I’ve been yearning to do this ride for quite a while. Recently, I had been building up distance on Speed Junkie and then following that up with a shortish ride on my road bike, cobbling together 45, 55, and then 65 miles before taking a week off for the triathlon. I love going fast on my new bike, but I enjoy a good destination ride even more. Now that the triathlon is over and the century is less than two weeks away, it was time to get some good distance in the legs and see how they feel.

They felt pretty good. 100 miles should be totally doable, although maybe not at today’s crazy pace. I hadn’t meant to ride this fast—not that it was super-fast—and by the time I was home I was wicked tired.

Let me back up. I left the house around 6:45, headed northward over the rolling hills, and averaged about 16.5 mph. Then I got to the mountain.

I went slow. It was my plan. Technically, it was my recovery week, and I didn’t want to overdo it, so I sat in—well, if there were a pack I would have “sat in”—geared down and just took it easy. And then I heard the telltale signs of someone coming up behind me . . . on a bike. He didn’t seem in any rush to pass me, and I didn’t feel any particular need to look back and see the inevitable. Eventually, he pulled even, we chatted briefly through the pain, and then he finally passed me on the last, final kick to the top.

Turns out, the guy (Scott) lives one town over from me, so we decided to ride back together. Since he passed me on an uphill, I let him know that I might be a bit slower than him and that it’s no big deal if he needed to drop me and get on with the rest of his ride. He said not to worry.

So we bombed down the mountain road (which is still closed to traffic until next Saturday) occasionally hitting speeds in excess of 45 mph and headed south and east. I was testing my blood sugar at the summit when we made our introductions, so we talked (when the road was wide and had a shoulder) about diabetes and his celiac diagnosis last decade and how chronic illnesses suck. When the road was narrower or busy, I did my best to pull, but mostly I drafted. Well, that is until I started getting dropped. The guy was nice enough to periodically slow a bit and let me catch up, but I started to fade after the 70th mile. My plan to have an easy trip home turned into me gritting my teeth and having a two-hour tempo ride, as I tried to hold his wheel, lost it, and then cranked to get back to him. Oh well.

Five miles from home, we exchanged phone numbers and said that we should go for a ride sometime. Maybe next time I’ll be in a little bit better form.

Until then, I have a century to ride with Scully and Heather and Scottie J—which I plan on doing at a more reasonable pace—and a training plan that I’m going to stick to more closely . . . well, except for the century.

On the left is my new, super-nice pair. I really like the Boa closure, and they’re so light! The other pair are my tri shoes; the big velcro strap stays open and the loop at the heel makes these shoes very, very easy to get into and out of. (It also looks like they could use a bit of cleaning. :-/ )

What do you wear?

This morning I competed in the same race, the NE Season Opener in Hopkinton. What a difference a year makes!

Last year I did the 1/4-ish mile of swimming, 10 miles of cycling, and 5K of running in 1:16:34, good enough for 171st of 366. This year: 1:08:57, or 131/438.

As a “newbie” registrant in 2011, we had our own special start time and apologized for bumping into each other during the craziness that was my first open-water swim. This year, in the biggest starting wave, it was all fists and kicks for the first 30 seconds until we got ourselves sorted out. (Next time: start farther out.) I found some feet to draft off through the 58ºF water, did a great job sighting with my optically-corrected goggles, and was surprised at how fast it was over. In fact, it wasn’t until I was about halfway through that I realized my form kinda sucked and that I needed to remember what I usually do in the pool. “Ah right! Less flailing more pulling.” Still, I was almost three minutes faster this year.

Ah, the bike! After a relatively fast transition, I hopped on Speed Junkie (my Cervélo P2) for my first race on it. I must confess that I was nervous in the days leading up to the race. How would I do around other people? Would I be able to spend most of the time in the aero position? Would I be as fast on the bike as I had hoped, or would it be an expensive ride? Could I hold on over the bumpy roads? Would I have trouble with the tight turns? Would I crash? Etc. Etc. Etc.

Let’s remember that last year during my two triathlons as a newbie, I did all of the passing on the bike (and almost all of it during the run, too). I wasn’t expecting that this year, since I was starting among faster people, and there were fewer people starting ahead of me. I’m sure I would pass people, and I’m sure others would return the favor.

Turns out, I’m fast on a bike. And the roads were very well controlled. There was very little traffic, and I was able to ride where I wanted on the road. I spent 85-90% of the ride in aero, worked hard, and only got passed by a half-dozen people, including one woman from BU with longer hair than anyone I’d ever seen on a bike and two of my Landry’s teammates. (That reminds me: must get a Landry’s tri-top so that I can represent . . . unless/until TT1 wants me to wear their colors.) I caught one of the Landry guys when an ambulance was attending to him along the side of the road near a rather rough patch of road. Poor guy.

All things considered, I did very well over the whole course. Small, wiry guys like me do well on hills, and I’m getting better at riding this little bike over open ground. (Almost 5 mph better.) I like passing people.

Finally, the run. I was feeling good today, but I was trying to be smart. I’ve had some IT band pain recently—which I’m watching closely—and over the last few days my right arch started getting cranky, too. Stretching, ice, the foam-roller on my hip and thigh, and self-massage for my foot should (hopefully) do the trick. I’m happy that this coming week is an easy one in my training plan.

So I decided to run hard but hold back a little, try to hold a good pace throughout the whole run, and not feel (too) bad about being passed. It was what it was, which was consistent but just okay . . . the only part of the event (including transitions) that was slower than last year, actually. Strangely, I’m okay with this. I had enough at the end for a nice finishing sprint.

My diabetes strategy most certainly did not work out well. Not well at all. In fact, I’m mystified by how bad it was. Diabetes is what it is, but I was hoping for something better.

In a perfect world, I would eat some breakfast before leaving the house, take some insulin for it, adjust my insulin before the start, and then take nutrition during the event (almost) like I didn’t have diabetes. Unfortunately, I don’t know how much insulin to take before a triathlon—because Insulin + water = scary—so I don’t really eat much, except a Greek yoghurt right beforehand. I don’t even usually need to eat before I swim at 5:45 in the morning, but when starting at 9:15, it seems completely different. It was also different than my normal multi-hour rides and long runs.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline from the anticipation of the event. Perhaps there’s something going on with my basal rate. Perhaps it was just sun spots. Who knows? What I do know is that I need to make it better. And I will.

At any rate, I had to take about a half-unit of insulin before the swim, and I didn’t come down much when I was in the water. Or during the ride. Or the run. Fortunately, I didn’t have much of that high BG pain in my legs that I sometimes get, but I could tell that I was high throughout the run. Next time will be better, I hope.

So, all things considered, it was a major confidence booster with some great experiences and a few obvious things to improve. Onward!

Oh, and Lisa took a bunch of amazing pictures.

(Ignore the one-sided bias in the article. And don’t bother reading the comments; they’ll just make you angry, even if you’re not a cyclist. But, Yay Dara! for looking like you’re in your mid-20s!)

My fellow drivers, here are some tips for coexisting with bicyclists on the road:

• Share the road. It’s the law. You don’t have an exclusive right to the roadways.

• We are not out here to inconvenience you. If you have a problem with making space for cyclists, you need to (re)learn some basic “how to get along with others” skills. Start with empathy and go from there. If you don’t know what I mean, imagine yourself, your spouse, or your child on that bike, and see if that doesn’t change what you’re thinking about doing.
• Pay attention! Stop texting while driving. Get off the phone. LOOK AT THE ROAD!
• Wait to make that turn. We’re going faster than you think. If you’re contemplating turning in front of us, you’ve already made your first mistake, because you’ll be unsafely cutting us off before you know it.
• Slow down. Stop racing to get around us. When you see us and another vehicle approaching from the other direction, slow down and wait the 5-10 seconds it will take until you can safely pass us. 5-10 seconds. That’s it . . . honest.
• Move over. The road is wider than you think, and there’s no rule that says you can’t cross the center line a bit to pass us. If your driver-side wheels aren’t on or over the yellow line, you haven’t moved over enough. If you don’t want to do this because of oncoming traffic, see the previous tip.
• Don’t assume we’re going to give you the right of way. Cycling is hard business, and getting up to speed and maintaining it involves work. If we can avoid touching the brakes, we will. It’s your job to follow traffic laws, just like it’s our responsibility to do the same.
• Don’t be a dick. This is what it all boils down to. Treat us like people you might know, not inconveniences. We might steal 20 seconds from your day, but is that worth causing someone harm. Be safe out there, for everyone’s sake.

My fellow cyclists, remember:

• Be smart. Even though we have the right to share the road and have the same right-of-way privileges as cars, don’t assume drivers think we do. They have the better part of 1,000 pounds (or more) on us. Better to ride another day than to be “right” but squished.
• Don’t run stop signs, stoplights, etc. Yield the right of way when it’s required. Don’t turn in front of cars. I know: stopping sucks, but we can’t make them accept/respect us if we don’t play by the same rules.
• Don’t be an idiot. Avoid unsafe situations. There are intersections I avoid because they’re dangerous and/or I’ll be unreasonably slowing traffic. There are some narrow, curvy roads with too much traffic that I won’t go down even though I want to. It’s the way of the world; accept it.
• Stay as far to the side as safely possible. If there’s a shoulder, you don’t have to ride on it, but it’s not a bad idea if it’s wide enough and free of rumble-strips and debris.
• Hold a straight line and be predictable. Drivers always complain about “swerving, erratic cyclists.” Prove them wrong.
• Signal your turns. Give plenty of notice. If you’ve come to a stop at a light, don’t be afraid to signal more than once. And forget about the American-style right hand turn signal; it’s for people driving broke-down cars and is just confusing for everyone else. Point in the direction your going. Turning left? Point left. Turning right? Point to the right with your right arm. Exiting a rotary? Point at the exit. (Finger guns optional.)
• Make eye-contact at intersections. It lets the drivers know that you know that they know you’re there. It helps convert you from being part of the scenery into a less-likely-to-be-squished human.
• Look around. Be aware. Plan ahead. Check behind you to see if cars are coming before you need to move farther into the traffic lane (or wait to go around an obstacle).
• Don’t be a dick. We’re not entitled to anything more than anyone else on the road. It’s true that we have to deal with people who (unfortunately) would rather endanger us than wait a few moments for safety’s sake, but we should try not to respond in kind. I’m as guilty as anyone for gesturing or yelling at drivers or trying to chase down idiots, but really, it just makes them that much worse next time. If we cede the high ground, they’ll never need to take our complaints seriously. Save your venom for the truly egregious ass-hats.

Obviously I don’t know all the circumstances of Dara’s run-in with the truck, and these tips aren’t meant to imply that she or the driver is at fault. They’re just things I think about on a daily basis when I’m out riding.

Stay safe, readers. And get well soon, Dara!

Times and bikes change, but in essentials everything stays the same. (Photo of Scully by Becky Furuta)

“Well, I think I have some slides here.”

“What are slides?”

Inspired by Scully’s cycling photos from Texas on Facebook, I went back and found some of my pictures from the 1990 Casper Classic stage race. Enjoy!

I. Monday I met a few people for drinks and dinner (a.k.a., Diet Pepsi and fish tacos) in Boston. It seemed to be a long time in the making, but it was so worth the wait. Kate was good enough to organize this little gathering with Anna, Briley, Laura, Melanie, and me. It was the most fun I’ve had on a school night in a while. (Thanks, Kate!)

On the drive home I was thinking about these meet-ups with unknown people (usually with diabetes). I’ve done this a half-dozen-or-so times before, and everyone always seems to end up enjoying themselves and coming out of the event/evening/weekend/whatever as friends. It occurred to me that most people basically want to be friends—or, at least, friendly enough to want to have a good time and possibly become friends. It helps that diabetes greases the skids a bit; after all, we already know that we have something in common and have decided to try to be be friendly by meeting each other. But I just wonder if there aren’t larger life lessons, such as “Don’t be afraid to be nice and try to like people when you meet them for the first time, because they’re probably cool.” It seems like we forget this as we get caught up in all of the adult business of professionalism and competition and suspicion and cynicism.

II. Monday was also the same day that I started my 18-week Ironman-70.3 training plan through TeamWILD. I’ve been using some very specific, computer-tailored training plans for running over the last couple years, but this is the first time since high school I have a coach to go along with my (somewhat) personalized plan. I’m excited!

At the same time, I’m trying to get over my innate skepticism about letting other people tell me what to do when it comes to training. I know that I’m going to diverge from the plan a bit, since I have already signed up to some shorter-distance triathlons and longer-distance cycling events that don’t appear on my plan. Fortunately, no one is going to kick me off the team if I don’t follow it to the letter, but I’m going to do my best to do all of the workouts as it recommends. That means slowing down, going shorter distances, and having adequate time to recover. After all, if I don’t pay attention to the plan’s structure and goals, I’m just throwing away the $400+ that I already spent for the plan and coaching, and that would be dumb.

In addition to having a plan and a coach, one of the things that excites me about the program is that TeamWILD was created by Mari Ruddy, who has diabetes. Her goal is to help athletes with diabetes achieve our potential. All of the plans address the extra challenges of our disease by incorporating diabetes management and nutrition into the coaching. This is a powerful feature, and I hope it teaches me lessons I can continue to use after it ends in late August.

I’m not going to tell you about every workout, but I’ll let you know how it’s going.

III. Monday’s workout was easy enough: “Rest Day.” Check.

Actually, I had planned to go to the pool Monday morning, since I was rested after not working out at all on Sunday, and I wanted to move one of my swim workouts up from the weekend, when we’ll be out of town. (Yes. Again. I know. I know. But that’s how things roll in the life of an international playboy.) But it was not to be, since the pool was still closed after some scheduled maintenance during the April school holiday. Based on the coolness of the water this morning—which was actually perfect for swimming—I suspect that they hadn’t given the pool adequate time to come up to a reasonable temperature after refilling it.

Since Monday was an off day, yesterday was my first workout:

1. Warm up for 15 minutes with some easy cycling.
2. Do 5 intervals of hard riding for 30 seconds over 15 minutes, with adequate easy recovery between each.
3. Cool down for 15 minutes.

“That’s short.” I thought. “We’ll see how well I can adapt to structure.”

I decided to head out on my normal route and go super-easy on the beginning part (which was really hard to do because every ride starts by going uphill) before throwing down at the appropriate times.

I got through the first fifteen minutes according to plan, taking the first long-but-not-steep climb very leisurely and (sadly) not bombing down the big hill. I hit the first big-and-steep climb right after the warm-up and I decided I would use the first 30-second interval to climb the thing. (It’s the first categorized climb on the map above.)

This hill on Tyler Road, just off Fiske Mill Road in Upton, is a beast of a climb. The first time I encountered it, I hopped out of the saddle to try to sprint up it until it flattened out, but it just kept going . . . and going and going. It starts out very steep (exceeding 15% grade in some places) for the first quarter mile before becoming merely steep for the next quarter mile before ending at a stop sign in the middle of nowhere.

Not one to give in when presented with a challenge, I discovered over the course of last summer that counting the manhole covers in the street is a good way to keep my mind off the pain in my legs and lungs during the climb. Not knowing how many irregularly-spaced manhole covers there were along the road made for an extra challenge: Could I find out how many manholes there were by only counting the ones I passed while climbing out of the saddle? That is, could I climb the whole, half-mile-long hill out of the saddle.

It took me the better part of the summer to discover that there are, in point of fact, 21 manhole covers. Manholes 1-13 come fast and furious, just like the hill. But after that, they spread out until you think you’re not going to get to the next one. Then it appears: a little power-up to get you going . . . until #18, at which point their frequency picks back up, and you realize that (though tired) it would be wimpy to give in when you’re so close to the end.

Yesterday, I learned that I can pass those 21 manhole covers in three minutes . . . which is longer than 30 seconds. It’s actually longer than all of the combined intervals I was supposed to do during the 15 minutes of the main part of my workout. Oops!

I was smarter on the rest of my ride.

It’s a little hilly where I live.

I’m getting a lot more confident on my tri-bike. In fact, I feel good enough to eat a bit while riding . . . and play drinking games. Okay, it’s actually a technique I’m using to remember to drink more water. Every time I get out of aero, I drink. It seems to be working, except that it’s at odds with my effort to stay in aero more. (Clearly, I need to get one of those bottles that mount between the aero bars and let you drink via straw without using your hands.)

Diabetes is playing well on these early morning rides. (Not so much during my after-work outings . . . or much of the rest of the time over the last couple weeks, but it is what it is, and I’m trying to make it better.) Today I turned down my basal to 60% of normal, ate a carton of Greek yoghurt before heading out, ate 25-35g of carb every 35-45 minutes, and sipped on Gatorade during the second part of my ride. Last week was almost perfect, ending almost exactly where I started and being consistent throughout. Today, my first two hours were very even at 150 mg/dL (8.3 mmol/L), and then I dropped to 110 over the next 1.5 hours.

Next week: more practice, more distance, and more tweaking.

Now that ATB and my recovery period are over, it’s time to start training for what’s next. “What IS next?” you ask. Well, let’s see.

The NE Season Opener sprint triathlon is five weeks from today on the 13th of May. Twenty quick days later, I’m riding 100 miles around suburban Minneapolis-Saint Paul as part of the A.D.A.’s Tour de Cure. [1] My dia-bestie Scully will be there, as will Scottie J, Heather, and who knows who else.

All of this means one thing: a whole lot of bike riding is in order. (Plus the requisite running and swimming, obviously.) I’m pretty sure I can ramp myself up to a full century in eight weeks, even while tri training. [2] If I add ten miles per week to today’s ride distance—which is entirely doable—I’ll be there. No problem.

What HAS been freaking me out is the idea of riding my new tri bike. It has been since the day that I bought it, but today was the day I rode it for the first time outside. I was nervous before heading out, and that nervousness turned into absolute terror moments after I headed out the door.

How to describe riding a tri bike? (1) The saddle is positioned well forward, so that most of the energy goes directly to the pedals. You sacrifice comfort for this, and are left feeling like you’re going to fall over the front of the bike at a moment’s notice. (2) The handlebars aerobars have two parts: the steer-horn-like pair of grips that have the brake levers and that you use for turning and the aero extensions where you rest your arms as close to the center line of the bike as possible. The extensions have the shift levers. You can’t shift and brake without moving your hands from one part of the aerobars to the other. And when you’re in an aero position, you might as well give up on the idea of braking at all. (3) Because you’re more forward over the bike, even trying to steer when not in aero is kind of like trying to drive a Porsche at high speed using a go-kart steering wheel.

So I decided to start early on this Easter Sunday morning, hitting the road before 7:30 and heading out of town in the direction of nowhere (a.k.a., the towns of Upton and Grafton) on Route 140. It was a good decision.

Heading down the big hill a few blocks away from my house, I realized that the bike is much more stable when it’s going fast. And it can go fast. Wicked fast. (It weighs like two pounds and accelerates like crazy.) Going up the hill out of town—still not in aero yet because I was in town and scared—I realized that my ability to handle the bike at slow speeds (i.e., less than ten miles per hour) was going to be a special challenge.

My heart was racing and the voice of self-doubt in my head was very, very loud. If I hadn’t been wearing long-finger gloves to hold off the chilly air, you would have seen that my knuckles were white. This little ride through suburban MetroWest Boston was turning out to be one of the three scariest things I’ve ever done on a bike. [3] After getting to the highway, I finally summoned all of my courage and got down into the aero position. I was a bit skittish and I veered a few times, but I started to get the hang of steering with my body and finding a smooth gear to keep the bike going the right direction without too much wobbling. I spent a lot of time talking nicely to myself, acting as my own coach and cheerleader.

A little more than a half-hour in, it was time to turn around. I pulled onto a side street, tested my blood sugar, changed into my regular bike gloves, took off the beanie under my helmet, and collected my thoughts. “Well, I’m not dead. And I didn’t break the bike. And it seems to be getting easier. So let’s head home and continue making progress on the way.” The ride back was better and not just because I could feel the bike without the gloves.

I won’t lie. Today’s ride was a little worse than I had expected, but my confidence now that I’m done is much better than it was in the first minutes of my outing. I expect that I’ll keep improving every weekend between now and my first tri of 2012 in just over a month. By the time I do the Nautica NYC Tri in early July, I hope to have much more early morning mileage under my belt. And by late August, when I do my half-ironman in Maine, I’ll be a pro at riding this machine. Well, that’s my hope at least.

When I got home I decided to celebrate . . . with another bike ride. My nerves had only given me about 17 miles on my new bike, and I needed another 15-20, so I refilled my water bottle—which is really hard to remember to drink from when you’re freaked the hell out—and swapped bikes. Out on the road everything immediately felt wrong. Power wasn’t going through the drivetrain quite as easily as a few minutes earlier, and I felt like I was sitting really low toward the back of the bike. Perhaps I had a flat? Looking down I could see that wasn’t the case. And the handlebars felt so far apart. I held a straight line so easily, if felt like I was steering a Buick instead of a bike. “Oh, right, this is my regular bike.”

I was off, the miles quickly slidding by. It was fantastic. I can’t wait for next weekend!

1 — Not to be confused with the JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes that I’m doing in Death Valley this October. (If you’ve already helped with the fundraising, thanks! If not, please consider a small donation and help JDRF search for a cure to type-1 diabetes.) Shortly after I posted that I planned to ride in Death Valley, Heather said I should do their century, too. It seems all anyone has to do these days is ask me to do an event, and I’m in. [back . . .]

2 — My eighteen-week TeamWILD training plan starts on the 22nd of this month. I will, of course, tell you all about it. [back . . .]

3 — The other two being riding out of Arles in traffic shortly after crashing while riding into Arles in the same traffic (which really wasn’t that bad), and riding down a particularly steep hill on one of the trails on the mountain outside of town where I lived in high school. Those weren’t so bad. Today was probably the most freaked out I’ve ever been. [back . . .]

This isn’t news, of course. In fact, it’s super-duper obvious. I crafted my mostly working basal and bolus rates based on a certain level of insulin sensitivity, and that level depends on me working out at least five times a week. Change a little thing and those rates all go to hell.

Why am I telling you this? Well, in an effort to recover adequately after Around the Bay, I hadn’t run a single mile or ridden my bike at all since the race. And for one reason or another, I also hadn’t done any laps at the pool, either. That equals ten days without a workout. This has been good for my muscles, but not for my mental health—I was starting to get really antsy—or for my BG readings. Starting late last week, I started running a 24-hour temp basal of 120%, and that helped a bit, but not enough.

Then yesterday afternoon, after getting my free Ben & Jerry’s cone, I went for a semi-leisurely, vaguely hilly, 17-mile ride. Almost as soon as I hopped on the bike, I had that particular feeling of clarity, contentment, ease, and freedom that I only get when I’m riding. Immediately afterward, my BG-wrangling skills came back as if I hadn’t taken any time off at all.

This morning I swam some laps—which were plentiful but slow—and I’ve been planking all day since then.

The sun is shining. It’s a beautiful 60F outside. My friends are wonderful. I finally made something work that I’ve been struggling with at the office. I went to an informative and entertaining presentation about the MATLAB Cody game platform. I had a nice lunch with my coworkers outside. My life has purpose and direction. My BGs are where I want them. I have another date with the bike after work.

And, most importantly of all, Lisa is on her way home from Philly!!

It’s a good day.