Training for Life

For as long as I can remember, when someone asks me what race I'm training for, my standard response is to reply with the name of the race and then comment, "if I don't have something on my calendar to train for, I won't exercise at all." I always had an event on the horizon to train towards: triathlons in the summer, marathons in the fall and winter. When the pandemic hit last March, I was training for Ironman St. George.

Along with the uncertainty that came in the late weeks of February and early weeks of March 2020, I was also reaching the biggest weeks of training for the race. I remember that on one day, I did a 4000 yard race prep swim feeling so excited about how strong my swim would be at the race. Only to find that two days later when I went back to the rec center for my next swim, the door was locked with a handwritten sign: "Closed until further notice." I didn't swim again until June.

I remember messaging my coach and telling her, "I know I had a 75-mile bike ride on my plan but I just couldn't bring myself to do it," after bailing out of a long ride early in March. "That's okay," she responded, "Nobody is motivated to do anything right now." I went from hoping the race would still take place to hoping that it would be cancelled. When we finally got the news that it would indeed be cancelled, I was relieved to have it off the calendar.

As you all know by now, of course, every single event last year was cancelled. This was a small impact on the scale of what else was happening in the world, but for me, it was probably the hardest thing to wrap my head around.

Now what? What would I do, given my standard statement that I wouldn't train at all without something to train for? 

Well, I started to just do whatever I wanted to each day. I ran most mornings on the less busy creek paths so that I could stay away from people and avoid having to pull a mask up and down. I took my bike out by myself for meandering rides with no intervals, no heart rate goals, no purpose except to be outside. I'd spent the last couple of years moving away from cycling, building up my running instead, but during the pandemic the opposite happened. Being on the bike was the one way to get around and see things -- I felt like I must have felt as a child on a bike -- it was transportation, it was freedom, it was a way to get away from my small apartment for a while.

Trent got back into cycling too -- the golf courses were closed -- so we started planning our weekend trips around riding in either Colorado or Kansas/Missouri. We rode up Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. We rode around the Copper Triangle. We rode up and down the Katy Trail across the state of Missouri. We found cycling again and we became closer together because of it, and because of that, I'm so grateful. (We also own five more bikes than we had at this time last year, but that's another post.)

Trail Ridge Road

When the pool at my apartment complex reopened in June 2020, I bounded back into the water, grateful for every stroke. I was so happy to feel the cool water rushing over my skin and for the calm peacefulness that only comes with being submerged in the water, the only place that I have the ability to remove everything from my mind except the laps that I'm counting. It was pure joy to be back in the water.

By mid-September, even though I loved working with a triathlon/running coach, I had decided instead to use that money towards mental health, and I started talking weekly with a counselor. In one of our conversations, Elizabeth said to me, "exercise is like breathing for you," and I've held onto that phrase. I think it's just a perfect way to put it. Physical movement really is the only thing that centers me and puts me in the frame of mind that I need and want to be in.

I remember years ago, Dawn would say that her goal was to be in shape to build up to do an Ironman within a few weeks' notice, and I was in awe of what that meant. Why would anyone do that much training for no reason? Well, with nothing at all to train for except the love of the sport, I found myself swimming, biking, and running every day of the week, doing double workouts and enjoying them all. Partly it was because I didn't have anything else to do. But mostly, being able to remove the pressure of having a particular race goal allowed me to just enjoy the training. 

A stress fracture in January prevented me from running, which gave me more time to ride my bike. Not surprisingly, as soon as they were available, I signed up for several gravel bike races: the Old Man Winter Rally in February, the Pony Xpress in Trinidad in May, the Mad Gravel sprint race a week later, CO2UT a week after that. I was happy but not too surprised to learn that by biking more, even with only unstructured training, my strength on the bike and my handling skills have improved. 

Old Man Winter Rally, mud and all

CO2UT was excellent - Put this one on your list for next year!

I'd signed up for the Leadville Marathon for June 2020 and had it deferred to this year, and I didn't want to miss out. I love that race, but was skeptical about how it would go. On only bike training plus about a month of running, was it really wise to try to complete the full distance at this race? Should I drop to the half? I decided to go for it and do the full, thinking the worst thing that could happen is that I'd end up finishing late in the day and miss the time cuts. I completely surprised myself by not only finishing within the allotted time, but also getting a course PR - I was five minutes faster than when I'd actually trained for the race three years ago. Who knew.

The views in Leadville will keep me coming back year after year.

I don’t think I’ll lose the joy of training just because racing is back. At least I hope I won’t. When I was in college, one of the requirements for a degree was to finish a "lifetime fitness" course, meaning a sport you could continue to enjoy over your lifetime, not high school team sports like football or volleyball. I picked ballroom dancing - I'm giggling as I recall that class. I'm probably the only person in the history of Trinity University who didn't take it as pass/fail, and who only achieved a B in ballroom dancing. I haven't ballroom danced a step in my life since I graduated. But I'm swimming, biking, and running every day, and I couldn't be more grateful.

This weekend's Opal Wapoo Gravel Experience in Excelsior Springs, MO, was the latest top notch gravel adventure.

Do Not Mansplain My Bike to Me

Last weekend I participated in my first race in over a year, my first real bike race in at least four years. It was amazing. I felt so strong; all the riding I've been doing since January paid off. I finished the 85k Pony Xpress gravel race as 8th overall female and 2nd in my age group. I raced happy like I always do, feeling the wind on my face and smelling the fresh piney air of the course in Trinidad, CO; taking in the beauty of my surroundings and smiling all the way to the finish line. I paced myself well and finished the second half of the race stronger than the first. The big mountains looked beautiful in the distance and I took a million mental pictures as I raced happily, feeling so much joy. 

I could stop there with that mini race report, but I'm not going to. This race was different because I raced a little bit angry, too, because of an interaction that took place right before the race started.

Before the race, I took my bike for a spin to run through the gears. I had done this already the night before and the bike was fine, but I took advantage of some extra time to get a warmup in and make sure the bike was still in good working order. Guess what - it wasn't. I couldn't get the front derailleur to shift up into the big ring consistently. As I rode around the parking lot testing it, it worked about 40% of the time.

I went to the tent at the start line and asked if there was a mechanic available. "What's going on young lady?" asked a friendly older man. I told him that I couldn't shift into the big ring and wondered if he could help me out. He looked at me and then looked at my bike, and then launched into mansplaining to me what cross-chaining is, and how that was a big no-no in cycling. That's why my front derailleur wouldn't shift into the big ring, he explained. He smiled at me kindly. 

"Of course I know what cross-chaining is, and that's not it," I replied confidently. "Another bike accidentally bumped my derailleur this morning and must have caused the problem. I've tried all the troubleshooting that I know, but I don't know how to adjust a front derailleur. Can you help me?"

Just kidding. That's not what I said. I immediately gave up. With wide open, grateful eyes, I beamed a huge smile at him and thanked him for explaining cross-chaining to me. He patted me on the shoulder and said to me, "by the way, that's actually a really nice bike that you have." I thanked him for that, too, although I was thinking to myself, yes, I know it's a really nice bike. I can tell you think I don't know what it is, but I picked out the frame and chose all the parts myself after doing a lot of research, sir. I smiled again and walked away.

I raced using the front derailleur only when I needed to, worried that my shifting might fail at any time, and stayed in the big ring as much as possible in case it did get stuck there. I felt furious and minimized as well as complicit in my own minimization. I'll show him, I thought, as I allowed anger to help propel me through the race. I know how to ride a bike. I know how to race a bike.

After the race, as I joyfully described the day and my accomplishment to Trent, I finished by complaining to him about the interaction before the race. "Please don't tell me that you thanked him," Trent guessed. He knew what I was going to say. Yes, I did. Uggh.

The next day I brought my bike to the Trek shop in Boulder where the mechanics listened to me as I described the shifting issue. I also provided an incredibly poor explanation of a creaking sound that has been getting worse every ride. They listened thoughtfully, took my bike and said they'd troubleshoot it, and sent me on my way. Two days later, I got a call from Patrick at the Trek shop providing a detailed explanation about what he'd done to troubleshoot the issues. He told my voicemail that my bike was ready.

When I walked into the shop, I was greeted with courtesy and respect. As one employee went to locate my bike, Patrick the mechanic came up to the front desk and asked if I'd heard his phone message. He went again through the details of what he did with my bike and told me that the gears were running great and that he couldn't hear a creak. He and the other Trek shop employees talked to me like a cyclist - not a female cyclist. Not a Boulder-chubby cyclist. A cyclist. That's why I'll be buying my next bike from the Boulder Trek shop.

The experience at the Trek shop was so different from my experience on last weekend's race morning. Just being treated like a knowledgeable equal means so much to me. I just feel this overwhelming need to thank the guys at Trek for taking me seriously. And a big, serious thank you to the guys at Bicycle Heaven in San Antonio for all the years before that, for treating me like an athlete and doing everything they could to support me. I want to thank Trent for knowing that I shouldn't have said "thank you" to a mansplaining man who, whether he meant to or not, was minimizing me when he shouldn't have.

Maybe it's the pandemic that has shed some light for me on what's important. Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's the thoughtful conversations I've had with a counselor over the past year about what it means to be a feminist. Maybe it's being engaged to a man who not only hears, but listens to what I have to say, who understands that he can do better and is willing to try. He's truly an ally for the women and people of color who he works with, and he is not just playing the role of a white male savior. I'm so proud. Maybe it's just that the world happens to be changing right now and it happens to be the right time. Whatever it is, I'm done being complicit in my own minimization. I'm forcing myself to change, as uncomfortable as it may be. So watch out. 😬

I Am Not an Injured Runner

January 6, 2021, is a date that all Americans will remember whether they want to or not. I couldn't step away from the news long enough to go for a four mile run - I loaded up NPR on my phone and jogged around my usual lunch loop while I listened in fascinated horror to the descriptions coming out of the US Capitol. About three miles in, my left foot started to hurt, the pain increasing with every step. Like any reasonable runner, I decided to finish my run and investigate the foot pain later. 

I'll always remember January 6, 2021, as the day that I ran my way into my first (and hopefully only) stress fracture. It's the first injury I've had in 20+ years of running that prevented me from running for nearly three months. Like, I had to completely stop running or even walking. At first I didn't know what to do with myself.

My physical therapist couldn't differentiate between a fracture and a strained tendon at first, and because the pain came on quickly without any increase in speed or volume, we went more hopefully with the tendon hypothesis. For those first three weeks, I was cleared to swim without pushing off the wall and bike without standing on the pedals. 

After three weeks of no progress, I gave up and got an x-ray of my left foot and saw the break in my third metatarsal. I was referred to an extremely cautious podiatrist who had me walking around in a surgical shoe for five weeks and only cleared me to swim, not bike. I had a couple of cycling events coming up, so I rationalized that as long as I biked "easy" without standing on the pedals, I could still participate in these events. When I went back for a check-in after three weeks and the podiatrist exclaimed over how well my foot was healing, I took it as a green light to ride my bike as much as I wanted.

So I did! I continued to train for St. George 70.3, my only scheduled triathlon this year, which is taking place in May. Because I couldn't run or even walk, I bumped up my training volume in both swimming and cycling. (I've decided to defer the St. George race because I don't want to risk re-injuring my foot by even walking the run.)

I biked on Zwift, I rode outdoors on road and gravel. My late discovery of Zwift really contributed a lot to the increase in cycling. It's just so fun to join the challenges and to get on the bike and ride "with" a couple of friends after a stressful workday. There were days when the weather was so nice that I'd ride outdoors at lunch and then hop on Zwift to join Orissa for an evening ride. You can guess that one of two things happened - I developed some extraordinary new strength on the bike OR I rebroke my foot because I didn't follow the rules. 

Zwifting with Orissa on Tuesdays is my favorite!

Luckily, the first answer is the correct one - I have become so much stronger on the bike that I keep looking around to see where the tailwind is coming from. I'm in Kansas City this weekend for Trent's birthday, and yesterday we took advantage of the sunny day to ride the remaining portion of the Katy Trail that I haven't been on yet - the Rock Island Spur. It's 47.5 miles from the start in Pleasant Hill to the point that it meets up with the Katy Trail in Windsor, MO. 

Feeling happy and matchy matchy on yesterday's ride.

We rode the Spur out and back - 95 miles on gravel. I felt strong and kept up with Trent and enjoyed the day. As we sat for lunch at Sonic at the turnaround point, Trent remarked about how much my cycling has improved. "I've been doing nothing but riding a bike for three months," I told him. "It shows," he said. I beamed with pride. I know we're supposed to be equals in a relationship and everything but I look up to Trent in all things cycling, and to be praised by him for how well I'm riding is like food for my soul. 

Sonic lunch gave us strength for the ride back.

It turns out that being a stronger cyclist means that I can ride with Trent at the end of a long ride and even take some pulls, instead of dragging behind him wishing that it was over. He praised me again towards the end of the ride, and I shrugged proudly and said, "I guess that's what happens when you're not tired from running all the time." He nodded and smiled as if to say, "DUH," but then out loud he said, "well, I think you've found your sport."

That's what I woke up thinking about this morning. I'm now cleared to walk, then walk-run, then run...but all I want to do is ride my bike. I'm not an injured runner - I'm a cyclist. 

This bike, y'all. 😍

Zwift: Where Have You Been All My Life?

I started working with a coach in 2010 and shortly after that I bought an indoor trainer for my bike. It would be great for intervals, strength training, and workouts that required hitting certain heart rate zones and later, watts. It was an essential, invaluable tool for becoming the triathlete that I wanted to be.

Except that I hated riding on it.

I hated riding on the trainer so much that I basically only used it if it was too dark to ride outside. Weather-wise, you could ride outside pretty much year-round in San Antonio. I knew a perfect flat, long road to do intervals on (Castroville!!). I remember multiple arguments with my beautiful, well-meaning, now bestie of a coach who insisted that I do certain workouts on the trainer and lost her patience with me when I repeatedly refused.

Not only was it boring to ride on the trainer, but because it was boring, it felt impossible to hit the heart rate zones and watts that I was being instructed to aim for. Sometimes loud angry music would help but usually my trainer rides were an exercise in trying to maintain focus (which I suppose is also a skill) and counting the minutes until it was over.

So, for the last five years when everyone has talked about how great Zwift is, I've resisted, feeling superior: riding outside is always better than riding inside, only weenies ride indoors because of bad weather. My trainer was gathering dust in the closet and I intended to keep it that way. I resisted with the same stubbornness as when I refused to watch "Forrest Gump" because everyone said it was a really good movie. 

After a few indoor rides of his own this winter, Trent insisted that I would love Zwift and that I should try it. He enticed me with the idea that we could ride "together" even while we're living in different states. So when my friend bought a Peloton and sold her Wahoo Kickr Snap at a bargain price, I snapped (heh) it up. I brought it with me to Kansas City for the Christmas break so that Trent could help me set everything up and we could ride together in his basement.

Zwift! Where have you been all my life?

For a $15/month subscription, you have access to workouts that encourage you to hit certain watts/cadence/heartrate depending on what you're training for. The smart trainer adjusts the resistance for you, making it challenging and interesting. It does the same thing when you're not doing a set workout - it adjusts the resistance to make it feel like you really are riding up and down hills. It's amazing how much more interesting and therefore mentally easier it is to ride like this than on a "dumb" trainer. 

And just like that, the Felty is back on the trainer.

Then there's all the video game aspects that appeal to your brain's reward center - you level up, you earn new kits and helmets and socks. Your energy output is measured in number of pizza slices earned. It's fun!

The best part about Zwift for me is being able to ride "with" friends. I have a weekly date with two of my besties who live in two different cities in Texas; another friend from down the road also joins from time to time. I started my Zwift experience this year with Orissa and Linda on the Tour de Zwift, an event where you got to pick a different stage every week and ride with other people from all over the world. We discovered that these events often have a separate women's ride and we've learned that we prefer those. 

The Zwift folks seem really plugged into the cycling and triathlon communities - there's a Norseman challenge coming up next month and I can't wait! I'm writing this as I wait for today's event to start. Yes, I could bundle up and go ride outside today. But I signed up for the three-day Haute Route challenge and today is Stage 2 and I'm looking forward to it.

Well, "Forrest Gump" is now one of my favorite movies of all time. I admitted I was wrong then, and I'm admitting I was wrong now. Trent was right. I love riding on Zwift. And now I'm going to be relentless about getting all of my friends on Zwift too, so that we can all ride together. Ride on!

Fuck Politeness: Safety First

I met you through friends that I trust.

I was nice to you because I was brought up to be a friendly, kind person. 

At first, I took your offer of friendship at face value. You were nice.

You said things that made me feel uncomfortable. I was polite.

You put me in a situation that made me feel unsafe. I extracted myself from it using caution, making sure not to let you know that I thought anything was wrong.

I made excuses not to see you, especially not alone, anymore. I tried not to be rude.

I set boundaries. You pushed them, tested them, tried to cross them. Tried to make me take them back.

I distanced myself as much as possible without being outwardly rude. You kept contacting me.

I decided it was okay to be rude. I ignored your calls and texts. I unfriended you. I blocked you. You continued.

Now, I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid that you're going to come to my home and hurt me and kill me, because that's what happens. It's a pattern, it escalates: we have all learned this. All of us have learned this but we still give the you benefit of the doubt. Until we don't.

I'm afraid of you. Read that again: I'm afraid of you. That is not hyperbole. I am not being dramatic. I am afraid of you, whether you're actually dangerous or not.

Now, I'll think twice before I'm open and kind and friendly and nice to any man I don't know. Forever. 

I'm just a being nice guy, you think. She's misinterpreting my words and my actions, you think. I just wanted to be friends, you think. But I'm trusting my instinct on this one. Even one story about "the nice guy who snapped" is one too many. So as the podcast says, Fuck Politeness. Fuck politeness: safety first. Even at the risk of you thinking I'm not a nice person.

If you're reading this and wondering if you're the guy I'm talking about? Yes, you are. And if you're reading this and thinking that sucks for all the really nice, harmless, well-intentioned guys out there, like me? Yes, it does.

Green is always for Mary, who I didn't know well, but who inspired everyone she met. 💚