Wilderness 101

My brother was supposed to meet us at the W101 and attempt his first hundred and Mike was supposed to race as well. Well, my brother decided he'd rather have a grade 5 shoulder separation than do the W101 and Mike crashed a couple of weeks ago and he wasn't going to be racing either. I was the only one. Kind of a bummer motivation wise. On the bright side, I now had a handler. Mike drove me to and fro, put up with my persnickety requests, unloaded my crap into the hotel, slept in a hotel room with the temp set to 'meat locker', reloaded my crap the next morning and had my bike set up and ready by the time I got out of the truck.

The Scooby Doo air at the start was so thick that you could cut it with a knife and eat it a la Shaggy and Scooby. The start was uneventful. It's paved road and then it's gravel road for miles so no one really got crazy. Plus, this had a lot smaller field. I dragged my body up the first climb at my own pace. My legs weren't as peppy feeling as I would have liked. They didn't hurt. They just felt dead. Gravel and more gravel with some fire roads and singletrack thrown in. In the first piece of singletrack I got a little excited because I was so happy to see singletrack. I barreled into the first rock garden like my tires and fork were set to squish. They weren't. I run everything a lot firmer for hundreds. My front tire glanced off the mossy, sharp, slippery, sweaty rocks and I went down. I left a hunk of flesh on that trail.

I let a little air out of my tires and softened my fork a bit and was on my way. Much better. What a dumbass. Although, there wasn't much singletrack, the little bit here and there was the best part. I didn't realize how much I was bleeding until my left ankle and foot felt really wet and I looked down and blood was running down my leg. Riders and volunteers kept commenting on it. It looked much worse than it was because of the bleeding. I got to the next aid station and a volunteer insisted that I wash it off. He told me I needed stitches when I'm done. Not happening. I threw some water on it, cleaned my leg off and he sprayed some antiseptic spray on it and I went on my way. Thank goodness I was wearing black socks.

It felt downright tropical it was so humid. It was the kind of day where you were soaking wet as soon as you stepped out of the car. Whenever I would look down sweat and moisture would dump out of my helmet. On certain sections it was so misty you couldn't see very far in front of you. I hate the humidity. Not to mention I feel all bloaty and swollie when it's humid. And chafing. Sweet Lord. The chafing. I've been lucky because I haven't had an issue all year with saddle sores or chafing. I wasn't the only one cursed with this issue. When I finished there were a lot of complaints about raw asses and not being able to sit down without whimpering. Thank you for relief, Boudreaux's Butt Paste. I love you.

I was riding okay at times. I felt like I could go faster, I just couldn't find the motivation to do so. That was pretty much my theme of the W101. Lacking motivation and apathy. I think it's safe to say that I'm a little burnt. I just felt and still feel dead, physically and mentally. I couldn't will myself to care. Usually I'll pick someone and try to stay with that person. If her or she drops off or I can't hold it without blowing up I'll pick someone else. Let's just say the W101 was very lonely .

It rained a few times. It washed away the blood and tears. About six hours in, I had just made it up one of the long climbs. I got to the top, soft pedaled and I started welling up with tears. I was sobbing. What the hell was that about? Crying, Jocelyn? Really? Tears started to roll down my face. I couldn't stop. I was full on balling at one point. I can't even say that anything hurt or that I was cracked. It was mental. Mentally, I had had it. I had a little talk with myself and FINALLY stopped crying. It took longer than expected to talk myself off that ledge. I then realized somewhere on the course my glasses had come off my helmet. Begin Round 2 of  the waterworks. Sonofabitch.

There were some long, fast downhills that caused the hands and arms to complain. Rocky fireroads and then some less rocky fire roads with gravel roads in between and then there were some kitty litter roads thrown in for fun. It's not one of my favorite hundreds, I will say that much. Maybe it's because of how I felt mentally. Maybe I'll want to come back next year for redemption. Right now, not so much. At the end there was a special kick in the teeth called Fisherman's Trail. Everyone walks. Hike-a-bike is all that stands in the way of a rail trail to the paved road into the finish. It was soul crushing at the time. As I rolled into the finish all I could think about was changing, tending to my raw ass and making the drive home to sleep in my own bed as soon as possible. Usually I like to mingle and trade war stories. I was ready to go. My handler found me and said he was starting to worry because he expected me sooner on that course. Yeah, me too. I couldn't get my shit together.

It was nice to sleep in my own bed the night after a hundred. Even better is that I didn't have to wake up at the crack of ass to make a 9+ hour drive home. It was unusual that I had zero appetite after the race yesterday. I did well to suck down some coke and water. I woke up craving weird things this morning and went down to the farmers market. Never go to a farmers market the day after a hundred. Big mistake. I spent some cash. First, I hit the pickle man's table hard and bought other random things for later (meat sticks and fresh fruit popsicles. Mmmm.). I ate a lot of the pickles, some spicy sweet potato salad, fresh fruit and coffee for breakfast. Hit the spot.

In three weeks, I had planned on doing the Hamshire 100. Now I don't think I can do it. In retrospect, this whole hundred goal I set for myself this year was a little bigger than expected. Two would have been good to get my feet wet and I could have gone for more next year. I'll be lucky to make it to Shen in Septemeber. I'll see how I come through this week. As I sit here holding down the couch, eating pickles and dissecting the table tennis serves of Olympians, I'm quite happy at the thought of staying home.

Fair Hill



Ass Hole and Jack Ass

It's been a REALLY long time since I could say that I did two xc races a week apart. Years probably. It's no secret that I've become a little complacent lately and a little too comfortable in my endurance pace. I'm kinda in a lull . I don't think I actually honestly thought I would be able to attain my hundred goal and now I'm kinda thinking, "Now what?" I still have a couple/few hundreds left. My goal at the beginning was just to finish and I've been happy with that. I need to challenge myself even more and attempt to go faster. Yes, it's a little late in the season maybe, but I've at least gotta try. I get my prescribed pain from Charlie and I do them, but intervals are not the same as an xc race. A lot of the time I miss my interval sessions because the body is really not ready and willing and I'm relegated to an easy ride. That's just the way it is. I recover like an 80 year old.

Fair Hill or "Fair Hell" has become one of my favorite places to race. I used to dread racing there. Now I look forward to it. It's fast, there aren't many places to rest and the fields are always good sized. I decided to NOT pace myself. Something that is very out of character for me. Just suffer as much as possible. I mean I knew I would finish. I finish hundreds, right? Ha! Little did I know.


Pre-Implosion

 There's a long road start at the beginning which is not fun on a single. I hung on for dear life as long as I could. I got to the singletrack and I knew this is where I could push and start catching people. I did and it worked. I was grooving and suffering like hell on a 34/18. I actually was feeling pretty strong even though I was in the pain cave. I had a little burping rear tire issue. Too much speed + rooty uphill corner + fat ass on saddle =  BURP. Second issue of the day was when I couldn't get my left cleat in the pedal. I kept trying to stand on it and ram it in and bang out anything that was in there while riding. It got to a point where I had to stop. I had to get my left foot in the damn effing pedal. I looked and there was a rock wedged between the cleat and tread. I took a stick and rock and tried to get it out. It was in there. It was not budging. I'm sure I made matters worse by repeatedly trying to jam it in my pedal. I then did the next logical think and took my shoe off and sat on the side of the trail with my tire lever and violently attacked it. I've never had anything wedged in there like that. Crisis averted and I got back on. I felt fine for a little while longer and then it hit me. Or I hit it. The wall. Holy shit. I haven't cracked like that in years. I got dizzy, felt nauseated and my legs and arms were Jell-O. I thought I was going to fall off my bike at one point. I didn't know if I was going to pass out or throw up. I stood by the side of the trail hunched over my bike. I couldn't even walk. I felt cold and clammy. Hundreds have made me really good at being able to drag my bike and body forward. I couldn't move. All I could do was stand in a heap on the side of the trail before I could even walk. I started to move forward. I walked the flats. I walked the uphills. I walked a downhill or two because I felt so dizzy. Girls started passing me and asked me if I was okay. I don't even think I could speak at that point. My friend Stacey ("Ass Hole") passed me and slowed and told me I looked like shit (that's how we roll). She asked if there was anything she could do. I grunted for her to go on and to send a search party if I'm not back by dark. There were only 2 miles left and I felt like it was insurmountable. I walked what felt like a mile of it. My delirium decreased to a manageable level and I got back on the bike. I just wanted to see the line. It felt worse than finishing a hundred had ever felt. The volunteer at the end told me I had just over  a 1/2 mile to go and I thought I was going to have a break down. Over a 1/2 mile? Really? I wanted to hit him. I've heard 46 Mile, 65 miles, etc. at hundreds and that did not feel nearly as daunting.

Post-Implosion

Mission accomplished. I'll take it as a victory. Although, it may not look like it in the results, it's the best race I've had in a long time. Sometimes you need to absolutely and completely implode in order to get over the hump and move forward. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

I've gotten a few email requests and calls about speaking at an auto-immune disease support group function. When I first started getting these requests I considered it. Then I thought about it a little more and decided I'm probably not the right person for the job. Although, I attempt to play an appropriate professional during the day (some days at least) and frequently speak in public, I have some filtering issues when it comes to my personal experiences. I'm most certain to offend someone. F bombs roll out, uncomfortable subjects like weird bodily happenings are discussed and let's not forget about my somewhat odd sense of humor. I explained this to the person asking me and she said that's exactly why they wanted me. Hmmm. Still not sure.

I would be able to share the following for those new to medications and treatments:

stomach upset = explosive diarrhea

change in taste = everything but three foods taste like metal and B.O.

increase in yeast infections = Get ready for Hell to be unleashed 

This is only a snippet. I have a really long list I've made over the years.

I thought about it more and then explained that I probably am not the best speaker because I sometimes frequently go against medical advice. If I had listened to medical advice I would never have attempted to race a bike, let alone finish a hundred. I would just be riding a couple of circles around a paved park road taking in the scenery and calling it a day after 30 minutes. Power walking would be my most intense workout. I don't want to be the person who tells someone to ignore their doctor...yet, I kinda do. I think if there's going to be damage done anyway whether you're walking or laying on the couch you may as well get out there and do something you enjoy. I just happen to find doctors who support my insanity. I've been through MANY. The current ones know I'm going to do it anyway so we've worked out the 'what ifs' and have discussed what I can do do get through certain self inflicted things as best I can. Could it have been the bike that made me sick? Yes. Then there are other weeks when I didn't do anything and for no reason I felt shitty.  It could have happened anyway. Push when you can push and back off when you have to.

A couple of weeks ago, I called my rheumatologist to ask about right arm. I asked if I could do any permanent damage. He said, "Possibly". I asked could it happen anyway if I didn't ride the bike. Long pause (I knew the answer and he knew what I was getting at). "Yes, it could possibly get worse anyway. But riding could possibly exacerbate it." I came back with, "Carrying my work bag for too long could exacerbate it as well, right? Doing yard work could exacerbate it?" Pause. I win. He called in a script, gave me some other tricks to alleviate the pain and  I took what I wanted from the conversation and got back on the bike when I could.

I've been to a function and listened to a speaker. I did not like her. She had an auto immune disease and was now running marathons. At the time, I was doing well to walk Ike around the park and back home without a nap and stopping every 50 feet to rest.  I was really sick then and I wanted to punch her in the face. I wasn't the only one. She was way too peppy. Like puppies and unicorns happy and saccharine sweet. I remember thinking who and the hell was this person? She obviously was never that sick. What does she know? I don't want anyone to look at me like that. Although, I'm pretty sure I'm not capable of giving a puppies and unicorns vibe. I know it can be really frustrating.  But then I think about it and maybe she did help me. Maybe something resonated with me. Maybe. Just a little. I did start walking more and then running. It eventually led to 4 stress fractures in my left leg, but I did start somewhere. Slowly but surely. Hmmm.

Maybe I have answered my question while writing this. I have a doctor's appointment in a little while and the office manager has a lot to do with the group so I know I will get asked again. We'll see.

Sizzler

Sometimes you just have to say fuck it and tell the body to get on board. You really do. I had a bad week and my arms and hands weren't cooperating. After Wednesday it wasn't looking good for me as far as the bike was concerned. For fear that I was going to lose fitness, I had started to scope out a place at the lake where I thought I could safely leave my bike and stuff and get in some morning swims. I wasn't happy about this being a reality, so Wednesday night I started my assault on getting right arm back to cooperating. Ice, TENS unit and yes, drugs. By Friday I felt that I may be able to hold onto the bars for a Saturday race. I went with the attitude that if I only did a lap it was okay. Better than nothing. We drove down to Sewell, NJ for the aptly named MASS D & Q Summer Sizzler race. As we got farther from home the temperature rose. When we got there the truck said 104*. Yikes!

We got out of the truck, felt the sweltering temps and did the most logical thing....went for a lap. I was a lot worried because, although the course was pretty smooth, there were a lot of root packs. The jarring and vibrations did not excite me. If it hurt too bad I would stop. I made friends with my dorky Camelback and went. God knows I couldn't manage holding on, drinking and steering. My goal was not to be last and to get my HR up. Another goal was to not hurt myself or a fellow racer because of my questionable braking capabilities.  At times I felt somewhat ill and like I was breathing fire. I was dreaming of Icees and snow cones and ice baths. I did notice that I settled into my hundred pace way too easily and too often. I kept having to snap myself back to reality and will my body to attempt to go 'fast'. I wasn't as aggressive in the corners or on certain sections as I should have been because my hands were in my head, but I lived to tell the tale and finished. Mission accomplished. The other good news is that I'm still pretty comfortable riding a big gear. I feared the hundreds and easier gearing would have taken it's toll. I even think I could have gone a little bigger.




Sunday I didn't feel as bad as I was expecting. I'd come across some new riding possibilities on a road ride and it was as good of day as any to go exploring. New to me singletrack I can ride to is always an excellent find. I thought I had finally stumbled upon my first corpse while riding. I'm always keeping an eye out. I watch all those true crime shows. I know what happens. It's only a matter of time...

Suck It, Strava

I have a hard time with the whole Strava thing. I felt like I had to sign up because all the cool kids are doing it and it seems like the thing to do these days. I signed up and uploaded a few workouts and then quickly erased those workouts. When I see that I am QOM on certain segments I get a little embarrassed for myself. Of course I am. I'm probably the only female to be dumb enough to ride those segments. I see the purpose. It's to drive people's workouts, bring forth the competitive spirit, giving 'Kudos' and all that jazzy mumbo jumbo. Doesn't really work for me. It doesn't make me any more competitive and I don't have any urges to go out and beat someone's time on certain segments. I guess where I live it's also a little deceiving because we don't have the fastest singletrack. Not saying I'm an uber fasty by any means, but sometimes certain sections probably could be walked faster. If there was a place I could put: rode in downpour, hit a bear, battled baby heads and peanut butter mud for 3 hours (calculate that in Strava)...then maybe I'd have a different opinion. I'm not even a big fan of it on the road. It really does not motivate me in the least. I know when I'm riding well and when I'm a slug.

Yesterday just really sealed the deal on my anti-Stravaness. My hands were bad so I didn't trust myself on a group woods ride and knew the vibrations on the road bike would kill me, so I went out on the road on my mountain bike. I rode from the house and part of my loop includes a really popular roadie route section. I saw a lot of roadies. I would ride with them here and there. Besides telling me to "shift" and "use your gears, Honey" (Miraculously, that man is still living..I swear. Ignore the news report of a missing male cyclist in Monroe, NY) and then having the torturous conversation of why I was on a ss mountain bike on the road and why on earth I would even ride a ss. They tried to engage me in their KOM quests. I could be a QOM!!! Woo freakin' hoo. Then I quickly realized what was happening. They would rest and soft pedal on the flats, call out when the next Strava segment was coming and then hammer that segment. If it wasn't a Strava segment it was a snail's pace. I was on a pretty modest gear and I had no problems keeping up with them on the flats. It's because they were saving it for Strava. Maybe I'm a big loser and technology is somewhat lost on me. Maybe one day I will come around and embrace Strava. Doubtful. I just don't get it.

I had to call for back-up on my ride because from the elbow down my right arm felt like I was holding onto an electric fence and I couldn't hold onto the bars anymore. I couldn't even tell if I was holding onto the bars. I kept looking down to make sure my fingers were wrapped around the bars. Braking was not happening. Needless to say, standing and climbing became a little precarious and excruciating. I called Mike for a pick up. I almost made it home so my workout wasn't a total bust. I got into the truck, took advantage of my captive audience and ranted about Strava. Stupid Strava.

Ice Cream Lunch

I've been in quite the funk since the Lumberjack. My body hasn't been cooperating and when I feel like crap for so long I tend to become a little depressed and a lot crabby. There's a lot of laying on the couch and quite a few bouts of crying. I hate to admit it, but it's true. As of Friday night, I swore I was giving up on this hundred crap and selling my bikes. It wasn't worth the aftermath or the heartbreak. It happens everytime I have a bad week or so. On top of the usual, I'm having some other complications (which I'll share at another time) which just added to my crazy.

Today my hands, wrists and elbows were terrible. Everything else felt okay. No bike.  Unfortunately, I have to be able to hold onto the handlebars and brake (crazy, right?), plus the vibrations would kill me. I've had a little mini-adventure I've been wanting to do for a while and today was as good as any. I was going out of the house to the Appalachian Trail and hiking to the Bellvale Creamery and back. If ice cream isn't a motivator, I don't know what is.

It's not exactly a paved, groomed trail. It's pretty challenging. There's a lot of traffic this time of year. Made things interesting and I gave a lot of directions to the ice cream. It's a place of note in the AT trail books. Some hikers I came across had been on the trail for 80 days. I was not the stinkiest kid on the playground for once.

Sweet glory. "Bellvale Bog" and "meadow muffin" with gummy bears.