I am just six days away now from my return to the marathon. My 21st marathon will be run this Sunday in Denver, with my niece Wendy. Much anticipation, a bit of worry, and tremendous excitement. I have been preparing for this mentally for two years, and physically for six months. I've lost 25 pounds, and am nearly down to 204, my target weight-- the lowest I've weighed since I started running-- my lowest sustained weight since I was in my early 30's, and that is a while ago now. The P-diet, distance training, and commuting to work by bike have me more ready for this marathon than I've been for the past several. Despite my low weekly run mileage, I am counting on the cross over from biking to carry me to the finish. I have several quality long runs, including a 24 miler, and the 100 mile ride I did on Sept 30th, the details of which follow. My running brother got me here, and I sure wish that Saint Stephen and I were to be doing Denver together. We will, but just not in the same dimension. Though I trained through the heat-- brutal 95 degree high humidity run at Salt Creek in August, hot, humid long run at Water Fall Glen on Labor day, and then the 80 degree 24 miler on Sept 23. Over 100 miles in September running, and more than 300 miles on the bike. Yesterday Steve, Ryder, Mirbabel and I did a 6 mile matainence run, just one loop up to Lindbergh park (instead of 4 loops) and it was HOT. We thought about all our friends who were running the Chicago marathon, and even more of our friends from UIC and the Oak Park Runners Club who were manning the water station at mile 18. when I read the paper and saw the news, my heart went out to all you brave souls who did the run, and I felt very bad about everyone who had their day cut short when they pulled the plug on the marathon at 11:30. When we ran London in 1996 it was very hot and there was too little water and it was a very scary and dangerous day, but it was nothing like yesterday. Just our little 6 mile run was hot enough. It was a good thing not to have run Chicago also, since I was out late Saturday night, seeing Phil Lesh and Friends at the Riveria theater, uptown, in Chicago. Talk about hot-- it must have been 120 degrees in the show. My goodness, we thought we were going to die. One beautiful religious experience, perhaps heat induced, when they played Uncle John's Band, I closed my eyes and saw the music, and when I heard "come hear Uncle John' Band-- he's come to take his children home" I thought of how lovely it would be to be that child, to be led home, to be swept into the comforting arms of a great protector, to follow instead of having to lead. One of those Grateful Dead moments that keeps me coming back for more after all these years. Indeed, what a long strange trip its been.
And now, the story of Apple Cider Century, my best event in years.
After all the anticipation, finally Sunday Sept 30th, the day of the Apple Cider Century in Three Oaks, MI arrived. I was on the road by 5:30 and rolled into Three Oaks before 8 EDT. There were thousands of bicyclists getting ready to ride, there was quite a buzz in the air as we registered, got our course maps, and then ate breakfast at the fire station. I mounted my trusty steed and was on the road by 9:00 sharp. These events are very relaxed and riders start whenever they are ready and keep track of their own time if interested. I zeroed out my computer and headed out. Within the first half mile someones mirror fell off their beater mountain bike, nearly causing a big accident as everyone swerved to miss the road hazard. One of the truly charming things about the ACC is the wide range of participants, from grocery basket beaters to ultra-light aero tri-bikes, some 5000 riders in all. Of course only a few hundred do the whole 100. There are rides of 25, 50, 62 and 75 miles. All rides intersect at various points on the course, especially at the 2nd sag stop in New Buffalo-- 43 miles into the 100 mile course, half-way for the shorter rides. As I settled in to the first miles of the ride, I found myself in a pack, a club of riders, in matching jerseys, some 20 or more of them. I was swept along, though had to keep braking as they were going along at a liesurely 18 mph. I stayed right with them, keeping to the back of the pack, until we go to the first big hill about mile 8 and the whole group of them rode away from me like I was standing still. Yikes I thought, I really have not ridden on many hills, no way I can hang with this group, though drafting them would have made my ride easier. It was rather hectic though being in the peloton and not knowing anyone. Soon, though, I was alone in my team of one and felt no pressure or urgency, after all I still had 92 miles to go. It was a beautiful day. Starting out in the low 60s and not a cloud in the sky. There was a bit of wind, but so far it was just beautiful. I really enjoyed the bucolic scenery, the corn fields rolling hills small farms with wooden fence lines, cows and goats, pumpkin patches, weather worn farm houses and barns. I rolled happily along, probing my body to see how I felt. A little sore in the ilial psoas, a little tight in my knees, but pretty comfortable. After the first big hill the course was only mildly hilly for several miles and I warmed up nicely, got into my groove and pushed the pace. In a ver short while I made it to the first sag stop at mile 22. There were 100s of bikes there, a psychedelic display of jerseys and riders. The accepted norm, apparently, for these events is too tight of a jersey which reveals the ample guts of many of the men, average age probably 45 years old. I felt nearly svelte in my Grateful Dead bike jersey. I had my first taste of apple cider and a cup of potato soup, yum! a banana, some water and was back on the road in about 10 minutes. So far, so good. The ride to the next sag stop at 43 miles was uneventful, except for the terrible broken pavement in Union Pier. The nicer the homes, the worse the roads. Feeling good, just after 12 pm and it was nice to have a bit of lunch. A cup of potato soup to wash the PBJ sandwhich down. I ran into my old buddy Zeck and his riding mate Denis. They were doing the 50, had started at 7:30 and we converged at this sag stop at the same time. We enjoyed conversation and the food, filled up our waterbottles and they took off. I had to wait in the bathroom queue for a while when they took off.
Just a few miles into the next leg, there was a stretch of dirt road we had to cover, just about 1/2 mile at the most. As soon as I hit the pavement and rounded the corner, I saw Zeck and Denis standing by their bikes. I asked if they were ok, yes, just resting their butts. On ward! I knew from my experience last year, and also from what I'd heard about the course, that all the really big hills were between miles 60 to 80. I dreaded this part of course, fearful of my lack of preparation and hill training. I was a bit surprise when I hit the first really big, and very long hill at about mile 55. I tried to push the pace up the hill, stood on my peddles a bit, but realized it was way too big and long of a hill, so I geared way down and spun my way up and over. At first I was sucking air and my quads were burning, but I crossed the threshold, got my second wind and kept spinning. All I could muster was 6.6 mph. I didn't care, as the panic subsided and the fear was replaced by the surge I felt as I crested the top. I decided at that moment to hammer the downhills and hang on, do what I could to get up the hills. So many riders coast down the hills, or crest the top and stop to rest. I found that I could gear up all the way to the highest gear and crank at 35 mph going down, and catch my breath! My strategy carried me up and over the next several hill. When I got near the top of short steep hills I stood on my peddles and marched right over, keeping my speed and momentum. When I hit a hill that was too tall to climb standing up, I geared down and spun. My friend and bike guru Giulia's words resonated as I pushed on " rpms are your best friend". I kept shifting gears, a lot, to keep my cadence high. I also knew that I should stand and peddle frequently to take the heat and pressure off my butt and crotch. Other than feeling a bit winded and my fingers going numb, especially my right thumb, I felt great. I was greatly relieved, none the less to make it to the 67 mile sag stop at Scio Springs.
By now, only the long distance riders were on the course, and every one was hot and tired by this stop. I knew I needed to eat something, but I felt nauseas and had fierce cotton mouth. The water was from a well and tasted like metal, and the gatoraide was so sweet and thick, tropical fruit punch, it was difficult to get any fluids in. So I lay in the shade amongst the other riders, and relaxed. I stretched, cooled off and enjoyed listening to the conversations around me. Not to mention the enjoying the view of the very fit riders-- the polar gods a group of triathletes, who discussed their 16 mile run the day before, doing a 100 for training for Hawaii. wow. Awesome looking folks. And the family of six on the big ride. Someone asked the dad, who was wearing a skeleton jeresy, what is was like having 4 kids. He said when he only had two it was man-to-man defense, but once you had three kids, you had to shift to zone defense, so having four kids was really no harder than having three. Wow! finally, I had cooled off, ate a bit, drank some of the fluids, and rallied myself. I felt pretty good, but was worried-- after all the hills were the biggest between miles 60 and 80, and it was only 67 miles when we stopped.
I started out with a group of young riders who had some fine wool jersey's and a few tatooed and nose pierced fierce and fit looking women in their group. Immediately we hit a big hill and it was tough getting started. A guy rode past me and he was breathing rhythmically, loudly through his mouth, and it reminded me to breathe. The took off, and three or four of the guys stormed up that first big hill. I decided to pace myself and spun over the hill in a low gear. When I got to the top I saw the fast guys had pulled up to weight for their crew, so I took off. I hammered the downs and hung on for the ups. We got to a huge downhill and I topped out at 35 before hitting the next up. I felt great, very strong and was glad to be doing the ride, but not having to ride with a group. Soon the course turned south. We headed into Indiana and there was a very long straight road that was exposed and seemingly more up hill than down. Into a 20+ mph headwind. It was brutal. All I could do was hunker down and spin. I managed only a 10 mph but kept going. Soon I found myself catching solo riders, hanging with them for a few minutes, then riding by them. I kept hoping we would get to the farthest south point so we could turn back to the north-- wind at our backs! but when we did turn around, the course took us into the woods which blocked the wind. None the less, I was able to pick up the pace and rode for then next 5-6 miles averaging close to 30 mph. I was flying! I continued to pass other riders and really hammered, ups and downs, standing on my peddles over the rail road tracks. I was cranking out. I passed more and more riders, and not a single rider caught me. The longer I rode, the stronger I felt!
It was a brutal stretch-- 28 miles to the final sag stop. I rolled into the 92 mile stop and as I walked to the bathroom I had a huge emotional rush, total body goose flesh and tears in my eyes-- I knew right then I was having the ride of my life! I was nailing this sucker! I didn't stay long, only 8 miles to go. I had one last cup of potato soup and chatted briefly with a pair of fit looking guys on a tandem hauling a 2 year old in a burely. Wow, and they were cranking out too. I hit the road, with one big last hill to climb and I took off in a hurry, riding strong and fast. Half way up the big hill I dumped my chain. Argggg. It only took me a minute to roll it back onto the front gear cluster. The worst part was the grease, which I tried to wipe off on some dirt. Nothing else wrong, so I was back on the road and finished just behind the threesome. 5:00 pm sharp when I rolled into TOES. 8 hours out, 6:21 rolling, 16 mph average, top speed 35 mph, low speed 6.6 mph. I felt great, excited, happy and relieved! That spaghetti dinner was great! I saw the rest of the 67 mile sag stop crew at the end. The polar gods, the tattooers, the threesome. Such camaraderie and a sense of accomplishment. My last long training event before the Denver marathon. The test of my strategy, riding long to save my knees for the marathon. yeah baby. go, go, go!
