It's Friday night before my first weekend of taper.
That means last weekend was my last big weekend of training. And I've had a week of taper, which I'll write about later.
Your last big weekend or session is always hard but sometimes it pays to remember that as much as you want your training to simulate racing, it's different.
Showing posts with label Brisbane River Ride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brisbane River Ride. Show all posts
Hello June. And Ironman Cairns.
Well, that happened quickly.
Just a moment ago, I was getting my May training mojo back.. and now it's June, and Ironman Cairns is only a week away.
I'm so excited that this race is nearly here... I'm nervous and curious to see how my body races after an abbreviated program since Ironman Melbourne.
Just a moment ago, I was getting my May training mojo back.. and now it's June, and Ironman Cairns is only a week away.
I'm so excited that this race is nearly here... I'm nervous and curious to see how my body races after an abbreviated program since Ironman Melbourne.
Lives on the street
A slightly off topic post today following spending the day yesterday helping a friend salvage his flood ravaged house.
I'm choosing my language carefully, and using the term "house" deliberately. My friend's house is a shell - no walls, no ceiling, and most pertinently, none of the personal possessions that make a structure a "home".
He has family and friends that foresaw the devastation. I'm told the recovery mission to strip the house of furniture, clothing - and even the new bathroom vanity - was epic. Some of his neighbours, like others all over Brisbane, Queensland, and now Australia, have not been so fortunate in these floods.
I'm choosing my language carefully, and using the term "house" deliberately. My friend's house is a shell - no walls, no ceiling, and most pertinently, none of the personal possessions that make a structure a "home".
He has family and friends that foresaw the devastation. I'm told the recovery mission to strip the house of furniture, clothing - and even the new bathroom vanity - was epic. Some of his neighbours, like others all over Brisbane, Queensland, and now Australia, have not been so fortunate in these floods.
Another brave woman
So from Jessica Watson, to another brave woman I met yesterday on the River Ride.
I aimed to do a two hour ride, one and a half laps of the river yesterday. I felt I needed the time on the bike to prepare for next week's adventure race, and the river ride is easy. It's a backup; a default. It's a ride I think we all take for granted.
I was most of the way round and already calculating how I would make up the two hours when just near Davies Park I encountered a lady changing a flat. As is the custom amongst cyclists, I asked if she was OK. I could just tell from her hesitance to answer, that the answer should have been no.
Of course I stopped. She was kneeling on the ground with her two spare tubes laid out in front of her, trying to figure out what was next.
"I'm just a little out of practice. It's my first ride for a while," she explained.
Rather than take over and get her on her way quickly, I decided it would be more productive, and she would feel more comfortable, if I helped her less, and offered her moral support. After all, she did have all the gear and clearly was an old hand.
"I've booked my bike in for a service on Tuesday. I just thought I'd take a quick spin. And I get a flat." Everything had deteriorated - her spares took a lot of coaxing to get any air into and her pump just didn't work. I did what any cyclist would do, inflated her tyre with a CO2 cartridge, which she offered to return if I left her my details. I refused of course - it's just a canister. It's what cyclists do for each other.
She had been obviously quite agitated throughout the process, but it wasn't till we were almost ready to go that I found out her full story.
It had been 18 months since her last ride. Not long prior to that, she'd moved to Brisbane from the Gold Coast with her new husband. After just nine months of marriage, her husband, not even 50, had suffered a stroke. She was now his full time carer, and spent her days ferrying him to physical rehab, speech therapy... a long list of appointments, which took hours to prepare for and hours to get him home from and settled again.
As she guided him through his rehabilitation, and as he got a little better, she'd started searching for an opportunity to get back on the bike. She had let him know, but wasn't sure that he comprehended, that if he woke up one day and she'd left a helmet on the bed, that she was out riding; and that she would be home soon.
I could see the guilt weighing heavy upon her. That's what I'd identified as I'd first seen her kneeling by the side of the bike path, struggling to repair her bike so she could get home to him - preferably before he even knew she was gone.
As we parted ways I encouraged her not to let this one bad experience discourage her. I reassured her that her husband would understand her desire to ride.
In retrospect, I wish I had have given her my details. At the time, I'd declined for the right reasons, and even when I found out her situation, I felt that she needed the cost of the canister more than I did. But now I wish I could contact her, I wish I could continue to encourage her and support her.
For this lady, whose name I do not know, the River Ride is a luxury beyond my comprehension; she dreams of a Saturday when the River Ride is once again the default activity.
I hope she continues to pursue this dream. Even though yesterday didn't turn out quite as she would have liked, I hope she continues with the same bravery.
I aimed to do a two hour ride, one and a half laps of the river yesterday. I felt I needed the time on the bike to prepare for next week's adventure race, and the river ride is easy. It's a backup; a default. It's a ride I think we all take for granted.
I was most of the way round and already calculating how I would make up the two hours when just near Davies Park I encountered a lady changing a flat. As is the custom amongst cyclists, I asked if she was OK. I could just tell from her hesitance to answer, that the answer should have been no.
Of course I stopped. She was kneeling on the ground with her two spare tubes laid out in front of her, trying to figure out what was next.
"I'm just a little out of practice. It's my first ride for a while," she explained.
Rather than take over and get her on her way quickly, I decided it would be more productive, and she would feel more comfortable, if I helped her less, and offered her moral support. After all, she did have all the gear and clearly was an old hand.
"I've booked my bike in for a service on Tuesday. I just thought I'd take a quick spin. And I get a flat." Everything had deteriorated - her spares took a lot of coaxing to get any air into and her pump just didn't work. I did what any cyclist would do, inflated her tyre with a CO2 cartridge, which she offered to return if I left her my details. I refused of course - it's just a canister. It's what cyclists do for each other.
She had been obviously quite agitated throughout the process, but it wasn't till we were almost ready to go that I found out her full story.
It had been 18 months since her last ride. Not long prior to that, she'd moved to Brisbane from the Gold Coast with her new husband. After just nine months of marriage, her husband, not even 50, had suffered a stroke. She was now his full time carer, and spent her days ferrying him to physical rehab, speech therapy... a long list of appointments, which took hours to prepare for and hours to get him home from and settled again.
As she guided him through his rehabilitation, and as he got a little better, she'd started searching for an opportunity to get back on the bike. She had let him know, but wasn't sure that he comprehended, that if he woke up one day and she'd left a helmet on the bed, that she was out riding; and that she would be home soon.
I could see the guilt weighing heavy upon her. That's what I'd identified as I'd first seen her kneeling by the side of the bike path, struggling to repair her bike so she could get home to him - preferably before he even knew she was gone.
As we parted ways I encouraged her not to let this one bad experience discourage her. I reassured her that her husband would understand her desire to ride.
In retrospect, I wish I had have given her my details. At the time, I'd declined for the right reasons, and even when I found out her situation, I felt that she needed the cost of the canister more than I did. But now I wish I could contact her, I wish I could continue to encourage her and support her.
For this lady, whose name I do not know, the River Ride is a luxury beyond my comprehension; she dreams of a Saturday when the River Ride is once again the default activity.
I hope she continues to pursue this dream. Even though yesterday didn't turn out quite as she would have liked, I hope she continues with the same bravery.
Hardcore weekend and good vibes all round
...hmm... that post title sounds X Rated... read on with no fear, G Ratings prevail.
This past weekend was one of the hardest in terms of training that I can remember. On Saturday The Three Amigos met at the pool for the "Hardcore 100" - a 5.5 hour long mag trainer set courtesy of Spinervals Coach Troy.
Anyone who's ever spent a couple of hours on a stationery trainer knows how easy it would have been for us to walk away at that point. Our legs were throbbing, our hearts pounding out of our chests. All the while the counter on the TV screen counted down second by second, far too slowly for our liking. After two and a half hours it taunted us with three hours and some to go.
We persevered to the final sprint, during which I thought I might yank my aero bars off my bike with the effort! It felt good to get off, although swinging the leg over was hard.
We backed up on Sunday with a 30k 'River Run'. The 'River Run' is usually known as the 'River Ride' - it's probably the most popular round trip amongst Brisbane cyclists... but on Sunday we were 'sans bicycle'.
The run was eventful for me. I was still wary about magpies, and with the reemergence of news stories on the bikeway attacks during the week, I also had human baddies to look out for. I hadn't counted on getting the fright of my life from what I think was a small firecracker going off within a metre of me. True story! I was just plodding along minding my own business, when BANG! After recovering from the initial shock I warily looked around for a camera, a group of kids laughing, but spotted nothing to make me any the wiser as to what it was or why!
By then I was almost on the home stretch. Just back along the Coro Bike Path and over the Goodwill Bridge. I gained some company along the way... perhaps I looked like I needed more than Gatorade, GU and Coke... KKB had already sought me out a couple of times during his Sunday ride, and another of the guys from my squad turned around and rode with me for a k or so when he encountered me on his way home.
But the outstanding support prize has to go to the friend who, on spotting me down on the bike path literally pulled her car over to one of the parking bays on Coro Drive and ran the last 4ks or so with me back to Somerville House, dog in tow. Where, I might add, my coach and his wife were waiting patiently.
I feel like I've recovered better from all of this, better than I did from last weekend's half marathon at Coomera. Must be the good vibes.
This past weekend was one of the hardest in terms of training that I can remember. On Saturday The Three Amigos met at the pool for the "Hardcore 100" - a 5.5 hour long mag trainer set courtesy of Spinervals Coach Troy.
Anyone who's ever spent a couple of hours on a stationery trainer knows how easy it would have been for us to walk away at that point. Our legs were throbbing, our hearts pounding out of our chests. All the while the counter on the TV screen counted down second by second, far too slowly for our liking. After two and a half hours it taunted us with three hours and some to go.
We persevered to the final sprint, during which I thought I might yank my aero bars off my bike with the effort! It felt good to get off, although swinging the leg over was hard.
We backed up on Sunday with a 30k 'River Run'. The 'River Run' is usually known as the 'River Ride' - it's probably the most popular round trip amongst Brisbane cyclists... but on Sunday we were 'sans bicycle'.
The run was eventful for me. I was still wary about magpies, and with the reemergence of news stories on the bikeway attacks during the week, I also had human baddies to look out for. I hadn't counted on getting the fright of my life from what I think was a small firecracker going off within a metre of me. True story! I was just plodding along minding my own business, when BANG! After recovering from the initial shock I warily looked around for a camera, a group of kids laughing, but spotted nothing to make me any the wiser as to what it was or why!
By then I was almost on the home stretch. Just back along the Coro Bike Path and over the Goodwill Bridge. I gained some company along the way... perhaps I looked like I needed more than Gatorade, GU and Coke... KKB had already sought me out a couple of times during his Sunday ride, and another of the guys from my squad turned around and rode with me for a k or so when he encountered me on his way home.
But the outstanding support prize has to go to the friend who, on spotting me down on the bike path literally pulled her car over to one of the parking bays on Coro Drive and ran the last 4ks or so with me back to Somerville House, dog in tow. Where, I might add, my coach and his wife were waiting patiently.
I feel like I've recovered better from all of this, better than I did from last weekend's half marathon at Coomera. Must be the good vibes.
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