Not Riding. I'm In Training

Excuse me, but what was that?

Not riding. I am in training the rest of the week.

That's what our boy, the real Wes J (as opposed to the fake real Wesley J), instant-messaged me yesterday afternoon when asked about the absence of his roadie on the bike rack.

Oh wait wait, I get it. What Wes J meant was that he was in training for work, as in taking a class or something. That's the reason why he left his bike at home.

But his ambiguity made me think about people who train for their, uh, training.

If I had messaged Lance Armstrong, he might have he replied:

Not riding. I'm in training.

Yeah, that makes sense, right?

You see how confusing that is, Wes J? From that response, would I surmise that LA would forgo a few laps at Juan Pelota's ranch for spinning session on the trainer?

It gets worse. What if I had tweeted Armstrong's coach, Chris Carmichael, about why he didn't ride yesterday. Since Carmichael is a trainer by profession, he could have messaged back:

Not riding, I'm in training with Lance, who's not not riding because he's in training


But what if -- follow me closely now Wes J -- what if Chris Carmichael was not training Lance Armstrong when I tweeted him yesterday, but was actually on the trainer himself, in some sort of twisted, recursively-narcissistic session being coached by himself in his latest spinning video?

He might have tweeted back:

Not riding. Not training. I'm in training

Then again, probably not. My gut tells me he would have replied:

CLIMBING SERIES 3-DISC SET - $79.99 - Buy Now!!!

By the way, Wes J., I'm not riding today. I'm in training. For the Boston Marathon next spring.

Regeneration

Cross Noob Project Update

About six weeks ago I wrote about getting a cycl0cross bike put together. The project has finally come together. It's a frankenbike if there ever was one.

The Scattante frame (and fork) were practically given to me by Mike Miles.
From Jim Maaske came the Rolf wheelset, cantilever brakes and a saddle.

The 9 speed Tiagra brifter, a cane creek front brake lever, Ultegra crank, 9 spd cassette, handlebars and tires came from Mike Munson.

A carbon fiber wrapped seat tube came from Bryan Redemeske.

The Shimano 105 rear derailleur and the nine speed chain were cast down from Old Yeller.

The remaining parts came from the Trek store.

You may recall that the last post on this project had noted concerns about the integrated headset and the pitted and slightly abnormal shape of the head tube. Upon further review, it was agreed that while the integrated headset is not the best design application for a cyclocross bike, it would still work. The longevity of it is anyone's guess.

Brushing that aside, I took partially assembled bike to the High Gear shop in La Vista for a professional fitting.

After an hour of dialing in my measurements to the fit, the bike started feeling good beneath me. With the frame being slightly smaller than my road bike, a longer stem was needed to cover the difference. With that, it felt really good. I had the steer tube cut to make it permanent.

Alas, my new 'cross bike:


I took it for a spin around the block yesterday. Weighing in just under 19lbs, its 53cm aluminum frame and carbon fork provides a smooth ride with quick handling. The bike's 1x9 gearing offers enough power for the hills and its cantilever brakes are ideal for mud and gunk that off-roading brings.

And while the fit was right on -- and I'm excited to have a cyclocross bike -- something still didn't feel quite right. It needed an extra something... a final touch that would leave no doubt that this bike belonged to me.

I settled on this.

Much better.

Somebody ring a cowbell for me.

We got one of those in South Dakota

Years ago, my brother Matt and I were fortunate to go to Europe for a month. It was a graduation present from our parents to expand our horizons through experiencing other cultures. What a terrific time that was. Thanks Mom and Dad!

Shortly after arrival, we found ourselves swept up among a pack of fellow North Americans. While we were from all over the States and Canada, the two women from South Dakota made the only lasting impressions.

Before I write another word, let me first say that I have nothing but respect for the State of South Dakota in general. Let's face it, fellow Nebraskans, we're not much different than our northern neighbors. Sure, they've got Mt Rushmore, but we've got our own totemic monument in carhenge, and what's more excessively American than a timeless tribute to the automobile?

Now about these two SD women. Within a few days they were grating on the group's nerves. They talked incessantly. They were loud and brash. And it soon became apparent that they had dissimilar interests and budgets than the rest of the group. For example, when we wanted to go to Versailles, they wanted to shop for $1,500 Haute couture leather boots. As Matt and on were traveling on less than $15/day, even coffee became a luxury.

So by the time we arrived in Florence, there was a lot of animosity in the group towards these two. But to everyone's delight, they made an announcement on the platform that they were going to catch the next train to continue their journey to Greece.

"But what about Michelangelo's David," I suddenly blurted out.

Eyes were rolling. I could almost hear the thoughts of others telling me to shut up.

"We'd rather go lay out on the beaches in Greece"

Somebody gasped.

"But it's a masterpiece!"

"Oh the David? We've seen it already; we got one of those in South Dakota."

-//-

I was reminded of these two at the Des Moines Marathon this past weekend.

Before the race, I was among hundreds who escaped the chilly morning air by ducking into a nearby hotel lobby. Along the wall, an elite marathoner was sitting on a couch. I knew he was running the marathon because he was the only person sitting in the crowded room and distance runners value resting their legs before the race. I also knew that he was an elite athlete by his small build and his Kenyan accent. Since I also running the full marathon, I was fully qualified to sit. I plopped down next to him.

Near us was a group of women who were already mid-conversation with the Kenyan.

"What's your fastest marathon time?"

"2:22," he replied.

There was a buzz of excitement in the whispers shared among them.

"Where's your next race?"

"South Korea"

Blank looks.

"You mean South Dakota, right?" the woman inquired.

"South Korea," he reiterated.

More whispering.

Then again, this time more sheepishly, "Don't you mean South Dakota, U - S - A ?"

"No. My next race is in South Korea. It takes 13 hours to fly there."

"I TOLD YOU HE SAID SOUTH KOREA!!" she repeated triumphantly back to the group.

-//-

As for me, I completed the marathon in 3:01.25.

Overall, the race was organized well. There were plenty of aid stations along a course that was quite scenic, albeit challenging. The first half had lots of hills not unlike what you'd encounter in midtown Omaha. The second half was flat as a pancake. It was a calm and 32F at gun time; later, the 20mph southern winds brought the temperature into the mid 40s.

I had previously decided to jump in with the 3 hour pace group. By our pacer's plan, we ran the initial eight miles of hills at a slower than 3 hour pace, attacked on an upper section and the down hill portions at a 2:52 marathon pace and then settled into a 2:59 pace for the remaining 8 miles.

As reported by Athlete tracker alerts, my splits went like this:
1) 10k at 42:10; expected finish at 2:58
2) Half at 1:29:51; expected finish at 2:59
3) 19.5mi at 2:09:54; expected finish at 2:54
4) finish at 3:01:24

What happened after the 19.5 mile split actually started shortly after the hills section: around the 11th mile, my quads started feeling heavy. Then at the 16th mile, hard pounding during the quickened downhill pace also took a toll on the quads. Tightening followed. At mile 22, my calf muscles began cramping. It was at this point that I fell off the sub 3 hour pace group.

In the end, the 3:01.25 finish was a PR by over seven minutes. It's also a valid Boston Marathon qualification time, which I intend to use in 2010. I am happy about this. Of course, I would have liked to have gone 86 seconds faster to break the three hour barrier, but I gave it everything and will gladly accept the results.

For the next few days/weeks, it's time for some R&R.

Perhaps I'll go pay the David of South Dakota a visit. I hear that they got one of those there.

Project X, a WSCG Experiment

Yesterday, I wrote about your life being an experiment. Through my own scientific trials, I have recently discovered that I possess mutant power.

Last month, the state championship road race fell on the same weekend as the Omaha Corporate cup 10k foot race. And in addition to that, the marathon training calendar I'd been using to prepare for an upcoming race also called for a 20 mile run that weekend.

To manage the energy requirements, I began a carbohydrate loading diet experiment.

Step 1. About a week before the event, reduce or maintain your carbohydrate intake at about 50 to 55 percent of your total calories. Increase protein and fat intake to compensate for any decrease in carbohydrates. Continue training at your normal level. This helps deplete your carbohydrate stores and make room for the loading that comes next.

Sunday and Monday came and went without much notice. In fact, I was beginning to think that the unloading phase was a bunch of hoo-ha.

I found out otherwise during Tuesday evening's 1200m repeats at UNO's track. On the last couple of intervals, my legs became heavy. As much as I tried, I couldn't keep the leg turnover speed up. A feeling of general malaise and extreme hunger had set in. Meanwhile, my senses became seemingly sharper focused. Pedaling home from the track, I could smell the Amsterdam Cafe's carbohydrate-rich falafels & curry fries from six blocks away. I was tempted, but I had one more day to go.

If I thought Tuesday was bad, Wednesday was worse. At breakfast, the fridge opened its doors to containers awash in liquid diabetes; the pantry revealed boxes of processed foods gratuitously coated in refined sugars. Meanwhile, my mind was freaking out, continuously insisting on stuffing fistfuls of this garbage into my mouth. I had no idea how much of this crap was in my kitchen, let alone my body. Yet I resisted. Barely.

This insanity continued throughout the day. At the Starbucks in my building, the pastries were the first thing I saw when I entered the store. I was unaware that they had so many varieties of scones. Back at my desk, there weren't enough celery and carrots in my lunch bag to quench the sugar cravings.

Then came the Wednesday evening Trek store group ride. Since Shim talks behind my back in front of my back when I'm not there (his words -- not mine), you may have already heard how many times I was dropped that night.

If not, it went like this: repeated drops, each time with extending distances between the group and me. At the last regrouping, somebody asked if I had flatted. Apparently they had to wait a really really long time. As we soft-pedaled away from this final grouping, I confided to another rider about experimenting with my diet. Before he could ask more about it, I was dropped again. Allow me to remind you that we were soft pedaling at that moment. Sigh. I just didn't care any more. I sat up and saw the pack pull away at 12 MPH. My leg muscles were quivering and my brain hurt. I wanted nothing else to do with that ride.

EAT YOUR LIVER

I had succeeded in waking the mutant within. My liver & metabolism were undergoing lipid to glycogen regenesis. Without any quick energy (carbs) left, the body was forced to convert its fats to sugars from the liver stores. It's an inefficient process that causes significant performance degradation. In other words, a total bonk.

The time had arrived to flip the switch to begin carb-loading.

Step 2. Three to four days before the event, increase your carbohydrate intake to 70 percent of your daily calories

I rolled up to the first available convenience store. As I paid for the two bananas, a quart of Gatorade and a 16 oz bag of twizzlers, the attendant commented, "You look terrible."

A reply formed in my brain, but the synapses connecting the abstract thought to uttering a response misfired. A heavy nod simply conveyed my agreement.

Within 15 minutes, I was feeling much better. The sugars were coursing through my veins, clearing the fog in my head while providing energy for muscles. I was steadily cruising along at 20 MPH again.

Over the next three days, I was a banana-eating monkey. I had my fill of grains and pastas. I even had a falafel with curry fries. Evidenced by exclamation point abuse on my twitter feed (!!! ack !!!), a wave of ebullience overtook as my energy levels rose. I was ready to race.

The weekend's results were promising. A good Cat 4 race on Saturday was followed by a 10K PR while on the way to completing the 20 mile run on Sunday.

-//-

Fast forward to the present. I'm racing the Des Moines marathon this Sunday. I've completed a second round of carb unloading and am well into the reload phase now.

The unloading wasn't as bad this time because I was tapering. Still, I got the sugar cravings going and managed to wake the mutant within once more.

I'm expecting to see Charles Xavier at the finish line.