Icebreaker Triathlon: Not the Loser!

I did my darnedest to be a good girl before my first ever triathlon.  I took a day off.  No BeavX, no Japanese Spin Torture with Tomoko, nada.  I slept in.  I read books.  I very sweetly allowed myself to be taken to Costco.

And, I was going to get plenty to eat, plenty of water, and hit the sack early.  I was scheduled to be "on-deck" for my 7:05 swim 20-30 minutes early.

The Tiger and I went out to eat with our friend and mechanic all-start Little Buddy, then, I went to bed.  Well, I tried to go to bed.

Saturday night was the route announcement party for the RAGBRAI.  I checked the live feed, but they weren't announcing until 9pm, so, like an adult, I said that I would "just hear about it in the morning."

Sleep never comes easy when you are excited for a big event, or worried about over sleeping an alarm, or your gentleman friend is watching the live streaming in the living room at just enough volume that you can catch snippets of town names.

Sigh.  I got up and watched.

My 8 newest favorite cities.

It's going to be a fun RAGBRAI, the 9th easiest in record, and a map of the ride shows it crossing the state like the sash on a beauty queen. 

Then, I thought I would send a quick text to Steven. 

Me: Sat, Jan 28, 2012, 9:18 PM "70 miles on Saturday.  That's going to be painful.  Can't wait!!!" (Message failed)

But, my message failed. 

Steven: Sat, Jan 28, 2012 9:18 PM "9th easiest, 'same climbing in the first three days as the first day last year', downside...last day is 69 miles.  Marshalltown to cr is only 44 miles.  Three long days in the middle." 

Probably because she was texting me at the same time! 

(message sent) 

Steven: Sat, Jan. 28, 2012, 9:20 PM "hahahaha....we need alternate transportation on the last day for sure."

Then, we overlapped messages again.

Me: Sat, Jan 28, 2012, 9:20 PM "I just sent you a message, 70 on Saturday, brutal.  We should just do 69 + 44 on Friday and beat ragbrai." 

Me: Sat, Jan 28, 2012, 9:20 PM "Billy says, 'don't worry, we will have a limo.'"

Steven: Sat, Jan 28, 2012, 9:22 PM "Mayor says we only want to win ragbrai not beat it.  We know someone in cr."

This went on until I sent my last message and turned the phone off.  I could have just texted Steven that I was going to bed, but I don't like to admit that I have a toddler's bed time.  Her last message arrived at 9:33.

My nervous sleep ended at 5:15 when I woke up and started the coffee.  The Tiger was going to go with me, but at the last minute, I felt guilty for dragging him out of bed and making him stand around, bored, while I rode immobile machines.  Finally, we agreed that he would sleep in and show up closer to the start.

I ate my breakfast and headed to the Walnut Creek YMCA for the Icebreaker Triathlon: 400 yards of swimming, 10 miles on the spin bike, and 2 miles on a treadmill.


The mommy-triathletes were waiting.

The first heat finished before I knew it started.

Part of me was like, ugh, I am in the 30 and under category.  That sucks that I have to compete with 15
 year-olds.  Then, I remembered the mommy-triathletes, virtual Amazons of the day-care set, with abs like cooled lava, who inhabit the 31-40 set and I shut up.

I checked in and got my first ever bad-ass triathlon tattoo: 6B!  Then, I asked for a special addition.

Representing for my team, over my road rash scar!

Finally, heat 4 was ready to get warmed up.  The Tiger hadn't arrived, so I thought I might have to be undocumented for the first leg. 

The buzzer blared and we were off.  My goal was not to be sucking wind and end up in the pool after everyone else was done, or finish in about 8 minutes for 400 yards.  I had no idea how fast or slow I swim.  Because I am blind as a bat, I can't always see the clocks or keep very good track of my progress.  But, a minute a lap seemed solid, so that's what I shot for. 

A few laps in, I noticed the Tiger in the bleachers.  

I swam hard into my last lap, hoping that I hadn't lost track and it actually was my last lap, and my timer announced: 8:20:97.  Alright!  And, there were still 5 people in the pool.

The Tiger came over and told me how awesome I did, and we took a picture.

It's hard to tell if I am posing, or if I am just trying to hold all that stuff.

I headed into the locker room the change, where, thankfully, our transitions weren't timed, because trying to get my spandex workout pants over my damp legs was like stuffing sausage. 

I found a bike, but then decided I didn't want to be in front of the mirror: too distracting.  So I moved.  Then, I fiddled with the seat.  Then, the handlebars.  Then, the seat.  Then, the seat.  I just couldn't get it right.  So I gave up and started riding feeling a bit crouched.

Why am I so crouched?

The bikes were set at level 10, which I think is about halfway through the range of the bikes.  I started spinning and got into a groove.  The Tiger took a few pictures and then made himself scarce, bless him.  I spun along at about 100 rpms.  The music was good.  The ladies were rocking.  It felt great.  This was my leg.

Fire in the hole!

One of the clock watchers came over and cheered me "home" for the last half a mile, so I really pushed myself, and I came in at 20:25.  I don't really know how to do math, but 10 miles in 20 minutes, isn't that about 30 miles an hour?  (20 * 3 = 60) (10 * 3 = 30) eh? The Tiger and I were estimating that it would take me almost double that time, so I was very please with myself.  I even finished before a couple of the ladies that started before me. 

Then, the leg I was dreaded.  Two miles on the treadmill.  Ugh.

I hate running.  I know that at some magical point, something will click, and I will love it.  I only know that because a) that's what everyone says.  b) there are a lot of people that seem to enjoy running.  But, I am not there yet.

In fact, I am in this yucky in between place where I am so slow that I get bored and tired before I am supposed to be done.  "Two miles," I think, "that will take forever."

So, I chugged along on the treadmill.  First I tried a little game, called every minute increase your speed by 1/10th of a mile.  I started at 4.5 and made it 5.2.  5.2 felt hard.  I tried to "sprint" at 6.0.  That hurt.  I slowed to a 3.5 walk for a minute. Then, tried to creep back up.  And, on and on.

The Tiger took my picture, then went on walk-about.  I slowly got more and more discouraged.  All the folks around me were so much faster.  I wasn't supposed to be walking.  My time was going to be so bad.  Ugh.

Trying to look fast for the camera.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I closed in on 2 miles.  I tried to push it for the last half mile.  The clock-watcher kept telling me "I am liking the push!"  And, then, finally, done.

It took me 25:24 minutes to "run" 2 miles.  It took me just three extra minutes to do both other events.


In theory, I think I am probably fit enough to run 2 miles.  I just don't believe I can run two miles.  I don't have the mental fortitude to push through the ouch and the groan.

The problem, I think, about doing more triathlons is that it seems like most people who do them, come at them from the runner's perspective.  They are runners who dabble in cycling and swimming.  I, on the other hand, am an okay swimmer and a devoted, if not talented, cyclist.  But, the running.  Sigh. 

After the event, I met the Tiger in the lobby.  We decided to go for breakfast at Mullets.  That breakfast burrito was so good.  Then, we went home for naps.

The Tiger and Miss Holiday found a mutually beneficial position for cuddling.  The Tiger's winter mane is perfect for snuggling.

Vampire puppy.

The results were posted that afternoon.  Check it out!

Penultimate!

Whoo-hoo!  Not the loser! 

So, readers, now that I have complete a triathlon, but am feeling ambivalent about them, here is my question(s).

A. Should I attempt the Copper Creek Triathlon in Pleasant Hill this June?  Or should I focus my time and energy and money on what I really love, the cycling? 

B. If I do, what are some good resources for chubby-newbie-triathletes? 

C. If I don't, can you think of any equivalent challenges that just involve cycling?  Preferably in Central Iowa and low priced?

Live Icebreaker tri blogging!

Just what I suspected, mommy triathletes. The first heat started at 6:00 and they are already done.

RAGBRAI 2011 Stage 7: Coralville to Davenport

Oh cruel RAGBRAI-planners, putting a 65 mile day on Saturday, when the Bike World buses leave Davenport at 1?  2?  No time for sleeping in or leisurely beer garden stops, it's all work work work at the end, when, Saturday should be the most fun day.  As it was, it seemed like a whole lot of RAGBRAIers gave up the ghost and headed home from Coralville.

Cruel, cruel Saturday.

As it was, Saturday had problems.  Moving at the glacial pace of me and the Mayor, we knew we were going to have to get up and get moving in the pre-dawn hours.

Getting up early wasn't a problem, as I had fallen asleep in my chair the day before.  Getting packed up in the dark?  That was a problem.  Somewhere along the line, I lost my cell phone, though I was pretty sure it was buried with my gear.

We rode through Iowa City at dawn, which was gorgeous, and in all my days at Iowa, I had never ridden a bike up the Old Capital hill.  On this Saturday, I did it with gusto.  At the top of the hill, at a stop light, I started singing the Iowa Fight Song.  A guy on a tandem told his stoker to "don't ride with the crazy lady," but I didn't care.

We rode through Iowa City, up the long hill on Dubuque, passing E who had stopped for a snack, and out of town for a hilly, though charming ride to West Branch, boyhood home of President Herbert Hoover, where we stopped for a bit of coffee and breakfast.

We mowed through both Springdale and Moscow, through rolling hills and scenic eastern Iowa countryside, over and back over I-80.

There are a couple mandatory stops on RAGBRAI: free beer is one of them.  Free bananas and post cards is another.  The mandatory stop I am trying to institutionalize is the petting zoo stop.  Outside of Wilton, we found a petting zone, where they let you hold a baby goat.

Goat face.

I was in heaven.

I don't know why there are petting zoos on RAGBRAI, but I am so glad they are there.

We wanted to get to Wilton to stop at the famous ice cream store.  After a long wait in line, we got our ice cream, which was good, limited choices but topped with a fresh raspberry sauce.

Beaver none, Beaver One, Let's all Have Some Beaver Fun!

We also got an opportunity to show our Beaver-love with the Heart Breaker.

We cruised into Durant for ribeye sandwich and a beer garden stop.  We chatted up a couple who were on a tandem.  She hadn't really ridden a bike before this RAGBRAI.  That gave E ammunition for her 2012 plan to ride a tandem with her friend Megan, dressed as Lady Gaga.  I kept saying, "riding a tandem isn't as easy as it looks.  Maybe you guys should try it first," but after meeting this couple, she was convinced.

Then, we rode into Walcott, the last stop, second to last town of the day.  Sad beaver.

We enjoyed some beer in the beer garden.  The Mayor complained about his shoes.  E figured out an alternative plan for getting home, again, involving me in the transport of her luggage.  And, we were off again, headed to Davenport and then end or 2011.

He's thinking, "I wish I would just buy some new shoes."

There was still some fun in store, though.

On this particular Saturday, the Saturday when thousands of cyclists, family members and friends of cyclist, along with charters and charter workers, and spectators were streaming into Davenport for the conclusion of RAGBRAI, an even larger number of folks of the running persuasion, along with their entourages, were streaming into Davenport for the Bix 7.  A famous long distance race in honor of Davenport native son Bix Beiderbecke.  Another large contengency of folks were also in town for the annual summer jazz festival.

While it probably seemed like an amazing weekend in the Quad Cities, with 25,000 "atheltes" and their friends flooding (eh? eh?) the city, the result for RAGBRAI was a dicey and less than savory conclusion.

My first ride into the end town, Dubuque, had felt like riding through Paris as a conquering hero.  We ducked and swooped down huge hills, past screaming crowds, rode down main street, and dipped our tires along the recently redone waterfront.

Riding into Davenport was nothing like that.  Because of the traffic, RAGBRAI had to take a detour into Davenport, through what looked like Appalachia.  We rode in on narrow blacktop road, that were so hot the blacktop was melting and sucking our tires.  Up and down hills we meandered until finally we got to the "last big hill."

Mount Something-Or-Other.  Well, it had been an educational RAGBRAI for me.  Though I had more miles under my belt, I was not in as good of shape as I had been the previous year, and the countless rolling hills and my added poundage had take their toll.  My resolve, though, was set.

I was going to ride up this damn hill.

I was going to buy a case of Coors for the bus ride home.

And, that was it.

So, we start slugging up this hill, and there's nothing like a big steep hill, after 65 miles on a Saturday morning.  As we got maybe 10 yards from the top, I noticed this lady with a little kid, maybe 8 or 10, riding along the right curb.  She looked like the kind of person who had never seen RAGBRAI and thought it might be cute to join in with her small child for a mile or two.

Then, out of no where, the kid, wobbles left and right in front of all of this people slogging up this steep little hill, and because I am an evil person, with no great love for children (especially children who do not contain the genetic materials of people that I love), I yelled something that I am slightly ashamed of, but blame it on desperation, dehydration, my own moral failings, but as the kid rode in front of me and nearly stopped, I hollered out, "oh hell no!"

I veered around him and made it to the top.

You know it's going to be terrifying when there are assigned people who are there to warn you about going down a hill.  And, I for sure, love going up hill way more than going down, but thankfully, I didn't have time to think about this one.  I grabbed the brakes, pointed the bike towards hell, and bounced over the rutted blacktop at the bottom.  It was only providence that kept me alive on that one.

The Mayor and I swooped right and then left and what should we behold, but E, standing outside of a divey-looking bar, one finger in the air, the other hand stuffing a hot dog into her face.

Apparently, she hadn't braked going down this hill. The way she tells it, as she was rocked down, images of herself, as a child, frolicking through a field of wild flowers, flashed before her eyes.  She was so shaken up when she reached the bottom, she had to pull over.

As she rattled up to the hot dog grill, one of the regulars out smoking, saw that she was shaking and white as a ghost.  He came up to her, and asked, "are you okay?  Let me buy you a beer."  So she drank the beer.

Remember, E doesn't really drink.  She certainly doesn't drink when she has to do anything.  Beer is like coffee for her, but with the opposite effect.

By the time we arrived, she was on her second hot dog and she needed to buy her new friend a beer in return.  I grumbled a bit about this lackluster ride to glory, but as soon as I was set up with an Old Style I stopped complaining.

Then, we drank ourselves out of cash (the bar didn't have an ATM), and watched the other shakey riders sneak in.  One guy and his team came into clean him up after a crash on the death hill.  I thanked my lucky stars.  And, when we were out of money, we finally  had to move on.

But, here is where the Mayor and I learned something important.  Beer seems to have the reverse affect on E that it does on me.  Instead of giving her go-go juice power, it slows her down.  And, she had a few beers.  This will be important in 179 days.

I am pretty sure the last mile into Davenport, through its unsung districts of warehouses, shanties, and refineries, was the only mile on the ride I was ahead of my sister.

We found Bike World, who were literally set up in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station. 

Notice what E is holding. 

When E showed up we had one last group picture.

For lease, one ghetto gas station.

Okay, maybe two last group pictures.

We were a small but mighty little team.  I was proud that we kept RAGBRAI alive, if not thriving in the absence of Steven.  I was proud that E finally embraced the spirit of RAGBRAI, and I was proud to have cemented my friendship with the Mayor.

We said good-bye to Easy-E, who wobbled up the road to find Nasty Nick's team to get a ride home.  Then, the Mayor and I brow beat a few Bike World employees into telling us where there was a gas station.  Though it was but two blocks away, they didn't want to tell us.  Fair enough.  I wouldn't want to be waiting with a bus load of sweaty, tired people for a couple boozey old drunks, who are lost in the wilds of Davenport's lesser-loved districts.

Suffice it to say, we found a gas station.  I learned that my Ibex jersey can hold six cans of Coors.  We returned to the gas station.  Then, we squirreled our stash into a cooler.  Then, we went to change clothes.  I ended up changing in what was clearly a bum camp: there were pint-size bottles of whiskey, a moldy old sleeping bag, and piles of trash: classy.

Then, we milled around in the parking lot waiting for the buses to leave.  At one point, I looked up and noticed some joker pocketing a bunch of our Coors.  He sneaked off before I could stop him, but then another guy tried to take our Coors.  Apparently, he thought it was Bike World's beer and he could just have it.  Oh, hell no son.

We stood sentinel over our cooler until it made it on the bus. 

Nom, nom, nom.

We settled into the back seat of the bus, armed with beer and snacks.

So tan, so sleepy.

It had been a long and trying RAGBRAI, even for the Mayor.

They don't call him the Mayor for nothing.

Then, we drank a bunch of beer, and I did what I do best: bad influence.

In 2011, we had made plans to separate at Bike World, then meet back up for some good beer at El Bait Shop.  But, as I know from the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, if you go home to shower, you won't come back out.

In my rocky-mountain water filled haze, I convinced the Mayor that he shouldn't go home!  Instead, Smitty could take his bags (sorry Smitty!), and the Tiger and I could take him to El Bait Shop.  There we could rendezvous with Steven and have a jolly good Saturday night.

Well, my plan worked only to a point.  The Mayor and I had fun until it was abundantly clear that everyone else wasn't having fun, and if there is one thing that is not that much fun, it is hanging out with a bunch of booze hounds when you are sober and responsible.

The evening ended on what I felt was a dark and somber note, and I felt bad about my bad influencing.

And, so there you have it, only days before they announce the route for the 40th running of the RAGBRAI, I conclude my bloviated, extended, and nasal-gaving travelogue of the 39th RAGBRAI.

I am, though, looking forward to the coming year, getting Steven back and the inaugural ride of the Tiger.  The Thunda has threatened to come back and my sister is down for sure.  Maybe Ma-sing-gaa if we are lucky, though no Lexi for sure.  If I get my act together, jerseys will happen, and perhaps a bus of our own for Team Beaver: tomorrow is the future of today.

(I found my cell phone: it had been wrapped up in my dew-damp tent.  It was my major RAGBRAI casualty.)

RAGBRAI 2011: Stage 6 Grinnell to Coralville

Well, way to go team, we missed celebrating National Pie Day, Friday January 20th.  But, with freezing temperatures outside, National Pie Day, and only 180 days until RAGBRAI, I thought we should hop in the way back machine and remember the Friday of RAGBRAI 2011, the day I had the worst hangover and the best pie.

I don't like to admit when I am drunk, or hung over.  When I am drunk, I just get quiet.  When I am hungover, I say that I am tired.  (When I am sick, I say I have allergies.)

But, after a late night with the Bike World boys, way too many Coors tall boys, and a morning of listening to the percussion of kybo doors slamming, I was not my normal delightful self.

Unexpectedly, though, E asked for some coffee Thursday morning and that turned out to be a lifesaver.  E has the metabolism of a small mammal, and she doesn't drink a lot of caffeine, and she's already a bit high strung, so when she gets coffee, she goes a little berserk.  They won't let her have coffee at work. 

I didn't feel much like talking.  I just wanted to put my head down and ride.  Thankfully, E had enough energy to talk for both of us.  Not only did she do all the call-outs, but she also proceeded to carry on both sides of the conversation.  She would ask me a question and then, she would answer the question.  It was actually quite pleasant.

The ride to Brooklyn felt claustrophobic.  The road was narrow with no shoulder and the corn was tall and close.  Eventually, E and I got split up, but I ran into the Mayor at the free banana stand.  Because it was Friday, and we knew we had a long Saturday in front of us, everything had the feeling of a senior year..."this is the last free banana of my senior year."  Or maybe it was just booze blues.

In Brooklyn, the city of flags, we dumped the bikes and went looking for food.

The crappiest bikes parked in the nicest places.

Of course, I had to document the injustices of a kickstand.  Just because you can park your bike anywhere, doesn't mean you should.

E dressed in the spirit of college day, and wait, is that the Mayor in black and gold?

The Mayor has a particular fondness for cinnamon rolls, one that I don't share, but he overheard one of the people at the cinnamon roll stand say "we made 5 dozen cinnamon rolls and we are almost out."  The same statement was made about coffee: me not so happy.  Overwhelmed was the theme of the day for this section of Iowa.

The Mayor kept all of his wristbands on.

We hung out and watched the crowd stream through town.  Then, as we were getting ready to leave I ran into none other good ole Spandex Mike.  I had been pretty sure that I had seen him cruising into Baxter with a plush Grinch doll strapped to his hybrid, but I wasn't sure.

I feel like I took this picture for a reason, but I can't remember why.

Spandex Mike earned his nickname in 2010.  He was traveling with Bike World and we couldn't help but notice that he was always wearing spandex, and not just a jersey and shorts, but full on matching kits, on the ride and in the evening.  Eventually Steven asked him what was up and he told her that he had forgotten to pack civilian clothes for the evenings, so he was forced to simply put on clean spandex after getting out of the shower.  All that and a hybrid.

A flood of overwhelm.

Spandex Mike told me that he had joined a team, Team Plush Animal or Team Stuffies or something, and he seemed happy and confident with his new crew.  I wished him well. 

Then, the Mayor performed his magical disappearing act, so E and I headed out together. 

Soon, I was alone, which was fine, because I was still grumpy.  Though, at one point, I got to the top of a hill and some guys on the side of the road were playing "Jump Around," and that made me happy.

We all reunited in Victor where we bumped into Chewy and What's-His-Face again.  They taunted me for being so grumpy, so I took a fistful of Advil and drank two bottles of water and soon I actually started to feel better. 

We stopped in Ladora for reasons no better than it was a teeny-tiny town and it looked like they had pulled out all the stops for us.  They had a really sweet little beer garden, so we got some beer and had a little break in the shade. 

The Mayor's Office

Don't forget, the Mayor needed new shoes.  He sure wouldn't let us forget it. 

Damn!  My feet hurt.

One can only wonder if we will be hearing the same song this year.  You got to give it to the man, he can suffer if there's money on the line.

Busted

I was looking forward to the rest of the day.  We were riding through the Amana Colonies, which sit in a gorgeous little river valley and the adorable little towns were just 5 or 6 miles apart, but first, we had to make it to the meeting town: Marengo.

Puppy cure: don't tell Miss Holiday.

In Marengo, my other favorite hang over cure appeared: puppies.  We met a local sitting on the square with his two sweet labs.  Apparently, the smaller lady lab had just had puppies.  They were game for a scratch and a picture.

Doggy Sniff!

We suggested the guy try to adopt out the pups on RAGBRAI.  We told him about the success the guy with the puppies had had before in Parkersburg.


Then, we rounded up some pizza and went to eat in the grassy square.  What happened then can only be described as a magical RAGBRAI moment.  In the middle of the square was an ampitheater, the kind of place where the high school band plays during the town's Fourth of July celebrations.  Smack dab in the middle of the amphitheater was a DJ, but not like a record spinning DJ, just your standard, middle-age dude with a belly Iowa DJ with a folding table, a lap top, and some speakers.


The Whiners (God bless 'em) had already scurried up on stage to dance, but the way the dance floor was set up, the dancers actually had to dance behind and around the DJ, who wasn't paying them any attention.  Why the DJ booth couldn't be set up to one side was beyond me.


Well, E obviously couldn't stand by idilly while there was an opportunity to strut her stuff.  She ran to the stage, Dirty Dancing style, then Michael Jackson snapped up the steps, and showed those biker dancers a thing or two.

Just look closely for the yellow cheerleader skirt.

While she was up there, a lady, very prim and proper was making her way to the stage.  She was probably in her 60s, though, one of those really attractive and glamorous sixty-year-olds.  Her hair was that blondish gray and very voluminous under her red wide-brimmed hat and Jackie-Oh glasses.  She was wearing sort of a stylish denim pant suit, with a very high waist and a big red belt.  It was the kind of outfit you would see on Mad Men.  She looked great.

After this, E danced down the stairs, then made her way back to us with a Lady Gaga crawl.

To our surprise and delight, she marched up the steps to the stage to join the Lycra-masses in their reverie.  Then, to our amazement, she pulled off a dance move that can only be described as the "bob cat."  She would wiggle-wiggle-wiggle in one place then, out of no where, leap cat-like sideways a good four feet to another spot, where she would wiggle-wiggle-wiggle some more.  And, repeat.  It was amazing. 


Well, nothing could top that so we moved on. 

We missed West Amana.  In a demonstration of complete lack of fore-sight, West Amana, which is at the top of a hill, put all of their stuff on their "main street."  Unfornately, to get there, you hand to turn left, ride up the hill, ride down mainstreet, then turn right and get right back on the nice flat road you had been on originally.  Scores of people passed it by.  If anyone had asked me, I would have suggested a nice beer garden and concession area along the highway, but people so rarely ask me for my good advice.

Nothing like a grassy lawn.

We rode on to South Amana where they were also overwhelmed.  The Mayor said he saw a sign that read, "we bought 12 cases of Gatorade. We are sold out.  Wow RAGBRAI."  12 cases?  Try 120 cases.  We found some pie and some Gatorade and settled down in the shade.

I think we are watching someone try to pee discretely in the bushes.

Then, I had a revelation.

At the pie stand, they read off their selections.  Most were pretty standard, except for Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie.  Wha???  It was their last piece, so I decided, what the heck, it's our last piece of Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie of our senior year.

Pie taken to a whole new level.

Oh-my-goodness, this pie was freaking amazing.  It was like a gooey, not-all-the-way baked Chocolate Chip Cookie in a pie crust!  Where had this pie been all my life?  It was so delicious, even washed down with red Gatorade.  I wanted to save a bite for E but she was busy talking to Nasty Nick.

After the drugs and the water, the dancing and the puppies, the pie and the before half-way beer, I was feeling good, cured, even.  We all felt so good, that we skipped Homestead and rode straight through to Oxford.

On the way to Oxford, there were some pretty fun little hills.  Easy-E, who at this point, had fully embraced the spirit of RAGBRAI, was taking these "decents" in full-on pro-Alpine rider style.  She would tuck her head down by her handlebars and stick her butt way up in the air.

At one point, I was about 20 yards behind her, as we cruised fast down a hill.  This long line of guys came along.  As they passed her, the lead guy reached out and pretended to pat her butt under her completely superfluous skirt. 

In Oxford, I took bad pictures, but had a good time.

In Oxford, we bumped into one of the guys from the Des Moines bicycle-scene.  I knew him because he works at Carl's and rides a crazy bagger bike.  If you think I was hurting, you should have seen this guy.  He had a black eye and a few missing teeth, though he didn't say anything about it.  We learned later he was in a fight.  He told us his plan was to ride to an off-route party tonight, then ride back to Des Moines on Saturday, because that's what you do when you are a bagger.

Then, we found this New Orleans style restaurant and bar.  They had closed off the side street, filled the block with tables and chairs, and were serving New Orleans style food and really good craft beer.  The band was a funky little old-timey guitar band.  I was in heaven.  I could have stayed there forever.

The hangover was written all over my face.

Though, I didn't look like I was enjoying myself, I was.  Doesn't the Mayor look nice when he smiles?

The band and one of The Mayor's jersey-dopplegangers.

The other reason I didn't want to leave was because we still had 17 hilly miles to get to Coralville.  Dear RAGBRAI, I know it is for safety and all, but please stop putting the second to last town so far from the last town.  It kind of spoils the fun.  And, while you are at it, stop making Saturday so long and challenging!  (We'll get to that tomorrow).

The Mayor had to do a lot of "In the Jungle-ing" to get me through Friday.

The last leg of the journey, I am ashamed to say, was not my finest hour.  It was hilly, it was long, I wasn't sober but I wasn't drunk enough to be drunk for the remainder of the ride.  I was so very tired.  It was spitting rain.  I was a be-otch.  The Mayor did his best to keep my spirits up, but to very little avail.

When we finally got into Coralville, the town had painted a football field on the road and set up bleachers of spectators to cheer on the cyclists as we rolled in.  Singing the Hawkeye Fight song helped some.  We found our tents and went to the showers.

We paid $5 or $10 bucks for a shower, and, of course, it was awful.  The shower stall itself was 8 shower-heads in a cement room.  Every single one spitting out the iciest water.  There was no light in the shower room, for some reason, and there was no dry place to set a towel outside the shower stall.  It was as close to a prison shower as I could imagine.

(Later, the Bike World boys used one of the coolers to give one of their own an ice bath on a dare--I guess willingness to freeze is predicated on whether one is paying money or earning money). 

We needed to eat, but I couldn't figure out how in the heck I was going to get my exhausted ass on to a shuttle.  Little Buddy texted me to find out what we were up to but I told him I wasn't allowed to hangout with him anymore.

Then, my sister did something so amazing that I was reminded why she was one of my favorite people.  She found some boys selling stacks of Pizza Hut pizzas for $10.  She bought one and brought it to me.  Oh-my-goodness: food, and I didn't have to do anything to get it.  Then, in my graceful style, I got a beer and proceeded to sleep in the arm chair like an old person.

I would like to vow that never again will I get so little sleep on RAGBRAI, but who am I kidding?

First Ever Triathlon Tips

If blabbing and mulling over triathlons equaled triathlon experience, I would be a veteran triathlete.  And, you would want to take advice from me, but considering that the only triathlon I've ever competed in was the "beaver triathlon," (run the Beaver dash, ride to Cumming Tap and back, and then "swim" in beverages at Beaver Fest), where one leg was canceled because of massive thunderstorms, and there was no actual competing going on, you might want to take what I say here with a grain of salt, or chlorine if you will. 

At Riverfront they provide towels!

Tip #1: Register on time.  My first ever triathlon will be the Icebreaker Triathlon, Sunday, January 29th.  It is an indoor triathlon at the Walnut Creek YMCA.  If I had registered before the 13th, I would have saved myself $15.  As it is, I am trying to not remember that I could probably organize my own personal indoor triathlon with little more than ambition, a quiet Sunday at the Y, and a timer for the White Tiger.  But, as the great Chip Douglas once said, "he who hesitates...." 

It comes down to fear.  I think I was a little scared to register because then I would be committed.  I am certainly scared now that my registration has been dropped off.  (Thanks to the Tiger for enabling my procrastination by hand delivering my registration today).  And, I know that I am scared to cowgirl up and register for Copper Creek.  Which brings us back to our 2012 theme: fearless!

Easy E and I are like killer whales in the water.

Tip #2: Swim.  I was trying to remember the last time I went swimming, and as embarrassing as it sounds, it might have been nearly a year ago at my friend Jessica's birthday party.  All she wanted was to be "drunk on a water slide" so we celebrated at the indoor water park at the Ramada.  While countless runs down the water slide and runs back up to the top felt like a workout, I don't remember my last exercise swim. 

As you can tell from my lack of preparation, I am not so worried about the swim.  It's only 400 yards (8 laps or 16 lengths), and I was on the swim team in high school (okay, just freshman year, but still) and I actually swam for the Walnut Creek Waves swim team when I was a kid.  I am much concerned about the running, for both this race and the Copper Creek. 

But at some point, I am going to have to swim again, and it probably shouldn't be Sunday the 29th.  So, this afternoon and weekend, I am going to return to the water.  Wish me luck. 

Not a fatty, newbie triathlete in sight.

Tip #3: Be Fearless.  I guess that is not really a tip.  The thing that is psyching me out this week is the fact that is a race.  There are awards and stuff.  I am treating it more like an event, a baseline for my spring training.  But, then, I wander over to the Walnut Creek YMCA blog and see pictures of the people who competed last year. 

They look fit, like the mommy triathletes who dominate Gwyn's H.E.A.T. class and super-serious bald headed guys who are just doing this for "recovery."  Triathletes are a breed apart and they scare me. 

But, my theme for 2012 is FEARLESS!  So in my brain, I am telling myself that I am going to swim/ride/run my race and I will do my best and it doesn't matter what anyone thinks and it doesn't matter if I come in last place. 

Considering all this chow-chow about triathlons and considering that I hate running, the questions remains why am I doing this and Copper Creek? 

There are so many reasons not to do a triathlon. 

First, I am not a runner, and whenever I talk about running, I get the Tiger's patented lecture on running.  (He only runs for the last bus and "you will regret it in 20 years.")

Second, the Bike Snob makes fun of triathletes and I believe everything he says. 

Third, like I said, triathletes scare me.  They are so focused.  They don't drink beer on their bike rides.  Aero bars?  Someone told me that Ironmen just defecate on themselves during a race rather than stopping to visit the kybo!

Like so many of the things I do, I just got it in my head that this is something that I want to try, like the stair climb.  I think I was first intrigued by indoor triathlons way back in college when one of my coworkers at the W.R.A.C. told me about one. 

Also, I feel like a triathlon would make me a better cyclist.  Running would help with cardio conditioning and swimming can help build endurance, perhaps? 

2012 Resol-EWWW-tions

True to form, I am just getting around to the annual fitness-blogger resolutions for 2012.  But this year, I didn't want to make a bunch of resolutions.  While anyone who has read this blog knows how I feel about the importance of goal setting, resolutions, as such, haven't really been working out so much.  

Just as I believe in goal setting, I also believe in the power of experimentation.  

So, for 2012, I wanted something more grand, more all encompassing, more dynamic.  Instead of a bunch of resolutions, I've decided, that I will give the year a theme, a power word, a concept, and use that as a vehicle towards self-betterementifcation.  

And, my theme, ba-ba-ba-ba-bum....fearless.  (Fearlessness as grammatically needed.) 

It's corny, I know.  I hate writing it or saying it out loud.  But, inside my head, it is working this way.

DRAMATIC RE-ENACTMENT OF LAUREN'S 2012 MENTAL PROCESS

Old Scared Me: Ahh, voicemail!  It's probably something horrible and complicated and awkward.  I don't want to listen to it.  I am scared.  I don't want to call back.  I hate talking on the phone because I am scared. 

2012 Fearless Me: Don't be scared, Lauren.  Instead, be brave.  Don't put off listening to that voicemail.  Listen to it right now.  It probably won't be a big deal, and if it is, just deal with it.  You can do it.  You've always been successful when you have given it your all!  Be fearless!

Old Scared Me: Ugh, I am dieing.  I am no longer living inside Lauren....what a world, what a world...no longer will I enable her to procrastinate or not go after the life she wants or live every minute or ride down hill at an un-granny-like pace.  I won't be able to keep her from grabbing life by the cajones because I am don't exist.  Ahh!  The agony!  

2012 Fearless Me: [dramatic, conquering laughter] Ba-ha-ha-ha, Bah-ha-ha-ha!!!

le fin

So, that's what's going on in my brain right now.  And, it feels good.  Really good.  Powerful, potent, and effective.  

But, in all of this positive, post-resolution, fearless bliss, there is one hang up.  Fat and fatness.  

Since taking unpaid leave from my healthy habits in December and continuing without severance for the month of January, re-chunkification is setting in, and at an alarming pace.

Take a look at me last weekend.  I was visiting my parents in Arkansas.  Here's a picture of me and the Tiger in Eureka Springs. 

Non-plussed chunk.

See that?  Chunky monkey!  No me gusta.  (I didn't really lose any weight during Beav-X-90, but I did build up a bunch of muscle and moved my chunk to more aesthetically pleasing locations.  I think all that muscle is now lard).

And, what's worse, the scale is confirming my worst fears.  It's not Shark Week weight or post-holiday bloat: it is scale creep, and it is no bueno. (Worse still, my mom threatened to frame this picture and display it on her wall!  Maybe vanity is the best motivator?).  

What's a girl to do?  

Be fearless!  

Fearlessly tackle the grocery store and stuff our house with lean protein, vegetables, and fruit.  

Fearlessly hit the gym, Beav-X and Y, and not be afraid to push it hard, ask for help or be a little sleepy after a 5am workout (or drive in the slippery snow like I did this morning).  

Fearlessly train for my 2012 adventures.  My base-line triathlon is less than two weeks away!  Time to swim!

On a related side note, I have an idea for another experiment.  I am sick of counting calories, measuring food, and trying to fight my emotional eating habits.  At least for a few weeks, I am going to give myself permission to eat as much as I want as long as it is a vegetable (prepared in a non-fattening way), fresh fruit, or lean protein.  And, I am going to keep the sugars, fats, and starches to a minimum: they are not banned, just minimized.  

Turns out, I just like to put a lot of food in my mouth, so that food might as well be kale.  I will report back on the results.  

2012 Adventure Calendar

It's the time of year when all good fitness bloggers outline their goals for the upcoming year.  But before we get to the 2012 calender, let's review 2011.

In January of 2011 I set out to do the Janathon, 30 days of running (or exercise or walking).  I made it to about day 15.  Good, but not great.  I also attempted to do the "ride your bike every day in April" challenge: even bigger failure.  Turns out, I am just not that into "do one thing every day challenges."  So, let's skip those for 2012.

In February, I set my sights on the Red Flannel Run because I love the Riverfront YMCA.  Also, it was on my sister's 25th birthday.  We planned to do it together.  Well, Easy E decided to go out dancing the night before and somewhere between skidding across the dance floor on her knees and "Kevin Baconing" off the pool table several times she injured her knee.  Secretly, I was stoked.  I hadn't really been training and I could use the excuse that I "didn't want to make Emily walk alone on her birthday" excuse.  So, we walked, which was fun.

I never did run 5 miles.  I sort of forgot about running.

In March, I did do the Fight for Air Stair Climb.  I was worried because my training hadn't been great.  Easy E and I snuck into the 801 Grand building to practice and I was huffing and puffing all the way to the top.  (But, hey, I climbed to the top of 801 Grand, yo!).  I decided that I would set an even, easy pace for the real climb, and guess what?  It was easy.  I wasn't fast, but I wasn't really exerted either.

For June, I put down run the Dam-to-Dam.  Ha!  I went to Matt Couch's wedding in South Dakota instead.


In July, of course, there was the most important week of the year, the RAGBRAI.  Mysteriously, though I had put in more miles this year, I didn't feel as strong.  The Mayor pointed out that all the base-level fitness I had built up in 2010 must have stuck with me for RAGBRAI that year, while this year, I didn't have that kind of base.


August was supposed to be my victory climb of Half Dome.  Not only did I not climb Half Dome.  Nor was I victorious in my weight loss goals.  Instead, did the Urban Assault with my pal Lexi.  We ranked 13 again among ladies teams, but dropped our overall time.  Boom.

September saw my first ever 100 mile bike ride with the Great Annual Brewery 100, which was sort of a consolation prize for Half Dome.  Despite low levels of oxygen, computer related breakdowns, and the Mayor's constant mockery, I did it.  No beer in a 50 mile radius of Longmont, Colorado is safe.

In October, I rocked Beav-X-90 and conquered Potter's Hill.

And, I contend my achievements in the Calba Goubla Spin Race (despite not being able to read directions) was a notable achievement.

But what about the Great Mayoral Race?  Well, I don't know how the Mayor feels about this, but I feel like a draw is in order.  Unless our panel of esteemed judges is willing to step in and weigh the results, I feel like we were pretty much equal.  The Mayor rode really consistent mileage with his commutes.  I racked up a lot of cross-training hours, and we both lost a little bit of weight (and dignity).

I do want to thank the Mayor and his press secretary for inspiring me to work hard throughout the fall, except for November when I was busy and December when I sucked.  You guys rock. 


2012 Adventure Calendar 
 
January: Walnut Creek YMCA Icebreaker Triathlon--(January 29th) Well, this is coming up more quickly than I imagined, and after reading the blog, I am scared only "real" athletes do this one, but what the heck? 

February: Red Flannel Run--(February 11th) I downloaded an awesome app for my phone to help me train for this one, but then I got sidelined by visitors.  I want to run this one, so it's time to get jogging and working on my outfit.

March: Fight for Air Stair Climb--(March 4) I was sort of nonplussed about this one last year.  The best part was the free adjustment by the hunky chiropractic student.  But, DMACC has a team, the Tiger is a smoker, and the fear of huffing and puffing up all those flights of stairs might help motivate me.

April: TBA--What should I do in April?  Suggestions? 

May: Bryce Canyon Visit--My pal Ranger Dave transferred from the Grand Canyon to Bryce Canyon.  I'd like to visit him, do some hiking, and some backpacking between spring and summer classes.  Plans sort of depend on how the Mighty Mazda is holding up.  

June: Tour de Pepin--(June 2) Lexi's parents moved to Lake Pepin, Minnesota, which is a naturally lake on the Mississippi River.  A group of friends goes to visit for the annual Memorial Day yachting regatta (i.e. riding around on Jamie's sail boat and drinking cheap beer), but this year we wanted something different.  Most of my friends are doing the 35 mile trip, because they want to take the ferry across the lake, but I want to challenge myself to the 72 mile ride all the way around. 

Copper Creek Triathlon--(June 24) Why, why do I have my heart set on a triathlon?  Not sure, but for some reason I got it stuck in my head.  I think that both running and swimming will make me a strong cyclist: lung capacity and endurance, perhaps?  So, this is the one I picked, mostly because, I met a guy who did not look like a triathlete and he was doing it.  If that random stranger can do it, so can I! 

July: Brewery 100--(July 4th weekend) The Mayor wants to turn this into a bonefide event.  Interested in joining us for what might be the flattest, most drunken, and rattlesnake riddled ride in the west? 

RAGBRAI--(July 22-28) Need I say more?

August: Backpacking the Superior Hiking Trail--it's been way too long since I've been backpacking.  My gear is starting to miss me.  I've got to use it before the color-ways go out of fashion.  So, I've made Lexi promise that we can head up to North the Superior Hiking Trail in August before I head back to school.  With luck, we can bring Cousin Amiee, who is now living in Superior, and we can see our pal and beloved hermit, Larry.  I'd love to spend a good 4 nights on the trail.  Finland, here we come!

Urban Assault 2012 (August 12)--(just got cheap, early registration today!) is there a better way to spend a day-before-a-birthday than riding bikes around Des Moines and creating mayhem?  This year, I am going to work on Lexi's bike-handling skills so we can improve our time and get to the free beer more quickly. 

September: TBA--ideas?

October: TBA--suggestions?

November: Tweed Ride--this is not a real ride...but it's a pretty one.

December: TBA--Bueller?

There you have it: a year that is exciting, challenging, a fun. 

Want to join me in any of these adventures?  Have suggestions for my open months?   Leave them in the comment box.

Rice's Super Ultimate Extreme 100th Blog Post

Welcome to Rice's Super Ultimate Extreme 100th Blog Post! 

Yes, that's right.  I have written 100 blogs for Half the Rice.  I knew this blog was coming up and I wanted it to be good.  Then, I realized, it would coincide with the New Year, and I wanted it to be really good.  Then, I did what any one would do when she wants something to be good: I procrastinated. 

So, here I am, on the other side of 2012 and 100 blog posts richer.  Alas, I did not use that procrastination time to think of anything witty, insightful, or all that well-written to write in this Super Ultimate Extreme 100th Blog Post!  

I started this blog as a continuation of my Juice Fitness Challenge victory.  I began that challenge almost two years ago this month. 

When I started reflecting on my 100 blogs, I thought I would write a blog in which I balanced writing about my whoo-hoos! and my boos!  Then, I was like, "who wants to write about their boos?  This is my 100th blog post.  It should be like a party with Times New Roman font."


But before we get to the orgy of pride, I do have to dispense with one sad fact. I am still not half the rice.  I am like 90% the rice.  Sometimes I am 85% the rice.  Sometimes I am 95% the rice.  And, that can't help but feel like a disappointment, like I have let myself and my readers down in that I have not achieved this goal.  Boo.


But, despite that one teensy little set back, I have had a good run.  Here's a short list of whoo-hoos!


Whoo-hoo! Riding 100 miles in a day during the Brewery 100!

Whoo-hoo! Running my first 5k, then, busting some moves afterwards.

Whoo-hoo! Completing Beav-X-90: I no longer fear 5am and hello muscle mass.

Whoo-hoo!  Getting a dog and going for a walk (almost) every day!

Whoo-hoo! RAGBRAI 2010!

Whoo-hoo! Running my second 5k: Beaver-Dash and not walking once!

Whoo-hoo! Conquering my fears and Potter's Hill! 

Whoo-hoo! Not gaining back all the weight I lost in the Juice Fitness Challenge! 

Whoo-hoo! Learning how to change a bike tube (even if I am really slow).

Whoo-hoo! Going from scared of my clipless pedals and shoes to feeling a bit nervous without them.

Whoo-hoo! Re-igniting my friendship with Steven and the Mayor!  I owe so many of these accomplishments to them.

Whoo-hoo! Fun (and failure) with a variety of off-the-wall fitness challenges. 

Whoo-hoo!  Bike adventures with the Tiger.

Whoo-hoo! Doing the Fight for Air Stair Climb (and sneaking into 801 Grand to climb those stairs too).

Whoo-hoo! Learning to love yoga!

Whoo-hoo! Successfully indoctrinating my sister into the mystical krewe of the RAGBRAI in 2011. 

I promised myself I wouldn't get too reflective or verbose in this blog: it is supposed to be a party, but I do want to say, that when I look at that list, I realize that it is not the big picture that is important.  It is the small, everyday awesomeness that I am really proud of.  Yes, I want to still focus on long term goals, but living in a way I am proud of and excited about day-by-day is so important and so much more rewarding. 

So, dear readers, all five of you (yes, I got a new reader!  Thanks for reading Steve!), I want to say thank you.  Thanks for cheering me on and being there when I needed someone to talk to.  Though you are so very quiet and unobtrusive, out there in the blog-o-sphere, I know you guys are there to pick me up when I stumble and you inspire me with your victories (H-Bomb making cancer her bitch!  Steven and Mayor parental and responsibility rock-stars!).  I love you guys. 

So, here's to a 100 more.  A 100 more blogs, a 100 more adventures, a 100 more opportunities to be awesome.