Weekend Activities

This July 4th long weekend started with a rest day, saving my legs for the organized metric century on the 5th. They keep advertising the Red White and Blue ride as 62 miles, but I know from last year that it's going to be long. There was a nice big group lined up at 7:30 a.m. in a nice thick fog (99% humidity); people of all shapes, sizes, price tags on their bikes, types of bikes even (tri bikes, road bikes, recumbents, cruisers, MTBs) were there. The route was to be a hilly one for Memphis, but I was determined to stay up with the pack of guys from my team and hang on as long as possible.

What fascinates me most on these rides are the group dynamics. You've got people there for the socialization, some for the competition, some have something to prove, some roll their eyes at those silly people on TT bikes; most are probably there for the fun of having a different group to ride with. And the SAGs (side note: I hope to attend the Big Dam Bridge 100 in Little Rock again this year, solely for the cookie stop at 25 and 75 miles-- homemade cookies of all varieties-- in quantities larger than you could ever dream of). I was entertained through the first 37 miles (to the SAG) watching the guys rotate in their paceline in front of me. Sorry to anyone who got stuck behind me and wanted to take a pull. I say no thanks!

Starting back up again after a short break always hurts, but I was managing fine until suddenly, at mile 47, 2:07 into the ride, the lead peleton pulled ahead. I stood to dance on my pedals (how I wish Phil Liggett was narrating my ride), ok, not really, but I tried to pick it up to get back onto the tail end, when another 4 or 5 riders perfectly timed their drop off the back. Thankfully I had someone with me. They actually pulled us back up to the group within another couple minutes. Saved... this time. Just 10 miles later, so close to the end, it happened again. It seemed that I was actually going backward down the hill as I watched them get further and further away. But come on, who can climb every stinkin hill at 23, coast at 27, and cruise on the flats at 30? Ok, those guys can, but not me! Oh but wait! More riders than just myself were OTB again, and being the gentlemen that they were, they pulled me all the way home, to 64.05 miles, 2 hours and 49 minutes (carry the 5, divide by 6... yup, that means we averaged 24.2 for the last 17 miles. No wonder!!). Now if I can just average that in a half Ironman where there are no stop signs and traffic lights, and, oh yeah, no drafting, I'll be happy.

That afternoon Damie and I rehydrated and anti-oxidized ourselves with some delicious strawberry puree, which just happened to be contained within our pitcher of margaritas. They didn't last long:
Cheers to the beginning of our Ironman training!

The training continued on Sunday when we had a great run despite margarita-induced lethargy. We went early in the morning to beat the baking sun, and to my surprise, there were LOTS of people already out there when I arrived at the Farms at 7 a.m. We finished with me looking like I'd jumped in Patriot Lake, minus the duck poop, and Damie cool as a cucumber, barely breaking a sweat. (Not that she's not acclimated to the heat [see post below]-- it just doesn't bother some people like it bothers me. I'm jealous.) On my list of fun things to do will be taking a scale with me next time I have a long run and weighing myself before and after. They say I'm 60% water, just how much of that can I lose (without dying, of course)? To be continued.