Trails, Trips and Tractors

Now that I've finished my rant, we can catch up on what I was really doing the last couple of months. 

After the DNF of crabbiness, I decided if I was going to complain about races and trails too hard to ride, perhaps I should take some action, so I took the IMBA trail building class. In case you're wondering, the boys stood around all day while I built the whole trail myself.

Ok, fine, that's a lie. Someone just happened to catch the one moment all day when I was working and DG wasn't. Truth be told, he built that whole section of trail himself. I spent most of the day learning how to use a shovel.

Two weeks later, I took a trip back to my favorite place on earth, this time to relax instead of race. First, I hijacked this cushy ride to have some mimosas on the beach. (Turns out you aren't supposed to bring glass bottles to the beach. Good thing the champagne was gone when we found this out.)

Then, I raided the coolest little library ever.

Finally I did at least one serious ride to prove to myself that I've picked up enough skills in the past year to ride stuff I used to walk.

 Oh how I've missed these trails....

 Our final trip of the summer took us to a friend's lake house, where Big E made himself right at home on the tractor.

 We also nearly sunk a pontoon boat, shot lots of cool guns and drank way too much whiskey. Never a dull moment.

Seriously, even at home there's never a dull moment. I'm just sparing you the blackmail pics I'm collecting of Big E to get him back for his late night antics.....

It's Not About the Socks

Disclaimer: I do not have any affiliation with Save Our Soles. All opinions here are mine, not theirs. In fact, at this moment I don't even have permission yet to use the pic I stole from one of their reps on Facebook. So, please don't take it out on them if you disagree. That's all on me. 
 
When I don't blog for awhile there is always a reason. I love it when that reason is because I'm busy living hard. Unfortunately that is not always the case.

This last blog silence has been a long one. To be honest, I wasn't even really sure why I had nothing to say at first. I like writing. I compose blog posts in my head during runs and rides. Then I come home and don't write them.

Why?

Because I'm afraid of offending people. Every day I read something new about someone, somewhere who's offended about something and I think to myself, "Wow, if they were offended by that, people are REALLY going to be offended by what I was just going to write." So I don't.

That's a problem. It's a problem for many reasons, but the main one is this- this is MY blog and I've let my fear of the haters of the world, the easily offended, the whiners, turn me into a pussy. Yes, that is right- I just called myself a pussy. I'm really disappointed in myself. I've always considered myself a strong, independent woman and in the last two months I've become someone who is afraid to speak.

Please notice how I worded that- I said, "I've become," not, "The world has turned me into." I'm owning this because if there's one thing in life I've learned, it's this- there is really only one person in this world I can change and that is me.  I can sit around and whine and blame the world for my pussiness or I can accept that I chose it and start to change it, right now.

So, that said, you have been fairly warned. I am now going to speak my mind.  What I write is my opinion. I won't hate you if you disagree. I won't propose to write anything here and speak for "all women" or "all cyclists" or "everyone" because what bugs me the most about the issue I'm about to address is that other people are doing just that- and I can assure you they don't speak for me.

Now, let's get to the hot topic so I can piss some people off.  Over the last two days a certain pair of socks that was handed out at Interbike has caused quite a stir in the cycling community.

Photo: Lauren Swigart

The sock company, Save Our Soles, is taking a lot of heat for using "sex" to sell their products. Quite frankly, I think the socks are funny.

Why? Because I also think these socks are funny:

And I actually own of pair of these. They happen to be my favorite socks:

I get it- neither of these actually shows a man's body and the Save Our Soles socks do, in fact, show women's butts. However, my point is this- not every product that alludes to sex or naked bodies is targeted at women.  Sex obviously sells, whether it's a product with humping bunnies, jokes about weiners or women's butts. It's all in good fun.

One of the main outcries over these booty socks is that they objectify women, they create an environment where we love women for their bodies and not for what they are on the inside. 

Wow- that's a lot of weight to put on a silly pair of socks.

I'm going to propose a different take on this "environment" and how we, as women, can change it instead of expecting companies to do it for us. The outcry seems to be that we want to be equal. So, if that's the case, let's start acting like it. Let's try a few of these:

Let's all learn to work on our own bike. Let's stop batting our eyelashes and hoping some dude changes our flat tire or gives us a discount. I've worked in three bike shops so yes, I've seen this happen. More times than you could possibly imagine.

Let's stop bitching about equal  prize money and show up in overwhelming numbers to the races that do offer this. I made over $900 racing my bike in June and I'm not even that fast. Want to know why? I showed up to six races that offered equal prize money to women. Guess how many times we had enough women to fill the money spots. One.

Let's stop showing up to races with our guy and riding with him the whole race.  If we're all equal, then we shouldn't need a guy to let us ride his wheel so we can win the race.

Let's quit dressing and acting in ways that objectify our own selves. If you don't want booties and boobies used for advertising, quit using yours for attention. Trust me, I've seen some of you toss yours around plenty of times at races.  Personally I'm not offended by this, but if you are, don't put it out there and then be mad because someone shows appreciation for it.

Let's treat each other with respect. Nearly every time I race, a fellow female competitor (or, I hate to admit, occasionally myself) trashes another female behind her back. The men notice this and trust me, the don't respect us for it.

So, if you still don't ever want to buy Save Our Soles socks again, that's your right. Trust me, there's a certain bike company out there that lost my business based on their reaction to the situation. However, that said, I hope you also take a good hard look at your actions and make sure they're not part of the problem, because in the end, the only one you can change is you, and you might be surprised. When you do, people just might start to notice how awesome you are. On the inside.

The DNF of Crabbiness

To help you fully appreciate my recent DNF at Tatanka100 (or Tatanka75ish to be more precise), I need to supply a timeline of the month or so prior to the race.

Saturday/Sunday, June 13-14- Race 25 Hours of Hellside to culminate the DirtWirx bike week. Sleep 0 hours from about 7am Saturday to 10pm Sunday (except for some sort of nap Big E says I took in the car on the way home.

Tuesday, June 16- Ride for an hour with legs so swollen I could barely bend my knees. Get a massage. Eat. Work. Come home from work so grouchy all I could do was drink whiskey.

Thursday June 18- Eat. Drive 9 hours to MI with compression tights on, eating all the way. Stay awake all day, thankfully. Ride for an hour and actually feel good. Nearly fall asleep at the table while out with friends.

Saturday, June 20. Race Lumberjack 100. Drink whiskey and eat 1/2 a bag of chips.

Sunday, June 21. Eat the largest breakfast of my life. Drive 9 hours home. Search every gas station in the UP for more of the chips from the night before.

Monday, June 22- Friday June 26. Eat. Sleep. Work. Maybe ride a couple times. Maybe?

Saturday, June 27- Attempt to show off for Big E while riding and launch myself over my handlebars.

Sunday, June 28- Whine all day about my sore arm.

Monday, June 29- Ride on the road with my shock unlocked because bumps hurt my arm.

Tuesday, June 30- Panic about what gear to ride at Tatanka. Stalk Ben from Mountain Bike Radio on Facebook and ask for advice. 32-21 it is.

Ride the rest of the week with 34-20 on my bike....on the road with my shock open.

Saturday, July 4- Tape up my arm and brave the trails, still with 34-20 on my bike.

Sunday, July 5- Decide I should probably actually ride with 32-21 on my bike for a few days.

Stress about the race for the next few days.

Wednesday, July 8- Panic about the water crossings on the course and email the race director.  Receive confirmation that I likely won't die in waist-deep moving water.

Thursday, July 9- Find 20 other reasons to panic. Swap my tires from Thunder Burts to Rocket Rons (that extra few millimeters might help) to calm my nerves. In the process, discover I hadn't put my rear cog on tight. Pinch flat my front. Beg Big E to give my bike an inspection before I leave.

Friday, July 10- Drive 9 1/2 hours to South Dakota with high blood pressure from anxiety. Ride for 30 minutes and panic about my crappy new front brake pads. Search for the packet pick-up. Hear one word and one word only during the pre-race meeting- "enduro-style". Ask someone to explain what this enduro-style stuff is. Panic about the answer. Consider not starting.

Saturday, July 11- Start, but only because the awesome Doc Whitney, who saved me from dehydration at Hellside, dropped us at the start and promised she would pick me up if I panicked about the "enduro-style" downhill, my brakes or the water crossing. Arrive at the trailhead, after 3 miles of downhill on the road, in last place, with my own police escort. Carry my bike for 1/2 of the first 11 miles. (Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating...) Come across a guy on flat #4, give him my spare because I'm pretty sure I won't make it past the first cutoff and attempt to help him put a tire on a deep rim, which really just leads to me humping his wheel. Arrive at aid station #1, 15 miles in, in over 3 hours, to a volunteer who made it clear she needed to leave so she could go do the timing. Get pissed off, ride a few miles down the road and call Whitney. 

There you have it- the mindset of a DNF due to crabbiness. I'll admit, I tried to blame it on the race at the time, but in hindsight it's clear I pretty much DNF'd before I left home. I was tired and burnt out and spent only a few hours on actual single track in the 3 weeks before the race. Not a good lead-up to a 100 miler that turned out to be 75 miles of the most technical singletrack I've ever seen. Perhaps I should space my races out a little more? Or quit showing off for Big E? Or suck it up and learn to ride more technical terrain? Or ride a little with the gear and tires I plan to use in the race? Or deal with my pre-race anxiety?

Or I could just eat more ice cream and drink buckets of margaritas at Kenny Chesney concerts.

Lumberjackin'

At some point, back in the winter, it seemed like a great idea to sign up to race Lumberjack 100 a week after the 25 Hours of Hellside. What can I say?  One race on my favorite local trail, the other near my favorite place on earth. I couldn't choose.  So, I was left trying to figure out how to get my legs to recover in five days.


Let's just say, I wore my compression tights so much, one of my clients is now referring to them as my "tight black pants".

Thankfully, by the time I arrived in Petoskey (that favorite place on earth, which was on the way to Lumberjack) on Thursday (after wearing compression tights most of the way there in the car) I was actually itching to ride. Of course, that was probably because I knew my ride would take me here:

A few drinks with old friends, topped off with a late night rummage through old Playboys

(of course the Playboy from my birthday month and year would have a bike on it) completed my recovery.

I topped it off with a final Friday ride in Petoskey, during which I, of course, got lost at Boyne Highlands like I always do.

I swear someone changes the trails at that place before I come to visit.

Saturday morning I lined up, pretty stoked to ride 100 miles. After a quick prologue down the road, in which I'm pretty sure my heartrate reached its max while I tried to keep up with those with gears, we entered the singletrack and then promptly came to a near standstill.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike waiting in line to ride my bike during a race?

While I practiced my trackstands, the guys behind me for some reason decided that, despite the fact that I was also stuck behind 100 other people moving the same 1mph I was, they should ride off the trail to pass me and then cut back in in the small space I'd left between myself and the bike in front of me.


Unfortunately, I'd removed the douchebag bell from my bike after Hellside so instead of bell-ringing, I had to resort to sarcasm and public shaming these idiots. 

Based on how quickly this douchebag behavior stopped, I think I'll stick with this tactic from now on.

Also unfortunately, my body was not fond of this whole, sprint, wait in line, sprint up a hill, wait in line, sprint up another hill thing that was happening so I ended up feeling like poop for the first hour of the race.

Thankfully for me though, after a two hour argument between my body and mind, my body realized that my mind wasn't going to quit and suddenly I felt pretty darn good for the next eight hours, four minutes and 59 seconds.

Yes, in case you were wondering, I sprinted the last few miles to keep it to 10:04:59, and yes, I would've loved to have kept it under 10 hours, but in order to do that I need to figure out how to avoid the four pee breaks I took. 

While our podium picture looks as if only two of us raced singlespeed and I was last place, I can assure you there were more than two. I promise. We just happened to ride so fast everyone else dropped out. At least that's how I like to think of it....


I even finished in time to head back to Petoskey that night for some more good friend time, complete with whiskey, ginger ale, spicy potatoes chips and a Sunday morning breakfast with more grease than I normally eat in a week.


How's that for the start of some good recovery?

Of course, my recovery also needed to include some riding so I ventured out on the weekend with Big E. Confident from my few weeks of podiums, I thought I'd show off my jumping skills for him.

Let's just say I put on a show, but it wasn't the really the show I'd intended to put on.

I do believe that, although I didn't impress him with my jumping skills, I may have impressed him with my ability to biff it so hard I ended up with leaves and grass between my tire and rim.

I guess I'll be recovering from a bit more than Lumberjack before Tatanka next week. 

Anybody got any ice cream?

Butter Pecan Ice Cream, Chipotle and 25 Hours of Hell(side)

We were told at the beginning of Dirt Wirx Bike Week that by the end we'd hate Richie and the crew. It's hard to hate a crew that puts so much into their trail and races, but then, Hillside is one hell of a hard trail, so I knew anything was possible. Plus, you never know when this crew might make you try to ride up the stairs instead of down, chug a beer for a time bonus or carry a log for your Le Mans start.

The set up for bike week was this: Time Trial and Short Track Saturday 6/6, Cross Country Race 6/7, Dual Slalom on the evening of 6/10 and 25 Hours of Hellside on 6/13 and 6/14.

To be honest, I started out just wanting to race the 25 Hour race, but then I got excited and wanted to try for the overall win for the week. This meant a lot of firsts. I'd never done short track or dual slalom. I'd never raced expert in cross country, which I needed to do to win the week. Technically, I'd also never ridden singletrack for 25 hours, although I guess 24 is pretty close.  So, I prepared myself to spent the week nervous and hoping not to crash.

Saturday, June 6, 11am: Time Trial, one of my favorite kinds of races. Didn't hate Richie.

Saturday, June 6, 4pm: Discovered the expert women had to race the short track with comp men. Thought about hating Richie.  Tried not to throw up on the start line. Thankfully didn't get run over and actually had fun once I could breathe. Decided not to hate Richie, especially after he raced the expert men's race like this:

Sunday, June 7: Cross Country Race. Again, terrified at the start. I'm not a fan of starting in front of the comp men. I don't like to be run over. My douchebag bell was installed on my bike, just in case someone tried to pass like a moron. Thankfully, I never needed it and once I relaxed I actually had a blast.

Photo by Joshua Stamper

No hating on anyone.

After the race we celebrated Big E's birthday. Fun times with lots of fun people. It started like this:

 and ended like this:

Enough said.

Wednesday, June 10: I was so nervous I showed up hours early for the Dual Slalom. Numerous practice runs didn't calm my nerves. Pretty sure my heart rate hit its max on the start line. Didn't crash so I didn't hate Richie, but I'm not admitting it was fun.

Saturday, June 13: The 25 Hour Race, my favorite. I was in second place overall for the week, 34 points down. Points for this race were by lap instead of place. For each lap you completed, you received that many points- 1 point for lap one, 2 points for lap two, three for lap 3, etc.  So, I needed to ride three more laps than the leader, Rebecca, to win the week. A tall task since she'd ridden nearly 10 minutes faster per lap in the cross country race. Lucky for me, she wasn't going to ride at night.

The first five laps flew by. I stopped only to pee, taking bottle hand-ups from Eddie and Joshua, who were riding a four-man team with Richie and the other race director, Dave. After a quick stop at lap five, I managed three more laps before dark, with a brief stop for ice cream at the Super Sue station, at which point I found it necessary to down nearly an entire pint of butter pecan in minutes. (Tasted great at the time, but let's just say it's a good thing no one was riding behind me later.)

 I checked in with Dave after lap eight and learned I had a one lap lead over both Rebecca and Pam, who both appeared to have gone to bed. I switched to the fat bike and kept pushing, hoping to have a five lap lead when they woke up. I figured they both would start lapping me in the morning and I didn't want to leave anything to chance. The first two laps in the dark weren't too bad, despite one too-close encounter with a tree. Lap three, however, brought on what I've decided is the inevitable meltdown that happens in these races. I stumbled in around 1:30, put on my PJs and laid down for what I've also decided is the inevitable "roll around and not fall asleep" that happens in these races.

Two hours later, sleepless, I got back on the bike. As I finished lap 12 the sun came up and as I pulled into the camping area Rebecca was preparing to ride. I grabbed some coffee and prepared myself to get lapped. I just hoped it would only be twice. At the end of lap 14, I was still hanging onto my lead and stopped for food confident that I'd be off riding again in five minutes.

Let's just say a colossal meltdown ensued. The kind where you wonder if you can stand up, let alone pedal. I inhaled some Chipotle, downed some Dr. Pepper and instantly felt dizzy. For about 20 minutes I thought my race was over. Of course, Big E managed to capture the moment on film:

 Thankfully, putting my legs up and chugging some water brought me back to life and I somehow got back on the bike. Of course, by then, Rebecca had gained a lap and was still riding strong. 

The next three laps are a blur. I held on and pedaled. Pam flew by like we were racing just two laps. I drank water, and then more water, praying to hold off another meltdown. Finally, on lap 17, with less than an hour left, I could hear Rebecca ahead of me in section four. We'd both reached an exhausted state, pushing our bikes up the steepest hills. We rode the rest of the lap together, rolling across the line agreeing to call it quits with a four lap difference between us. If she'd chosen to ride another, I would've, but I'll admit, I probably would've hated someone if I'd had to. In the end, I hated section four, but still couldn't hate Richie.

Thanks to the Dirt Wirx crew and Dave Slovik for an awesome race and to Rebecca Sauber for pushing me harder than ever. Now I have to figure out how to recover for Lumberjack 100 on Saturday. This could involve ice cream.....

Today's Workout Brought to You by

wind, rain, (no)sense of direction and hairspray.

This is sort of how the last few days have been.  Saturday I escaped the rain and actually got in a few hours on the trail. I even survived driving Lil' Dave's car after my workout despite needing to do some serious seat adjustments.

No, I am not sitting on the floor.

Sunday was a different story. I headed to Murphy hoping to ride the trail, only to arrive just as the gate was closed. I decided to do a road ride from there, knowing I'd lose my motivation if I drove all the way home in the rain. I planned to start the week off with an easy 1 1/2 to 2 hour ride so I stuck a single bottle on my bike and some Chomps in my pocket. At the last minute I stashed a 20 in my pocket (just in case I ran out of water and found a gas station) and headed out.

I don't really mind rain if I'm warm enough so the ride went by quickly- so quickly in fact that by 1:30 in I came to a road I recognized and thought I was nearly done. Just a right turn and I'd be headed back to the car. Thirty minutes later I wasn't back at the car. Confused, I finally consulted the map on my phone, at which point I discovered I'd been riding straight south when I'd thought I was riding straight north. Thankfully, I'd finally stopped because I was almost in Iowa, which meant I needed to turn around.

My only excuse for this complete and utter lack of direction is the wind. I was sure it was from the west. Turns out, it was coming from the east and of course, I was not only just south of my car, but west of it, which made for quite a fun ride back. I arrived back to the car 3 hours and 30 minutes later with an empty bottle, an empty Chomps wrapper and my 20 bucks. Apparently there are no gas stations on the back roads to Iowa. Or drinking fountains.

The upside to Sunday's ride and bonk was that yesterday's ride was only an hour and a half. The trails were still too wet to ride, but I lucked out and had a work break right as the rain stopped but before the Memorial Day partiers hit the roads, allowing me a rare city ride without traffic.

The pouring rain returned today, which meant that my mid-day hair appointment would be followed by a run in the rain. Normally I'm a "leave my hair wet" kind of girl so I figured this would be no big deal. I don't own a curling iron or hairspray. However, on the rare occasion when someone cuts my thin, straight hair and is actually excited to try to do something with it, I say yes. So, I ended up leaving the hair salon like this:

I had to take a picture for Big E so he knows it's actually possible for me to have decent hair.

just as I was preparing to go run in the rain.

Since I haven't used hairspray since 1988, I had no idea what would happen when it mixed with the rain. Let's just say this- my ponytail ended up becoming a whole-head dreadlock. I managed to comb it out after about 15 minutes and throw it back into my usual wet ponytail just as my next client arrived. I guess I'm just destined to be a ponytail kind of girl. At least I had an hour of good hair.

Despite Big E's encouragement that training in crappy weather is good for me, I'm looking forward to some drier days. I want my trails back. I'll trade the hairspray for bugspray any day.

Training Brain (aka How to Lose Your Bra)

Remember those old ads- "This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs."? Well, I'm pretty sure they could make one that said, "This is your brain. This is your brain on 15+hours of training a week," and it would be quite amusing.

When I read stories about people who work, train over 15 hours a week and raise children, I'm always amazed because, quite frankly, once the training amps up I can barely take care of myself.  Case in point- it's 11pm and I'm still doing laundry. Two workouts a day has drained the supply of workout gear. I'm not sure the washing machine is going to be able to keep up with this and my never ending pile of massage sheets.

(Yes, Big E is building a wheel behind my wall of wet laundry. Thankfully, this time he's actually working on his own bike at 11pm instead of trying to rescue one of my bike disasters.)

On weeks and days like this I adopt an "in the moment" plan. Basically, this means I go with the flow and focus on what's happening right at the moment so I don't get overwhelmed.  I think about work when I'm working, training when I'm training, eating when I'm eating...and then I pass out and dream about riding with Valentino Rossi. I call this "training brain", which is basically just my term for a brain that can't handle anything more.

Today was one of those days. I babbled some sort of nonsense at Big E when he left early, got up shortly after, ate, prepped food for the day, threw my bike and gear in the car and headed for the office. During my break between morning and evening clients, I jumped at the chance to finally ride some trail after a few days of rain. I headed to Elm Creek and whipped out my usual "stealth change" in the parking lot.

The "stealth change" is my version of getting naked in the car without really getting naked in the car. I prefer not going to jail for public nudity so I've figured out a method to change in which no one would actually see my breasts. This involves putting my sports bra on over my work bra and then slithering out of the work bra and pulling it down my legs and off my feet.

Today, in my training fog, I apparently completed half of my stealth change. I remember the point where I put one bra over the other and then I went through the motions. At some point there was the application of chamois butter, tire pressure fiddling and then I was off onto the trail. Nothing seemed off at the time. In fact, everything seemed completely normal until I returned to the car for a new water bottle and found a bra.

At first, I laughed at the prospect of someone having a little fun in the parking lot and losing her bra. Of course, a moment later I realized that was MY bra and I hadn't had a little fun in the parking lot. In fact, I don't really even know what the hell happened. Apparently in my training fog, I stepped out of the car with my bra still around my ankles. Or perhaps in my training fog, I realized I don't really need a bra and tossed her out the window.  I was so shocked to find it there, I actually checked all the windows to make sure someone hadn't broken into my car and left my bra behind (because, really, who else would even bother to wear a bra this small?), but that was not the case.

Thankfully, the rogue bra was rescued, since I needed it to go back to work. (OK, I could've probably pulled it off without a bra but I like to think I need one.) Now, let's just hope I can keep training brain in check long enough get all my clothes on (and completely off) for the rest of this week's workouts.