The adjectival form of hubris is "hubristic."
So yesterday was a pretty good training day, as I wrote last night.
I went to bed feeling just a little too comfortable with my fitness going into Augusta, and was recalibrating my race goals. I can think of some ridiculous times. And make myself think they'll happen. Part of my charm.
So this morning I wanted to get out on Valentine, my new triathlon bike, and do something short and fast. I figured I'd ride out to Tybee, hammer it on Hwy 80, maybe add a detour through Ft. Pulaski, drag race up and down Butler Avenue a few times, then return home. The plan was to shower and then take the kids back to the beach -- in a car thank you. Sand castle equipment was already laid out -- three adult shovels, three large home depot buckets (they double as seats), and these castle shaped molds for the turrets. My son doesn't build sandcastles so much as he stages elaborate sieges of them, complete with moats, a road infrastructure, prison yards, complex (and draconian) systems of government, and, ultimately, a biblical plague or tsunami, or other horrific act of God. He reasons that the ocean is going to destroy his architecture by nightfall, and he'd rather see something epic. Better to burn out than to fade away.
I digress. I found myself on Hwy 80 to Tybee, down in the bars, holding 26mph into the cross-wind. Other than a stiff breeze, a perfect day for a solo ride out to the beach. Cobalt sky, chrome clouds, and not even 80F yet. Sinful to stay inside and spin on a day like this. I don't know that I've ever been happier on a bike, and that's saying something.
So I did 6 drags up and down Butler Avenue, holding 30-plus with the tailwind, 23-24 coming back into it. Only my third ride on it, and I have to say my legs were getting used to the larger 54 tooth chain ring and longer 177.5 crank arms. What can I say, Valentine is a custom job, and her builder and first husband Charlie is a beast. Now, I push big gears too, but this baby has taken me some getting used to. I was afraid she might be too much woman for me, but today was the first ride on Valentine where I was firmly in control. My broomstick legs can make her go just fine.
Sailing back from Tybee with a tailwind, I was thinking about the rest of the day, about how well the training is going, and was contemplating Augusta 70.3 and Rev3 Anderson, and thinking how this bike and I were gonna flatten Augusta's hills like a rolling pin.
Then something went wrong, quick. Down in the bars I felt the bike kick. It felt like it was falling apart. The back tire was the culprit. This is a deep carbon wheel with sew ups that I bought separate and put on there. It's fast and at 101mm deep, it's perfect for low country racing when it's windy. Lighter than a disc, nearly as aero, and less susceptible to the cross winds.
But the tire blew (not a new tire or new wheel) and I hit the deck hard. My whole left side -- wrist, side, back, knee, ankle, foot -- all got whacked pretty good. I have some impressive road rash, but have had way worse. Knee is skinned and really got bashed -- bruised is all, I hope. Ankle is sprained.
I am very lucky. There is always traffic on 80. The guy in the truck behind me was paying close attention -- let's hear it for attentive motorists. He could easily have hit me like a fleshy speed bump and certainly it wouldn't have been his fault. He missed me and managed to turn around and come back and block off the lane while I gathered my wits and bike parts. My Livestrong Oakleys were smashed, I have no idea where the water bottle ended up, but the bike frame seems OK. Aerobars are a mess, and I will want new Gatorskins and tubes, just to be safe.
But that is a bargain! My helmet is caved. I banged my head something good on the tarmac. A wreck like that -- skittering down Hwy 80 on your side, after you slam your knee and head at 28 mph -- that wreck generally comes out worse. Phew.
And as much bitching as we cyclists do about motorists and our rights, let's hear it for one Justin Knapp of Tybee Island, Georgia, who loaded me and Valentine into his truck and drove me all the way home, after making me lay there for a minute and deciding whether to listen to me when I assured him I was fine, I was fine. Thanks, Justin, and no, I don't mind if you smoke in your own truck! Particularly when you and your buddy just blocked traffic for me, then volunteered to drive me all the way home to Parkside from out near the beach. Instead of getting run over after eating it, I got cleaned up, my stuff gathered up, and a lift home. Sorry about all the blood on that shirt.
I am not running with this banged up knee for a week. Will spin inside on my road bike. Probably too bloody to swim until Weds. But I am home in one piece, watching the Three Stooges remake with my kids, and contemplating an (indoor) outing here in a minute. My kids are past embarrassment with a dad like this, so the blue icepack on my knee won't bother them much at either the Jepson Center* , or Barnes and Noble. Now, my exaggerated zombie walk and groaning for more brains might, because when you are ripped up from the pavement, that's the look you have and you just need to go with it. Nothing else to do but deal with it and move forward.
Introspection is overrated. Ask Lot's wife. Look back too long and sure, you might prevent some future mistake or other, but you can over think yourself out of a life.
I am glad I got to ride this day. Until the wreck it was perfect. Freak things happen. And while I won't say that this just makes me stronger when I bounce back, or any of that neo-Friedrich Nietzsche pablum that athletes always spout when shit goes wrong, I will aver that a life worth living includes the occasional black eye.
And thanks again, Justin. Long walk home.
On! On!
Jerry
* Zombie-friendly Jepson Center:
http://telfair.org/visit/jepson-center/overview/
http://www.pillarofsalt.com/
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Yesterday's entry:
Augusta Dry Run #1
So, five weeks out, I figured I would road test the fitness before Augusta.
Today there were two local race options -- the XC Kickoff Classic, my hands down favorite local race, vs. The Milestone Half-marathon.
I would much prefer 3.1 miles all out on the soaked XC course in Daffin Park, with ankle deep standing water, high grass (they intentionally don't mow it before the race), pine straw bales to leap over, and water pits. Something like 400-500 high school varsity boys and girls run the course at 8 and 830. Grown ups run at 7AM. It's a blast to race, catch up with runners you've missed during triathlon season (when you vanish from the local running scene, generally not to appear until next Winter), then watch the high school kids fly. I adore running as a team sport, and the parents and friends and family that line the sodden course to cheer make it worth sticking around in filthy, wet shorts to watch it all.
Plus you can see Daffin Park from my backyard. I run there 3 to 4 times a week.
However, desperate times call for desperate measures.
I made a rare responsible training decision and eschewed my favorite race for the. Milestone Half out in Pooler.
Brian Nash lives near the start at West Chatham Middle School. He is a faithful training partner. We got there at 515AM and set up our bikes on trainers. By 5:30 we were pedaling in the dark, going nowhere, but working hard at it, and listening to Eminem (Brian remains a devoted fan, and still kinda sports the Slim Shady clone look, but with Livestrong gear instead of baggy overalls and a white T.)
Once race volunteers and athletes began trickling in, we got some looks.
We were shooting for 2 hours on the trainer, but fell a bit short, because we needed to pack up the bikes and trainers in his truck.
Probably shoulda hopped off the bike sooner. The 5 port-o-jons for hundreds of runners (there was also a 10K) were jam packed, with a line stretching dauntingly long. There were no nearby woods to run to. Race director assured us he would delay the race until the lines had cleared. Hopping from foot to foot as the lone inched forward, I had doubts. Race was already 10 min late.
Naturally, when I stepped into the port-o-jon, I heard the gun go off, and the cheer that erupts when a race kicks off. I actually laughed sitting there.
Good thing this was a low key race-as-brick workout day.
90 seconds after the start, sprinting across the parking lot to the starting line, I was going. Legs felt good after 1:45ish trainer ride mostly in large ring, and a hard training week. Ran a 7:15 mile, weaving through walkers and female joggers wearing calf length tights (in August, in Georgia), and was on my way.
The course tracks our Saturday Coffee Shop Ride ("the Fast 50) and it was amusing to be bopping along at 8 mph when you are used to 28, down in the aerobars. Went through 10 in 1:14, so 7:24 pace. That is getting near where I wanna be in Augusta.
I expected to pick it up and run a hard final 5K, but instead waddled through calf cramps and finished gingerly. The Endurolytes that I left back at Brian's truck would have solved that -- must remember them in Augusta.
Jogged across the line in 1:39, glad my calves only really erupted in the last quarter mile, when I attempted to sprint. Plan B was not to sprint. Plan B worked better. I plan B'd it in, lunging in zombie fashion. Whatever works.
Immediately found a banana because all we've been told since middle school football that bananas are for cramps. Perhaps. But sitting down was unwise. Because I later had to stand. Really surprised how much I cramped after just 13.1 miles. I have no respect for the distance, I suppose, but had better at least acknowledge it. When you've been doing olympic dist and sprints all summer -- and exclusively since 2005 -- it's a mistake to dismiss the half iron distance as easy, because it isn't as intense as an olympic, but isn't an all day sucker like an ironman.
Yeah well I was surprised how wrecked my legs were after a half-marathon time that was 21 minutes slower than my PR, and after a mere 105 minute spin.
The upside is that an hour on the trainer is worth 75 minutes or more on the roads, so this trainer ride was closer to my Augusta split (one hopes) than you'd think. I will get it together.
I believe sub-2:20 bike and sub 1:37 run seem very doable in Augusta. After all, but for cramps I think today was sub 1:37, and it ain't like I tapered, or even skipped weights the evening before. No wonder legs were beat!
So that is today's brick.
The Milestone Half is worth a look. Gets its name because Race Director Steve White decided there should be a progress check before the Rock'N'Roll Savannah Marathon. That race is the first Saturday in November, so if you struggled today you have ten weeks left to get after it. Timing was perfect for Augusta.
I admit I felt a pang of regret looking at the cross-country results tonight, and receiving texts about the race, but I needed a long-run brick, and got one precisely tailored to my needs.
Savannah Century next Sunday. With a brief run afterward. That will leave four weeks.
On! On!
Jerry
