Strong first

I’m a huge believer in the principle that to perform well as an endurance athlete, you must first develop a strong base or core. The core is much more than just six-pack abs. You can have a rock-solid stomach and still be dysfunctional, meaning you have muscular imbalances or weaknesses that can result in early fatigue on the bike or even injuries. A paragraph or two doesn’t even begin to touch this subject (I’ll spend more time in a future post), but the point to drive home is that it’s imperative to balance on the bike efforts with off the bike strength and conditioning work. I’ve seen so many seemingly fast and strong cyclists skip this fundamental work and it always seems to catch up to them in the end.

For instance, in addition to my cycling training plan I did squats, lunges, deadlifts and transverse plane (side-to-side) core exercises. I focused on developing a strong back to counteract the hunched over cycling position and any upper body weight work was done at handlebar width. I wasn’t in the gym trying to gain big muscles and most of the exercises consisted of either body weight, resistance bands or light dumbbells. In fact, I never set foot in a gym. I didn’t gain any weight during this time, but I did lose something—fat, about 7% of it was replaced by lean muscle. My goal was simple: build strength and develop stability first. A strong core is the foundation of your house. Spend less than an hour off the bike each week and put in the time and effort where it really counts. 

High Intensity Interval Training/ Sticking to a plan 

I won’t go into great detail about this, but I will say one thing: It freakin’ worked. For once in life, less is more. I’ll leave the long, slow base miles to the pros and take short, intense workouts any day. Granted, I wasn’t going hard all the time and I still put in my base training period, but any time spent on the bike was highly focused, not just miles for the sake of miles. In a little over four months, my functional threshold power shot up 27% and for the first time ever I was keeping up with the strong climbers on hills. If you want to read more about the science of high intensity training or pick up a plan, check out this coach’s blog.

My confidence was high going into Battenkill because I had trained and practiced the way I wanted to perform. I followed a training plan designed specifically for the course and with the exception of a few additional recovery days, I followed the plan exactly as it was written. 

Recovery

Part of  following a training plan meant that I was forced to take days off and work easier weeks into my training. Recovery days didn’t mean I was out running or riding the bike for fun. I was taking it easy and letting all that hard work settle in and giving my body the time it needed to grow stronger. Some recovery days I felt fantastic (give me more intervals!), but I still forced myself to rest. Recovery days are an important time to stake stock of what your body really needs. When all those feel-good, pain-relieving chemicals work their way out of our system, you finally feel the true fatigue that’s been accumulating on the bike. I focused on getting quality sleep, booking massages when my muscles were shot and stretching regularly.

Nutrition

Keeping a clean diet in the winter was hard. It was cold and the cookies were always calling. Instead of beating myself up, I focused on eating clean, unprocessed food as much as possible, reducing added sugars (except during workouts) and centering most of my starchy carbs around exercise. Was I always on top of this? Nope. Did I deprive myself of foods I really, truly wanted? Never. But the cleaner I ate, the less I craved the bad stuff. The other key piece was that I didn’t deprive myself of calories or sugar during exercise. This is the one place you should never cut calories. Try to lose weight off the bike, not on. And follow up hard or long efforts with a recovery drink or fast digesting carbs and protein in a 4:1 ratio to keep your body stocked and ready for the next hard effort. For more detailed nutritional information, especially during exercise, I constantly referred to Apex Nutrition’s blog and website. I also practiced my eating plan well before Battenkill, so I knew exactly which foods worked during hard efforts and how much fuel I needed to consume.

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.

Everyone seems to have their own epic tale of Battenkill. Whether it’s getting caught up in a nasty dirt road crash, running into a deer or getting side-swiped by a support vehicle, the stories from Battenkill are as legendary as the course itself.

My only goal on Saturday was to survive until the end. When I lined up with 50 other women at the start, my objective was to hang on for as long as possible and to stay alert for attacks and crashes. As we rolled out, I found myself on the back and knew I had to move through the peloton to position myself for an upcoming narrow covered bridge and the climbs to come.

I’d never ridden in the middle of a large pack. The draft was fantastic, but I felt my body tense up as wheels kept inching closer to mine and people wedged their way into the tiny space in front of me. The pace accelerated on the early climbs and I knew that Perry Hill Road had a very steep section that was known to split fields. Anticipating this, I moved up as much as I could, but we hit the climb at such a blistering pace and riders kept cutting in front of me. I couldn’t hang on to the lead group as they shot over the crest. I burned my first match trying to hang on. A sharp left-hand turn dropped us onto dirt and the infamous Juniper Swamp road. Unfortunately the chase group failed to get organized and we found ourselves scattered and chasing as a monstrous, dirt road wall loomed just ahead. What little organization we did have shattered on the climb. I knew I had to find a wheel or I was in for a very long day.

Fortunately I latched onto a strong chase group and we worked together to cut away at the time gap. I tried to limit my pulls, but I could feel my quads beginning to cramp and seize every time I was out of the saddle. Determined to keep pushing on, I downed energy drink and kept eating and somehow the cramps slowly eased up.

And then came Joe Beane Road, a wicked climb with five pitches and false flats in between. I hung with the group until one woman attacked and accelerated away at a pace only a few others could follow. I worked with another dropped rider as the climbs kept coming. She would inch out ahead and I would bomb the downhills to make up time.

At 45 miles in, we had picked up some other riders and were cooking along when my Garmin and power meter permanently auto-paused. I could care less about heart rate and power, but I felt a huge weight on my shoulders not knowing how much longer the course was or how many miles until the next killer climb. I felt directionless and at the mercy of my legs, which were stiffening and cramping by the minute. Others began to verbalize their discomfort, but I said nothing. Like karma in action, the complainers dropped out of sight as we climbed up Meeting House Road.

I spotted my family at the top of the climb. When my husband and coach yelled that I had a shot at a top 20 placing, something suddenly clicked and I found the space to dig a little deeper. During all those long, cold wintry nights on the trainer and outside when I battled against a bitter headwind, I always visualized myself cresting the top of Meeting House Road, bombing the downhill, surging across the flat road and then absolutely smoking the competition on the Stage Road dirt climb at the end of the race.

Sinking into the drops, I was ready to hit play on the movie I had been directing for months. I shed two riders on the descent and prepared for the final dirt climb. There were a variety of racers from my field and other fields who were dropped and riding solo up Stage Road. I found a comfortable cadence, settled in and then attempted to pass as many of them as possible. I passed a few Cat 3 women, who cheered for me as I squeezed out every bit of energy to find the top. “This is my first race,” I said, in one exhausted breath. I hadn’t mentioned this fact to many people, much less those in my field. I didn’t want them to spit me out the back because I was vulnerable or inexperienced. I wanted to look the part.

With under 5k to go, I didn’t see anyone else from my field. All that stood between me and the finish was an excruciatingly flat time trial. My legs were screaming for this to end and my stomach was raw from a combination of sticky energy gel and hitting V02 efforts a few too many times. But I channeled my inner Fabian Cancellara and pushed on.

I finally rounded the last corner, 1k to go. I hadn’t crashed or come in last! I was about to finish the race! Somehow I found the energy to let out a wide smile as I crossed the finish line.

I placed 20th. Not bad for a first race. Not bad at all.

“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.

When I first started riding, I never expected to race. But as we evolve as cyclists, something begins to shift. Whether it comes from accumulating QOMs or hanging with a pack of tough guys, there’s a little voice that yearns to put it all on the line. This little voice gets louder and I’m convinced that others can hear it, too. “You have excellent form. How long have you been racing?” asked an editor from Bicycling Magazine as we chatted in the pack during their gran fondo. During another group ride, a local pro asked what races were on my calendar. All these questions made me feel flattered, but sheepish. Were they seeing something I wasn’t? What does a racer look like?

As this winter approached, I knew I couldn’t handle another boring three months of base building. This was the first winter that I would be training with power and I wanted to do it right, to make the most of it.  Boring videos wouldn’t push me to ride outside or improve in any measurable way. I didn’t need to lose weight. I needed a bigger goal: a lofty, leg-busting, ass-kicking, ambition-driven one.

There are times in life when you just need a good shove out of your comfort zone. For me, completely switching careers last year had already pushed me far into the realm of discomfort. But instead of panicking, I was growing in ways I never imagined were possible. I knew that if I just summoned the courage to register for Battenkill, that this feeling would extend to the bike. And it has. I spent the winter training outside and I watched my power numbers soar as I pushed harder than ever before. With the race less than a week away, I’ve laid out my team kit and enlisted a friend to hand me water bottles. My stomach is giddy, nervous, excited.

I’ll see you on Meeting House Road.

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.

The first few dirt roads were very sketchy. Elbows locked, my body was tight as I held my breath through the deep gravel. I slammed into three consecutive potholes, my bottle flying out of its cage, my shoulder absorbing the impact. I was doing everything wrong, making every mistake. I was mentally unraveling and Rob, who was coaching me through Battenkill, saw this and reminded me of how many times I’d ridden these roads, carved the turns gracefully and picked good lines. It was still there. None of those skills had disappeared. I just needed to get out of my own way.

Over the next few hours, the sun warmed our backs and the day pleasantly shifted. The route’s dirt roads and off-cambre turns were frequent and relentless. The route forced me to face everything I feared head-on. I passed over numerous narrow bridges similar to the one I crashed on, that finally my body began to soften and ease back into its old muscle-memory. Every time I needed another reminder, the Cycling Gods delivered. Over those five hours, many of my racing friends just appeared by my side, offering encouragement and advice for letting go and moving on. “You did the training and put in the work. You’re ready for Battenkill.” That’s right. I am ready.

Instead of calling it quits, I listened to my legs as they urged me to keep going. “I need to finish this, for so many reasons,” I said to Rob as we muscled over another steep climb. We forged ahead, hitting the final dirt sections and pedaled victoriously home to Lambertville.

But 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.

Does 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.

I can still feel the thunder like a base drum as I nervously waded through the city streets, our group ride abruptly interrupted by a flash flood. During my first century, the sky opened up at mile 65, beating water on our backs, the ultimate test of our commitment. I placed in a Gran Fondo climbing competition on a cold, dreary day in the middle of Pennsylvania and I will forever think of Tour de France rider Bobby Julich when I throw on my black rain jacket. He sold it to me at a bike swap because the manufacturer cut it too short for the Schlecks.

What is it about the rain? Why does it have an almost mythical quality when we’re on our bikes? Sure, anyone can pedal effortlessly under the warmth of the sun, but it’s the dark, stormy days that test our cycling loyalty.Some riders passively pedal away the time on a trainer, but the real guts and glory are claimed by those who take on mother nature when she’s at her worst. When you ride in the rain, you develop a mental toughness that some of the physically strongest riders lack. This toughness bests a Strava crown and separates the hard men (and women) from the every day riders who will skip a group ride when there’s a cloud in the forecast. There’s no better prep for wet race days or rides than surviving the elements when they test you on every level. Practicing to perform begins in the rain.

There’s no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing choices, right? While I can dress for the coldest, most bone-chilling winter rides, I’m never comfortable riding in the rain. My neoprene booties turn into twin pound cakes and pedaling is like swimming in a pool of jello. My chamois inflates like a life raft and every swig of water I down tastes like a gravel and salt smoothie. On top of this, I can’t see a damn thing through my glasses and my fingers slip with every shift. Despite the near-constant shivering and obsessive thoughts of hot chocolate and steamy showers, a twisted voice in my head urges me to soldier on. Maybe this is just another flavor of the suffering we’re so drawn to as cyclists. We may not be pushing ourselves to the brink on a steady climb, but rain is another means of testing our ability to push pain aside and dig a little deeper.

Every time I shove crumpled newspaper into soggy shoes and work a toothbrush into the frame’s tiny crevasses that collect grime and grit, I swear this will be my last wet ride. Yet something always calls me back, convinces me to throw on Bobby’s jacket and give it another go. It will be better this time. Some of the best adventures happen in the rain.

Strava is cycling’s Match.com

I laughed when a female friend jokingly told me how she “picks up women on Strava.” But think about it. You can search for nearby riders and then follow them to see how much they ride or race. Find women with similar average speeds, terrain and distance preferences and then communicate directly with them. If someone keeps stealing your QOMs, don’t view them as your nemesis, but as a potential training partner. Go out on a limb. Give kudos and suggest meeting up for a ride. Think you’re a creepy stalker? No way. You’re just Strava savvy.

Befriend your local shop

Chances are good that other women at your LBS are also looking for women to ride with. A good LBS doubles as a match-maker. They’ll suggest other B-riders or, with some nudging, they can be the cohesive force that brings other females together for an organized ride. At the very least, they should have some way to post, either online or at the shop, that you’re looking for women to train with.

Show up

I caught wind of a women’s ride for national women’s ride day last year and, knowing very little about the ride, I showed up. The ride turned out to be nothing short of awful. No one called out potholes, people rode over sticks and twigs, sending them flying and several women veered directly in front of turning cars. While I was glad these women were gung ho about cycling, I was happy to leave with my collarbone and bike in tact. On the way out, I happened to mention to one of the women who worked at the shop (but wasn’t on the ride) how I was looking for more serious women to ride with. It turns out that she was too and we ended up riding together later that month and had a great time.

Do it yourself

Every group needs an organizer. Push that fear of failure aside and start your own ride. Advertise at local shops, gyms or on a cycling forum. Look into forming a Meetup group for women or starting a women’s ride through a cycling club. Yes, you may be riding solo for the first couple of rides, but talk it up and stick with it. Chances are your hard work will pay off in the end.

Many roads were virtually impassible.

Three days post-storm and there was no sign of the power company or other workers. Houses were still dark and I heard the rumble of generators.

A shattered street light? Whatever it is, it’s dangling in the road.

For starters, let’s dig in to some of the science behind massage. We’re so accustomed to talking about muscles, how tight or tense they are, but the root of our discomfort often lies in the fascia. Fascia surrounds all of our internal organs and muscles, right down to the nerves and blood vessels. It’s a major player in every move you make and the cycling injuries you’ve suffered from. Fascial lines run through your body and like a pull in the thread of a sweater, just one tight area or restriction can effect a widespread one, causing pain and restricted blood flow. Yes, that headache could actually be coming from an imbalance in your foot or knee. Fascial restrictions can be caused by repetitive actions, injury, poor posture or even stress. Things like stretching, massage, moving frequently and proper daily hydration are all important tools for maintaining healthy fascia.

Foam rolling vs. massage

When it comes to performing myofascial release, nothing beats the trained hands of a massage therapist, who is guided by feel and knows how to apply the appropriate amount of pressure to the tissue. The next best thing is to perform self-myofascial release by using your own thumbs, fists and forearms to feel for and release tension and trigger points. A tennis ball is also quite effective.

Keep in mind that a massage therapist will also identify and treat the root cause of the pain or muscle restriction. Pain is often felt in one area, but originates somewhere else. This is why you can roll on a tight IT band all day, but it’s not until you release the glute max and TFL, that you will likely feel a real sense of relief.

How to roll

Foam rollers come in various shapes and sizes. Some are grooved to provide deeper pressure, while others are made of a squishier foam, which I would recommend for beginners. While they can become softer over time, unlike rollers made with a plastic shell, they’re still less painful on tight muscles.

Getting started

With a little creativity, you can hit most muscles with a foam roller. You can roll on the major leg muscles and hip flexors and roll up the back along the sides of the spine and to the traps or even on tight arms. This slideshow from Bicycling Magazine shows how to target the major cycling muscles.

A word on pain

One of the major concerns I have with foam rollers is that it’s difficult to control the pressure. In foam rolling, as in all massage, it’s important to start with a light pressure and gradually work deeper as the muscle allows. Many people start out too deep and find themselves in more pain, which usually leads to their foam roller collecting dust. Fascia is a wet, viscous substance that’s tough and resists firm pressure. Like the stretch reflex, its goal is to protect your muscles from damage. Come at it too hard or too fast and it will quickly tense up. If you persist, gritting your teeth, you’ll likely cause more pain and inflammation than you started with. Instead, try to roll when your muscles are warm, either right after exercise or a hot shower and start with light, slow strokes, working one muscle group at a time and easing off before you hit a joint. As the fascia warms and melts, it will invite deeper pressure, but you must be patient (and yes, it’s difficult to feel this release through a hunk of foam). Remember to breathe deeply, never holding your breath. If you feel your body resisting at any time, you’ve gone too deep and need to back off.

The bottom line

If a foam roller aids in your recovery or just feels good after a long ride, then by all means continue to do it. But try to see it as just one tool in an arsenal that includes stretching, hydration, functional strength training and professional massage, when possible. Use the foam roller to help provide feedback to identify what’s tight, sore or may be the beginning of an injury, but pay close attention to the pressure you’re applying to ensure you’re not doing more harm than good.

But the magic wasn’t a fluke or a random lucky day. It’s been in the works for two seasons now, slowly percolating since the day I stopped dreading ascents and decided it was time to shape myself into a climber. A few changes made a huge impact.

Weight assessment. I didn’t have a climber’s body and I still don’t. When I started mountain biking in 2004 I was 5’5″ and 160 pounds. I’ve slowly lost weight, dropped 10 pounds at the beginning of the season and am down to 133 pounds with a body fat percentage in the low 20s. Dragging excess weight up a hill sucks. As a bonus, my eating habits changed dramatically and I’ve dialed in a diet that fuels me with steady energy all day and helps recovery after hard workouts.

Attitude adjustment. Many people (women especially) sabotage themselves the minute they see a hill. “I can’t do it. I suck at climbing,” are some of the self defeating things I’ve heard riders mutter in the face of something steep. If this is what they’re saying, what more are they thinking? Trust me, I used to be the queen of self defeating thoughts. Our legs are limited by our mind. Negative thoughts quickly manifest into reality. I realized that hill climbing is nothing more than a mind game. Trick your mind and victory will follow. When the pain sets in I’ll recall longer and larger hills I’ve climbed well before. I’ll tell myself that I’m having a good day or that my legs have never felt better. As Jen’s says, “Shut up legs!” I’ve learned to transform the feeling of suffering into something positive, to take the opportunity the pain gives me to dig a little deeper and see just how well I can do. When you leave the door open, it’s amazing what you can accomplish. Attitude is everything. Stop the negative thoughts right now and you’ve just won half the battle.

Embrace humbling experiences. Want to climb better? Stop avoiding hills. Want to ride stronger? Find someone or a group that’s faster than you and try to hang on as long as possible. When you’re dropped, show up next week and try to go a little longer each time. This is humbling as hell, but we’ve all been there. Never apologize for being slow. You’re not. You’re learning, improving, practicing. Don’t label yourself. After a year of riding with a racing team and getting dropped in the first half of every ride, I decided to re-vist the ride this season. Not only did I not get dropped, but I sped off the front on the first hill and dropped them. I also regularly ride with my husband who’s a naturally gifted climber. He’s beaten me up 99.9% of the hills we’ve ridden together. But over the years the gap between us has shortened significantly. That’s progress.

Do something crazy. Nothing ever changes if you don’t take risks. I entered my first cross race last year and finished second to last. It was humbling and eye-opening. Maybe your humbling experience is a whopper of a climb or riding in a new area. In July my husband signed up for the Rapha Rising Circle of Death Challenge organized by Strava. The challenge was to climb 22,575 feet in seven days. Impossible, right? I’ve never climbed that much in a week. I signed up. I suffered. If my body wasn’t up to it, I would have stopped, but I felt stronger each day and I finished the challenge.

Learn a few tricks. Hills will hurt, but there are ways to strengthen your defense. It begins with breathing. Focus on the exhale and make it forceful. The inhale will come naturally, but you want to force the toxins out of your system and take deep, rhythmic breaths. No gasping. Find a rhythm between your breathing and your cadence. Always look up the road and have a mental plan for shifting. Never drop a bunch of gears suddenly or shift into the little ring without shifting to a harder gear or two on the cassette. This will keep your legs from suddenly spinning out the gear and losing momentum. Practice rolling over hills. Instead of putting all your energy into the first part of the climb, save something for the last third and finish strong, instead of burned out. Roll over the hill by saving enough energy to power over the top. Alternate standing and sitting, but watch letting either one burn you out too much. And if your legs tire from spinning, shift up a gear or two to give your aerobic system a break as you work your muscles. And believe in yourself and your potential. Never question this. Ever. You are a climber after all.