Greenbrier Challenge

Mike and Ike taking a dip

Feeling like crap

The ill-fated start

Even Ike is wondering where I am!

Ike and Mom hanging out.

Jason's Big Finish

Start-line Bike Adjustments

Jason and Steve Warming Up

So once again I did not listen to my body. I had been feeling "off" since before Hopbrook. I ended up having a horrible race at Hopbrook. The week after I managed to do Battenkill. I just wasn't feeling "right". I also had been feeling like I was fighting an infection or that a flare-up was staring. I tried to ride through it. Not a good choice.....

On Saturday, Mike and I went for an easy lap on the course. My HR was extremely high and I couldn't get it down. I thought it was the heat and my allergies. We then went back to the motel and met with my brother and mother. We went back to the course and did another easy lap. I felt weak and my legs felt tingly. I told myself it was the heat and the fact that I did Battenkill the week prior.

Come race morning my resting HR was high. I was warming up at a 150 HR. THAT'S WAY HIGH! Even for me. I got to the start line and I felt like my heart was going to come out of my chest. I was wheezing and couldn't catch my breath easily. I really don't get that nervous before a race. My brother even noticed I was wheezing.

So I started. I had no ummmph. I usually do start slow, but this was going backwards slow. I wanted to quit then. I kept telling myself it will get better. Obviously, it never did. I had a hard time catching my breath and I was cramping at low heartrates and cramping when at a low intensity. I knew it was bad. Did I stop? No, of course not. I did stop to massage my left calf and thigh because it was locking up. I got back on and just rode easy (well, my body felt like I was hammering but I knew I was going backwards). I was in the middle of my second lap and my chest began to hurt. I mean like someone was stabbing me. It started to localize to the left side and I knew this was not good....I got off and walked the last few climbs. I made it to my brother and mother and pulled the big DNF.

On the way home Mike kept threatening to take me to the ER because I couldn't catch my breath and my chest was killing me. I went to the pulmonologist the next morning and he thought it was more my heart than lungs--great.

So, long story short...the week after Greenbrier I was down. My resting HR was 120 and it was scary. Walking the dog was a major undertaking. It sucked. My doctor told me not to be up moving around for more than 20 minutes. I wished I had 20 minutes in me...taking a shower was exhausting!

The doctors believe based on my blood work and tests that it was one nasty flare-up. My cardiologist also thought I was still fighting an infection. So the pericarditis/endocarditis (a wonderful combo) is most likely what knocked me down and the horrible flare-up or infection is most likely the cause. I was holding so much freakin water!! I gained 12 lbs. My arms and legs were so swollen. It was gross.

Week two...I was slowly coming around. I could now at least walk the dog for 20 minutes. He was getting totally sick of my being at home. I think I interrupt his daily naps. I still had no energy and felt hung over. I was completely exhausted. I was afraid to run errands or go to the grocery because I felt like I was going to pass out or lay down in the cereal aisle to take a nap.

Week three...now my fitness has eroded. It's not going to come right back. My doctor told me I could start spinning easy on reasonable terrains. Whatever that means. I attempted to spin around Rutherford. Exhausting. Too much for me...I think I managed 20 minutes on the bike...WHOO-HOOO. Now I'm rolling...

I know it will be a process to get my fitness and body back to where it was, but it is extremely frustrating. I'm more upset that my weight gain was from water retention and high doses of steroids and not Blizzards and frozen Peppridge Farm cakes. At least I could have mentally accepted that and enjoyed the process!

Hopefully, I'm on the up and up...

Operation Reggie

Reggie has been plotting the destruction of some object for days. He's very secretive. Whenever I catch him he goes to the top of his cage and acts like he wasn't plannning to shred/destroy something. I'll keep you posted.

Tour of the Battenkill

Dirt roads

Attack of the Chocolate Hammer Gel

Farm country in upstate NY

4:15 am--got up, packed. I must have an undiagnosed mental condition.

5:05 am--at the Dunkin' Donuts getting coffee

5:30 am--on the New York State Thruway listening to bad 80's music (yes, Rick Springfield may have been playing) heading towards Cambridge, NY.

9:10 am--finally made it to registration in Cambridge after having to stop and pee wayyy too many times.

I realized when I got there how big the event actually was. I've never seen a sea of porta-potties of such magnitude. Of course, I parked right in front of the porta-potties where the line would be. My thinking here was that if I were to run into anyone I knew it would be here. It's the place to be. Also, I could eaves drop and try to get a handle on where the heck I was supposed to go.

I studied the race venue map in hopes I could figure out how to get to the start. You would think you would just be able to follow the crowd of bikes and find the start. Not so much. I was lost and people were asking me where the start was. Suckers.

Staging: I thought I was going to have an anxiety attack because I had no idea where I was going. I saw a cyclist I ride with in NJ. After telling me about what he thought was the worst climb ever (the now infamous Juniper Swamp) he pointed me to the line. I saw that familiar pink color of the Sho-Air Team jersey and I knew I had found my friend, Jen. Yes, I was in the right place!

The Start: Totally mind-boggling and nerve racking for me. Not used to starting with 75+ women (I think the final start count was ~100). A lot of self-talk here. Don't get crazy. It's only 62 miles, 62 miles...62 MILES!

Mile 6: Finally kind of got used to the large field. We would be screaming on paved sections and then have to turn into and go through a covered bridge, come through into deep gravel and turn onto a dirt road.. This would freak some riders out and they kept slamming on the brakes. LOTS of near pile-ups. LOTS of girlie whining. That's something you don't get in a mountain bike race. A few didn't make it to mile 8 because the gravel section after one of the bridges took them down. One victim was one of the whining and bossy girl who braked every time she saw a pebble. I was secretly a little happy. Going to hell I know...

Mile 10: Juniper Swamp, let's just say I would have trouble walking this hill. Well, I'll be honest, I did have trouble walking this hill after I got knocked off my bike! It was so steep everyone was grinding to get up the hill. A girl in front of me was weaving and having trouble. She went to stand an d the next thing I knew she was moving backwards towards my front wheel. It all happened in slow mo. I tried to get out of the way. With a hill that steep it really wasn't possible. She fell into my front wheel and I went down in slow-mo. I caught myself with my hand and my knee. I tried to get back on the bike. Because the grade was so steep and the dirt so loose it was impossible to get going. I kept spinning out and wasting lots of energy. I never though I would be walking a road bike up a hill. The worst part is that there was a crowd there watching and taking pictures. Mile 10 and I already am feeling demoralized. I told myself to suck it up and keep going. I could hear the wheel car behind me. I wasn't last, it just felt like I was. I wanted the freakin car to go around me. He wouldn't... it was a totally humbling and mortifying experience. I walked past the spectators and photographers. I noticed an open chair that looked pretty inviting at the time. I wonder if any one would say anything if I just sat down and watched? It was a cool place to watch the race. I got to the top of the hill, clipped back in and tried to forget that Juniper Swamp ever happened. My legs will never forget that hill walking OR riding.

Mile 11: I latched back onto a group of women. Two flatted. We were moving at a pretty good pace and working together. However, once we hit the dirt sections it became brutally painful to ride with them. I knew I should stick to the pack because it would save energy in the end, however, I felt like any second one of them was going to take me out on the dirt. I let go of my brakes on a downhill and decided to try and move up to the next pack.

Mile 15: I worked with a pack of men. A Westwood Velo guy yelled to me to grab a wheel. Got spit on when one cyclist's massive hawker got caught in the wind and splattered across my chest and arm. Cycling is an extremely glamorous. Ick.

Mile 22: Alone again and working way too hard. I was singing AC/DC to myself to keep myself going.

Mile 30: Caught another group of girls. One crashed in a pothole and another flatted. Alone again.

Mile 34: Caught up with two girls and a guy. One girl cracked and couldn't hold the pace. The other girl soon flatted and a mile or so later the guy flatted. There seems to be a pattern here...

Mile 41: What the!?! I thought man spit had once again rained down on my jersey. No, thank goodness this time it was really rain. It wasn't so bad...

Mile 42: Oh, it wasn't good.

Mile 43: The wet dirt roads began to take victims. Carnage everywhere. To my right there was a girl sitting on the ground with blood streaming down her face. A guy whizzed past me on a dirt downhill the next thing I knew he flew to the left and disappeared. He took that dirt downhill a little too fast! Although I am a mountain biker, I was terrified of taking those wet, loose, dirt downhills fast. I was a big wuss.

Mile 44: Left the dirt road on the wheel of a guy. Heard the now familiar noise...Yep, that's right. He flatted. Wow..I must be unknowingly cursing people.

Mile 45: The end of my legs and lungs. I hit the wall. It felt like I could walk faster.

Mile 55: AHHH...the covered bridge...this was supposed to be the end. A few more climbs and I'm done. The last section was made up of PAINFUL DIRT ROLLERS. I could hardly turn over the pedals at this point.

Mile 58: A marshal yelled "Only 6 more miles to go!". What the F%$&!! I wanted to turn around and punch him in the face. I looked at my computer in sheer horror and confusion. Oh, no. It was only 4 miles. I yelled back "4!! 4 more miles". Or at least it better be or I'll be riding back in the SAG waggon.

Mile 60: I caught up with a fellow mountain biker Bob. He was cooked. We chatted and he too died at the infamous Mile 45. He told me to go because he could barely hold my wheel!?! WOW..he WAS cooked..I felt a little better that I wasn't the only one who cracked and limped home.

FINISH: The final right hand turn to the finish was pretty sweet. I felt such relief to see the banner and time clock. Although it had been raining, the crowd was still there and cheering and clapping.

It was probably the toughest thing I've ever done. It was hard but it was a cool experience. As you would ride down the dirt farm roads in the middle of absolutely nowhere...home owners were waiting to cheer you on. Other houses were having cook-outs and parties. There were cowbells and homemade signs and banners saying "Go Racers". My favorite was a little girl yelled "Go Girl! Go Girl! You just beat that man up the hill." It didn't matter if you were first or last. They were instrumental in keeping my legs moving and it made me work that much harder (a moot point in the end because there was nothing left in the tank but it was still much appreciated).

Ike and the Easter Bunny

The Aftermath

Curse of Hopbrook

My first sign of the weekend of ugliness awaiting me should have been the weekday flare-up complete with burning muscles, thumb tacks in my joints, difficulty breathing, mouth sores and sausage fingers. Then comes the cold and rain...I should know better than to pre-register for events! Did I listen to reason? Well...of course not! I love to ride in wet, muddy conditions. However, if you're having trouble the morning of because your hands won't cooperate to zip up your bag, your legs burn in pain walking the stairs, and loading the car feels like a major endurance event, you probably shouldn't race...lesson learned. Really, I swear, lesson learned.

It wasn't raining when we got there. We parked looking over the lake and this was enough to send Ike into a fit of whining and moaning. He watched a black lab swim and his cries turned into this pathetic whimpering. I told him after the race he could swim. The temperature seemed to drop each hour. Mike and I did a pre-lap and I just shrugged my lazy legs and "not having it" off to not being warmed up. Sure. Denial. We were pleasantly surprised about how "dry " and fast the course was for Hopbrook. I've never ridden it when it didn't feel like riding in chocolate pudding. Now I had to do it...

I changed clothes and Ike and I went to get my number. Okay, here's a pointer, when you're supposed to be doing a race in a hour and half the walk to the registration booth should not be a daunting task. Ike turned on the charm in the registration tent and slobbered over every muffin-eating volunteer in hopes they would share. No dice. On the way back to the car Ike attempted to bee-line for the lake. Nice try, but no way.

Of course it started to rain. It wouldn't be Hopbrook without rain, mud, ice, or snow..

I stopped by the car after my warm-up to shed my rain coat and pants. I put on my glasses and I may as well have spit on them and rolled them in the mud. That's how uselees they were. No glasses today. At the line it began to rain a little harder. My body tensed as the freezing rain ran down my back. Wow, why do I do this again?Normal people are sitting in a movie theatre eating uber-tubs of buttered popcorn and I'm getting ready to ride a bike for two hours in rain and mud. Good choice. Most racers were clad in tights, long sleeves and or/jackets. I say most because there's always the one who has no common sense... I couldn't get over the fact that one racer was only wearing shorts and a jersey. What a dumb-ass! It started to rain a little harder and said girl complained about being cold...most of the field looked at her with the expression that read, "No shit you dumb-ass..."

Rolling to the line for the start, after having been entertained by the stupidity of one of my fellow racers, I forgot for a brief moment how I felt. At the whistle, I started well and got into the single-track in good shape. I started to pass people and stuck to the race plan of going out and trying to blow myself up. Unfortunately, the body blew a little earlier than expected and I had to back off. I rode a pretty even pace for a lap. I felt weak but I was still moving. I had zero power and no ability to push. The next thing I remember is a man asking me if he could walk me to the car...What the...? I heard ,"Are you okay?" I was on the ground and in the fetal position. I had the wind knocked out of me and I felt like a truck hit me. I slid in a corner and my handlebar had caught on a tree, lost control, the handlebar went into my ribcage and somehow I ended up taking the stem in my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I took the usual inventory of myself to make sure all parts were accounted for. The guts of my helmet were no longer attached to my helmet on one side. My bottles had escaped and one was down the hill and the other was under my leg. I feel like I sat there forever. The man kept insisting he walk me back to my car. What's with taking me to the freakin' car? Am I missing an appendage or something? Bloodied? Nah...all parts were accounted for...I just needed to get my bike and body upright and put my helmet back together... I stood up and here comes Mike up the trail.."What are you doing?". ..What did he think I was doing? Stopping to watch? Having a picnic? I got back on and tried to focus. I had to stop and blow the mud out of my nostrils and make an attempt to clean the mud out of my eyes. I felt like I was pedaling backwards...

In my disoriented state I was confused when I caught back up to Mike. I was riding behind him and he was swerving and riding like a drunkard. I couldn't figure out what was going on. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. He looked and saw me and told me he had just crashed face-first. We compared crash notes. We actually were stopped and were talking on the course. A racer who had dropped out was watching the "Jocelyn and Mike Show" in disbelief. We bickered and discussed quitting and riding to the car, had the "if you quit, I'll quit" conversation. Moments later we were both riding and finishing the race.

Needless to say there was no swimming for Ike. Even he has more sense than to go out in this weather. He was quite content to be curled up in a ball in the back seat. Oh, the sweet misery. I'm still cleaning mud out of my ears. The bikes are trashed, my jersey will never be the same and there aren't enough ice packs in the northeast...

I'm not looking forward to getting out of bed in the morning.

Mr. Ike rocks...

April Fool's?!?!!

So, pigs are flying and hell is freezing over, right? Yes, I'm going to give this a whirl. It was either this or Facebook. God knows I couldn't handle Facebook...