Never say never: I'm on Strava

I'm a sell-out. I've been uploading my workouts to Strava. It's true. I'm blaming it on work though. Someone in my office started an East Coast versus West Coast bike challenge. I did it for "the man." That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

In honor of backpedaling, let's make a list of all of my other "I never's."

I'll never say kale is delicious. It's not.

I'll never wear a tutu to a race.

I'll never move back to smalltown USA. i.e. I will never live more than 30 minutes from a major airport.

I'll never go to Disneyland or Disney World. (Maybe if my niece wants to go... )

I'll never date/marry a pharmaceutical rep. I feel the industry is kind of evil, especially the sales people.

I'll never get stuck going to one of these "parties" that try to sell you stuff. Been there. Done that. I always buy something I don't need, then feel bad about it. But, then I feel bad if I don't buy something.

I'll never hang some big inspirational quote on my wall or at my desk. I only like inspiration that comes from self-depreciation.

I'll never live in the city of Santa Clara. Santa Clara is a sell-out city. It's an airport, a mall, an amusement park, and a sports stadium. They have ruined any possibility of a downtown, and the university (the only cool part of the town) is too hard to find.

I'll never own a little dog, especially a white, fluffy one. Little dogs don't really do anything. That's why they are called lap dogs. My lap is too busy to be sat upon. So, unless I have a yard for a big, mean dog (preferably that needs to be "run") then forget it. Also, you are supposed to put your little dog in outfits? That's just dog abuse.

Here are some "I never's" that turned into, "Never say never."

I'll never work in the corporate world. The corporate world is for sell-outs! 
Um, the corporate world pays more money, so you can do those things than non-sellout people do, but you can actually afford to do it. Oh, and eat food, oh and retire, oh and not steal toilet paper from work.

I'll never to a marathon. Running for 4 hours? Hell no.
Well, all of my marathons have been under 4 hours so far. Does that count? Also, I've never run a marathon that I've liked. I hope #3 is a charm, because the last two were really, really hard.

I'll never go on a diet. I work out so I can eat what I want.
I believed this until I was about 30.5 years old. I still think diets are annoying, and people who adhere to one diet are missing out on some awesome taste bud opportunities. But, yeah, my diet has changed. I can't eat a whole pizza anymore. I mean, I can. I just don't.

I'll never drive an SUV.
Damn, really needed room for bikes. Yeah, I could have bought a car with a bike rack, but then you have to worry about the rack, and locking it properly, and ok. Fine, I bought a compact SUV.

I'll never do an Ironman. That's just stupid/unnatural.
Soon to eat my words.

Escaping from Alcatraz

The friends you meet on a boat to Alcatraz island:

1.) A very nervous girl who had her full wet suit on even before we pulled away form Pier 3 (we had 1.5 hours until the start of the race)
2.) A surf-y dude from So Cal who had done the race the year prior. Like, totally.
3.) A guy from Milwaukee who has also done the race at least two other years.
4.) A guy in a Superman kit from Sacramento who had also done the race in 2011.

This was a good group to be around in the hour leading up to my most difficult swim yet. I'd like to thank these guys for putting my mind at ease, and the girl for proving that I'm not really that nervous. In fact, we spent the entire hour talking and I barely looked out the window to see what conditions might be like for the Escape from Alcatraz swim. No matter what the morning currents were like, I was already boarded on that boat, and there was no escaping the inevitable "Escape".

As we lined up to jump from the boat, I zipped up my wet suit and my So Cal friend said, "Woah, sleeveless! You are brave, lady." That's right man, I am so fucking brave.

While adjusting my cap and goggles, the goggle strap broke. This was ten minutes before the start of the race. I looked up and saw some, "I'm glad it's not me" facial expressions. Superman looked worried for me. Somehow I managed to calm my shaking hands and get the little piece of plastic through the hole in order to tie it back together and tie it in a knot. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

I was near the end of the line out the door, but not really by choice. I picked a seat near the middle of the boat, and didn't know which doors we would be jumping from. Jumping from the boat is the biggest fear I hear from most people about this swim. But, honestly, by the time you get out the door, and see the ten foot drop, there isn't much time to think about it. The only thing I thought before making that leap was, "Wait until the person in front of you swims away so you don't jump on top of them." Then, it was just a matter of - GO!

I jumped with my legs apart and arms at my side as they suggested; no pencil dives into the Bay, and they only want the pros to dive. Fair enough. As my body fell into the deep, cold Bay water I thought, "Holy shit! I'm in the middle of the San Francisco Bay! This is so awesome!" As I came up, my goal was to find the Fontana Towers and swim towards them. They were relatively easy to spot, until the currents picked up.

About five minutes into the swim, I had a bit of a panic. The currents seemed to be coming from both sides, and I was swallowing water. If the currents would have stayed like this for the duration of the race, I would have had a hard time, but they seemed to only kick up three or four times during the swim. Each time I was able to deal with them better. I convinced myself that, if I didn't get a breath this time, that I would get one the next. Bilateral breathing is so important.

Luckily during the difficult portions, I remembered that there were safety boats who were watching me above the waves. I saw kayaks and paddle boards out there, as well as one water craft who decided to make a wake right in front of me - he better have been rescuing someone (!). Glad that someone was not me.

There is a lot of room to spread out in the Bay, so I often didn't see any other swimmers for a minute or so, but would look up and see a sea of colorful caps ahead of me, or another sea of black arms coming from behind. I didn't feel the mass-start panic that usually happens at the beginning of a race - no kicking or elbowing - which was much easier to deal with. My biggest panic situation has happened in a pack of people; it had nothing to do with water temperature, or sharks. It's people. Swimming is the one time when I'm an introvert!

I thought about sharks one time, but read that they stay on the bottom of the Bay, so I wasn't worried about sea life at all. The other thing I tend to think about sometimes when swimming is dead bodies.Yeah, I said it.

As Fontana Towers drifted out of view, my focus was on Fort Mason, which juts out slightly into the Bay and is easy to spot. My goal was to sight EXACTLY where the race directors told us to sight. Often when you think you might be headed, isn't where you are going. This is a good website with all of the things you might sight on when swimming from Alcatraz. For this swim, 1.) Fontana Towers, 2.) Trees at Fort Mason, 3.) Fort Mason, 4.) Palace of Fine Arts, 5.) Beach/Finish Shoot.

When I finally spotted the Palace of Fine Arts, the only thing left to do was sight the finishing shoot, but I would need to get closer to the shore. The currents, and my leading right arm made it difficult to go left. But, I didn't want to swim too far, and be pushed out to Crissy Field! This is where the currents seemed to give me a push because the Palace of Fine Arts seemed to come so close within a few minutes that I didn't realize it looming right in front of me, as was the finishing shoot.

I did end up swimming beyond the finishing shoot, and had to fight some current to get back to the right place. Good news was, I didn't drift into an entirely different area, and was still within the parameters of the beach.

For the first time in history, I am smiling in all of my finisher photos out of the water. They are still too hideous to post here.

Like many things in triathlon, this swim completely changed my perspective on a lot of things:

1.) If I can start swimming at 31 years old, anyone can. God, I hope I don't sound like an infomercial. But, I'm not amazing. I'm certainly not an amazing swimmer (you can say that again).
2.) You really have to want to do it, and then take the steps necessary to make the literal jump so it becomes a reality. If you don't have the desire to get up at 5:00 AM and swim in the cold Bay, it's no big deal.
3.) Not only did I want to swim from Alcatraz this year, I needed to - perhaps on a more spiritual level. I no longer have an excuse not to push the limits and try something difficult. After this, every swim should seem easier, right?
4.) I wouldn't be who I am without supportive friends. I have a group of people who believe in me, and it motivates me a lot. I'm not very good at swimming, but it has come to my attention that I am extremely good at surrounding myself with supportive people. (Maybe some trial and error has been involved.) Thank you, friends. Old, and very new. Even the nervous girl. You are my rock.

Gym review: Courtside

I've done multiple, extensive searches for the perfect gym over the years:

Golds (check)
Bally's (check)
24-Hour Fitness (check)
Club One (check)
Equinox (check)
JCC (check)
Gym at work (check)
That gym that used to exist in Los Gatos but doesn't anymore (check)

I kept finding myself back at Club One because it seemed to have the best facilities for the price: great classes, and a decent pool. Unfortunately, Club One isn't around much anymore either and there are no locations in my new hood. And I'm definitely not going back to one of these:

Gold's Gym Review
B is for Bally's

When it comes to gym memberships, I'm as fickle as it gets. I've been to just about every gym in the South Bay, and now, you guessed it - I am without gym membership. I recently dropped my membership to the Bay Clubs because I moved, and there isn't a location close enough to my house. A Bay Club membership is also expensive, and I'm finding myself outdoors more and more these days. So, I'm going to buy a TRX and go without an official gym for awhile.You will see me pulling my own body weight all over the city of Sunnyvale. :)

Honestly, though I'm not sad about never going back to Bay Club Courtside (Los Gatos location) again.

Upon mentioning that I was once a member at Club One, the guy at the desk at Bay Club Courtside was like, "This must be so much of an upgrade then, huh?"

I was like, "No asshole, it isn't. I pay more money to work out with mean old people, get killed by people dropping weights, and to use equipment from my college days. Just the fact that you would claim it was better makes you an arrogant prick. Have a nice day."

I didn't say that. But, I really wanted to.

The pool at Bay Club Courtside is lovely and there is always a lane open. They do an excellent job of keeping the kids in the kid pool and the adults who want to work out in the workout pool. Also, the pool is the perfect temperature for long swims - in the 70's, not the 80's.

In the summer, though, the pool is a huge show and tell. Golden bikinis, cougars, and cocktails. Not really my scene.

I also participated in a few spin classes this winter. Both instructors are actual cyclists: road and cyclocross. They both had impressive stories about their own cycling adventures, and put together a kick-butt workout.

Unfortunately pool lanes and spin classes are not enough to make Bay Club Courtside worth the money.

They have a big stretching room area, which is really great. Everyone is quiet and they have some relaxing music pumped in. Except . . .

When you go into the stretching room, there are balls and foam rollers in every corner of the room - except the area where they are supposed to be. No one puts their shit away! I went on a mission to find an eight pound medicine ball, and couldn't find one in either of their three workout areas.  The "Please return Equipment" signs are not working. At other gyms, the trainers will go around and pick up equipment and put it back when they between clients. So, if your members are lazy assholes, and your trainers won't help either - then finding equipment is nearly impossible.

Bay Club Courtside has THREE weight areas: one with circuit weights, one with pulley weights, and one that has a haphazard mixture of both. There are a couple stands with medicine balls, kettle balls, straps, and bungees, but a complete set is nary to be found. The gym seems to be more weight focused, which is a little 2001. People do all kinds of non-weighted activities now using their own body weight. It's pretty important to get with the times. They do have a couple of TRXs available, but you have to hook them to a pole in the middle of the weight room, or to a weight station. The people who want to use the weights don't like that. And I don't want to be in anyone's way, especially when they are carrying around barbells. Also, have you heard of ViPR? I didn't think so.

There have been numerous fights in the women's locker room about cell phone usage. Not kidding, a couple became screaming matches. Yes, it is annoying when someone gets on their cell phone and has a conversation while you are changing your clothes. But, politely telling them that using their phone is not allowed, and asking them to step into the hall is quite enough. Continuing to yell at them and going off on them in a verbal diatribe just leads to a defensive strike. Also, now that you are both yelling at each other about how awful a human being each of you are - it is even more annoying than the original one-sided phone conversation. Shut it.

I was flipped off in the parking lot. Parking can get tough, but there is no reason to flip someone the bird just because their luck was better than yours. No, lady. You weren't even close to the parking spot when I put my blinker on. And the fact that you are over 60 doesn't bother me either. Get a grip.

The "kids" who work in the cafe have been taught no work ethic. I stood for a good minute in front of the cashier while they changed the register tape, and I didn't get so much as a, "Be right with you." For the money you spend on a sandwich, the people who work in the cafe should have a little hustle and have some inkling about customer service. I know they probably think they should be working in daddy's law office, but they are not. So, give me a salad with a smile, and put the dressing on the side.

I hope the Bay Club turns this place around now that they are in full ownership of it. It's too down-home Los Gatos, which is a bunch of people trying to be something they aren't. Clearly they are putting more time into their hair than into their workouts. It seems to be more of a social place than a place to improve your physical fitness. It's high end, but when you get down to it, there really needs to be a lot of massive improvements made in their equipment, space, and generally their attitudes.

Transitions: Turning over

People transition differently. But we all have to do it.

Triathletes spend the least amount of time training for transitions, but when you think about it, the transition area is a symbolic place where we actually spend a lot of time agonizing over our race. We spend so much time worrying about how to transition - what to wear, what to eat, when to apply sunscreen? Will be get out of our wet suit without a calf cramp? Will my neighbor have racked their bike too close? When do I mount my bike? How fast can I lace my running shoes?

Typically, when you leave the transition area to start the swim, your area is perfectly set up with everything in place that you could need for the day. But, when you actually go through the transition - it's a total cluster f@#$ mess. Your legs have been swimming/biking for so long that you can barely run, you are trying to remember where to go, and there are other people running all over the place - everyone is trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. It's easy to leave important items behind, or go through the "Run out" shoot still wearing a bike helmet.

Another difficult part of the transition is what I like to call the 'turn over'. Although you are physically out of the transition area, you are now asking your body to become accustomed to doing another activity. It's a strange feeling, and no matter how good of a cyclist or runner you think you are, riding in wet clothes, and pounding the pavement after being on a bike just feels strange. Sometimes it can be a little painful. I've definitely almost fallen over while mounting my bike, or had numb toes for the first few miles of a run. It doesn't feel good. I like to do brick workouts in order to be prepared for the uncomfortable sensation of switching events, but the strangeness never quite goes away completely. It takes a couple of miles before I feel adjusted to the new movements in my body.

Life transitions are harder because you aren't well trained for them. Moreover, it's possible you didn't even sign up for this shit. Or, if you are lucky, you believe this transition will lead to better things. Sometimes it takes months or even years to even get into a transition. But, eventually you know, you can't swim forever - you've got to get out - especially when there are sharks in the water. It doesn't matter how right, or impactful the decision might be: it's still chaotic and painful. Like your transition area - it was fine when you left it, and now you can't find anything, or you can't decide what to take and what to leave behind.

Even after you make the change, part of you still longs to be back where you were, doing what you were once comfortable doing. Like turning over in an event, there is the part of the transition where you think you are doing okay, and everything feels pretty good. Suddenly, you get a cramp or a side stitch and you feel like you can't go any further. You tend to talk negatively to yourself, but the thought of giving up is not an option - you must keep going. Usually you reach out for something to console you - food, or a friend.

The other issue with life transitions is other people. In individual sports, you only worry about yourself in relationship to your competitors. In life, every decision you make in transition can affect others as much as it affects you.

But the fact remains, you have to move on. The race is not over.

Wildest Race Report Ever: Wildflower Long Course

My secret cheering squad showed up on the wrong day. They didn't know I was racing the long course this year. Oh well, it was nice that they thought about me. (Just kidding, they were cheering for another SB.)

Despite changes to 2014 Wildflower Triathlon course due to the drought, I thought the year of the swim, run, bike, run was well organized. Kudos to Tri California for executing the alternate course. I worked at a college for seven years and I know how difficult it is to get 18-21 year-old people (volunteers) to give you clear directions. But, the students from Cal Poly seemed to know what was going on, even if they were slightly hung over. Mucho appreciado.

PRE-RACE
If you are a triathlete and you did not know there were course changes at Wildflower this year due to drought conditions, then you are clearly living in a hole. But, if you are a triathlete who raced Wildflower, and found out about the course changes while setting up your transition area on Friday. Wow. Just wow. Clearly these are the people who are angry when TSA makes them throw out their gigantic shampoo bottles from their carry-on bags at the airport. Haven't we been carrying around three ounce bottles for at least ten years now? Granted, the T1A, T1B transition change did make my mind spin a bit. But, I knew there would be two sets of gear, two sets of running shoes, and had mentally prepared myself for a very long transition from swim to bike.

No one really wants to hear what time I got up or what I ate. But, the transition area closed at 8:00 AM, and my wave didn't start until 9:25 AM, so I had to get up early and eat two breakfasts.

SWIM - 1.2 miles
The swim at Harris Creek was reminiscent of the regular Wildflower swim, but because the water was so low, it started literally on the edge of the boat ramp in a vat of mud sludge. Heading out on the swim, the water was black and so thick that you could not see the bubbles of the person swimming in front of you. About 100 yards out, it cleared up and was the typical brown, tolerable water of Lake San Antonio.

During the swim I had some sighting issues, and a boat had to yell at me to get back on course again. My right side is definitely stronger, but unfortunately it cause me to pull right. I wasn't going for a fast swim time, nor did I get one. It wasn't my absolute worst swim ever, but I could have saved myself three minutes with a few more sightings. All I could think was - "Keep your head down, and go!"

RUN - 2.2 miles
Everyone left the water with a muddy dirt beard. Luckily a nice woman out of the swim transition area yelled, "Oh, honey, you have a beard, wipe your face!" God bless that woman.

The run out of T1A was actually great. I kept up about a 8:30/45 pace, which I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain for much of the regular run. There was some sand that caused a slow down, and a hill back up to the bike transition area, but generally, I was feeling good.

BIKE - 56 miles
The bike ride was amazing. My goal was to be comfortable in the saddle, but as consistent as possible without putting too much burn on the legs to save myself for the run. I also wanted to eat more, and was able to wolf down two Clif Bars and a gel during the ride. Over Wildflower training weekend, I completed the course in about four hours. Because I typically race better than I train, I figured it would take me anywhere between 3:45 and 3:15. My total time was just under 3:30.

I've never yelled "On your left!" so much on a bike ride in my life. Mostly, I blame my slow swim time, but also - MOVE OVER, PEOPLE!! I crossed the center line at least four times in the first 25 miles of the ride which is illegal, and actually pretty dangerous. But, it was either that, or putting on the breaks, so I took a chance. Luckily everyone was safe, and I didn't receive a penalty.

My left hip and calf were really tight for the first part of the ride, but at mile 30 I was on fire. I got to the bumpy but flat section of the course, and my chain jumped. I lost about a minute to catch my breath and get the chain back on, but no mechanical issues for the rest of the course.

At the beginning of Nasty Grade, there is a sign that reads, "All Vehicles Must Be Inspected for Mussels." Because I am a nerd, I had to make a joke about, "Show me your muscles!" Fortunately, a fellow cyclist obliged by giving me his best muscle pose. The worst sections of the bike course, in my opinion, do not include Nasty Grade at all. The first 20 miles seem to take for-freakin-ever especially because of the slow climb up Beach Hill. (I'm sorry for the Olympic competitors who had to run up that thing. Woah.) But, the absolute worst part is the series of bumps after Nasty Grade. I knew there was still a chunk of the ride to be had with 16 miles left.

I felt amazing going down Lynch Hill and into the BIKE IN chute. So happy to had nailed that ride and still feel good. I could have ended the day right there, but figured I should stick out the impending horror run. Everyone else was doing it.

RUN - 10.9 miles
There are plenty of hills on the run that I would have typically run, but I didn't want to bonk. I knew before the race that I would not attempt to run the steepest hills, because it would waste energy. A few people tried to maintain a gait up those hills, and they quickly started to fall behind. Instead of thinking of them as "hills" I actually thought of them as "walking opportunities." Unfortunately I may have made a few easier grades walking opportunities as well, and I should have pushed through. But, my goal was to complete the race.

A woman I met in transition that morning started off really strong in the run and took me over in the first three miles. I could see her ahead most of the time, which motivated me to keep going. She was walking a bit too, as was everyone else, but it allowed me someone in the distance to pace.

I only saw one naked person on the run course. Unacceptable! He was WAY up on top of a hill and mostly out of sight. So much for the naked aid station - everyone at the aid stations were fully clothed. But, when a fully clothed person gave me ice on the course, I started to feel a hell of a lot better. I savored every bite of that cold-water goodness, except for the pieces I threw into my sports bra. I wanted more, so I took some pieces out of my sports bra and ate them. Salty and delicious. Are you gagging now?

The flat part on the course that I was so looking forward to did not disappoint. I heard my name yelled from my friends watching from their camp sites. It's amazing how much a few humans who know your name can make all of the difference. The end was near.

I knew a 6:30 finishing time was slipping away in the last three miles of the run, but all I could think about was the run down Lynch. I saw the woman I had been following while going to Lynch and decided to take the last negative incline as an opportunity to catch her. I hammered down Lynch, and finished one step ahead in BOR fashion (Beat One Runner). We followed our victorious race-end with a big sweaty hug. At that moment, really no one but you and the people on the course understand what you've gone through for the past six+ hours.

FINALE
It's been a tough winter for me, both physically and emotionally. Lots of ups and downs: a knee injury, a couple of minor DNF (did not finish) races, re-learning a swim stroke, paired with a half marathon personal record, and lots of glorious hill rides.

Wildflower was as good/bad as I expected. There are things that could have gone a lot better, but I am in no way disappointed. There is still the rest of the season to be had!

Wildflower, I will finish you - again.

Wildflower - Here it comes!

Wildflower Olympic 2013 was not my best race. This year, I'm upping the ante with the long course. But, mostly, I just want to finish. (Photo credit: Awesome stranger who took this photo.)

Long before the world of Ironman 70.3, there was Wildflower. I read this article after completing the Olympic course last year, and it really inspired me to try the long course in 2014. Before Ironman dominated the long course triathlon scene, Wildflower, or 'The Woodstock of Triathlons,' kind of ruled. Now Vineman 70.3 will sell out in 5 minutes, but Wildflower always has plenty of entries available.

But, that's a gripe for a later post...

Someone told me recently, that even after doing the course multiple times, they've never done Wildflower the 'right' way. Each and every time, something is always off. Then, this video was recently released. "If you can do a half here (Wildflower), then you can do a full Ironman." Really, I kind of hope that is not true. I have not done enough training for a full Ironman.

This year, there is a new and exciting twist on the Wildflower course: Due to low water levels at Lake San Antonio, the swim has been moved two miles to Harris Creek. Now the only way to get to the transition area is to run 2.2 miles back to the first transition. Due to the longest transition in history, they took 2.2 miles off of the run course. Seems fair.

I've decided to go into this event with the "Anything Goes" mindset. It's going to be a long, glorious day. Did I mention 'long?" Seriously, if I think about time, it will ruin me. I must think about finishing.

A few weeks ago, a group from Silicon Valley Tri Club ventured down to Lake San Antonio for a course preview weekend. I was fairly certain I was going to switch my registration to the Olympic course because I didn't feel confident with winter training. After the preview weekend, I was sold - I think I can do this.

Here are some observations I had about the course:

1.) The swim will be a swim. I hope to stay as comfortable as possible and not doubt myself. I didn't do all of those winter swims for nothing!

2.) I need to eat more - in general. Eat when not hungry.

3.) It's going to be hotter than blazes again. Must drink water - multiple sips. Don't guzzle. Sip. A lot.

4.) The 2.2 mile run after the swim could be great. My legs will be fresh, it will be a warm up for the bike, and I'll be happy not to be in the water anymore. So I don't kill my bike ride, I plan to run at an easier pace - faster than my 70.3 run pace, but not a 5k/10k pace either.

5.) On the bike - stay in aero bars as much as possible.

6.) There is a really bumpy part on the bike course. Best to inflate tired slightly lower than the max in order to save my lady bits. I've already replaced my old tires with something more durable, but race-worthy.

7.) Nasty Grade, aka the major bike climb at mile 42, isn't so bad. The worst part of the bike are the climbs AFTER Nasty Grade, when you think you are almost there . . . but you are not . . quite . .  there. . .

8.) The run course is mostly a trail half marathon course. It's going to take me 4 miles for my shins to warm up anyway, so it would follow that the first 4 miles of the run course are the worst. I am prepared to walk, as needed. There is a nice flat section in the middle where I can enjoy the day. I look forward to that.

9.) I want to see naked and drunk people. Last year I didn't see much on the Olympic course. I think they must have partied on the day of the Long Course and stayed in their tents for the Olympic course. Well this year, they had better be fresh. AND since my female 30-39 wave starts late - they had better hold out for the end. I'm ready to have a laugh mid-course, so don't hold back, naked people!

10.) I look forward to the SVTC camp site and aid station. I don't think I'll eat bacon if it is offered to me, but who knows. What sounds disgusting to me now, might look really good at the end of a run.

Due to my current physical shape, the timing (early in the season), and the course. Wildflower will be my toughest challenge yet. I'm ready for anything. Ready to report for duty. Over and out. (I'm going to be out of cell phone range this weekend.)

Being dropped

My riding partner for the Solvang Metric Century ride. Deirdre is a lot faster than me, but she decided to have an 'easy day' of cross-fitness for her Boston Marathon training . She agreed not to drop me, but man, I still had to work for it.

drop

dräp/

verb

1. 1.

   let or make (some one) fall behind

   "The other cyclists were too fast for Susie, and they dropped her."

   
   
2. 2.

   fall behind.

   "I looked over to enjoy the view, and couldn't catch up. I totally got dropped!"

   
   

As a newer cyclist, I've been dropped plenty. Here's the scenario:

You meet up with a group of cyclists for a ride. You think, "This ride will be exiting, fun, hard-core, and there will be some lovely scenery along the way." 

Everyone is chatting before the ride, and so friendly. "This is going to be an awesome day!" 

As you start out on the road, the group generally stays together . .  But, in no time, you are panting to keep up, your front wheel inches further and further from the person in front of you. Maybe you hold back and intend to catch up later, or maybe you stop for a second to check your back tire pressure. . .

and like that . . . they are gone. Every last one of them. You have been dropped.

I went on a club ride last summer from Almaden Park to Morgan Hill that I thought would be a good challenge. Little did I know, that the ride also attracted people who were toward the middle of their Ironman training. The ride started out great, and everything was going fine, until I found myself at the back of the line. And wouldn't you know it - somehow I got off of the back tire, and the other cyclists flew ahead of me like magical unicorns. Suddenly I'm overcome with emotions: I'm a loser, I'm lonely, I hope I know where I'm going etc. Other cyclists spent some time at rest stops along the route. But, I decided the only way to get through this ride was to go through the stops, and just let the group catch up to me again. The ride was personally successful: I got in the miles I needed, I rode with people most of the time, no one had to wait for me, and I only got lost once!

In order to deal with being dropped, I've learned a few things:
1.) Safety: Have the right gear, take a phone, take an ID, and have enough food.
2.) Course: Know the route, and expect to take some detours.
3.) Know yourself: Don't set up for failure, or underestimate abilities either.
4.) Don't blame others: If they are on a different level, that's fine. Do what you can.
5.) Practice: Just keep getting out there, and you'll get better!

After a few years of riding, you typically learn who your best cycling buddies are: who you can keep up with or vice versa, who wants to do the same number of miles, who wants to try the same climbs, etc. But once in awhile a friend takes a confident turn, or takes the steps necessary to improve spectacularly, and unfortunately they are no longer there to wait for you.

And sometimes, this friend is YOU.

I've been dropped numerous times, but I've also dropped some people. Truth be told.

I'm not a mean-spirited person, and I don't intentionally drop people, but I've been out on a stretch of road, comfortable in my saddle, looked back and saw no one. This is a feeling of "Woah, I'm awesome!" paired with "Woah, did I miss a turn?"

In many ways I feel justified in going ahead. Why shouldn't I go at my own pace? I've put a lot of effort into this, and maybe I don't want to have to wait all the time, or have to turn around. But on the other hand I'm not sure if I did something wrong, and it's quite lonely out on the road by yourself.

Clearly being dropped is a proverb for real life too.