FLASH-POINT BLOG ARCHIVE: May 2007

My classroom was 89 degrees today.

EIGHTY. NINE. DEGREES.

By 4th period, I could barely stand up. I have one fan, but it can only do so much. I got very dizzy and had to sit down a lot. The thing is, there are 2 days of school left. Many of my kids tested out of their final since we dangle a carrot in front of them to score high on the OGT in March. So I have NOTHING LEFT TO HOLD OVER THEM.

They're great kids, but they can only do so much.

When it's 89 degrees.

And there's 2 more days of school.

So I find myself not really having the energy to stop the random wrestling/poking/marker throwing that is starting to happen. Playing the pregnant card doesn't usually work with 15 and 16 year olds. They just wonder why I'm so cranky.

Oh boy. I don't know HOW I'm going to make it in that room the first month of school when I'm NINE months pregnant and it's that hot. I really don't. I'm starting to get worried.

Of course, the main offices are air conditioned. You gotta love it, huh? Not in the trenches, though.

So by 6th period, when I could barely talk, one of my students decided to try and fix it. He asked if he could run to the foods room because he had an idea. Dizzy and overwhelmed, with my head on my desk, I mumbled "mmmhmmm" and threw him my pass.

He came back with a lunch tray full of ice cubes.

"I think this will help!" he said as he took a few extra books and put the tray on top of it. Then, he put the fan in front of it.

You know what? It took the ice about 25 minutes to totally melt, but for 25 glorious minutes I had some cool air blowing out of that fan. He was really proud of himself.

Making the best out of a rotten situation rocks. And it rocks even more when it's a 15 year old who saw how miserable I was and decided to try and help me out a bit. It kinda reminded me of when I made the best out of a rotten situation at Ironman, only it was the reverse...I was SO. COLD. Lips blue, teeth chattering cold. And then I remembered how my Ironbud and Coach said to save time on the bike...and decided, in my half-delirious brain, "hey, that just might warm me up."

You know what? It did. It was FUNKNASTY but it was the only time on that entire 112 miles I felt warm.

When life hands you lemons or an 89 degree classroom, you can "consider me Miles Davis" and drink TOO MUCH LEMONADE to warm up or have an insightful, future engineer 15 year old use a lunch tray to help you cool down.

Bottom line? Sometimes you can't do it all on your own.

And it's good to lean on unconventional wisdom. Even if it's on a brown plastic lunch tray.

Impressed once again. I know it took me a while to give you the update on my last ride on the Flash-Points. It has actually been over a month since my ride. The older I get the faster time goes by. Not that I am old. My insurance will go down for the last time in about a month.

Now to the ride. Me and a few friends decided to go to southern Indiana to do some "hill riding". If you have ever been in Indiana you know we are really lacking in the hill department. But none the less we began or voyage. We planned on doing 50. We drove down and parked at Brown County State park. We geared up and off we went. Nowing that this was going to be a grueling ride I knew that I was going to have to pace my self.

We approach the first hill and Scott decides to sprint up the. So much for pacing myself. So Bill and I go after him. Struggling to breath I finally grab his wheel. We get over the first hill. Down the hill we go. I begin to pull on Scott and Bill with out even pedaling. We hit a long flat shortly after. I take my turn at the front. Try to settle the pace down just a little so I can catch my breath. Everyone seemed to settle down after the first hill. So much for warming up. All in all it was a great, painful ride.

I love these wheels, they are so incredibly smooth. Not only are they smooth they are also incredibly responsive. They accelerate very well and climb like a mountain goat. When you stomp on the pedals it feels like all of my power is going directly to the pavement. I am definetly going to purchase a set to train on. Simply an amazing wheel set for the price!

I live about 7 miles from downtown Los Angeles, which means I can’t simply walk out my front door and go for a leisurely bike ride. All of my rides involve either fighting a couple miles of cars and traffic lights so I can get to some open roads, or packing up my bike and driving to a path someplace. I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, where as a kid I could ride my bike almost 10 miles before hitting my first traffic light. Trying to ride a bike in Los Angeles certainly takes some getting used to.

The one saving grace is that I do live close to Griffith Park which is a decent place to do short rides and get some hill training in. There is still a fair amount of traffic, but at least you get some sense of leaving the city a bit. I drive home through Griffith Park every day on my way home from work, so it’s pretty convenient to stop and go for a short ride.

Unfortunately, if you’ve seen the News recently you may know that Griffith Park was hit with two major fires over the past couple of months. Many of the roads through the park are closed completely; they aren’t even allowing bicycle traffic. Not that it would be a very nice ride these days- the ground is so dry that when the wind picks up, the mountain turns into a dust storm (see photo). This puts a major downer on my evening rides. I can still go along the L.A. River trail, but it runs right along the 5 freeway and frankly it just isn’t that pleasant. So for now I’m stuck fighting the traffic lights near home.

Hopefully all the cute woodland creatures will be returning to Griffith soon, and with them all of us cyclists.

I call myself a bicycle racer. I ride for a team called Setanta in New York, a member of the Century Road Club Association, the oldest bicycle racing club in America. Occasionally, I compete in duathlons for "fun."

For me, the primary difference between mass-start bicycle races and duathlons has nothing to do with the actual events. It's the Monday-morning analysis. In a bike race, you can either hang with the leaders or you are pack fodder. Or, worse, spit out the back of the group. You don't need a $3,000 power meter to measure whether or not you are having a good day or a crappy day. But duathlons, at least the ones run by the excellent New York Triathlon, are electronically timed, leading to all sorts of problems.

In 2006, I competed in the Brooklyn Biathlon in Prospect Park. For someone who hates to run and refuses to train on my feet, I did OK. The event is run 2, bike 10, run 2, and I finished 25th overall and fourth out of 19 in my age group on standard, box-section aluminum wheels. A few weeks ago, I was excited to try the new Flash-Point FP60s at the 2007 event.

The fun began on the ride to the park, an 8-mile jaunt from Manhattan to Brooklyn over some sketchy roads. Again, I did not miss the carbon tubulars that my Flash-Point wheels replaced; no way would I ride tubies to a race, because if I flatted, I'm going home. So riding through Park Slope, I hit a pothole. BAM! I stop, get off the bike, spin the wheel… it is as true as ever.

Finally, I get to the race. Simply because I know the course better, my run improves. I know where I can take it easy and where to push the envelope. On the first 2-mile run, my time improves by 2:45. On the second 2-mile run, my time improves by 52 seconds. And I'm using the same Saucony kicks I used in 2006.

And on the 10-mile bike with the flashy new Flash-Points, my time improves by...exactly 7 seconds. What's worse, there are 11 more guys in my age group this year, so I finish 8th in my age group (31st overall).

So the Iron Kahuna drags his sorry ass to the local high school pool last night. It's one of those epic journeys after work, where every traffic light provides another opportunity to detour home. But the Kahuna stays on course. After all, he allegedly has an Alcatraz triathlon coming up at the end of June, although he hasn't hit the pool since before Wildflower. Just getting to the pool seems like a victory.

Amazingly, the Kahuna arrives a little early. So he pushes his seat back, flips on Howard Stern on his beloved Sirius satellite radio and relaxes a bit. After 20 minutes, he has a decision to make: get wet or go home. Against all odds, he gets out of the car and heads to the pool.

As he makes his approach, he discovers the pool is closed. Upon closer examination, the pool was more than closed. The pool was empty. As in no water. A sign taped to the gate said it all: Pool closed for renovations. Will open in the fall.

Eff me. Now the Kahuna is going to have to find a substitute pool. It's amazing how attached he'd gotten to the Corona del Mar High School pool. It's big (25 yards by 50 meters), salt water (instead of chlorinated), outdoors and clean. He couldn't go back to that bacterial pond at his health club (25 yards by 3 narrow lanes) with disease and infections lurking in every molecule of H20. It's just too freakin' gross.

That leaves the Newport Harbor pool, where a masters team works out from 5:15 to 7 each morning. Has the Kahuna mentioned that he's a night person?

What to do? Well, the Kahuna is going to sleep on it.

I'm one of those people who always over-packs; I'll pack 5 shirts for a weekend getaway, just in case it gets too cold, or too hot, or I spill chocolate on myself. I'm the same way with my bike rides: I of course will have a spare tube, but I also may pack a sandwich, my cel phone, a camera, some candy bars, even an extra shirt. I've been told on several occasions that all I'm doing is loading down my bike with unnecessary weight.

I went on a short ride after work, and for once I decided to travel light. I emptied out my seat bag. I was only going to be gone for about an hour, so I didn't need any food. It was my regular route; no need for the camera. At most I'd be 5 miles from home, so why bother bringing a cel phone. For once, I was a lean, mean, LIGHT biking machine.

I did a rough hill, so I was glad not to have all the excess weight. When I got back down to the bottom on the way home I stopped at a traffic light when I heard that terrifying sound:

Hisssssss.......

I was praying that it was the sound of a rattlesnake about to bit my ankle but no, i had a rear flat. OK, not a problem. I took my wheel off, grabbed the one item left in my bag, the spare tube, and started to take the tire off. I looked for my tire levers. The ones I took out of my bag before the ride. The ones I forgot to put back in.

I tried looking for a stick or some primitive tool to help me remove the wheel but couldn't find anything. I tried using my bare hands, but I'm neither skilled nor strong enough to do it. I was not too far from home and figured I'd just call a friend to pick me up. Oh wait, I left my cel phone at home. I finally resorted to walking home.

Bike distances are a funny thing. You may think you are close to home because it only took you a few minutes to ride your bike there. But when you have to walk over 2 miles home in your socks (didn't want to ruin the bike shoes), it is a long, long way. It's also a little embarrassing. But if I'm stupid enough to go out for a ride by myself without my tools nor a cel phone, I suppose I deserve to do the Walk Of Shame.

Lesson learned.

The grand-father of flute playing gave me some advice about consistency in practicing that went something like this...

"Skip one day, and you'll know. Skip two days and your spouse will know. Skip three days and everyone will know."

I have to say, I think it's true. Continuing to do the daily exercises, never skipping your long tones, and working on etudes every day...these are the things that make you infallible as a musician. If you have consistency in your practicing, rest assured you'll be consistent in your performing.

And so yesterday when I was out on a 35 mile bike ride, I once again thought about how similar practicing and training are. Long tones are equivalent to stretching, etudes on the flute are your basic runs, and performing is racing.

I was riding and I thought about how I'm just not comfortable on a bike, and how I just always feel like I'm teetering off the edge of something...both balance-wise and muscularly. And I realized that just as I'm out of shape on the flute right now (I started practicing again 2 days ago after a hiatus extending to pre-Wildflower exam times), I'm quite obviously out of shape on the bike.

As Mr. Baker said, I need to be prove I can be consistent and diligent with the flute. I know I can do that; I now have to prove to myself that I can transfer those qualities to the bike. I have it in me. I need to stop with the excuses about not liking to pump up my tires and being scared of cars, and I need to get out there.

So, I'm going home for the month of June...and I'm bringing my bike. I don't have a teacher to whom I need to prove myself, so I have to do it for me. I have to prove to myself that I have what it takes to not only get on the bike, but to stay on it.

Consistency. Continuity. These are the enduring qualities, whether it be in terms of triathlon, music, or simply life.

This will circle back to triathlon, the Iron Kahuna promises. Just stay with him for a sec.

As you probably know, the Iron Kahuna -- the manliest of the male species -- somehow got sucked into being a fan of "American Idol" this year. Now, he hasn't gone so far as to buy the "Where Are the Idols Now?" book published by People magazine, as his training partner and total metrosexual Robo-Stu did (he actually tried to hide the tome when the Kahuna came for a visit). But he did TiVo and watch each episode, fast-forwarding through the boring parts (including the first 55 minutes of each "results" show). And if the Kahuna had any hair, he'd be getting blonde tips to match his BFF Ryan Seacrest.

This season, there was clearly one superstar among the contestants, Melinda Doolittle. She had, by far, the best voice; she mastered a variety of styles; and she had a totally cute personality. The Kahuna also thought she was darling, though she did bear an odd resemblance to Shrek. Melinda was beaten by Jordin, a female singer with about half the talent, and Blake, a way-too-trendy, flash-in-the-pan, one-note goof who will soon be an opening novelty act at county fairs.

So here's where we make the turn back to triathlon. Melinda performed her best. She couldn't control anything else (dumb voters). She went for it and ended up third. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she would have won. How can anyone have regrets when they, as the cliche goes, left it all on the course?

First ride on the new wheels the other day. Cruising along 22nd St, near the famous Flatiron Building, America’s first skyscraper, and, “What the…?!” After 10 minutes my rear wheel has a hop in it. “Lemon!,” I’m screaming so Zipp can hear me all the way in Indiana. But it’s a beautiful day and there’s no way I’m stopping now. Thirty miles later I finally stop at the bike shop in Piermont, NY. I spin the rear wheel and there it is: a bulge in the tire. I was so eager to ride these wheels, that I inadvertently mounted by indoor trainer tire on the back, the one I had grinded away all winter in my basement.

Well, despite the hop, the ride isrelatively smooth. The carbon does seem to soak up the vibration. I usually train on shallow aluminum rims at 105 psi. At the same psi, the Flash-Points seemed to deaden the buzz. I’m probably biased by conventional wisdom, but carbon fiber frames are supposed to feel “wooden” on the road, right? I have not ridden a carbon bike since 2001, so I’m no expert. Well, these Flash-Points feel a little wooden in a good way, like when you foul a pitch off the handle of a wooden baseball bat versus fouling one off the the handle of an aluminum bat. These wheels do what they can to ease the almost constant bump and grind of rough NYC pavement, or what our city euphemistically calls. street defects.

Carbon fiber is, according to conventional wisdom, also delicate. So am I nuts to be spinning these on training rides in Gotham? Well, here’s one story: On Riverside Drive in Washington Heights, I get pinched between my riding buddy and the curb, so I have to bunny-hop a street grate at 15mph. I’m flying over the grate, then BAM! My rear wheel hits the metal. I’m ready to pull over and call a cab. But somehow, I just keep riding. The wheel has not exploded! At the bike shop, I spin the rear wheel and it is as true as ever.

To my surprise, crosswinds seem hardly a problem, even with the 59mm rims. I sense headwinds and sidewinds from the front-left all the way up 9W, and while I don’t enjoy the headwinds, they seem to have no effect on bike handling.

Compared to my other two wheelsets--1430-gram hand-built with aluminum rims and 1550-gram factory-made around aluminum rims--the FP60s are certainly as smooth or smoother. The maximum weight differential is .77 pounds. Once up to speed, the Flash-Points seem to hold their speed. Surprisingly, on the hills, the extra weight does not seem to bother me once I get a good rhythm going. Where they do seem to drag is on quick accelerations, like at the bottom of a roller or coming out of a 90-degree turn.

In the past, every time I've gone into a bike store, everyone has been more than friendly and willing to help. A little shop in Maine once put together a bike a bought on Ebay for free (the bike didn't fit at all, but that's another story of newbie stupidity). Sure, they might take four hours to install a roof rack, but then they'll throw in a gratis pair of Look Pedals to make up for it.

And so why does my bike store here have such a crappy vibe? They wanted to charge me $10 to screw in my derailleur (I didn't know what was wrong at the time). I looked at the guy-pretending-to-be-cool-biker-guy like he was crazy, and then asked if it was something I could do myself. He got a semi-shocked look on his face, and then mumbled 'Sure, if you have an Allen wrench, you can just tighten it here.'

Okay, I know I'm a girl and everything, but I brought in a $1500 bike...and he thought I might not have an Allen wrench??! I might have trouble with some more complicated adjustments, but turning a screw I can handle.

I know, I know... You're thinking 'Maybe this was an isolated event, don't be so quick to judge'. But no, just last week my aunt and I went in there to return the bike box I rented, and my aunt ended up buying some really expensive Oakley sunglasses...and the guy wanted to sell the box to the glasses separately. Sheesh.

Life is not about money, and I know these shops have to keep their doors open, which probably isn't always the easiest thing in the world. But here's the thing: I am perfectly willing to spend plenty of money there, but preferably on the things that are worth the money. I'm more than happy to pay a little bit more to support the LBS instead of just point-and-clicking on the internet. In our retail world of chains and corporations, bike stores are one of the few standouts that are, for the most part, still privately owned...and I'm all for keeping it that way. If the store had a better feeling, I would want to be there, I would like to go in and just say hi and end up buying something. Instead, I feel like they're just trying to get my $10, and I end up running for the door. Business 101: Make your customer like you. Be cool.

And so I'm on the look-out for another bike shop nearby. The one I've been going to is only a 10 minute drive away, so that's why I've been willing to put up with it for the year...but after the Incident of the Derailleur, I think I'm going to have to be a little more adventurous and perhaps venture to Princeton.

Good vibes, people...it's all about the good vibes.

I'm going through a bit of cycling withdrawal.

I'm not really able to ride much--or at all--outside this summer, and I'm pretty bummed about it.

So, I'm trying to pass along some good tri-karma to my other triathletes out there. I sent my wetsuit to my buddy Jaclyn for her first season of triathlons in Chicago. And, I passed along my FP60s to my tri-brother Eric, who will be reporting on them all season.

I may have to pry them out of his hands at the end of the year, since they kick so much butt....you hear that, Eric? hee hee

So I thought I'd list the things I miss the most about riding right now, and maybe, just maybe, it would make someone out there a little excited to do a ride. Perhaps a ride they are dreading, or one that they are just bored of. I know I've been there!

So what do I miss?

I miss that when it's 86 degrees outside and rainforestly humid, you can go for a 2 hour ride and feel the wind whipping against your skin and through your helmet. And it's NOTHING like trying to do a 2 hour run in oppressive, 86 degree heat with high humidity. Somehow, the ride always makes it feel cooler.

I miss talking to myself when I'm climbing up some ridiculous hill. Sometimes I'm beating myself up and cursing. Sometimes I'm encouraging and cheering. Occasionally, I'm doubting. But I'm always talking...and pushing farther than I otherwise would on a nice flat stretch.

I miss those conversations.

I miss the sound of clipping in. You still have the sound on your trainer, but in the basement it's a hollow sound. Outside, it doesn't echo...it just keeps going and reminds you that the potential for that moment is endless.

I miss saying, "On your left" as I pass someone.

I miss the 5 hour-plus ride. The ride where you have to really dig deep...where you have to prepare and think ahead, and where you never quite know what will happen or where the road will take you. Where you won't know who you might see along the way, whether it's another Ironman training partner coming from the other side of town, a 3 foot tall wild turkey, or your former AP English teacher from your senior year. (And yes...I ran into all of them last summer.) There's just something about every long ride that makes it an adventure.

I miss wondering if I've hit 90 miles yet only to check and see that I'm at 106.

I miss hearing the SWISSSSSSSHHHHHHH through my helmet as I fly downhill and my computer reads, "44 MPH."

I miss coming into T2 and feeling the excitement and wonder of the run to come.

I miss how many miles you can cover on a bike ride. Walking, and even running, just don't work that way.

I miss laying in the grass, after a long, long ride, covered in sweat and gatorade and marked by grease on my left leg from my chain, when I finally take my helmet off and lay back and exhale.

So it's these moments I'll remember through my hiatus this summer. And, when I dread a ride next year as I prepare for a half-Ironman or another race, I'm going to pull this post out and remember it.

All of it.

Cyclists have the world at their feet.

Enjoy the ride.

So the Iron Kahuna is out of the water at Wildflower in good shape, finishing the swim in the top 10% of all competitors. And he is hardly breathing hard.

Then he hops on the bike and waits for the inevitable: a constant stream of cyclists passing him by. They came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and genders. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

This is getting ridiculous. In Ironman Florida, the Kahuna was passed by more than 1,000 riders. He doesn't have the stomach to get the stats from Wildflower. It's enough to know it's a lot.

It occurs to the Kahuna that it's time to get serious about the bike. In sprints and on flats, he does okay. But longer distances, hills and headwinds kill the Kahuna. It's difficult to admit, but perhaps he lacks, ah, power.

If the Kahuna can just finish in the middle of the pack for his bike leg, his tri times would be lowered significantly. If anyone has training suggestions, please let the Kahuna know.

I defy anyone to find a crazier race then the Wildflower Triathlon in California's central valley. My arms still bear my race number where the sharpie blocked the suns rays infinitely better then my spf 30 sunscreen. The day of the long course was hot and windy, which slowed the pros down by about 10 minutes compared to the course record. Bjorn Andersson held off Chris Leigh in the final 100 meters breaking the tape with 28 seconds to spare. In the post race interview Leigh relayed the cat and mouse run that had taken place over the grueling hills-where's NBC when you need them most? Of course, you had to be an intrepid age grouper, slowing on those inclines to actually see the naked coed water stop. Becky Lavelle rocketed through the bike course to take the top prize for the women, one more jewel in her crowded racing crown. The wind made for a precarious ride for those who rode their disks, but the road, and some remaining brake pad, was owned by cyclists with aero wheels. The FP's performed beautifully, and were particularly welcome on some of the rougher roadways. 28 miles of climb. 28 miles of descent. Wonderful volunteers, a rockin race atmosphere- 28 racing buddies in various RV's and tents, a gorgeous state park-can't think of a better place to commence the race season than Wildflower.

They say strength builds on itself over the years. So, even if you haven't done much this season, you're still starting at a higher place than you did last year.

And you know what? I think they're right.

I know I should talk about Wildflower in correct tri-order, but I just have to start with this: On the bike, I had a blast. The hills weren't so bad. I had fun climbing them. (Did I just write that??)

And with that little prelude, back to the beginning.

I almost forgot to pump up my tires. I was done with my transition area an hour and a half before my wave. Can someone say that's a little excessive? It is. Very excessive. So, Stronger and I hung out for a while until we started freaking each other out by watching the waves start...that's the part of triathlons I hate most--the before-I-start time. It's so hard to wait around and watch other people go. The self doubt starts to creep in and nausea ensues.

So, I just walked around, deep breathing and trying to not look for people I did-and-didn't want to see. I had 20 minutes left before my start when someone pumping their tires came into my peripheral vision. And then, OH MY FREAKING GOD I DIDN'T PUMP MY TIRES UP. So, I ran back to transition (nothing like a little pre-race warm up to get you started) and searched for a bike pump. And here's where the shame comes in. I committed a Transition Area Foul. I found someone's pump and used it without asking. I didn't have a choice; I couldn't find anyone who had a pump. And what do you think the chances are of that same person running into transition after the swim just as I was putting the pump back? 100. Yep, it happened. She was too intent on what she was doing to really notice me (a serious collegiate triathlete, I take it), but I still had to jump out of the way with my heart skyrocketing and guilt overtaking.

And so I made my way to the start, wetsuit, goggles, and cap in hand. I ran into all the tri-bloggers and they helped me get my wetsuit zipped up and pushed me on my way. Before I knew it, I was in the water...

...where I was pummeled. Repeatedly. I can't even begin to count how many times I was kicked in the face. I had to fix my goggles at least 5 times while treading water. I couldn't see anything to site off of because the sun was in my eyes. It was a crappy swim, and my time showed it. It was my slowest Olympic swim to date, and yes I haven't been swimming all that much, but I really think it had more to do with being knocked around in the water. Next time I want to try starting further up. I don't want to be crawled over, but I'm beginning to learn that starting mid-pack is just asking to be smacked--you are starting in the midst of things, after all.

And so I ran into transition after again being cheered on by the tri-bloggers. Can I just say they were everywhere on that course? They rocked the spectator scene.

Here's a moment of self promotion: If I do say so myself, I'm good at transitions. I'm fast and direct and I'm pretty sure I'm top ten in my age group. And then off to the bike it is...where I am most definitely not top ten.

But this time I had fun. I felt strong. I was slow, slower than I've been on any Olympic tri to date, but it was also by far the hardest course I've attempted, so the slowness is understandable. I passed people on the hills, which surprised me. I'm not good at climbing, hills are my nemesis, and so me passing people? It was shocking. I actually got to say 'on your left' a few times instead of just hearing it as people whiz by me at the speed of light. This is not to say I'm a good biker. It's still by far my weakest discipline, but for the first time, I felt like those biker muscles might actually be developing...and the season really hasn't even started yet. It's a good feeling.

The bike course felt short. Yeah, I was out there for a good long time, but all in all, the 24.8 miles of hills didn't bother me. It was fun.

But the run? Not as fun. That run course is just plain hard. Hills, long hills, short steep hills, the whole damn course is one big hill until mile 5 when you at last rocket back to the finish line, descending the entire height you had just climbed. But, I really did run most of it. I gave in to walking the hills once or twice (I bargained with myself: 'if you make it to the water stop you can walk up the hill'), but all in all, I ran. I managed 9:03 miles, which I was perfectly happy with considering the course and the hills I had just conquered on the bike.

I hate to admit this, but I think the run might have been a little short. If not, I managed to run the entire last 1.2m in 7:30. Somehow I'm thinking that's probably not right. It is a fast mile, but I've never run that fast in my life...I doubt it would happen at the end of a triathlon. Regardless though, I'm given credit for 9:03 miles, so I'll take it.

And so I sprinted into the finish shoot passing one last person from my age group about 200 yards out, and once again getting cheered on by tri-bloggers and Cleveland friends. I actually had people at the finish line waiting for me, which seldom happens since I'm almost always far from home. It was a great way to end the race and the weekend.

I love Olympic distance triathlons. I had a blast; I didn't have to worry about the distance (at least not too much, of course there is always some self-doubt involved); I wasn't at all sore the next day; I was instead pumped up for the season ahead.

And what lies ahead? I hope to do a couple more smallish Olympics and Sprints, and then I'm heading for TimberMan in September, with the big season finale being the Texas 101 race in November, assuming good reports from the preceding 101 series races. If 101 falls through, I want to again do the Philadelphia Marathon, this time actually training for it. The race is on my birthday this year, and I've always wanted to do a race on my birthday. It would be hard to do both 101 and Philli because they're on two consecutive weekends. It's possible, I know, but it might also be setting myself up for disaster...and I try not to set myself up for that too often if I can help it.

Most importantly though, this is going to be a good tri-year, I can just feel it in the air. Vermont mountains, here I come...

This weekend I did the Wildflower Triathlon. It is called the "Woodstock of Triathlons", with a 3-day festival at Lake San Antonion north of San Lois Obispo, California. Athletes don't sleep in a nice hotel; it's all tents and RVs at a campground. Wildflower is considered one of the hardest half-Ironman distances in the world (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run) because of the many hills along the course. On Saturday, it was windy which made it all the more difficult.

The big scary hill is called "Nasty Grade" which begins around mile 40, but I wasn't prepared for how quickly the hills came at us way before that. Less than a mile into the ride we were hit with our first climb and my chain popped off right at the bottom. It;'s not a good feeling to be blocking bike traffic on a steep climb while you try to get off of the road, and then try to get back into the bike flow and realizing your bike is still in a higher gear.

The rolling hills were managable, but the wind was rough. On the downhills, it was even dangerous. We were on back country roads which weren't very smooth to begin with. Every now and then a gust of wind would hit the you and start you wobbling.

Then it was time for Nasty Grade. It's a 4-mile slow climb up, and up, and up. I was both intimidated and inspired by the fact that I only saw one person walking his bike up the hill. It became as much a mental battle as it was a physical one. I found myself simply counting telephone poles: I would tell myself "I just need to make it to that next pole, then I'll rest." When I got to pole, I would say "OK, I'll take a rest at the NEXT pole." I climbed most of the hill 50-yards at a time, but I made it.

I was obviously relieved to cross the summit, but was surprised how difficult the next 2 smaller hills were. They were maybe only a third as long and high, but Nasty Grade took so much energy out of me that those next hills felt almost as bad.

I've run several marathons and half-marathons, so I thought that the run would be my strongest segment. But the run was also very hilly and after a rough 56 miles on the bike I didn't have the energy for a good run. I walked the course much farther than I care to admit. At the end of the day however, I finished the course and I wear the exact same finisher's medal as the people who came in 3 hours ahead of me.

The lesson of Wildflower: Triathlon is all about The Bike. It doesn't matter how good a runner you are if you don't have the strength left over from the Bike to use. I'll have to up my bike workouts a bit, but for now I'm taking a week off and pigging out on junk food.

When I pulled my Flash-Point FP60s out of the box, the first thing that caught me was the shape of the rims. It’s that patented hybrid-toroidial shape. I’ve ridden deep-section, “v-shaped” rims before, but nothing like this. The hubs spun smoothly and the wheels were true.

Eager to get on the road, I mounted an old Michelin Pro Race on the front and an even older Conti GP 3000 on the back. This was my first time using valve extenders, so in the middle of my project, I had to run to the hardware store for a $1.50 roll of Teflon tape to wrap the valves. (Zipp might want to think about including a roll with every wheelset.) I asked my local wrench to check the extenders. He pulled out a pair of pliers and twisted them tight. I just stared at him and said, “Now, if I flat, how do I get that off? I’m happy to carry a 3mm hex wrench when I ride, but I’m not going to carry pliers, too.” I made him loosen the extenders and then hand-torque them so I could remove them with my tiny hex wrench.

See, I’ve been riding carbon tubulars for the past three months, so I’m flat-phobic. They were the best-riding wheels I’ve ever ridden: 1170 grams with 38mm rims. They rode like butter and I never felt crosswind problems. But I got four flats in three months and sold them. I never had the time to glue on tires, nor did I trust myself to do it. And if I flatted on a Friday afternoon, good luck getting it repaired in time for Saturday morning’s race. Three new tires (at $60 each) later and they were out the door.

So I got the Flash-Point FP60 *clinchers* (which I paid for, by the way; they are not freebies from Zipp) mounted, installed my Campy cassette and loaded them on the bike. Time for the first ride. More on that in another post.

As of right now, we only ride out of the office on Wednesdays & Thursdays. We also try to catch up on the weekends for at least one ride of a bit greater distance (see last blog for pain and agony report). I unfortunately, either lack the time or fortitude to go and ride solo after work on the other days, or I just get caught up doing a dozen other things that take "precedence" to riding for what ever reason. So, what genius idea do I come up with to get some exercise, go running with my dog.

This doesn't sound like such a bad idea, except the fact that my dog is a 7 month old chocolate lab named Dagny. My little girl is, well, special. Not like in your normal, puppy way, but in the crazy, A.D.D. sort of way. (not unlike her father, so we are two pees in a pod to say the least).

What my new found fondness for running has given me, besides good old fashion quality time with my dog is sore legs! Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere close to peak physical condition right now, but good God, i'm sore from this whole thing. We've been at this for a few weeks now, slowly building the base and mileage. We aren't running for more than 3 or 4 miles at a time, as she gets tired around mile marker 3.25 and decides to sit down (you dog owners know the defiant little dig heels into the ground, dead weight sort of sit). At that point we stop for a short minute, have a drink of water and then gingerly mosey home.

We get back home and I try and get a stretch in while she gulps down a gallon of water. The only thing is that while I'm just shattered after the run, she's back and ready to rock and roll in an hour...

I'm ready for Wednesday to come so I can get back on the bike..... :)