler. Downtown felt like an oven, but there was a nice breeze off the water, making for a very pleasant ride along the coast. I spun out another half an hour on the trainer before transitioning into my real triathlon: shower, eat, sleep (and study somewhere in there too maybe?).
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| No helmets on a trainer. |
I've done hundred mile bike rides before. I know it can hurt and be boring, and be more of a test of how much you can stand to eat while pedaling. It was today I was nervous for this week. I had a 20-miler on the schedule, but the marathoners-in-training on the team were planning 22, so I decided to hop in on their run. We started in Santa Monica, ran up through Culver City, hopped on the bike path for a little more than 6 miles, made our way through Marina del Rey, then finished up through Venice Beach and Santa Monica Beach. Sometimes everything just comes together. You pack the right number of Gus, have all the best places planned to stop for water, ate just the right amount at just the right time beforehand. I'm proud of this run because nothing came together. I didn't bring any water or gu. I ate way too late and had to go to the bathroom the whole time. I only stopped for water once, and by then my face was caked with salt and my throat was dry. It was too hot. If there were ever a day when I would just completey fail, today was that day. But I didn't. I didn't even think about stopping, that just wasn't even an option. My first ten were slow, then a teammate and I broke away and the next six were a little faster, then I broke off and the last six were fast, right on that pace where I feel strong but controlled. By the time I was 16 or 18 miles in, I knew the pain wouldn't get too much worse, and admitting this made it a lot easier for me to suck it up and run. I could be hurting and run for another hour or be hurting and run for forty minutes. Seemed like an obvious choice.
When I finished, I started walking back down toward the beach to wait for my teammates to come around. I passed a Jack in the Box and decided to stop and get some water. It took me literally a solid minute to ask for a cup of water. After staring aimlessly into space while the guy at the cash register asked me what I wanted three times, I finally said, with conviction, "A cup. I want a cup." It was obvious that I had no money on me, so he just kind of looked at me for a few seconds then I finally realized I should specify. "Water." Cup in hand, I contentedly strolled down towards the beach, shuffling a little bit as my muscles tightened up. I came up to an obviously flustered woman walking 3 very large dogs. Normally, it wouldn't be hard for me to figure out that I should walk around her and forfeit my side of the sidewalk to her giant animals. But in my delerium, I stood there like a deer in the headlights and waited for the dogs to move. She kept yelling at them and tugging their leashes but they continued to jump all over each other. After enough commanding to walk, the one in front of me finally sat. For some reason I decided it was easier to step over the sitting dog than to just walk around. Even the hobos were looking at me weird. About half an hour and one mile later, I found one of my teammates coming up off the beach. I ran with him for his last mile then called it a day. A huge breakfast helped me out of my dehydration-and-electrolyte-deficiency induced dimensia and before I knew it I was forming coherent sentences and feeling ready for a nap.
So today I learned that I can run over 20 miles with no food and very little water but that if I plan to do basic tasks or talk to anyone after I probably shouldn't.
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