A rest day .... without the resting

Tuesday was a rest day for Pat, and packet pickup down at the King Kamehameha’s Kona Beach Hotel. While Pat went to pick up her packet around 9am I wandered across the pier to the swim start to watch the athletes doing their training workouts. It's a little late (630-7am seems to be the 'in' time to go) so the crowd isn't as thick, but there were still plenty of interesting things to watch.

A constant flow of athletes swimming from the beach.

Random guy about to start his swim. The TYR Torque speedsuit is VERY popular here.

The world's fittest couple. We saw these guys several days in a row (in my next life I would like to have her build, please). The guy swims the course while the girl follows on the paddle board with a camera. 

The super-fit paddleboard girl following the super-fit swimmer guy. Notice the Go Cam on the front of the board.

I watched the tan guy in front do his pre-swim warmup for a good 10 minutes ...

... and then I watched him rush to help a physically challenged athlete out of the water the second the other guy carrying him asked for help. Then he stood on the pier talking to these folks for quite a while before shaking their hands and going back to the beach to start his pre-swim routine all over again. THAT'S what makes you love this sport.

After Pat got her packet we grabbed some lunch at the condo and she and Tom went to the bike store while I headed out for a ride. The bike store checked her wheels and tires and confirmed that the whacky hole in the tube was probably a manufacturing defect - they'd seen several in that lot with the same problem. It gave her some peace of mind ... especially since after several failed attempts to teach her how to change a flat (from me, Tom, and a few others) my best advice is to look as  pitiful as possible and hope there's a support vehicle nearby (or an extremely altruistic fellow racer). I am DETERMINED to teach her - I know she can do it - but I fear there just aren't enough hours left between now and the start of this race. Maybe as a winter project.

Meanwhile, I went for a ride which mostly consisted of hills (I seriously didn't know Hawaii was so hilly ... but pretty much anything that's NOT the ocean is a hill - it is a volcano afterall), and of course ran into miscellaneous cyclists, runners, and surfers. I had a lot of fun seeing how long I could hang at the back of small packs of similarly-dressed cyclists (usually longer than I thought I could - I'm telling you, tri bikes are magically fast! Well, and those competing are all in full taper right now too so they've knocked it clear down to 20mph). While we point out potholes and roadkill back home, here they point out small weasels crossing the road (like our squirrels) and palm tree debris. After one long twisty downhill (yes, I did realize I'd have to come back up) I ran across a hidden marina with a handful of moored sailboats, and briefly remembered a past life in which I'd be more likely to be tacking or jibing from the cockpit of a Catalina or a Beneteau than listening to my heart thump in my ears while climbing hills on my bike and loving speedy descents. After I got back up to the top I turned around and did it again ... simply because I could (only this time I didn't need to stop at the marina, I was fresh out of nostalgia and just wanted to hear my heart thump again). On the route back I stopped by a local beach for a few minutes to watch the surfers do flips off the tops of waves, disappear into the crash of foam, and immediately turn around and paddle back out to do it again. I can understand that thinking.

My wheels on this trip. The first tri bike I've ever ridden. He even looks fast, doesn't he? (Notice the little speck of Colorado that came with me?)

The tiny hidden marina at the bottom of a really cool windy steep downhill. When you're at sea level everything from here goes up.

The standing dude rode the wave until it pretty much disappeared, then hopped off and headed back out. The other guy had a much more colorful dismount before he headed back out.

Different strokes for different folks. I could've easily taken a 20 min nap here (I can pretty much take a nap almost anywhere)  ... but anything longer than that would probably send me into a boredom coma.

After my ride we headed downtown for the kid's triathlon (50m swim/.5mi run for the microkids, 100m swim/.9mi run for the slightly bigger ones), and the Parade of Nations. All the athletes are invited to come march with their countrymen, while spectators line Ali'i drive near the pier and the finish line (right now it still just looks like a normal small town road with a tiny little local beach - the finish line construction won't start for another couple days). Pat wasn't sure if she wanted to go, but she did, and she had a blast (yet another case where it's proven better to risk regretting what you do, than what you don't do). I was glad she went because I had a blast watching, hollering, and talking to the myriad of folks around me (Australians, New Zealand'ers, French, Germans, South Carolina'ns, Colorado'ns, one nationality I never figured out ... and one guy from a town 15 minutes from my house).

The start of the parade. The beach and swim start is literally just to the left of this picture. Behind them and to the right is the infamous Palani hill. We must've walked up Palani half a dozen times - it's quite a hill.

These kids finished a pint-sized triathlon (swim-run) about an hour before the parade. We watched Chris Lieto's kid race, one little girl cry clear through the swim and the run (she kept going though, and finished sobbing), and one little kid do the entire run while holding his pants up (the announcer, an ex Pro who's name I forget, tells this little guy to ask his dad to buy him a belt). It was inspiring and exhausting - Pat and I were almost in tears from cheering and laughing.

None of us could figure out what this thing was, but it was pretty comical nonetheless. A sea monster was the best guess from the peanut gallery. Anybody know?

The Aussies were ... well ... being Aussies. And there were a LOT of them. They seemed to be having quite a lot of fun.

The Germans were the most coordinated, with fancy moves and cheers that even their countrymen in the crowd knew!

The lady in the pink behind the sign mobbed the Italians before I had a chance to come up with that idea. They were a small contingent. Apparently triathlon is not particularly big in Italy.

They kayak safety crew. They kayak'd on make-believe waves all the way down Ali'i Drive.

The Grim Reaper got heckled all the way down the street and threw it right back, leaving everyone laughing. Poor guy is just doing his job.

This is Elaine Dowden. I met her husband, Will, while watching the parade (and ironically, Pat met Elaine separately while marching in it). She missed the swim cutoff last year but is determined to make it this year! Go Elaine!

U-S-A! U-S-A! The front of the large American team. Notice the uber-fit chic in the red shirt right behind the United States sign? Way to represent!

I followed this guy down the street, behind the parade, while trying to catch back up with Pat. It's a really good t-shirt.

The parade ended at the expo, where we met Mark Allen and Luis Vargas at the MarkAllenOnline tent (Pat has been using MarkAllenOnline for her coaching). Luis pulled up Pat's story in Lava Magazine as soon as she walked up - they loved it of course, since she mentioned MarkAllenOnline. Check out the story here: http://lavamagazine.com/features/pat-puchalski-one-fit-iron-grandma/#axzz1aAWG5QcW

We also hung around to see Craig Alexander, who was at the Newton tent (one of his sponsors). We were 2nd in line and Pat said something to Craig about Road ID (another one of his sponsors) while I said something that I can't recall, but I'm sure was idiotic (cut me some slack, I had just met -and chatted with- living legends - my head was already on the verge of exploding). There are pics of us with Craig, but they're on Tom's camera (and his memory card doesn't fit in my clearly-not universal card reader. I'll have to add those later). All of those guys were incredibly nice and down to earth (again, more humble than some of the folks at our local races). While posing for the pic with Craig you could feel the guy was outrageously fit - literally all bones and muscle .... and a cheery smile. Personally, I'm rooting for him ... though it's a little worrisome that he just got a bunch of new gear from his sponsors this week and is undoubtedly obligated to use it. Fingers crossed that it all works out ok. I really wanted to hand him a cookie just to see if he'd eat it. 

Pat and THE Mark Allen. He may be getting older, but he's still a ridiculous fit guy. We talked to him about the ride down from Hawi and asked for tips. He said: 'Don't stop pedaling'. His book just came out on Oct 1 - if my brain was functioning I would've gotten a copy and asked him to sign it.

Pat and Luis Vargas. He was pulling up Pat's interview in Lava Magazine on his phone while standing at the expo. He and Mark Allen were both thrilled with her story (she mentions MarkAllenOnline, of course). Luis is racing, but is injured and says he may be walking the run. He's still hoping to smoke his age group on the swim. I think he can do it!

Craig Alexander was autographing these little cards at the Newton tent. He walked up, saw them and said 'Oh hey look at that! That's a nice picture!' He seemed like a seriously humble and genuinely happy guy. I'm hoping he has the race of his life!

Wind 101

We drove up to Hawi Monday afternoon with the bikes on the back of the car, the plan being to hop out at the top and ride down. The drive up through the lava fields was wild to see in real-life - it looks the same as it does on TV, but on TV you can't really grasp how vast they are - they just go on forever - up towards the hills - and down towards the coast. They're littered with those brown clumps of what looks like dead grass (which you can watch blowing more and more in the wind the further up you go), and you see the little signs and tributes made in carefully placed white rocks on the black lava piles all over the place. It actually looks like something you'd see out west, with tumbling tumbleweed and whole lot of nothing for miles and miles. It's a fortunate thing I paid so much attention driving up .... because I didn't see much of it on the way down.

The lava fields with the grassy clumps (none of which stand a chance of growing straight, for obvious reasons).

Tributes in white rocks. Carefully created ... and meaningful to someone.

We get up to Hawi, get out of the car, get the bikes off the back ... and notice that Pat's front tire is flat. How a tire gets flat while hanging peacefully on a bike rack is a bit of a mystery, and the hole in the tube was on the INSIDE near the stem (not on the road side of the tube - the up side - figure that one out). After quickly changing the tire, having a nice chat with another Aussie (those guys are everywhere) looking for the turn around, and taking a deep breath, we were on our way.

They're not kidding about the winds ... and we went up in the afternoon to give them ample time to build up steam (no, that really wasn't intentional - it just happened that way - we had a run in the morning and then Pat got an ART treatment. We did realize the winds would be bad this time of day, but also figured if Pat got a feel for them now, then when she was up there during the race (which would be hours earlier in the day) it might actually feel significantly easier ... it all seemed like sound logic at the time). For me, the first few minutes consisted of a death grip on the handlebars, thoughts that there's no way in hell I can get down into my aero bars without wobbling wildly and flying off the road (remember my experience on aero bars is now topping out at roughly 24hours), and wondering what kind of crazy I really am. The next few minutes were much of the same. Tom was SAG'ing again (god love that guy!) and leapfrogging us - so every time I got to him I had that personal battle of 'Should I stop? Can I do this? Sh*t!' ... thankfully I started to get control of my head and thought to sensibly ask myself 'Am I ok?'  ... and the thought crossed my mind: it's easier to regret what you do, girl, not what you don't do. With that, of course I went on (was there really any other choice?). The next time I caught back up to our SAG vehicle I remembered the Lizardhead guys' instructions to give them a thumbs up if you're ok ... thumbs down if you need help ... so I gave Tom a (wobbly) thumbs up and kept going. I won't say I was getting comfortable in the wind, but I had now lived for about 10 minutes and figured my odds were looking pretty good. I got up the nerve to try to get into my aero bars and after a couple seconds of wobbling, I settled in and started breathing again ... until the next HUGE gust of wind. My forearms apparently have no idea how to deal with that yet (do they learn?) so I was instantly sitting back up, prying my shoulders out of my ears, and asking myself 'Am I ok?! Am I ok?'. I was ok.

Things got better over the next several miles. I could get into my aerobars and stay there (after brief experimentation, my wind studies showed that a) when you can do it, being down in your aerobars makes it more difficult for the wind to grab you and throw you off the road, b) faster is better - much much better (somewhat of a problem for a slow rider like me, though even I can come up with some remarkable speed when properly motivated) and c) under no circumstances whatsoever do you stop pedaling. So, I'm feeling ok, and happy with myself that I found a way to sort of settle in .... and then the rumble strip appeared. This wouldn't be so bad if the road were closed (as it is during the race, for reasons I now fully understand) ... but with the road open you either had to ride IN traffic or to the right of the rumble strip - which put you about a foot closer to the scary side of the pavement (the berm was already pretty narrow up there) giving you much less space to compensate for the wind when you needed to. I chose to stay on the berm, to the right of the rumblestrip, and just get better in a hurry at dealing with the wind. I felt like I was almost pointed at a slight angle into the wind, and leaning into it - I guess because I was - and somehow found some stability. Down in my aero bars when the winds were steady but not crazy-gusting, feeling good, not relaxed but as close to it as I can get, and just amazed that I'm actually doing this ... and then I roll over a sign spray painted on the pavement that's clearly been there a while, and laugh out loud. It says "Crazy!". Yep, my thoughts exactly. 

I was under the misconception that 'down' meant 'downhill' ... but there are actually some hills out there - not steep, but long. Truth be told, I was pretty happy when I got to a hill - in a tougher gear I just felt much more solid. Plus these hills (unlike Colorado mountains, for instance) didn't last 14 miles - you could SEE the top (just like back home). At some point I realized I hadn't had a drink since we started - so when a little outcropping of rock showed up I took advantage of it, stopped for a drink and a quick picture, and was on my way again. It would be quite a feat to grab a water bottle during that stretch from Hawi - I'm seriously going to have to look for that on the TV footage this year because if someone can manage that they get HUGE points from me (the aerobar water bottle is definitely the ticket here!).

My one brief stop on the way down from Hawi, protected by one of the few rock outcroppings.

The wind kept up, but the rumblestrip went away, and I just enjoyed the rest of the ride, knowing it would probably be over long before I wanted it to end. It was. At the bottom, I was relieved to hear that Pat had the same thoughts as I did about the wind, the rumblestrips, aerobars and grabbing fluid. Tom, SAG driver extraordinaire, was only a few minutes behind us and after a quick picture (it's always good to have proof that you survived) and a joking 'Let's do it again! Let's do it again!' we hopped in the car and headed back to the condo. What an experience!

Pat and me after the ride down from Hawi - still smiling!  It's all good!

Spontaneous Combustion

Sunday morning we headed down the street to the pier for an early swim ... yes, THAT pier. As we walked up amidst several Pros just hobnobbing with the mortals (again, they're not hard to pick out - number one, they have better clothes than the rest of us, number two they're NEVER alone, and number three their builds are out of this world) my heart starts racing. As if the jillions of INCREDIBLE triathletes (none of whom had any sort of air of superiority about them, mind you, I've seen faaaar cockier athletes at my puny local races) weren't enough to overwhelm this slightly pudgy midwesterner ... there were also SPECTATORS!? Lots and lots of spectators - lining the walls, feet dangling over, taking pictures with really big cameras. Just like you see on race day. And news reporters. With even BIGGER cameras.

So I do what all of us do. I try to play it cool. My heart is racing, but we mosey down to the little sandy patch (it is little, just like it looks on TV, btw, and it gets deep fast - I was treading water about 20m out) and get in the water. Ironically, I'm not one bit nervous about the swim - it's just the whole environment, all the people, the energy buzzing around the place even now - a week before the race - it's just unreal! Obviously I fail at playing it cool ... so I surrender. I look at Pat (remember I'm supposed to be here to help her, be her support crew, not vice versa) and say 'My heart is about to beat out of my chest!' and she, who has stood in that same spot twice on race morning, an experience which I suspect would simply make me spontaneously combust, grins really big and says 'Yeah? Me too!'.

With that we pick a buoy 1/4 mile out, say 'See you there?', and take off with the masses. By my second stroke I realize I'm swimming in a gigantic aquarium. Crystal clear water (you can actually see muscle tone and read the words on the suits of other swimmers around you: 'Oh yeah, did you see that guy in the TYR speedsuit fly by? I think that was a Brazilian flag on his right hip, wasn't it?'), yellow fish, blue, black, silver, spiky black things that I really am glad are pretty far below me (sea urchin's - maybe?), incredibly cool rocks (and a few tires? I don't ever remember seeing those on the Kona TV scuba footage), a school of what must've been THOUSANDS of small fish swirling around in their gigantic fish-tornado (it's a little startling when you first swim over it - until you realize you're really NOT swimming right through the middle of it - it's probably a good 20 feet below you). After what had to be just a couple minutes I see Pat stop abruptly. Surprised, I stop too and give her the classic 'What's wrong?' face. There's nothing wrong .... we're just already at the buoy. I shake my head, amazed at the timewarp that just occurred, and with a laugh, we go on. Several buoys later, just over half way out, we tread water for a bit, watch some of the other swimmers fly by and then turn around and head back (quickly!) with the current. It was, quite possibly, the best swim of my life. Oh - Sorry, in my swim euphoria I almost forgot to mention ... Macca was hanging out near the entrance to the water, just chitty-chatting with a group of folks - he's actually a big guy ... and a little hard to miss.

Still grinning from the swim, we head to Lava Java for breakfast. Not only is this place apparently the triathlete mecca, the food is actually phenomenal (mostly organic, and tons of freak-food including multiple variations of quinoa and amazing fish tacos), and you can actually get into the place (we've eaten there twice already, no wait). And, as all the hubbub says, it's just a great place to people ... er ... triathlete watch. Across Ali'i Dr and just a bit out into the water you can see the midway point buoy on the swim course.

Pat and Tom sitting at Lava Java. I didn't wait for this guy to walk by - they're just everywhere. Lava Java has incredible breakfasts and fresh OJ ... and serving-bowl-sized cinnamon rolls.

View while eating at Lava Java. The orange buoy is on the swim course.

After breakfast we went out for a ride. This is my first experience on a tri bike so I was a little nervous as we headed out. Didn't take too long to figure out the shifting and how to get in and out of aero bars without weaving around like I've been out on an all-nite bender. Tri bikes are apparently just fast ... I'm gonna go out on a limb and say I didn't gain any fitness or cycling skills overnight so it couldn't have been my doing (it's a brand new Specialized Transition, they cut the seat post when I got there ... the bike shop was already making me a 'great' deal to take it home - they'll even box it up for me for free!). Big fun ... although I just heard today that on Saturday two guys out training crashed, one was run over by a car and died, and the other is still in critical condition. Unfortunately it's not hard to believe. They have signs everywhere warning that athletes are on the road, but we all know how quickly things can happen out there. Good thoughts to those two guys and their families.  

These signs are everywhere on the Queen K. Still, you just never know what can happen out there in the blink of an eye.

Monday morning I had a 5mi run so headed down Ali'i drive at sunrise, around 615am (it gets ridiculously hot and muggy by about 730am - it's a little nuts). As luck would have it, the pier is just over 2.5miles from the condo. I got down there and enjoyed a little spectating myself, chatted with a guy, Jim, who was in an incredible bike crash 1.5yrs ago (doctors told him he shouldn't be alive - broke nine bones, punctured a lung, was life flighted - I asked what happened and he said he has no idea - can't remember a thing about the actual crash - he's a masters swimmer now, and actually competed in the nationals - took 8th in the 100m free! Nice job Jim! Way to be alive!). His 29yr old daughter (Libby Brigman) is racing and is apparently very good: she qualified at St George ... by winning her age group. A TYR guy showed up with a bunch of boxes and started handing out free prototype goggles (very cool, although a bit of a pain to tote home on the run). The run back home was far more miserable than the trip there (even after stopping at a random Muscle Milk station - these guys all just set their products out up and down Ali'i since there's sooo many people training - and grabbing some ice to stick down my shirt). Ali'i drive is actually very HILLY (how I didn't notice on the way out is beyond me). It's part of the last 10miles of the race and I can see why it's brutal.

Just to see the training swims is pretty awesome ... being down there in the mob and actually swimming is simply off the charts.

This one is for my single girlfriends - wish you guys were here! This guy is actually atypically meaty, but we should all still admire and appreciate his hard work and training!

For some aptly-named friends back home.

Hana Hou!

It's been just over a month since we got back from the incredible Colorado adventure. I still think about it quite a bit (some of my co-adventurers say they do too - that trip seems to have left an indelible imprint on at least a few of us). I've also spent more time google-earth'ing over Colorado learning about the state and its various regions than is probably healthy for someone staring down another mid-west fall and winter. The dates for the 2012 Pro Tour have already been announced.  Lizard Head Cycling Guides is waiting for the final word on the route (due out at the end of November, I think - various cities are still putting in their bids) to finalize their plans for next year's trip. Most of us who went this year are already planning on going again - it's just too painful to think about missing it! Several others, whether sold after seeing the pictures and hearing the stories or simply to shut us up, seem to be seriously considering coming next year as well. It's going to be a tough experience to top but something tells me we'll find a way.   

It also seems that my tolerance for being inside the radius is growing shorter and shorter. Sometimes opportunities just present themselves and after decades of trial and error (mostly error. lots and lots of error) it turns out that I'm far better at regretting what I do than what I don't do. Yes, the former can, and quite often does, end in epic failure, but somehow it still ALWAYS results in fabulous stories and memories and more often than not, unimaginable events that change your life for the better (even if they might not appear for the better at the time). The latter invariably results in, well, let's see ... regret, more regret, and nothing but regret. You take your pick, I'll take mine.

I landed in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii last nite. Triathlete friends, I know your eyes are already as big as saucers - mine too! If you know me at all then you know *I* am not personally racing - not in this lifetime at least - I'm not even up to a Half Ironman distance race yet (yet, she says. And in print none-the-less!? Coach, I sure hope you didn't read that). A friend of mine, however, IS racing - this is Pat's 3rd trip to Kona and she's (obviously) an incredible triathlete. I'm going along as her sherpa, support staff, training-partner, gopher, information-booth, chef, mechanic, and whatever else she needs that I can possibly even pretend I know how to do. All my friends and teammates who are Ironmen (and Half Ironmen, for that matter) simply amaze me ... and now I'm going to witness the most amazing of the amazing! On top of all that ... it's in what is commonly believed to be one of the most beautiful places on the planet (at least according to everyone I know who has been there and Kodak's 25 Most Beautiful Photos of 2010 - I think 16 of them were from Hawaii).

So how did I meet Pat and luck my way to Kona? It was a total fluke ... or possibly just the Universe doing what it does without bothering to clue me in (I know which I think it is, you're going to have to decide for yourself). Life was good. And then I blinked (it really does happen in a blink, they're not exaggerating about that). One minute I was talking to my Dad with a piece of lemon meringue pie in my hand, and the next  minute he was gone. If you've lost a parent you'll understand how the world instantly becomes a foreign place, and one that it takes some doing to learn how to live in again. I dealt with the surreal-pile-of-things-which-must-be-dealt-with and did the best I could to take care of my Mom. Friends, workouts, training plans, coaching, races - everything - came to an abrupt halt as I was suddenly living at both my parents' house and my own house, driving back and forth almost daily. After many months of watching my world evaporate before my eyes, I realized I needed to get back to doing SOMETHING ... and went off to find a gym or rec center that I could somehow manage to get to while flitting back and forth between the two houses and doing all the things that had to be done. After a visit to a scary and expensive YMCA, and a gorgeous rec center that would take me longer to drive to than my actual workouts would be, I emailed my triathlon training group with a plea for suggestions. Pat answered and told me about her gym, which, no exaggeration, it turned out I could get to in exactly 19 minutes from both my house and my parents'. A place to workout is a minor thing, I realize, but at that moment in time it was as if she tossed me a life preserver (I joined, btw, and am still a member there today). I thanked her and noticing that in the footer of her email was a note about her Pelotonia (a HUGE local cancer research charity ride) fundraising effort, I popped over to her site and gave her a small donation, just as a simple way to let her know I appreciated her taking the time to help a stranger. My pittance, oddly (it was simply the amount I had left in the pot I'd set aside for donations to Pelotonia - I knew tons of people doing it already), was exactly the amount she had left to raise to reach her goal. She, of course, then thanked ME, and explained to me how important this ride was to her: on top of losing several close family members to cancer, she herself was a cancer survivor. And so a friendship was born. We chatted frequently in email: she was trying to qualify for Kona (for the 2nd time, which she did!) and was a HUGE source of motivation for me at a time when I was fresh out; and somehow amidst my ramblings and ceaseless questions she found inspiration too (for the life of me, I still don't know how I was any good to her whatsoever, but she tells me I was and I have to believe her). It wasn't until a year later that we actually met in person ... at another charity ride (Pedal-With-Pete for Cerebral Palsy research) which is now a yearly event for us.

Since then she has helped me in a billion ways: She ran me in at the end of one half marathon, practically dragging me the last 2 miles and miraculously helping me beat my goal that day, was one of my biggest supporters for the Colorado trip (she had far more faith in me than I had in myself for that one), has helped me with nutrition and training in more ways than I can list, and probably above all, just because of who she is and how she lives her life - has simply made me want to be a better person. Somewhere in the midst of all this, the invitation to go to Kona to support her and simply absorb being near the best-of-the-best in the sport came up ... and after a few "Are you sure you want me there?'s" followed by an equal number of "Yes! It would be a huge help to me!'s" it was a done deal. I bought my plane ticket.

Pat qualified for Kona in 2010 but, as it sometimes happens, the racing gods were not on her side. After an unfortunate series of events, several of which couldn't possibly have been predicted or prepared for, she had to make the decision to drop out after about 80 miles on the bike. If she hadn't, she likely would've suffered permanent organ damage and possibly never raced again. I, and everyone who knows her, was infinitely grateful that she stopped racing that day. I think I know (as much as an outsider can know) how painful that decision had to have been for her ... but obviously it was the right one as she's heading back to Kona this year! She's had a fantastic year of training (I can personally vouch for her strength on the bike and in the water - she's left me in the dust enough times) and is healthy and happy and ready to go. (A side note: In case it helps you understand what kind of person she is: that half marathon where she dragged me in to reach my goal time? It was one week after she dropped out of Kona 2010). She's one-of-a-kind. 

I think it was the Universe throwing something at me just to see if I was paying enough attention to actually catch it (it does that, you know ... or, if you don't know, then you might just need to pay slightly MORE attention). I was e-mailing with a bike shop in Kona (3.6 miles up the coast from our condo - easy walking/running distance - Google Earth showed me so) about renting a bike while I'm there (with all the Kona athletes shipping bikes I simply didn't want to ship mine and add to the masses). After a few e-mail exchanges, the person at the bike shop signed his mail: 'Mahalo!'. It was easy enough to guess that meant 'Thanks!' but I compulsively looked it up anyway ... and while I was there, I ran across: 'Hana Hou'. It means 'Encore!' or ... 'Do It Again!'.

So, to venturing Outside the Radius again .... to the 2012 Colorado Pro Tour trip with Lizard Head ... and to Pat, heading back to race in Kona at the Ironman World Championships for the 3rd time ... Hana Hou!

Last night's sunset from the condo's lanai. Yeah. My jaw dropped onto the floor too. *

 (* Had a short layover in Denver. Blazing sunshine. Mountains with a little nip of snow already. Storms forming over the Front Range .... if I weren't heading for something like this I would've run out of the airport and kept on running).

I'll post as many pics of the area, the race and the Pro's as I can find time for - already saw a few running down Alii Drive - trust me, they're really quite easy to pick out! They we're FLYING and breathing roughly as hard as a I do standing still - CRAZY!

Addendum: This is what I left. Sorry guys! 

Another addendum: Lousy picture of the mountains near Denver from the plane ... but still made me grin like a fool. Just a teaser for a few select folks back home - they'll know who they are. 

Home

On the flight home we came up with the top 10 reasons to go back and do this trip again (or do it for the first time, if you're considering it) ... you'll notice we ended up with way more than 10, but nobody wanted to throw any out so we just left them all: 

10. It's Colorado
9.  It's Lizard Head  (http://lizardheadcyclingguides.com)
8.  The scenery is gorgeous (meaning: the scenery)
7. The scenery is gorgeous (meaning: the men)
6. The scenery is gorgeous (meaning: the women)
5. Everyone does something: cycling, mountain biking, skiing, snowboarding, hiking, swimming, etc. Everyone.
4. Clear cool high mountain lakes
3. Riding the same stages as the pros and exponentially increasing your cycling skills
2. No stop signs
1. There's very little animosity towards cyclists (probably because everyone is one or at least knows one)
1. The high altitude and the plethora of pro cyclists and other fit people drastically increases testosterone (it's good stuff)
1. All the fit people motivate you to be more fit 
1. Hobnobbing with pro cyclists (or at least getting to say 'Giorno!' to them)
1. The Race Within The Race 
1. Exclusive nutrition and cycling tips from Sada
1. Lizard sightings
1. 20+ mile long descents ... at 40+ mph
1. Making new friends and getting closer to the ones you already have
1. Eat eat eat and still lose weight
1. The possibility of wildlife around every bend
1. Every bend. Every climb. Every descent.
1. The phenomenon of Sada ordering dinner

We've been back a few days now. It's been tough already. Several of us felt the depression starting to set in before we even got out of the Denver airport on Sunday: undoubtedly the sign of a great vacation (though knowing that doesn't really make you feel much better). We're all already thinking about the trip next year ... and a few of us are wondering if we can really wait an entire year to go back.

At the top of one of the mountain (I forget which one now, there were so many) John said two things to me that stuck. First, he said he was actually surprised I didn't back out. As petrified and intimidated as I was of this trip, it never even occurred to me that backing out was an option (my 545am BC workout buddies know this too well - if I say I'll be there, I'll be there - I may be half asleep and dressed a little funny, but I'll be there). Second, he looked at me and said 'Yeah. I can see it'. 'See what?' I asked. 'You. Out here. Riding around Colorado and the mountains on your own'. At first I thought that was a slam as in he was saying out loud that I really am un-mate-able (which could very well be true, though not something I particularly wanted to hear in the middle of my mountain-top zen moment) ... but then with a weird sense of calm I realized, he was right (don't tell him I said so, he gets a big head). I could see it too. And I can't think of too many things that sound better.

A few close friends (the ones who know there's something deeper to all this than just the biking and the scenery) have asked me if this trip has changed me. I say no, not really - although I'm 6 lbs lighter and no longer deathly afraid of screaming descents. Except for one small fact .... I think Ohio just became 'the place I grew up'. My 'home' is someplace else.

Until next time, happy and safe riding!

Heaven and the Incredible Finish

On our final day of riding we leave Steamboat stupid-early to get to our starting location a short ride away. In the deciding stage of The Race Within The Race, Sada is wearing the yellow GC leader jersey, while Humphries is wearing the red King of the Mountains jersey. This stage is from outside Rocky Mountain National Park, to the top of the mountains at 12,300 feet, across the ridge, and into Boulder.

High mountain lake in the early morning, just outside Rocky Mountain National Park

Sada, (not so) gently stretching Todd's tight legs.

The Lizard Head Masterminds making sure the logistics are in order for the day.

Today's route would turn out to have the most breathtaking views of the entire trip, including dropoffs to certain death (or at least serious pain) on either side of the ridge.

One of the many breathtaking views from the ridge.

Near the top. And as close to heaven as I'm likely to ever get.

If you look closely you'll see he's actually smiling

Me. In my happy place.

Eric had lunch setup in the parking lot of the Alpine Lodge at the top of the climb.

The view from our last lunch spot.

After a quick lunch stop we futzed around at the top, none of us really wanting to leave the final mountain top of the trip. We saw a herd of elk manned by a monstrous male with a huge rack. Humphries took time out to explain what 'rutting' season is and why we're glad it isn't right now. Sada gave me a helpful push, even though he knows it jacks up his heart rate. We chatted with various folks along the way and several folks in cars took our pictures, undoubtedly thinking it was nuts to be up there on bikes.

Big Elk daddy and part of his herd.

Me talking to an Ohioan as if I'm not one. He's asking me what it REALLY takes to do such a ride. I'm telling him: lizardheadcyclingguides.com.

It turns out we don't really have a ton of pictures from the top. I think we were all (at least I was) too mesmerized by it that we forgot about cameras and just enjoyed the moments we had up there. We jacked around and leapfrogged each other several times, let our hearts race while making sure to stay far enough from the edge, and simply loved being alive.

And then the race was back on.

Sada went over the mountaintop a couple miles ahead of Todd and Humphries, who worked together descending at above 40mph, catching Sada who, upon being passed, exclaimed 'I'M A CYCLIST! I'M A CYCLIST! YOU CAN'T GET AWAY FROM ME!'. Then an uphill appeared and Humphries and Sada left Todd in the dust.

All of us flew down the incredible descent well above the 35mph speed limit. We actually had to slow down several times for the pokey vehicle traffic, and a few startling wind gusts. I can't print what came out of my mouth after the first several miles, and if I tried to explain it in words it wouldn't even come close to the beauty or magnitude of the experience .... let me just say it was 180 degrees from that first terrifying descent only a week ago. And if you ever Ever EVER get a chance in your life to go do something like this - do not miss it!

(John Martin took a video of the descent - if it ever uploads we'll stick it here on the blog somewhere. It'll only be an echo of what it was really like, but it's better than nothing.)


Found the video!  This a 9 minute clip - kind of long - but even a quick look gives you an idea of what a fantastic descent awaits those who make the climb to the top.

9 minute video of descent from Rocky Mountain National Park

Steve, John and I got caught in oncoming rain about 3 miles from the bottom. Terry reached the bottom earlier and opted to hide out in a Starbucks until the van caught up. When the rain became so bad that I couldn't see the road in front of me anymore, I stopped, took my glasses off, looked up, and lo and behold right in front of me is Erik and the Lizard Head van. I pile in along with Steve and John, we swing by Starbucks to get Terry, and head off to find the others.

We catch Todd on the way up the next big climb. His hind-end now fully recovered, he doesn't want to stop riding but Steve convinces him the best view of the last miles of The Race Within The Race is from within the van, and he concedes. We load up and speed off to witness what would be the most spectacular finishing stage all week.

The rain turns torrential and we're all debating if either Sada or Humphries is going to cry uncle - nobody would even judge that decision in this weather (you notice none of us were still out in it). They each stop for quick aid, a change of glasses, some extra clothes, but neither one of them is even considering quitting.

Looking out the van windshield. The splotch of yellow is Humphries.

Quick stop for aid and something dry.

Now there's an 8 mile downhill stretch with runoff and road suds sheeting down the pavement. Sada's carbon wheels provide him absolutely no braking. We watch from the van behind him as he unclips his right foot preparing to use it to slow down if he needs to. Humphries, who is a fearless descender due to obvious brain damage incurred as a downhill ski racer and mountain biker, shows no mercy and disappears, never even considering touching the brakes. When Sada was asked about the descent later all he said was, "I had absolutely no brakes and I wanted to see my kids again". Humphries noted that he had seen worse, mountain biking in the pouring rain with flowing mud and invisible rocks and roots, so relatively speaking the smooth pavement covered with water wasn't nearly as treacherous as it could've been. Humphries' experience and steady confidence over the bike earns him a full 6 minute lead.

When both riders are safely down the mountain, the race vehicle speeds ahead. In transit we come up with the clever idea to stop and get out the flags and Lizard suit to cheer our riders on in the same way they cheered on the Pro racers. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and the sun was coming out. Our shenanigans slowed oncoming traffic and baffled locals, who wondered who was coming through, which made it even more impressive.

Terry, Todd and the Lizard (Steve) at the final stop before the finish.

Humphries flies by gritting his teeth, tosses his rain gear at the crew and maintains his huge 6 minute lead. Sada arrives with a lone local rider he picked up several miles before, who pulled 1 minute to every 5 of Sada's minutes - just enough to allow his heart rate to stay in check. With determination etched on his face and foam coming out of his mouth, he blasted by our aid and cheering station screaming 'HOW FAR?! HOW FAR?!' - we'd all decided it would be best to flat out lie and screamed back in unison '4 MINUTES! 4 MINUTES!' as Sada pressed on even harder than before.

And More Determination from 6 minutes back.

Determination of the leader.

We hop back in the van with 11 miles of flat-to-rolling terrain to go: it's Sada's speciality but 6 minutes seems almost insurmountable with so little of the course left. In an ironic turn of events, Humphries, who can't see out his soaked glasses, misses a turn and ends up adding a few miles to his route - the finish line remains, as agreed, the hotel front door in Boulder. Sada, with his GPS set, remained on course.

The race vehicle arrived at the hotel mere minutes before the winner, and we all poured out just in time to hear him screaming "WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS HE?!". Families snatched up their small children, and outdoor diners 2 blocks over stopped mid-bite and looked up at the commotion. After 7 days The Race Within The Race was over: Humphries was nowhere to be seen. Sada won the yellow jersey and went nuts exclaiming "NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER NEVER GIVE UP!". Several of us in the chase crew had to wipe the tears from our eyes. It was THE most exciting finish of the week.

A few minutes later, Humphries rolls up with something between a smirk and a grimace, to a still exuberant Sada who immediately greets him with a firm handshake and a tough guy-hug for a worthy and respected competitor. By all rights, Sada won the title, but the jury is still out as to whether that missed turn was truly an accident ... only one person will ever know that truth.

After coming down off the stellar high of the finish, we all get cleaned up and head out for dinner, desert (first time this trip, per Sada's rule), and (for some of us) drinks. Tonight's dinner conversations were wild and varied and for the team's ears only - they won't be shared unless you can get one of us to tell you privately (good luck with that). After dinner a few of us ventured out to see what Boulder nightlife had to offer - it's a neat little town, full of mini-skirts (for the boys' enjoyment), and, as with the rest of the state of Colorado, fit, active and fun guys everywhere you look (for the girls'). We stayed out way too late but considering for the first time in over a week we weren't getting on a bike at the crack of dawn it seemed ok (and was a complete and total blast). We dropped out at varying times throughout the nite, but eventually, everyone found their way home (some in a more round'a'bout way than others) totally exhausted from an unforgettable week.

Sunday we drove to Denver, said our goodbyes to the Lizard Head Racing Team (no, I didn't cry, but I was very sad), and met up with John's friends, Chas Runco and his beautiful and sweet girlfriend, Tarah. They graciously let us stash our luggage at their place and took us downtown to watch the Pro's Finish (how it could be more exciting than yesterday's finish is beyond me). The course did 6 loops downtown and we had a great spot to watch, cheer and simply absorb the last bits of the Inaugural Pro Cycling Challenge and our tour of Colorado.

Chas and Tarha. Makes you believe in love again, doesn't it?

Levi, wrapping it up in downtown Denver

How on earth do you sum up such an incredible experience?

1 woman. 7 guys. 7 days. 17 Pro Cycling teams. 1 breathtaking state. 1 ubiquitous green Lizard. 3 exceptional tour guides. 1 omnipresent sag vehicle ... 1 hell of a ride!