Mud, Sweat and Fruity Drinks

As usual, when I don't blog for awhile, it's usually because I'm out having tons of fun so I have something to write about later. It actually feels like I've not written in months, when really it's only been one. Granted, I think I've only spent a few nights in my own bed in those weeks, so I'm not surprised it feels longer.

After my realization that my body was begging for a break, and knowing I had an ultra marathon planned for the following weekend, I was looking forward to some R & R on Memorial weekend. I mean, really, what's more relaxing than some time in the woods away from the pressures of home?

Luxury Camping

Note that I didn't say "away from the comforts of home." If you look closely just left of center, you can see our tent, which I called, "The Taj Majal." I don't know that I've ever slept in a 6 person tent before, and if I have, it most likely wasn't just with one person. It certainly wasn't on a cot with a real pillow. Yes, that's right, I went camping and I didn't even sleep on the ground. (Although I did end up on the ground one night when I flipped the cot on end.) In fact, I'm pretty sure I've lived in at least one house (fine, it was a shack) that was less luxurious than the Taj Majal there. Thankfully for me, Big E likes to camp in style. Although I'm pretty sure all this pampering in camp was to butter me up for the 4 wheeling the next day.

 

Just before this picture was taken, I was on the back of one of those 4 wheelers, stuck in the mud. Thankfully, after leaving me there with the thing slowly sinking deeper into the mud (which smelled like poop, by the way) Big E walked back out into the mud, let me climb onto his back and carried me to dry land. We don't call him Superman for nothing! Of course, after we towed one 4 wheeler out, the boys proceeded to try to drive another one through the same mud pit. Which meant we then had to pull another one out. Not that there was much "we" involved in this process, since I hung out on dry land. In fact, the extent of my actual driving of any vehicle all weekend was a 100 yard drive on one to fill water jugs. Even then I forgot to put the thing in park, which probably explains why I didn't drive any more than that.

So, after a weekend of mud, s'mores and luxury camping, I prepared myself for an ultramarathon.  I don't really have much to write about the race, except to say, I'd much rather have been 4 wheeling again. By mile 26 I was walking. By mile 31.5 I was done for good, having decided there was no way in hell I was walking another 31.5 back to the finish, even though I could make the cut-off. It was, quite frankly, a pretty easy decision. In all honesty, this time, when my body quit, my spirit quit too. I simply didn't really want to run, or walk, or even stand up anymore for that matter.  Instead,  I went back to the hotel and ate dill pickle potato chips.

Two days later, I was on a plane to FL to see Pop, Mama Liz and Amanda the dog-queen. Amanda has decided she's a person now. We decided this was official when she proceeded to try to do sit ups with me. 

I'm not sure if I got a better ab workout from the sit ups or laughing at the dog. I guess it really doesn't matter..... 

After a week of drinking margaritas and daquiris and eating everything in sight, I think my body was starting to recover. Pop, however, is now convinced I have a tapeworm. I think it was ice cream twice in one day that finally convinced him....

Allergic to Myself?

This is Sam, ready to race for 155 miles at Almanzo on Saturday. She had her new Barking Bear Bagworks framebag. She had brand new tires (because I was so busy riding that I didn't notice I'd worn her tires bald until the Sunday before). She was tuned up and ready to go.

Unfortunately Sam cannot ride on her own.

I'm not big on excuses. If I choose to race, it's my responsibility to get to the start line healthy and prepared. I usually do well with the prepared part.  I don't always do well with the healthy part. I need to work on that. The fact of the matter is, I don't always see the big picture all that well.  I have so many things I want to do and I actually have the TIME to do them most days. That's a luxury most people don't have. I'm aware of this so I just keep taking advantage of that time to do more and more.

Unfortunately having the time to do everything doesn't always work out as well as I think it will because my body can't always keep up with my ambition. In short, I think my body is allergic to my spirit. Or something like that.

Now, if only Benadryl could fix that problem, I'd be able to fit all the fun stuff in.  Until then, I'll just have to learn to rest more so I can come back and actually start this race next year!

Mother's Day

If I were to add up the hours of my mom's life that I got to spend with her, I'd most likely discover the majority of them were spent walking. Maybe these are just the hours I remember the most because I had her all to myself then.

I'm not sure when these walks began. Most likely I joined her when I was still in her belly. I'm sure she pushed me in a stroller through many miles I don't even remember. When I was older and started running, we would often walk awhile together before I'd venture off on my own, seeing if I could get my run in and still catch her for the end of her walk. When I went off to college, we'd often be off on a walk within hours of my arrival home for visits.

I never thought much about it then, but I think we both saved up certain secrets for those walks. All those things we stored in ourselves that we thought no one else would understand- we shared them then. Sometimes I'd convince her to walk just a little more, and then just a little more, because I wanted more time. Although it was always unspoken, it was as if we each agreed that these times were free of judgment. That's not to say we didn't give each other our opinions. In fact, looking back, I realize that she had mastered the art of giving her opinion without judgment. I can only hope some of this wore off on me.

On our last walk together, she shared some of her fears. Death was not included. I'm not sure if this was because she wasn't afraid of it or because she had no way of knowing it would happen so soon. Mostly likely, it was a little of both.

A few weeks later, she was gone.

I hadn't realized until she was gone how much of my life I spend filtering what I say to avoid judgment. I took for granted the luxury of having time and space to say whatever I wanted, however I wanted to say it, even if it was just for an hour. Without it, I often feel trapped in my head, as if my voice got stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

It's no coincidence then, that I've spent so much time running and riding by myself since she died. Although these times are silent, they are still my escape from the filter. They're my time to dream freely even if now I don't get to speak these dreams out loud. I'm pretty sure Mom hears them anyway. She was always one to walk along my road with me, even when I chose the bumpy, uphill route.....

Finally some pig....

This weekend's adventure: The Sandwich 50. Forty-seven-ish miles of singletrack.

Why, you ask, would I subject myself to this when the most I've ever raced on singletrack was the few miles of singletrack in Iceman?

The answer: Bacon

I heard there were bacon hand-ups every lap. This proves what many of you knew about me, which is that I will do pretty much anything for bacon. Big E says he's never eaten as much bacon as he has since he met me. I'm not sure why this surprises him since 1) I was wearing my PJ's when he arrived for our first date and the top said, "Bacon is meat candy." and 2) I gave him bacon for Valentine's Day....and then ate most of it.

Now back to these bacon hand ups. According to the legend, about halfway through each lap, you have to ride across some tree and a skinny board and they give you bacon if you do it.

Now anyone who has ridden with me knows that, although I'd do just about anything for bacon, I'm not real fond of riding across anything "skinny." In case you were wondering why, let me share this picture with you:

Now, I'm not sure what exactly is happening in this picture, but I'm pretty sure these two were trying to earn some bacon and it didn't go so well. (I hope they gave them bacon anyway.)

So, chicken that I am, I figured I needed to try some other tactic to get myself some bacon. Turns out, you can just smile real pretty and they'll give you some too.

All those crazy boys think they had to do tricks for bacon when all they really had to do was this....and I didn't even have to take mine from a stick. That's right- hot off the grill right into my hand. (Of course, after watching me descend the hill before the bacon with only one foot clipped in to avoid crashing, I'm pretty sure they were just hoping they could get me a piece of bacon and get me out of there before I ran them over with my bike.)

Unfortunately, they ran out of bacon after lap four, but I did all seven laps anyway. I did not, however, stay as clean as the above picture. With about 30 minutes left in my last lap, I heard thunder. Not just any thunder, but that kind of thunder that says, "Hurry your ass up and finish what you're doing because in a few minutes the sky's gonna open." So I hurried my ass up and ten minutes later I was riding in the rain anyway. It was tempting at one point to just cut down the road we crossed and head for the car, but I figured since they gave me all that bacon just for smiling I'd better at least finish. Plus, I was the shortest person left out there and lightning strikes the highest point, right?


So my first singletrack race is in the books and I finally got my pig. I kinda felt like one in all that mud too.....

Cow Tipping

Let me guess. You just had to read this post to see if I was blonde enough to actually try to tip a cow.

Thankfully, the answer is no.

However, the answer is no mostly because I'm afraid of getting too close to any animal larger than myself so it's not so much that I'm too smart to try to tip a cow, I'm just too scared to try to tip a cow.

Which leads us to the question of why I'm writing about cow tipping anyway.

Oddly, all this cow business had to do with another gravel race. This time, I ventured on my own to a race in Wisconsin. I kind of wondered when it said we were starting at "Noah's Place" if that was some sort of seedy bar or if it actually really was some guy's house. Turns out, the start was, in fact, at Noah's house.  Noah also lived in the country so his neighbors had lots of cows.

Yes, I was disappointed that they weren't pigs. Although maybe they had pigs too, but I figured it wasn't the best idea in the world to just wander onto someone's property in search of a pig. Or to tip a cow for that matter. 

Anyway, when I told Big E about the day later, I was excited about the cows at the start. I mean, come on, how often are there cows that close to the start of a race? Somehow, this lead into a conversation about cow tipping, during which I informed him that I know you can't tip a cow because my mom told me so. Not that I couldn't figure out on my own that you can't tip an animal with four legs, but it always helps to be able to throw the, "my mom told me so," card on the table when someone's trying to pull my leg. Of course, I'm pretty sure my mother knew this because she might have tried once......on the same night that she was talked into going snipe hunting. But that's a whole other story....

So, my race recap goes like this: 58 miles of gravel, ATV roads and trails.  I didn't hit any cows. I still didn't see any pigs. I didn't get chased by any dogs. I did, however, hallucinate a bear at mile 52. Turned out it was just a tipped over tree.  And no, no one tipped any cows. At least not while I was around....

Only so much....

I let Big E talk me into (if asking once can be called "talking me into") another gravel race/ride this weekend. No dogs this time.

Still no pigs either....

Actually, the most exciting part of the day was hearing Joe Meiser's presentation after the race. Even better, he let us see everything he needed to race the Continental Divide.

 

Yes, all that stuff on the floor fit on his bike. Then he rode nearly 3,000 miles that way. (Don't worry Pop, I'm not going to do this. Yet.)

Although I'm not ready to sign up to race the Continental Divide just yet, he did inspire me to plan some new adventures, especially when he said this:

There's only so much lifetime...and a whole lot of planet.

So I started planning, and then spent a lot of time on the bike and in running shoes this week. A few highlights:

One of my favorite trails

 

 

 

 

 

Something to aspire to....

 

 

 

 

 

Something to refuel with....

Now, I have to go. There's only so much lifetime......and I have a lot of rhubarb to eat! 

(Thanks Big E for growing, harvesting and chopping up all that rhubarb. First I eat your sandwich and now I let you do all the hard work and then swoop in and eat all your rhubarb!)

Fun Times on the Rag

I've never been big on race reports, but the Ragnarok 105 was more like an adventure so, as is the case with most adventures, there are some stories to tell.

How could a girl ride 107 miles on gravel and not have at least one story to tell?

Another thing I've never been big on are pre-race debriefings. They usually scare me more than they help. This one was no exception. All I remember is something like, "The first downhill is pretty nasty and there are some dogs and chickens at the bottom so be careful."

What, no pigs?!

Thankfully, I made it down that hill and all I encountered were lots of other peoples' water bottles. I did, however, get chased by a dog at mile 90.  I'm happy to report that at mile 90 I can still out-pedal chasing dogs. Although I'm pretty sure he was old and arthritic....

Mostly I was just disappointed that he wasn't a pig.

Anyway, I arrived at the first check point (mile 36) near the back of the pack. (What can I say- I like to pace myself.) I headed out on Q Pete's wheel. I promised him that if he pulled me into the wind, I'd pull him later when the wind was at our backs.  Of course, then I ditched him the second things headed uphill and I didn't need him anymore.  Sorry Pete, but I'm too short to create a good draft anyway....

Maybe all the bacon I plan to ingest at the Sandwich 50 will help me grow taller.

I came into checkpoint two (mile 81) with plans to empty my bladder, but our trusty re-supply man Bill told me I was in third and might be able to catch Big E. That's all I needed to hear to toss him my Camelbak, grab a sandwich and make a quick exit.

The sopresata on that sandwich tasted really good. 

Thankfully for me, my reactions to gluten are delayed until the next day because it turns out I hadn't grabbed my own sandwich out of the cooler. Yes, that's right, I trick people into letting me draft AND I steal other people's food. In my defense, it was Big E's sandwich and he was ahead of me.... How was I supposed to know he was saving it for the finish?  Plus, I got paid back with a bellyache the next day....

By the finish I'd met all my goals: I didn't walk, I didn't crash, I didn't get eaten by a dog (or a pig) and I didn't puke. Not a bad day on the bike......

But I never caught Big E!