Four ways to become a stronger, faster cyclist

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After 18 weeks of preparation, it all came down to 3 hours and 46 minutes. That’s the time it took me to find the finish line after 65 grueling miles at the Tour of the Battenkill. I was elated and exhausted by the end. Sure I was ecstatic over my performance, but I was also extremely proud of (and a bit surprised by) the athlete I had become over those four months. I knew when I signed up that I wasn’t going to half-ass it until April. I tend to do things in a big way and this was no different. I planned to carefully follow my training plan and to use my diet and recovery tactics to see just how great I could become. It turns out these strategies paid off big time. Continue reading →

Tour of the Battenkill (surviving my first race)

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Since I signed up for the Tour of the Battenkill months ago, people have been giving me strange looks. “Wow, that’s a tough first race,” one seasoned rider observed. “You’ve never raced before and you’re doing Battenkill?” questioned another. Sure it’s billed as the largest and toughest single-day race in North America, but since I did the preview ride two years ago (granted, it had 1,000 less feet of climbing) and watched my husband race it in 2011, the race has been on my mind. I found that the more people questioned me, the harder I trained. So when Saturday finally rolled around, I felt prepared and eager to enter as a recreational rider and emerge as a racer. Continue reading →

Do you race?

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Battenkill-Rob Race 10 100 (172) It was 2011 and I was standing at the top of Meeting House Road, a camera in one hand, my stomach giddy with anticipation as the racers screamed down the dirt descent and hammered over the stiff climb.

“Are you racing, too?” A woman about my age asked, turning toward me. “You look like someone who races.” I wasn’t sure how to answer this. No, I wasn’t racing. Yes, I regularly rode with racers, but I wasn’t one…yet. I was a pro at bottle hand-ups, but that’s as close as I’d come to participating in a road race. But after watching my husband compete in Battenkill in 2011 and riding the route the following fall, I made a promise to myself that I’d be back and not as the water girl. Continue reading →

The Heaven and Hell of Hunterdon

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I could write a typical ride report, stating how perfect the weather was for a spring classic and complaining about how brutal a course the Hell of Hunterdon is, especially in March, but that wasn’t what yesterday was about for me. Cycling has the power to break you down and build you up and yesterday’s ride was a little of the former and bucket loads of the latter. I arrived shaky and nervous about riding in a group, especially with 18 sections of dirt and gravel. I didn’t know how my shoulder would hold up or if my legs could go for 79 miles and hit 5,700 feet after resting all of last week. I assumed I would cut the course early and use it as the week’s long ride in my training plan. Continue reading →

Lessons from the ground

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“Wow, that was a close call,” I thought, my body slumped over the top of one of New Jersey’s bucolic stone bridges “I nearly crashed.” If my body didn’t land on the ground, I reasoned, then it wasn’t technically a crash. Fifty miles to go. Let’s do this. The adrenaline surged through my body as a friend pointed out that my knee was bleeding and my bike only had one operating brake. This could be a problem. And my shoulder’s a little stiff, but if I just fix this brake I can still get in my long ride for the week and be strong for my first road race (ever) in a month. This is just a minor setback.

IMG_1413But an hour later, I wasn’t training. I was sitting in the bike shop with one stiff knee and a shoulder that was slowly seizing up, staring at the chipped paint on my frame. But it could be worse and had I really crashed? I was always afraid of crashing during races, not group rides, especially not when I was flying downhill away from the pack. I hadn’t crashed. I just stopped myself from crashing by grabbing onto the bridge.

That night in bed, after being diagnosed with a separated and sprained shoulder, those few seconds played out over and over, as the screech of carbon on cement jarred me out of a fitful sleep. I wasn’t so much a climber as a fearless descender. Or at least I was, until I descended into a 100 degree turn I’d ridden dozens of times. Add new brake pads to the mix and suddenly I was fishtailing out of control, skidding and swerving, the walls of the stone bridge inching closer. Then there was that dreadful sound.

IMG_1414Does all this mean I’m finally a true cyclist? Do I have to leave some skin on pavement to learn the secret handshake? I’d dodged this 800 pound gorilla for the past 10,000 miles or so and the law of averages had finally caught up to me. But crashing wasn’t the hard part. The most devastating, soul-sucking part of the whole ordeal was the morning after. It was like waking up after a night of partying only to realize the stark reality of what you’d done. Most days are built around training, from what I eat for breakfast to checking the weather and then that day’s training plan. It’s my foundation, the one true constant, an immediate sense of accomplishment and an instant mood boost. Cycling has the power to whittle away the things I worry about. It all gets left on the road, released from aching muscles. Cycling is an addiction, a language of its own. I rarely go shopping or to a movie with friends. We ride bikes.

What surprised me the most was how quickly everything can change. I was following a longer training plan for the first time and it was comforting to see my winter mapped out for me. I had just performed a power test that week and my numbers were up again. Out on the road I felt unstoppable and other riders (strong guys!) were noticing, too. I finally had the confidence I needed for Battenkill.

With one touch of the brakes, everything was slipping away. I suddenly appreciated all those bone-chilling winter rides and slogging through the rain, even though I had complained at the time. Cycling is a lesson in impermanence. Each ride forces you to live in the here and now and to make the most of the present moment. Nothing is ever guaranteed.