I didn't run this weekend, even though I love it. Instead I rode my bike, which I hate, with Tiger Lily and Sweet Baboo 70 miles around the Albuquerque area--down Route 66 and back again, climbing over 3500 feet on the trip - slow, grinding climbs. I was happy to note that I didn't feel like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. The heartrate stayed low, most of the time. The legs held up.
But gosh, I hate the bike. So why was out there, instead of running? I was out there because it is my weakest link. The bike caused me, more than anything, to go over the usually allotted time of 17 hours at Ironman Louisville. I hate it. HATE. IT. Cycling causes me pain in several areas and makes me feel bad about myself. It makes me cry and rant like a lunatic to my friends and loved one. I have never cried or felt like throwing up while running. Only when cycling. Consistently.
And like a battered wife, I keep going back. I keep forgiving the bike, because maybe this time things will be different. (I can joke about that because I was a battered wife, once, and humor is how I dispell all the bad demons. That, and running)
On long rides, I watch enviously as Sweet Baboo cruises easily in front of me, waving his arms and drinking from his water bottle with no hands on the handlebars. For him, cycling is second nature. His bike is part of him. To me, a bike is a tumor. I feel awkward and 99% of the time, I'm tense and nervous.
And then there's the pain: after about 20 mile
s it starts with a sharp pain in my left wrist that I only have when I'm trying to do three things: 1) opening a jar, 2) pushups without barbells, and 3) riding a bike. The sharp pain eventually spreads to little lightening sensations in my fingers. The best way to make said sharp pain go away? Lean forward, into the aerobars, assuming the aero tuck, taking the pressure off my wrists.
Ah. The aero tuck. It sounds nice, doesn't it? Like a literary character: The Adventures of Aero Tuck and his little dog.
But gosh, I hate the bike. So why was out there, instead of running? I was out there because it is my weakest link. The bike caused me, more than anything, to go over the usually allotted time of 17 hours at Ironman Louisville. I hate it. HATE. IT. Cycling causes me pain in several areas and makes me feel bad about myself. It makes me cry and rant like a lunatic to my friends and loved one. I have never cried or felt like throwing up while running. Only when cycling. Consistently.
And like a battered wife, I keep going back. I keep forgiving the bike, because maybe this time things will be different. (I can joke about that because I was a battered wife, once, and humor is how I dispell all the bad demons. That, and running)
On long rides, I watch enviously as Sweet Baboo cruises easily in front of me, waving his arms and drinking from his water bottle with no hands on the handlebars. For him, cycling is second nature. His bike is part of him. To me, a bike is a tumor. I feel awkward and 99% of the time, I'm tense and nervous.
And then there's the pain: after about 20 mile
s it starts with a sharp pain in my left wrist that I only have when I'm trying to do three things: 1) opening a jar, 2) pushups without barbells, and 3) riding a bike. The sharp pain eventually spreads to little lightening sensations in my fingers. The best way to make said sharp pain go away? Lean forward, into the aerobars, assuming the aero tuck, taking the pressure off my wrists.Ah. The aero tuck. It sounds nice, doesn't it? Like a literary character: The Adventures of Aero Tuck and his little dog.
But 40 minutes of aero tuck later, I'm missing skin in the upper front part of my crotch. So then I sit up but lean into the drops, straightening my wrists - sparing my crotch and my wrists, but there's only so long you can do this. You can't hold one damned position for 80 miles.
The pain compounds everything else: my feeling of being trapped on the bike, the feeling that it's so much easier for everyone else so WHY DO I SUCK. SO. MUCH?? and the feeling that, any moment, the front tire will blow or I'll be forced off the road into the sand or hit a pothole and then WHAM! endover onto my back and shoulder, like I have before, landing in a bed of thorns with a sprained shoulder and knocking the wind out of me.
The pain compounds everything else: my feeling of being trapped on the bike, the feeling that it's so much easier for everyone else so WHY DO I SUCK. SO. MUCH?? and the feeling that, any moment, the front tire will blow or I'll be forced off the road into the sand or hit a pothole and then WHAM! endover onto my back and shoulder, like I have before, landing in a bed of thorns with a sprained shoulder and knocking the wind out of me.
And, because it is painful, I don't train as I should, and because I don't train as I should, I am slow, and I stay slow, which makes the pain last longer.
When I run, I'm slow. There's no pain, so the slowness doesn't get to me. I can run off the path or just stand still, or sit down. I'm tied into my shoes, yes, but they aren't likely to suddenly suffer a mechanical failure and head off the road, taking me and my body with it. And there is the inexplicable feeling of goodness I have after a good run.
And swimming. I love swimming! Pirate might puzzle at this declaration because I'm hard to get to go to the pool, but when I'm swimming, I feel clean and strong. Bilateral breathing? No problem. True, I'm not terribly fast, but I have good form, I've been told several times.
By the time I've been on a bike for 60 or 70 miles I'm hurting so much I sound like a psychotic woman with tourette syndrome on crack. I'm swearing loudly, and ranting about how much I hate it. It is my weakest link. It is my white whale, my archilles, all those crappy analogies about those things that will, eventually, bring me down.
But here I am. Committed to an Ironman, and I always follow through with my commitments. I only today found out that places will let you try out saddles (DUH, why didn't I know this before?) so hope springs eternal. Maybe next time things will be different. Maybe.
When I run, I'm slow. There's no pain, so the slowness doesn't get to me. I can run off the path or just stand still, or sit down. I'm tied into my shoes, yes, but they aren't likely to suddenly suffer a mechanical failure and head off the road, taking me and my body with it. And there is the inexplicable feeling of goodness I have after a good run.
And swimming. I love swimming! Pirate might puzzle at this declaration because I'm hard to get to go to the pool, but when I'm swimming, I feel clean and strong. Bilateral breathing? No problem. True, I'm not terribly fast, but I have good form, I've been told several times.
By the time I've been on a bike for 60 or 70 miles I'm hurting so much I sound like a psychotic woman with tourette syndrome on crack. I'm swearing loudly, and ranting about how much I hate it. It is my weakest link. It is my white whale, my archilles, all those crappy analogies about those things that will, eventually, bring me down.
But here I am. Committed to an Ironman, and I always follow through with my commitments. I only today found out that places will let you try out saddles (DUH, why didn't I know this before?) so hope springs eternal. Maybe next time things will be different. Maybe.
Meanwhile, thanks for letting me rant and bitch and moan.
And, it occurs to me as I'm writing and thinking about this that maybe there are other people out there who hate one of the three events as much as I hate cycling.
Who are you? What do you hate?
And, it occurs to me as I'm writing and thinking about this that maybe there are other people out there who hate one of the three events as much as I hate cycling.
Who are you? What do you hate?
