Once clipped in, I had no choice but to go down…
…the hill, that is. As you come out of the transition area on the bike, there is a sharp almost 180-degree turn that takes you down a hill. After that, you head down a sharp but short descent on a street that is in motion, with hundreds and hundreds of people, screaming their heads off.
I tried my best to enjoy this part, but I was nervous. It was raining, I was surrounded by hundreds of other athletes, and it all seemed just a bit chaotic. As with the swim, I grabbed control of my thoughts.
You are in control of this bike.
Listen to these spectators: they are cheering for you!
You got this girl.
This is going to be EPIC!
I concentrated on my breathing, and used the first 8 or 9 miles, which is mostly climbing, to mentally prepare myself for the Keene descent.
I popped into the small ring to stay conservative in this opening section. With your adrenaline pumping, and feeling fresh so early in the race, it’s easy to overdo this part. I wasn’t going to make that mistake. Steady, steady, steady.
Within a half of an hour, I was approaching the first aid station, where my sister-in-law Tracy was a volunteer. I looked forward to seeing her. As I passed the Cascade Inn, I saw her holding out a water bottle. I smiled big and waved.
“Go Maria! Go! Go! Go!” She screamed. The support means sooo much when you are out there. A simple gesture goes a very long way.
In a flash, it was time to make my way down the Keene descent. I saw the first of three “Trucks Use Low Gear” signs. Here we go.
Funny thing happened on this first go-round with the big descent. Despite all my fears, my anxiety, my absolute dread of this section, I wasn’t that scared. I was in strategy mode. Even though it was raining, albeit lightly, I came to believe—truly believe—that I was in control. Now, I couldn’t control the people behind me, but I had faith in myself, and it felt sooooooo good.
One third of the way down the descent, I was singing to my bike: “People let me tell you ‘bout my best friend…She’s made of carbon fiber and she’ll get me to the end…”
Hey, whatever works, right?
This is not to say that I wasn’t feathering my brakes. I was—more than I needed to. But, the important change was the mental shift. I just simply wasn’t as frightened as I’d been before. By the time I got to the bottom of that 10k descent, I knew I would be okay—at least on the downhills.
As I made the left onto 9N, which takes us from Keene to Jay, I settled in for what is the easiest section of the bike course—the flats. Here, it is easy to fuel, drink, get into a steady rhythm. Unfortunately for me, it was along this section, about an hour and a half into the bike, that I started to feel some stomach discomfort.
My thoughts: Crap. Really? Is this really happening–I’ve barely even gone that far! What should I do? Just water? Try more food? Tums? Keep going, see what happens?
I opted, at first, to keep peddling, hoping the cramp would disappear. After another half hour, and two missed feedings (I take in calories every 15 minutes), I realized I needed to do something because the pain was getting worse, not better.
I stopped at the next aid station, used the restroom, and then pulled the Tums out of my bike shirt. I took two of them. We had learned the previous day that Tums can be useful for cramping and side stitches (thanks for the tip, Carrie!). I’m used to taking Tums when I run sometimes, as I experience heart burn from time to time. But, I had never used them for cramping or side stitches.
Guess what? Within 10 minutes the pain was gone—and it never returned again. Always carry your Tums, people!
In hindsight, here’s what I think happened. I was so worked up before the start of the race, which means my stomach was equally worked up. So, when I came out of the swim and started fueling & hydrating, my stomach was too hyped up to process the calories. I had eaten a half of a Hammer bar during T1, and I think I should have eaten a quarter of one. While I practiced the half bar in training, I did not practice being so nervous and trying to digest the calories.
This was not a disastrous mistake, but it did cost me some time and about 300 calories all told—an issue that would come back to get me later in the day.
The remainder of the flats passed without incident, and as I turned up 86, the climbing started. I was a little apprehensive about this section of the loop, because up to this point, I had only averaged about 15.8 mph–along the easiest part of the bike.
Would I finish the bike by the cut off time?
How much speed would I lose in the climbing?
About one mile or so into this section, there was a group of people cheering with a sign that read: “Make those rolling hills your bitch!”
I laughed and said, “My plan exactly!” They hooted, clapped and motivated me on my way.
I concentrated on keeping a steady tempo, keeping my heart rate in check and preventing a blow up. While this rolling section of the course is challenging, I felt strong and steady, continuing to pass people on the climbs, and I was even able to take advantage of the downhills. (After the Keene descent, all the other downhills look easy!) Really, I was pumped by how strong my legs felt. I had never felt this good on a bike—ever.
When I reached Wilmington, I heard a motorcycle coming close behind. Crap! Was I getting a penalty? Quick check: I wasn’t drafting. Did I drop some litter accidentally?
Then, I heard, “MAA-RIIIIII-AAAAA!”
Not a penalty. It was John’s Aunt Joanne, on the back of a race support motorcycle. She had volunteered with the medical staff, which made rounds during the race to make sure everyone was okay.
“You look great!” She encouraged.
“I feel great—this is so awesome, Joey!”
After a few more words, she was off, wishing me well. And, it was back to climbing: Whiteface, Wilmington Notch, Gorges, Little Cherry, Big Cherry, Mama Bear, Baby Bear, and…
At Papa Bear, which is the last climb of the loop, the crowds were UNBELIEVEABLE! I felt like I was in the Tour de France, as people stuck their heads into the road and cheered and ran along with us. There were people in all kinds of costumes – apes and robots and hula girls and speedos and orange wigs and super heroes. It was quite a sight.
As I passed one guy, he ran with me a piece and said, “You climb like Armstrong!” HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! I’m not a fool. But, for that brief minute, I did feel like something special. Just incredible.
As I headed into town to start the second loop, I saw my family on the hot corner. With the same smile I had plastered on my face since the swim, I screamed, “I AM HAVING SO MUCH FUN! I LOOOOVE THIS!”
And with that, all of the spectators went wild. That was one thing I learned early on in the race, if you give the spectators and the volunteers energy—they give it right back to you tenfold.
The human capacity for kindness and support is intensely uplifting, and our ability to affect each other for the good is astounding.
I finished my first loop in 3 hours and 48 minutes, 18 minutes off of my “dream” goal, but right smack dab in the middle of my “realistic” goal. Bike tip: don’t be a hero on the first loop at IMLP. You will pay for it so dearly—I PROMISE YOU. I heard so many people saying they “blew up” in the last 15-20 miles of the bike, as I ran past them during the marathon. Know why? They rode the first loop thinking they were Andy Schleck. Turns out, they were just your basic age group athlete.
Because I was conservative (okay, maybe too conservative), I felt good. So I made a quick decision that I would push the second loop harder. I completed my second loop 9 minutes faster than the first!
This extra speed came from two sources:
1) I let the bike go a bit more on the Keene descent. While I still used my brakes, I didn’t use them nearly as much – and hit a max speed of 32 mph. Okay, I know that seems piddling to the other cyclists who hit 50+ on that downhill. But for me, that’s pretty good. And, what’s more, I didn’t just hit that max and slam the brakes. I stayed very consistent in the mid 20s going down that hill. (first time down, I was in the high teens, low 20s) Can’t wait to see what I can do next year…
2) I pushed harder through the flats and the climbs. This was just a “simple” matter of wielding more power on the bike. This time, I took advantage of the flats from Keene to Jay, and pushed as hard as could within a reasonable HR range, which for me meant the 130s.
Riding along Mirror Lake Drive, finishing up the second loop, I saw John running the out-and-back portion on the other side of the road.
Holy Crap! He was almost done with one loop of the run already! I did some quick math in my head: He was going to make 11 hours, possibly under. Proud wife doesn’t quite capture my feeling at this point.
“John!” I yelled.
He knew it was me immediately. I saw his arm, fist clenched, go up in the air before he even turned around to look at me.
“Yeah, baby! You go, Maria!”
God, I just love him so much. I wouldn’t have been where I was, having the best day of my life if it wasn’t for him. People, let me tell you ‘bout my best friend…
I rounded the hot corner on my bike for the last time, flashed my family another smile, and off I went to T2.
My coach and I had discussed a 7 hour bike as my goal. I missed that by 27 minutes. Physically, aerobically, I know I’m capable of that—because I’ve done much better on less technical courses.
My problem? My bike handling skills and my fear of getting on the aerobars, and even the drops. Yes, you read correctly: I sat up on my cow horns for the entire bike ride. I have to admit; it’s frustrating. I am very angry at myself for being so timid. Not only could I have gone faster, but I would have been significantly more efficient, and hence, speedier on the run. Suffice to say, over the next year, increasing my bike handling skills as well as my bike strength will be a PRIMARY FOCUS. I want to average AT LEAST 16 mph next year; 16.5 or 17 mph would be even better.
As I came to the dismount line, I handed my bike to the volunteers. No racking your bike yourself—they just take it from you. I love that! With the same smile that I had yet to lose since I started, I said, “This is one of the best parts of the day!”
T2 is the same drill as T1, but this time, I grabbed my run gear bag. Plus, I was more prepared for what went on inside the changing tent, so it was nowhere near as overwhelming as the first time. As I stepped into the tent, a volunteer immediately asked, “Do you want help?”
“Sure!”
As with the volunteer I worked with that morning, she took charge immediately, grabbing my bag and ushering me to a seat.
“I’m doing a full change…sorry, I have…” I started, a bit embarrassed because this woman would have to see me naked.
“What are you sorry for?” she asked. “I’m an ER nurse—I’ve seen worse than this.” She put me at ease immediately, and the list of questions and commands began.
“Put your shorts on.”
“Do you need these contacts?”
“I’ll put the sunscreen on your back. You do your face.”
“Change your socks.”
“Don’t forget your race bib.”
Goodness, oh how I LOVE the race volunteers. Every single one of them was absolutely FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC!
After I was dressed and sunscreened, I started to leave the tent in the same direction as I did for the bike. She laughed, “Other way!!”
Okay, maybe I was a little disoriented after all. I turned around, headed out of the transition tent, where a group of volunteers were handing out water. I took a cup, drank it down, grabbed another one, and poured it over my head. I turned out onto Main Street, and began my run.
