Training Approaches

Last official run: November 2009

Last official ride: December 2009

Last week was my four/five week follow up with my orthopedic doctor. For the last two months I have been diligently attending my twice-weekly physical therapy appointments and successfully completing the stretches, rolling, and icing that were recommended to do at home. My knee is improving despite the addition of the patellar tendinitis that I have developed. No longer does my knee hurt when I get up from my desk at work. No longer am I avoiding the stairs in the office. I am convinced that one reason for the improvement is the Graston technique. Instead of massaging my IT band the traditional way, my physical therapist, Rob, uses special steel instruments to massage my IT band, knee, and quad. The instruments breakdown scar tissue and fascial restrictions. While sometimes the massaging results in some bruising and redness, those side effects quickly subside and I am left with a leg and knee that feel fantastic. Perhaps it's all in my head, but I'm sticking with GT. [More information on GT]

And so what lies ahead? Training! Saturday, January 23 will be my first active day of training with a coach in preparation of my first century ride on May 1, 2010. My schedule starts off low-key in the interest of gauging how my knee and ITB withstand the increase in activity. For the first few weeks, my days will look something like the following:

Saturday - long ride
Sunday - recovery ride
Monday - off
Tuesday - optional easy spin/short ride (or on Thurs)
Wednesday - core/strength
Thursday - optional easy spin/short ride (or on Tues)
Friday - core/strength

This coming Saturday's ride will be 25 miles that I am supposed to do on a relatively flat route. I already know where I'm going to be cycling; the only question that remains is which bike I will use, which depends on the weather. Twenty-five miles is not a "long" ride (depending on your cycling perspective), so I will struggle to keep myself to the plan and not ride more. I'm eager to get out pedaling on the road, but I need to be careful not to damage the improvements I've been making with my knee and ITB. So remind me how awesome it is to ride 25, even if it is "only" 25.

Em Are I

Thursday, November 26 (aka: Thanksgiving) marked the 2 year anniversary of my decision to start running. It was back in 2007 that I escorted my aunt, a regular and fantastic runner, to the Boys and Girls Club's annual Turkey Trot in Ridgefield, Connecticut, and it was here that I realized runners are some good looking people, people I could see myself with in the hopes of absorbing some of their beauty. Two months later I had moved back to California and began running with friends and I haven't stopped (except very recently; see below).

Monday, December 7 now marks the day I committed myself to cycling. I purchased a decent road bike in February with the goal of cycling as cross training for my running. Gradually, though, cycling became my first choice, and my obsession with it has only increased. My love of road cycling has grown so much that I already purchased a second bike and it hasn't even been a year that I've taken to the wheels. I am now the proud owner of 2 bicycles (2. Two. More than one. Multiple.), a 2007 Fuji Professional 2.0 named Cameron and a 2008 Trek Madone 6.5 WSD named Alan.

Big deal, you say. So what, you think. But this is significant, I tell you, and here's why: Alan is the most expensive and nicest thing I have ever purchased. Spending the money sends a message to myself: take this obsession and turn it into a long-lasting, true priority. A way of life. There is no longer an excuse to stay home, to not ride, to not train, to not improve. 2010 already has 3 centuries I am planning on riding. There's no telling how many miles I will log in the months leading up to them. My training schedule will begin with the new year. My mental plan is being formed, soon to be committed to paper (in ink). I will be relearning the art of discipline and self-control. My will power will get a workout. And I am ready.

At least mentally. My physical preparedness is still in question. My left knee has continued to be an issue. Three weeks ago I cut short a 60 mile ride because I couldn't bend my knee anymore to pedal by mile 32. I have done no running or cycling since. Because the pain was so intense, I made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. An MRI was done on the knee and revealed that nothing is torn or irreparably damaged, but my IT band is tight, bruised, and pissed off. And the fat pad under my patella is bruised. Ortho doc has put me in physical therapy twice a week for a month, after which I will see ortho doc again to reassess the knee.

I will freely admit that it would be my usual practice to diligently show up for my physical therapy sessions knowing full well I wouldn't do any of the exercises, stretches, or other tasks the therapist recommends. This is where Alan comes in to play. Currently, he is resting pedal-less in my living room, reminding me of what is at stake, the commitment I made to myself and him. I'm invested financially and emotionally in this, and I need to put in the work with PT to make 2010 a fantastic year of cycling. And do not fear; running will be included for I cannot abandon my original commitment. And along with Alan's presence to remind me of my goals, I have my cousin Joe, who is training for the TransUK MTB stage race. He will be in California in May, conveniently around the time of the Amgen Tour of California, and we will ride. His discipline and determination to do well and be prepared for his event in August 2010 is a constant inspiration. (You da man, Cuzin Joey!)

And so here we go. Me, Cameron, and Alan; a committed, disciplined, unstoppable trio.

Shall we or shall we?

Downed It

I did not run the US Half on November 1. I have decided not to run CIM on December 6.

Neither of these choices pleases me, but I believe them to be the right ones due to my left IT band. After the half my left knee was useless. Two days later I could not bend it after a 6 mile run. A 3 mile run a few days later produced the same result. The pain annoyed me physically and emotionally. Skipping the half and not training with the full fast approaching brought me to the decision not to do CIM.

This situation was brought on by myself. I knew how to fix the ITB pain, but I was not doing it. The foam roller is on the floor in front of me each night, but I was not using it. Do not ask my why.

Last week I decided to give up the mental fight, skip any workouts for several days and start fresh on a Sunday. I'm not running right now, focusing more on rolling and cycling. This past Sunday had me out on a nice 33 mile ride, this evening I went for a short ride of 9 miles, and later this week I'll fit in another quality go on my wheels. Foam rolling has become part of my bedtime routine (along with planks and and a glass of chocolate milk), and I've already noticed some improvement. The left knee still gets sore, but I'm working with it, and we will come to a mutual understanding.

The latest down time has been overcome. I am not looking forward to the next one (they are inevitable), but the inspiration from my crew (and the shit they give me for not running or riding) will get me back on track again. In addition to the shit, I mean support, watching others running their races and make strides in their abilities reminds me why I picked up the running habit over a year ago. Sometimes it's beneficial to step back and watch. I sacrificed some money and some nice runs, but ultimately that will not matter. Focus is on my bike, Cameron, and prepping to do my first century ride next spring. Up and at 'em.

Nike Women's Half Marathon

It all started 1 year ago in San Francisco, watching my sister-in-law Sabine cross the finish line, completing her first half marathon. She had trained with TNT for the past several months and I was incredibly proud of her. I decided that day that I would run the Nike Women's Half Marathon the next year, and I would do it through TNT to guarantee my entry in the race.

In early May of this year my friend Lisa and I went to an informational meeting, signed up to train, and kicked off the summer run season Memorial Day weekend. Four and a half months later, I was waking up at 5:30 in the morning to force myself to eat some breakfast and get down to Union Square for the race. Lisa was running the full and I was running the half, despite all the prodding from my TNT team to switch to the full. Lisa and I agreed to meet on the corner of Geary and Stockton so we could cross the start of the race for which we had been training together. We trained and started as a duo.

The gun went off at 7:oo am and we crossed the start 10 minutes later. I tend to start races too fast, but on Sunday, I was the calm one, reminding Lisa that she had 26 miles to do and that she needed to stick to her plan of running 4:1 intervals. We stuck together and enjoyed ourselves and the atmosphere of the run for the first couple of miles. Lisa's sister was going to be at mile 4, and I was looking forward to seeing someone I knew on the side even though she wasn't technically there for me. The crowd of spectators increased as mile 4 approached, and Lisa and I looked for her sister in the crowd. I never saw her, but Lisa did, which I didn't realize, so I kept on running. I ran steady for about 2.5 miles while trying to find Lisa, finally having to break down and call her on my phone. I waited for her at mile 7 and we continued on together.

By this time, an hour and 15 minutes had passed since I had crossed the start. I began to panic inside, knowing that if I kept this pace I wouldn't make my goal of 2 hours 15 minutes. I told Lisa that I had an hour to finish the next 5.2 miles so she told me to go on ahead. I didn't want to leave her, knowing that she had so much more ahead to do alone, but my pride got in the way, and I took off up the hill ahead of us after grabbing one of her Shot Bloks.

I welcomed the hills along the course through miles 8, 9, and 10. I happen to enjoy running up hills, but during this particular race, my left ITB was really acting up. I struggled both up the hills and back down them with left knee pain. I wanted to scream most of the way until we hit the Honoree mile which is lined with posters of honorees from the various TNT teams running the half and full that day. I got chills thinking about what was motivating these runners to get out thereon the course after spending months raising money. Granted, not all participants are with TNT, but the majority are, and it's a powerful scene. Reflecting on my time with TNT, I realize now I made the effort to stay emotionally unattached to the cause, preferring to focus on the training aspect rather than let myself feel any sadness or even inspiration from the stories shared through the months of training. I regret this and I know it contributed to my performance in the half marathon.

Unfortunately, this particular mile made me think of my uncle Len, who died in July of 2007 of cancer, not a blood cancer, but cancer nonetheless. Len and I were close and I couldn't shake him from my mind through the rest of the race. I kept picturing the scene I created in my head when my mother told me how Len's son helped carry his father's body out of the house, the lifeless body of a once powerful, strong, energetic man who was rendered weak and miserable by cancer. I was in pain and not breathing well and waiting to see my brother and sister-in-law at mile 11. But they didn't make it to the mile 11 stop because of the crowds. I knew I was running slow, but as I entered Golden Gate Park, I thought I could pull it off. It is here that I finally saw people I knew: Jen, Janine, Evelyn, and Leah. I yelled, "People I know!" and immediately ran over to Jen to give her a sweaty hug. I started to continue again as they snapped a few photos and asked how I was feeling. Suddenly, I was full of energy and I sprinted up the hill, running deeper into the park. What I really wanted to do was stop on the side and hang out with them, enjoying that my replenished energy and watch the rest of the runners go by, but I wouldn't be happy with myself later if I did.

As I hit mile 12, I suddenly lost control, and my breathing went berserk. I was gasping for air and I knew I looked horrible as I was crying and just trying to finish. I wanted to be done. I wanted to see my brother. I didn't care anymore. The course finally brought me out of the park onto the final stretch before the finish line. I began sprinting, hoping that I'd make it at that speed 'til the end. I flew across the finish line, and unfortunately the woman in front of me stopped, so I ran right into her. I didn't bother apologizing; I simply moved off to the side and tried to pick out a fireman from which to grab my necklace. The wrong one handed me a little box, and I took it without a word or a smile. I moved with the crowd to get my finisher's t-shirt and was attempting to figure out where my brother and sister-in-law were. I finally saw them as the crowd was funneled past an unfortunately-placed table of Gatorade. I saw my brother looking at me and I began to really cry. I finally made it out to him and he hugged me and I sobbed. I eventually calmed down, explained to him that all I thought of for the last 3 miles was my uncle and all the incredible pain that had driven so many runners to raise money and run through the streets of San Francisco.

After I calmed down I realized I had yet to stop my watch, but I estimated that my finishing time was approximately 2 hours 20 minutes. My estimation wasn't too far off, as my official chip time is 2:23:06, which gave me a pace of 10:55. Many tell me to still be proud of my performance on Sunday, and while I'm not dismissing what I did, it's not a race I care to relive. My mind beat me and I didn't stand a chance.

One would think that with 4 and a half months of training I would have been prepared, but I wasn't. When I packed for the night in San Francisco, I forgot race food, my water bottle, and pajamas. I wasn't in this race mentally. But it's now the day after, and I've already written this report, and can I move on. I wrote this report so soon after the half marathon because I want to get it out of my head. And I go on to my first full marathon on December 6th with a new mindset and a new approach. I will sleep tonight without any criticism of my half marathon performance in my head, and I will awake tomorrow with the task of running 6 miles after work.

Excuse My Indulgence

Allow me to admit my undying hero-worship of Pete Townshend. I'm a lyrics girl, and his are the best. The tune "A Little Is Enough" on the album Empty Glass has meant many different things to me over the years, and when it recently came up on my iPod it gained a whole new meaning. The lyrics for those who are unfamiliar (and shame on you for not knowing the song):

They say that love often passes in a second
And you can never catch it up
So I'm hanging on to you as though eternity beckoned
But it's clear that the match is rough
Common sense'll tell me not to try 'n' continue
But I'm after a piece of that diamond in you
So keep an eye open
My spirit ain't broken
Your love is so incredible
Your body so edible
You give me an overdose of love
Just a little is enough

I'm like a connoisseur of champagne cognac
The perfume nearly beats the taste
I eat an oyster and I feel the contact
But more than one would be a waste
Some people want an endless line that's true
But all I have's a little time with you
A smile sets me reeling
A kiss feel like stealing
Your love is like heroin
This addict is mellowing
I can't pretend that I'm tough
Just a little is enough

Just like a sailor heading into the seas
There's a gale blowing in my face
The high winds scare me but I need the breeze
And I can't head for any other place
Life would seem so easy on the other tack
But even a hurricane won't turn me back
You might be an island
On the distant horizon
But the little I see
Looks like heaven to me
I don't care if the ocean gets rough
Just a little is enough

I stopped all activity while the song played through, realizing that it describes how I feel about cycling and running. It doesn't matter how shitty I am at climbing hills with Cameron or whether I PR at my next race. Cycling and running are what make me keep going; I take to the seas in calm or stormy weather, knowing that whatever positive or negative (which are actually positives in disguise) I get out of a training ride or a track workout is the little bit I see and all I need. Not unique to me, but worth noting nonetheless.

My first half marathon is this Sunday, on December 6 is my first marathon, and then I will be concentrating on doing my first century ride. I'm going to get frustrated with my cycling progress, I'm going to be intimidated by the mileage increases leading up to the marathon and century, I'm going to curse myself on Sunday when I feel like stopping, and I'm going to love every second of it.

The Piccolo Perspective

How do you give a report of a great experience? The answer is "I don't know," but I will at least try.

On February 21, 2009 I bought a carbon road bike. Five months later, on June 25, 2009, I registered for the Piccolo Fondo, the shortest distance of Levi Leipheimer's King Ridge Gran Fondo. The Piccolo was billed as 36 miles with 1,100' of climb. I was concerned I wouldn't be able to handle the distance with only 3 months to train. At the time I signed up, my longest ride was approximately 25 miles.

By the time October 3 came around, my distance record had increased to 40 miles, but I still didn't feel ready. As much as I try to placate them, hills have never been very kind to me, but there was no way I would miss the inaugural ride of LL's GF. The day before the ride, after arriving in Santa Rosa, I checked out NorCal Bike Sport and being in the bike shop made me more nervous about the ride, but I convinced myself it didn't really matter how it went or how I did -- it would be good times no matter what.

The morning of the ride arrived, and despite not sleeping well, I was up and ready to go at time that allowed me enough buffer to get my bike and self situated and ready. My escort dropped me off down the street from the Finley Center, and I rode to the start. As I was finding my place among the everyday people, I was hit by how amazing this day was going to be. So many cyclists in one place can make one giddy (and not just because of all the spandex). There was a palpable excitement in the air, and I knew that I was a part of something good. It was cold that morning, so while waiting for the ride to start I cruised on my bike in a nearly empty parking lot, watching all the other participants mingle and hook up with their peeps. I signed up for this ride alone and I rode it alone. In the past I never would have attempted to do anything alone, so the mere fact that I was there by myself to ride 36 miles by myself with 3,499 other people was quite a feat for me.

The back of the group crossed the starting line about 40 minutes after the first riders had left, and then we were out on the road. I looked ahead of me and saw one of the most amazing sights -- a never-ending line of cyclists. It was incredible. All of these people from all over had come together to ride together. What a concept. Along the side of the streets were Santa Rosa residents, cheering and clapping for us (even us end-o-the-line peeps) as we passed. The welcome we received as we took to the streets of their city was overwhelming.

In a matter of what seemed like seconds we were outside the city and into the country, pedaling past vineyards and farms. The ride was so-far flat, and I was moving at a pretty good clip. I was finally starting to warm up, so I made a quick stop to remove my jacket. While on the side of the road, a woman walking her dog passed by and said, "You were smart to stop here. The hill is just around the corner." Oh boy! I dismissed her warning of the hill, thinking that her idea of a hill would probably be very different from mine. How bad could it be?

Back on my bike and heading down the route, I turned the corner and saw the beginning of the climbs (which I know were nothing compared to what lay ahead for the Medio and Gran riders, but hills are not my friend, remember?). My natural reaction to such a site is panic and self-doubt. But that morning I was caught up in the magic of the GF, and I had no trouble all the way out to the rest stop/turn around. I passed many a rider on the climbs and I kept the feeling of superiority to myself (until now). When I pulled into the rest stop, I was pissed. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to go higher. I wanted to go further. But I knew I had my escort waiting for me to spend the rest of the day together, so rather than extending my ride along the Medio course, I followed the rules and waited at the rest stop with the rest of the Piccolo riders.

We were held at the stop for about 20 minutes (that was the amount of time I was there; others had been waiting longer) because the organizers/volunteers wanted the roads back to the finish, which were the same roads out for our route, clear of riders. This requirement was a bit much for those of us who had been cycling for awhile and spent plenty of hours out on roads. Others put up more of a protest than I as time passed, so eventually they let us go before all the roads were clear. While waiting to head back out, I wandered around, filled my water bottle, and made an effort not to eat much food. I worry about eating too much and making myself feel sick.

Once I was back out on the road, I made the most of the short distance to the finish. The hills were fun, my speed was decent, and the sun was warm. The good times ended, though, when I got to the gravel/dirt path that was at the end of the route. Had I been required to ride on such a terrain only a few months earlier, I would have protested, gotten off my bike, and walked. The mile and a half or so of gravel was extremely bumpy and my hands were numb by the end. Back out on the street I yelled out a "Fuck yeah!" and sped up for the finish line.

I rolled across the finish 2 hours and 10 minutes after I started and the first thing I said to my escort was, "I think I'll go ride it again." I wasn't ready to be finished. The distance of the Piccolo route was actually only 31 miles (not 36), and I wanted more! I cursed myself for not signing up for the Medio route. But rather than sulk I decided to make the best of it and check out the post-ride festival. However, I had a few moments of shame while walking around as I didn't want to be back so soon among the cyclists who only did the Piccolo. I'm stronger than that. I'm better than that. I could do more, dammit, and I will. I shook off the regret and shame and enjoyed myself the rest of the weekend.

On Sunday, before heading home, my escort and I drove the Gran Fondo route. I found it horrific, amazing, inspiring, and motivating. Once we hit the part of the route on Highway 1, I decided that I would ride it next year. I'll skip the medium and go for the large, thanks. So that's my plan. I came away from Levi Leipheimer's King Ridge Gran Fondo convinced that I am stronger than I thought and I would show myself just how strong I am. But I could only decide that having ridden the Piccolo. Hm. Lesson learned.

Santa Cruz Mermaid Duathlon Results and Race Report

The Santa Cruz Mermaid Duathlon was this past Sunday. It was my second duathlon of 2009 and the second duathlon of my short 28 years. After the du in Fremont, I was determined to train better for the bike-to-run transition; however, I lost my mojo and in the weeks leading up to the race only did one training ride with a run in the middle. It cost me on Sunday, and it might take a little time to forgive myself. And with this disappointment I give to you the official results as posted on active.com:

Times
Run 1: 9:21.9 (6:14/mi)
T1: 1:59.3
Bike: 47:05.4 (Avg: 14mph)
T2: 2:07.3
Run 2: 24:48.1 (9:55/mi)

Total: 1:25:22.1

Overall Results
41 out of 109
R1: 67
B: 34
R2: 59

Age Group Results
4 out of 16
R1: 9
B: 3
R2: 8

Let's keep in mind the following: the first run was supposed to be 1.5 miles, and it was well short; hence, my 6:14 pace. On a happier note, I would like to celebrate the fact that I biked the entire course. When I had previewed the bike route a few weeks ago, I was convinced it would be a miracle if I finished it under an hour. My fear was unrealized on Sunday morning, and I killed the bike course. My cycling that morning could not have been better. For someone who is in a constant battle with hills, the performance I gave on the hills of Aptos was fantastic. Not only did I not have to stop or walk my bike, but I also managed to pass a decent amount of other cyclists.

This particular duathlon is worth celebrating for another reason: it was the first event for which I had to drive myself. I woke at 4:30 am to a nice cup of coffee and some Twitter, delaying a little my drive from San Jose to Santa Cruz. During my drive down to Seacliff State Beach I was cursing the boy for not accompanying me even though I knew my mom, brother, and sister-in-law would be meeting me down there. Once I arrived at the beach parking lot, though, I was pleased to be alone. I took my time walking over to the transition area to drop off Cameron and set out my helmet and shoes and did a lot of deep breathing. And my family was at the transition area when I got over there to set up my own little space.

After almost forgetting to put on my timing chip, I made my way down the 150 stairs to the duathlon start. It was down the stairs that I noticed my legs were shaking and I was on the verge of tears, but I ignored my emotions and joined the other chicks standing around, watching the waves and waiting to start. My friend found me in the little duathlon crowd and we discussed how in the world we were going to be timed since there was no mat at the start line. We couldn't discuss it for too long because as we were being told that our time would start when the horn started for the first group of tri swimmers, the horn sounded. Off we went for what was well under 1.5 miles for the first part of the du. The end of this run involved climbing back up the 150 stairs to the transition area. The amount of stairs didn't bother me; I was more annoyed with the snails pace the others insisted on taking. With people coming down on one side and people going up on the other, it's a bit difficult to make a break for the top.

Once into the transition area, I quickly changed my shoes, stuffed my head into my helmet and made my way out to the bike course. Following the rules, I only mounted my bike after I was out of the transition area and over the mat. Clicked into my pedals and ready to go, I started off the cycling portion moderately. Having previewed the course, I knew what lay ahead and how much leg power it was going to take to get up some of the hills. The beginning of the course was rather deceiving in that it was somewhat flat, then downhill, then somewhat flat again. But this gave way to the first and biggest hill on Rio Del Mar drive. Several weeks ago when I rode the course in a practice run, I started the hill in the wrong gear, couldn't make it up, almost fell, and walked most of the way. On Sunday, I cycling up the whole damn thing, which set me up for a fantastic bike portion. I stayed in the lower gear, remembering there was another immediate hill after Rio Del Mar, passing others who weren't ready for another climb. From this point on, it was as if my body had ridden the course multiple times, and I cycled quite well. I was prepared for the final hill that had been a welcome and misleading descent on the way out, and I powered up the climb and cruised down the road back toward the transition area.

I had been given the advice of making an easy effort of going from bike to run, so I laid off the pedals a little and coasted into the transition area. After I dismounted, I was shocked and annoyed at how weak my legs felt. My family was at the entrance to the transition area, cheering for me and shouting encouragement, but I am sure that I did not look pleased to them. I made my way in my cleats to the area where I had set up my bike earlier, wondering along the way if I should take my cleats off and walk in my socks, so it would be easier and faster. Deciding against this, I finally made it to my area, dropped Cameron, and attempted to change my shoes. I was drained, and my hands wouldn't grasp my shoelaces. It took me two tries to tie my right shoe. But once I was ready, I made my way to the course for the second run and dug out a Shot Blok from my back zipper pocket.

In an attempt to get my legs reoriented to running and not pedaling, I took the beginning of the second run quite slow. Not having properly looked at the course for the second run, I was shocked at the hill we ran down at the beginning of the 2.5 miles, knowing that I had to run back up when I was coming in to finish. After the hill, the second course entailed running along the beach (thankfully not in the sand) next to a parking lot which many use for RV parking. It was rather strange to be running in a race past various sizes of vacationers sitting down to their parking-lot-picnic breakfast. There were plenty of "Oh, there's a race today" and "What are they doing" comments. After doing the turn around, passing the RVers again, one woman who had set up her lawn chair to watch us run by shouted out, "You're almost there!" to which I replied to her, to a runner next to me, and to myself, "How the hell do you know?"

It was along this part of the course that I heard my name yelled out and an accompanying cowbell rattled. My family was at the top of the cliff, so who could be cheering for me? I glanced to my left, and there was Ron with his daughter, yelling for me, a follower of Ron's on Twitter whom they didn't really know. I had been ready to quit, but once I saw and heard them, I picked up my pace, looking forward to seeing them again on my way back. And sure enough, as I ran back to the hill I had to climb, I saw Ron with the sign they had made for me, yelling my name. I approached the final hill with a smile on my face and managed to run up the entire thing, sprinting for the finish. I put on the brakes, grabbed a water bottle, a finisher's necklace, and waited patiently as my timing chip was removed from my left leg. I had never been so happy to finish a race as I was on Sunday.

What is clear to me after this duathlon is that I am competitive and demanding of myself. What remains unclear is why this race was emotional for me. I didn't break down in tears at the finish, but I was ready to cry at the start. Physically and emotionally drained, after getting home to San Jose following a brunch in Santa Cruz, I napped until dinner. My mom was in town and had stayed an extra day to see me compete on Sunday, but she spent the afternoon with my brother, and I was grateful to be alone, sleeping and not wanting to talk about how the race felt. Perhaps I'll never know why this race beat me up, but I'm happy to have learned that I can indeed cycle up hills. So I'll spend this week trying to focus on the positives that came out of the Santa Cruz Mermaid Duathlon, and prepare myself for Levi Leipheimer's King Ridge Gran Fondo on Saturday morning. The fondo is not a race, but an event, and I welcome the opportunity to be a part of something new and exciting.