2016 OKC California Open: Part Two of the Biathlon - The Snatch

Let’s go back 4 weeks until before the competition. I am checking my weight on the scale every day and realizing I am over my weight class by about 4 pounds. Not terrible, but I have never been very good about focusing on losing weight. Because I really just want to eat. And restricting my diet meant feeling tired and crabby about it all the time. 2 weeks before the competition, I took myself to a lecture titled “Fueling the Female Athlete” by Dr. Susan M. Kleiner, a sports nutritionist. I wish I had happened upon this lecture sooner. I had spent the past few weeks training the wrong way in terms of nutrition, and it was eye-opening to hear her say things that didn’t make sense until she said it out loud for all of us to hear. It is the part of training that never really clicks into place until someone grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you into realization. Her biggest point was that female athletes are often under hydrated and under fueled, and therefore cannot perform at 100%. I had being training on empty, and without realizing it, I was hindering my performance because I was only working at partial capacity. The biggest problem? CARBS. I was trying to lose weight by cutting them out, but I was losing steam on my progress because I didn’t have them. That week I tweaked both my carb intake and my timing of when I needed to fuel for the day and noticed the shift immediately. It wasn’t until then I let go of the numbers on the scale. If I ended up in the 68kg weight category, so be it. It meant an additional 10 points, so less wiggle room on my numbers, but still attainable.

Thank you to @fuelhousegym for the great seminar on fueling the female athlete with Dr. Susan Kleiner! Biggest takeaway was learning that the most common mistake in training is underfueling and undercarbing. Fuel to train, it's as simple as that. #fuelthefemaleathlete #takeupspace

A photo posted by No Talent Battle Fitness (@ntbfit) on Feb 13, 2016 at 2:54pm PST

Fast forward to the night of the weigh in. I’m not that far off from 63kg even after I quit restricting, so why not try? We get in fairly early in the day, so a few of us on the team head to 24 Hour Fitness to do a little bit of cardio and mobility work. Then we hit the sauna. I am sitting there, trying to sweat out that last 2 pounds, but I feel like an idiot. I know this is the norm for athletes before weigh in, like MMA fighters, but damn. I sat their in this tiny sauna, which was unisex by the way, so there I am sitting next to a few older men, one who is grunting along to his Walkman (I’m in California, am I not? Someone still owns a Walkman?) another who is obviously staring at the extremely fit woman leaning against the wall and I am thoroughly wishing one of my teammates would walk in and save me from this awkwardness. I slide myself out and check my weight on the scale—for the third time. I can’t tell. It isn’t a digital scale so I am doing my best to remain motionless and not breathe and the counterweight wobbles up and down. I walk back out and talk to my teammate who thinks I can still get weight but in the end I call it quits. The last thing I want is to be completely dehydrated before the competition. Knowing myself it would hurt my chances of completing my sets, so I hit the showers.

Back to my Eliza Dushku moment. I am wandering around admiring the space and other lifters and make my way back to the check in table for weigh in. I pull as much clothing off as I can, step on the scale and weigh in at 63.4kg. I am a little more than a pound over. 1.48lbs to be exact. I kind of laugh about it and then all these crazy thoughts start running through my head about how to lose that 0.4 kilos in the next 30 minutes. I run over to my coach and he’s like, it’s a whole pound. So I shrug, run back over and give the weigh in one more try, but in the bathroom stall, stripped of all my clothes. No, I wasn’t wearing a pound of clothing. Now I really needed to accept my numbers and keep my reps as clean as possible with less wiggle room to spare.

Flight 11. Onto the Snatch. Allison and I had about an hour and some change in between, so I fueled up and spent some time cheering for my other teammates. As we get closer to our flight time, my mouth goes completely dry and I am feeling completely drained. I’ve felt complete exhaustion before, but nothing quite like this. Where my body wasn’t to the point of wanting to lay down, but if I were to sit, there would be a chance that the last bit of energy left would be spent on standing up. All of a sudden picking up a 12kg kettlebell sounded like a nightmare.

To me, the Snatch is less taxing than the double arm Jerk, but I have always had a problem with keeping a steady pace. I either start too fast and run out of gas early or fall behind when I am going too slow. My pace always fluctuates. As soon as I pick up the bell, I realize in the first minute I’ve already gone way too fast for a starting pace. I clocked in 20 reps when I really just wanted to start with around 14 to 16 reps. I try minute by minute to slow my pace down, trying to remember to count my breaths in between reps. Everything is feeling ok until I reach the 5 minute mark and as I get ready to switch, I fumble the bell. I nearly have a heart attack when I feel it shift awkwardly as I am switching hands and quickly try to grip it. I catch it, and take a nice long pause in the lockout of my first snatch of my left side to re-center myself. There is nothing like having a split-second panic attack right in the middle of a set.

Even though my left side is my dominant arm, I was still feeling all the weaknesses I had brought to the surface after my Jerk set. All I wanted to do was finish the set no matter how slow I had to go to keep the bell in my hand. Once again, Allison is crushing out reps beside me, and now is about to break 200! Again, our team is hovering in front of us, yelling so passionately for us to finish, just a few reps at a time. My grip is failing but all I can think of is not failing my team, so I hold on for dear life. My technique went out the door in the last minute. I swear I could see it waving at me as it walked out the door into the California sunshine. But I manage to finish my set, with 163 reps. I immediately squat down for a moment in case I should want to pass out and then take it all in. My teammate Adrian comes over and offers me his hand, helping me up and gives me a hug. Immediately after, I get another hug from Coach Nikolai and the rest is a bit blurry.

After the last flight of the morning was the awards ceremony. My points totaled to 156.5, which definitely gave me a Rank 1, but it wasn’t until they called my name that I realized I took 1st place in my weight category. 2nd place was awarded to my teammate Kristjan. Everyone on the team placed and hit some fantastic numbers and goals. I was so proud of everyone and happy to see each and every one of us on the team wearing a medal by the end of the weekend. I look back and reflect on all the training and all the support I received from my coach, my teammates, my friends and especially my boyfriend. I had called him immediately after finishing my Snatch set, barely able to hold the phone up to my ear with my numb and lifeless arm. He told me while he was watching the live stream he was yelling all alone in the apartment and was probably scaring the neighbors. When I arrived back home at the airport, he greeted me with a big bouquet and an even bigger hug. No matter how much work I put in, it wouldn’t of been possible without these positive people in my life. I thank them for their support and belief in me.

2016 OKC California Open: Part One of the Biathlon - The Jerk

Remember that scene in Bring It On? The one where Eliza Dushku and Kirsten Dunst walk into Regionals and Eliza is slowly processing everything in front of her? The groups of cheerleaders huddled around their teammates, others primping their hair, organizers yelling time schedules? Walking into the 2016 OKC California Open was just like that. Except instead of perky cheerleaders with curls in their hair it was lifters with high buns and massive arms. Instead of steady mists of hairspray it was clouds of chalk wafting throughout the warmup area. I walked into Innovative Results in Costa Mesa, CA, admiring the larger banner that was going up behind the platforms, scanning the room and recognizing some faces of lifters that I had only seen in YouTube videos (When Kimberly Fox walked by me I managed to smile and whimpered a "Hello" and distinctly remember feeling like this) and even taking a moment to squish the astro turf between my toes when I took my shoes off for weigh in that night. 

Let’s rewind a few months to when I started training for this competition. My coach Nikolai and I were just finishing up an early morning Sport class. I mentioned I was ready to commit to California and we looked at the ranking charts. If I was going to aim for the 63kg weight category, I would need to have my Biathalon numbers—10 minute Jerk and Snatch—at 175 points. I cringed at the thought. Nikolai thought it was reachable, but all I could think of was my shoulder, which wasn’t at 100% yet from a injury from the previous year and the fact that Jerk was now doubles instead of a single bell.

We started with getting my pace for the Jerk to be 10 rpm and Snatch at 20 rpm. It was rough. I felt like a weakling. I was having a hard time getting through some of the sets and I still couldn’t even finish a 10 minute glove set with an 8kg. It wasn’t until the ranking tables were updated a few weeks later where a cloud had been lifted. The updated charts were now more attainable. I would need 110 points in the 63kg weight category for Rank 1. BRING IT ON.

10 minute tests today! Yowzers. I didn't finish the 10 minutes on both sets, but I did hit the numbers I was looking for. I'd say that's a win. #kettlebells #kettlebellsport #seattlekettlebellclub #jerk #snatch #youcanfindmeonthecouchnow

A photo posted by No Talent Battle Fitness (@ntbfit) on Jan 9, 2016 at 2:33pm PST

We had our 10 minute test sets in January. I was mentally prepping myself that day to just make it to 7 minutes. Now that my pace only needed to be around 8rpm for Jerk and 16rpm for Snatch, it felt within reach. I ended up not finishing both sets, but I did stay on pace. My point total? 135. I was good to go. Except at the end of January, I had been neglecting rest and mobility, so I end up tweaking my neck and am unable to turn my head all the way for a week straight. There is nothing more terrifying than an injury leading up to a competition. Will I have time to recover? Will my training suffer when I have to take time off?

Luckily, it gave me a hard reset and forced myself to rest. I was still looking good with my numbers so I needed to not stress about it. It reminded my of my derby days, when leading up to the bout I would stop worrying about doing the work and just get my mind in the right place. I spent the week sitting on the bike trainer and mentally going through what I had to do. I started reading My Hour by Bradley Wiggins. He recalled what he went through as he tried to break the record for best distance in a velodrome. The best part of the book is when he is in his final ten minutes. The brutality that his body was feeling while it was breaking down and the mental exhaustion was as real as it gets. He spoke of those final minutes being the worst time to lose focus. I needed to think of my final minutes, the ones I had never been in while training. I needed to prepare myself for the dark side of the moon. The unknown.

Doing a little inspirational reading about Bradley Wiggins' attempt at breaking the record for "The Hour" while putting in an hour on the trainer. "Once you're able to acknowledge it's hurting, then you can start fighting it, admitting, 'It's the hardest thing I've ever done.' Once you get past halfway you've got permission to hurt." #biking #inspirationalreads

A photo posted by No Talent Battle Fitness (@ntbfit) on Feb 21, 2016 at 5:23pm PST

Morning of. Think Fight Club. When Brad Pitt’s character non-chalantly says, “Calm as a Hindu cow…” That was me. I often went into this mode before bouts. I wouldn’t talk much, I wouldn’t try to burn off energy by bouncing around. I would just sit or stand silently and mentally center myself. Both of my sets were before lunch, so I was happy to be getting it over with right off the bat. My Jerk set would be the 3rd flight and my Snatch set in the 11th. In a last minute bit of nervousness, I try to get a hold of my boyfriend back home but fail. My teammate Christeine is in the flight right before me, and I can’t even really pay attention or cheer because all of a sudden my mouth has gone dry and my hindu cow moment is fleeting. It’s about to get real.

My teammate Allison is on the platform right next to me. It is a comfort to know we’ll be right next to each other and I won’t feel like I’m standing up there all alone. We are both doing Biathlon with the 12kg. She is a beast, so I try to channel her powers as I get ready to pick up my bells. (Later, I learn from my judge that I picked them up a split second too early in anticipation, but he let it slide.) Since I am standing on Platform 1, I am on the side of the room that isn’t roped off. So my teammates are hovering as close as possible. In my first competition, I looked directly at my judge’s shoes the entire time. I watched him tap his toe every time I completed a rep. I refused to look at anyone. But this time I was all over the place. I looked at the clock, my reps, the hair ties I put on the floor before I stepped on the platform. My teammates. My coach. The little kids climbing on the pull up bars behind everyone watching. It wasn’t until 3 minutes had passed I quit messing around and concentrated on what I was actually doing. I’m terrible at keeping track of my pace, so it was more distracting to look at the clock because I would try to calculate my pace according to reps counted. I was started to get quite a few no counts after 6 minutes and I was starting to lose all confidence in minute 7. My judge wasn’t calling out my no-counts, but I went 4 reps in a row without seeing the counter change. I paused in the rack position. My mind is racing. Then, from the corner of my eye, I see my teammate Adrian lean in a bit and loudly remind me, “It’s just another Saturday morning.”

JUST ANOTHER SATURDAY MORNING. Saturday mornings are when most of the team trains together. Adrian nicknamed Saturday morning the “Executive Suite” one day because we were all there and pushing each other to the max.  Some Saturdays, after class, a few of us would stay after and do a little Olympic lifting. Other Saturdays, we would do a little core work. It became routine on Saturday mornings to show up and stay after for extra credit. So there, in minute 8, where I was crossing into the dark side, where my mind had no way to brace itself, Adrian said it. Minute 8, in the dark. Even though I was flying blind, before every rep, I said to myself “Just another Saturday morning.”

Minute 9. I’m shaking all over. My left shoulder is giving out and I can’t get my knees to straighten right away after I return to the rack position. Next to me, Allison is about to break 100. My entire team is yelling for her as she pushes into the upper 90s. I want to cheer for her but I am clearly in no place to just turn and watch. But I’m watching her clock more than mine at that point. 30 seconds left. If she can break 100 then I can finish this Goddamn 10 minutes. I push just past 70 as she hits 100. It isn’t until later that I learn she blew everyone out of the water in the 63kg weight category. Last few reps are a complete blur. I clock in 75 reps and finish the 10 minutes. Compared to October, I did the 12kg with one arm for 5 minutes and got 71.

Stay tuned for Part Two of the Biathlon - The Snatch.

Kettlebell Sport: My First Meet, The Jerk, Cue You Belong to Me …

Remember that scene from The Jerk? Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters are walking along the beach at night and he is playing the ukulele as they sing the sweetest melody? And then at the end, he delivers the cutest line about wanting to kiss her but explains why he didn’t by saying “I didn’t want to get spit on me.” Where am I going with this? Because the Jerk—as in, the kettlebell lift—is a lot like that trombone he was describing. Everything about it is a system and it all starts from the lips. Yeah. Lips. The lockout at the top comes from the undersquat, which is brought on first by the bump, but not without the first dip, which starts from the rack position, where we must first BREATHE.

http://www.worldmind.info If you've enjoyed the video don't be shy please subscribe ^.^ I recently Watched the Jerk, and Fell in love with this scene between Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters.

After rebuilding my arm strength from an injury on the rock climbing wall back in the spring, I was ready to start seriously lifting weights again. I wasn’t at 100% yet, but I felt good about giving my shoulder a little more to do than resistance band work and light weight training. While getting back on the wall was a slow process, I also started working with traditional kettlebells again. I remember the first time picking it back up. The dust had collected on its smooth surface and the weight almost felt too heavy. My poor shoulder had forgotten what it was like to stabilize anything other than my own bodyweight. I gave a few Turkish Get Ups a whirl and felt pretty rusty. Not getting too caught up in my loss of strength I gave Swings a try. Not too bad. How about a snatch? NOPE.

Hello Old Friend, We Meet Again

On the other end of town, My old coach Nikolai was expanding his kettlebell sport club. He had moved out of the gym he was previously holding classes at and set up his own studio just for kettlebell sport. I would see pictures of my old classmates looking strong and remember how fun it was to lift together, so I reached out and said I would be coming back to class. My first class back was jam packed! There were so many new lifters along with the old! I felt like such a rookie standing in the back of the room, swinging the bell around like an awkward duck, completely forgetting how a jerk was performed, let alone the elusive snatch. There was even a glove set at the end of class and I feared my bell would slip from my grip and knock over at least 3 people with it in front of me. I remember getting soup for lunch afterwards and having half of it end up in my lap. Straight up JURASSIC PARK JELLO ARM.

via GIPHY

After catching up with a few familiar faces after class, they all asked me if I were going to sign up for the competition that was coming up. They were all so enthusiastic and excited to see me that I couldn’t say no. In just a few minutes I was already committing to something I wasn’t entirely sure I could do. I was ready to lift a kettlebell again, but I was nowhere near ready to compete. The following week, I had a 1-on-1 session with my coach to get a feel for what I was ready to do.

Let the Training Begin

Coming back from an injury is something I have a lot of experience with in my time playing roller derby, and this was no different. The slow and steady race that has to be completed before you even get anywhere near the finish line takes a lot of patience and diligence. During our 1-on-1 session, Nikolai ran me through some baseline tests. My first Jerk and Snatch tests were pretty low rep counts. I had to accept and remember it was only just a few days ago that I had picked up a bell again and was only at the beginning of my training prep. There was still some instability in my shoulder, so we decided to play it safe and only have me prep for a 5 min. Jerk set with a 12kg. My coach said I could also train for the 5 min. Snatch set with a 8kg, but we could decide how I felt about when it came closer to signing up. As a first timer competitor, it was more than enough to just sign up for 1 event even though there is the option to sign up for 3.

How do these competitions work? There are men’s and women’s divisions—both are categorized by weight class, kettlebell weight and event. Once class and weight are determined, a competitor can rank in their event according to the reps completed in the time allotted. So in a sense, each competitor can rank and not necessarily compete against other lifters.

A sample of the IKFF Rankings chart

For my event, the 5 minute, Single Arm Jerk Only, I needed 65 reps to be Rank 1. That is 14 reps a minute. My weight class would be 65kg. For the first time in my life, I needed to actually pay attention to how much I weighed, down to the ounces. I generally fluctuate 2 to 5 pounds at any given time, but now I realized that I couldn’t go over my usual comfy day to day weight if I wanted to stay within my weight class. On top of that, I needed to fit in several months of training into under 4 weeks. Nikolai was confident I would be ready so I handed over the reins to him. With my work schedule always conflicting with his class schedule, it meant I would have to suck it up and hit the 7a classes.

A sneak peek at my training plan.

For the record, I hate working out early in the morning. It pains me to wake up early and exercise like a responsible adult. I’d rather sleep, eat cereal and drink coffee, then go about my day and work out in the afternoon or at night with functioning cognitive abilities. It brought on flashbacks to getting up to go to speed skating practice at 5:30a on Saturday mornings. My teammate used to pick me up and I would sleepily nibble a Luna bar during the drive and stumble into the roller rink secretly hoping to find a pile of stuffed animals behind the prize counter to sleep on.

Swings and hill sprints. Oof.

So with 3 days of kettlebell training, 1 day on the climbing wall (low intensity) , 1 day of cardio (mid-intensity)  and 1 day of mixed cardio/weight training (high intensity) with my fellow trainer Steve, I was now fully decked out to prepare myself for the competition. The first few training sessions were pretty hard. I was still relearning the lifts and fixing major flaws in my technique. I often slowed my pace to focus on form. I often had to park the bell before time was up when my shoulder stability started to go. The first session of mixed training with Steve was 10 sets of 10 swings plus 1 hill sprint. I thought I was going to pass out. For the first time in a long time I was in dire need of my inhaler. For the first time in over a year, I went back to the always brutal stair workout at Howe St. I hadn’t had anything to train for since July, so it was exciting to have a training plan again. This was much different that training for endurance like I had for STP. This involved much more.

The Final Countdown

Practicing a 10-minute Snatch set with gloves for grip technique. Why does the coach have to stand right in front of me? 

Let’s jump ahead to the last week before the competition. I managed to catch a cold. Of course I catch a cold. I have to skip a class, rest and drink Emergen-C for the next few days like its free Slurpee refill day at 7-11 (as in, my teeth were literally stained Super Orange). Saturday rolls around and we have our final test to see how we’ve done in the past few weeks. I was right around my rep goal for Jerk, but still under what I should have been aiming for with the Snatch. However, it was the first time in weeks I was feeling good about my form. Unfortunately it was the day after registration had ended, so it was already too late to change from 1 event to 2.

Lots of protein. Lots of smoothies.

In terms of staying with my weight class, I weighed in on Friday night at 63kg for my 65kg class. There was a moment of panic before I stepped on the scale. I knew I was within range, and I had light meals earlier in the day. Looking back, my diet didn’t change a whole lot. I kept it fairly clean day to day, sticking to portion control for breakfast, lunch and snacks, while eating a little more for dinner, including a lot more protein. I also drank a ridiculous amount of water. Which, seems to be a bad idea before a weigh in, as the easiest way to weigh more is through water weight. Some of my teammates even went to the spa and sat for hours in the sauna to shed those last few ounces. But I didn’t want to risk being dehydrated before the competition. Having to fear the scale was not my favorite part of training at all.

Competition Day

Saturday morning. I wake up, make my coffee and eggs and sit in silence as I mentally prepare myself for the long day. There are 29 flights total, and my single event is flight 22. I would have to sit for hours before getting on the platform. After I get showered and dressed and kiss my sleeping bf goodbye, I walk up to the door where I had placed my kettlebell directly in front of so I wouldn’t forget it. I quietly say, “Hello Anatoli (yes, I named my bell). It is time.” In the elevator, an older gentleman looks over and quizzes me about the bright blue massive ball in my hand. When we step into the lobby he asks if he can hold it, and is surprised by how heavy it is. It is a nice little confidence booster before I head out the door and he wishes me luck.

Arriving at Northwest Strength and Performance, lifters of many ages and sizes funnel in as we greet each other all the while firmly clutching cups of coffee harder than we would kettlebells. We all gather for the rules meeting demonstrated by a few of the judges for the day and the first flight is off to a start. Our team, Seattle Kettlebell Club is represented by 14 lifters, so there would only be a handful of flights without a teammate on deck. It was so exciting to watch my teammates perform so beautifully, each hitting rank and some of them outlasting the other lifters in their events. My teammate Adrian, who was also coming back from injury after being in a motorcycle accident over the summer, outlasted the other lifters in more than one event!

Anatoli is in there somewhere.

It was finally getting close to my flight, so I warmed up and started going to the motions in my head. My teammates checked in with me and made sure to be there in case I had any last minute questions or thoughts. Just then, my bf walks in and is ready to cheer me on. My judges were Tricia Dong and Tom Corrigan, both from Canada. I had been watching them all day and they were very strict on good reps, so I prayed that I would perform as cleanly as possible. In my flight were 2 other teammates, so we definitely represented on the platform as a whole. As I placed Anatoli down. I looked over to my coach and there was nothing but a nod exchanged. I was ready to go.

Last rep.

A lot of my teammates had said that when they are on the platform, there is a loss of senses. Ranging from not remembering what music was playing, to not recognizing anyone in the crowd, to forgetting what they were even doing. The only two distinct things I remembered from that 5 minutes were A.) breathing. and B.) Tom tapping his foot a few times every time I performed a rep. After the switch my right arm had cramped up and I couldn’t really put it down. In the last minute my teammate Paul was standing by to tell me to go ahead and let ‘er rip. I needed 65 to get rank 1 and had surpassed it. At the end of my set I had 71 reps (and only 1 no count, not too shabby). After I was done, Tom came over and gave me a few tips on how to clean up my technique and it lit a huge lightbulb in my head. It was something I had been struggling with for weeks and it wasn’t until then that I got it. I was super grateful for the kind words and coaching tips both judges gave me.

So, When it the next one?

First place.

After all the flights were over, all 14 of us walked away with medals during the award ceremony. It had been a long time since I had been part of a team, along with being in a competitive environment. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. I used to pride myself on working hard and being an anchor, as well as being an example of discipline and good form. I look forward to sticking with it this time and getting back to those pillars of pride, while keeping myself healthy to compete again in the spring. A big thanks to my coach Nikolai and all my teammates at Seattle Kettlebell Club, for welcoming me back with open arms and getting me ready for competition is such little time.

And last but not least, here is my set.

206 Miles. 2 Days. Seattle to Portland Classic

After finally settling into the place I now call home, just 2 years after retiring from derby, I found myself lost in new territory. I like to call it my “losing my bearings” crisis. Introducing a competitive sport later in life to train for and commit to was already life-changing. It taught me discipline, gave me structure and how to be part of a team. It showed me what I was capable of mentally and physically. It was what inspired me to become a trainer. So now that it wasn’t a part of my life anymore, it left me with the ultimate question of, “now what?”

Moving to Seattle brought on a new level of challenges. Having so many more options for recreational activities was like having a chest full of shiny new toys open before your eyes and becoming blinded by its beauty. Part of the reason for moving here was for the bf to get back to his love of outdoors. He went full force into hiking and climbing. I happily join him on his amazing adventures and enjoy every minute with him, but didn’t find what I was looking for the way he did. So I needed something of my own. I needed a different kind of challenge.

In January, as I was showing off my new bike to a friend, she asked if I had heard of STP. And that is where it all began. I had ridden organized rides before, but nothing of this distance or commitment. And doing a ride in the midwest is nothing like here in the PNW. As in, the only thing flatter than the midwest is a sad pancake. When I first moved to Seattle I didn’t bike for a better part of a year because the hills were just so intimidating. I needed to get over it. So what better time to face them than to start training on them. I went ahead and mentioned to a few friends that I was going to sign up, and shortly after I found myself with a bike gang to endure the challenge with me. Two friends I had made here in Seattle, and one back home in Chicago who I have a knack for talking into doing crazy physical challenges (I happen to be the one who talked her into roller derby!).

Training

Logging the miles.

By February we were all signed up and beginning the training regimen. It started with some short distance rides, between 10 and 20 miles. Along side with which I decided to reset my strength training to lay a foundation for the work that needed to be done. For the first 6 weeks I went back to basics. Bodyweight and resistance band training only, along with any corrective exercises I needed for my hip (which I had injured in December) and bad shoulder (which had always been a problem since my dodgeball days).

By mid-spring the mileage was up to between 30 and 50 miles. By then I had moved onto core strength and lifting again. My first long ride was after I had helped my friend Joey buy a road bike and we tested it out on the 54-mile Lake Washington Loop. It was strenuous to say the least and the first taste of what the actual ride could be like. In addition to that, I was training with a rower, whose job was to work on endurance 6 days a week. So just imagine 54 miles of sprinting just to keep up and then reflect on what your mind and body would feel like after.

Trainer on a trainer.

By early summer, the daylight was longer and so were the rides. 50 to 60 miles every Saturday, with 25 to 30 miles during the week and 1 day of intervals on the trainer mid-week. I began to lift heavier and reintroduce kettlebells for help with endurance. At this time was when I started to really feel the mental challenge of getting through these longer distance training rides where I was solo, several miles from home, just far enough to wonder if I would even be able to make it back. On my longest ride towards the end of training was 75 miles through quiet backroads and cow-grazing fields. I remember being out on a winding road tucked far behind several acres of farmland, being afraid that the sun would go down before I could make it back to where I had started. I was pulled over on the side of the road, telling myself out loud to get back on the bike and just get somewhere that wasn’t so desolate. Fear at this point in training will either break you or push you into survival mode. When I finally made it back I sat down and nearly cried. But instead, I silenced my mind and watched the sun set in the beautiful orange and purple sky above.

The final weeks leading up to the ride brought on a lot of challenges. Just a few weeks before, I re-injured my shoulder during a rock climbing session. I was angry at myself for being so reckless, and was forced to stop kettlebell training or any sort of upper body strength training for that matter. I could barely do a push up. So I had to refocus my energy and concentrate on lower body strength and mobility, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. If I had not spent so much time in the last weeks doing so I am sure my story would have a different ending. Then, just 10 days before, I went on the most grueling hike up a volcano. Thinking I wouldn’t even be able to walk myself down from this one made me question my physical status all together. Would I have enough gas in the tank at mile 180? Would I be mentally strong enough to finish with a smile? The hike was only 10 miles and I almost threw down my pack and poles and gave up. How would I bike 206 miles and not feel the same?

The Ride: The Final Week

Good friend, good carbs.

The week of. The anxiety is settling in, keeping me up at night like a bright spotlight shining on all my insecurities. To calm my nerves I took it easy. A light rock climbing session, a lot of foam rolling and a little bit of retail therapy. The excitement doesn’t set in until Friday morning, when I am driving to the airport to pick up my friend from Chicago. Then, as I pull up and see her face, the excitement turns into pure calmness. I am now ready. We spend the day carb loading, picking up our packets, touring sites from 10 Things I Hate About You and packing our bags. But as relaxing as the day was I still can’t fall asleep.

The Ride: Day One

Having done the Lake Washington loop several times during training, the first 15 miles are easy and familiar. We blow throw the first rest stop and ride until mile 24 where the REI stop is. Everyone is cheery, bikers are dancing and enjoying all the free orange slices.

A quick swing break.

Everything is still pretty flat and crowded as we arrive at the mile 41 rest stop, where there happens to be a park and I jump on the opportunity to take a break on the swings. This is just before the “THE HILL” at mile 44. Looking back, although I climbed it at an ultra-slow pace, it wasn’t the toughest hill I had to climb. On my training rides, there were longer and steeper ones, which made me think back to Chilly Hilly where I thought I would have to get off my bike and walk. But I conquered “THE HILL,” quickly shook my fist at it at the top and pedaled on. 

Lunch a la helmet.

At mile 57, we were slowing down a bit and were ready for lunch at JBLM. It was a unique opportunity to ride through the base and stop to sit and eat lunch, where they have old aircrafts and other army vehicles on display. Riding through the rest of the base seemed like it went on forever, but it gave us a better picture of how expansive it was.

A quick stop at mile 72 where they were handing out free hard boiled eggs. Don’t get me wrong, I love hard boiled eggs, but the thought of eating one after being on the bikes for that long made me want to gag. By mile 88, we were ready to just get day one over with. At the last rest stop they had Freeze Pops and music, so it was a nice little break for the last haul. At mile 102, we had reached our destination for the night—Centralia College—just after 5:30p. We quickly corralled our bikes and set up our tent in the back where it was nice and quiet, then wandered our way into town. We all ordered burgers and a local joint called The Hub, where the server was decked out in tattoos and a Wu-Tang sleeveless shirt and the cook still managed to sport flannel behind a grill full of ground beef. My kind of town.

Tent city.

Back at campus, it turns out that the tent I had borrowed from a friend was the largest tent of all, so we spent the last hour before bed with the 6 of us tucked inside learning how to play Hearts. Joey’s friend Ted and I went undefeated and it what made it better was that it my first time playing. At lights out, we crawled into our sleeping bags and listened to the the first real rain in months over here hit the top of the tent. There was no need to listen to Jeff Bridges’ sleeping tapes.

The Ride: Day Two

Girl bike gang!

Day two. Up by 4:45a. We head down to the student center to grab our pancake breakfast. We are all clinging to our half cup of coffee that it came with, hoping it will be enough caffeine to wake us up. There is a line of us standing in the bathroom, brushing our teeth and splashing water on our faces. We run into a man in the student center who is carrying his pet Cockatoo (he was not on the ride but was there supporting his wife) and he lets us pet him. It was probably the first time I had seen a bird snuggle his owner. It was cute overload but definitely a pick me up to make up for the missing half cup of coffee we didn’t get at breakfast.

After breakfast, bags were packed and put back on the truck. We retrieve our bikes from the corral, and are on the road at about the same time as day 1. The boys take off and us girls begin by setting a nice steady pace, faster than the day before. After leaving Centralia we hit the farmlands just shortly after Chehalis. A quick stop at mile 122 and we are off through Winlock. From here, we finally meet the rolling hills of Washington. Our pace begins to slow at this point as our legs are now challenged with continuous climbs. We reach mile 147 for lunch, where we run into the boys and slowly savor the cookies that came with our sandwiches. We are moving at a faster pace than the day before despite the hills, and are still in good spirits.

Crossing into Oregon

And then, at mile 154, we reach the Lewis & Clark Bridge. Any time there was a hill, there was always a small amount of panic followed by a long winded expletive. When I looked up and spotted the bridge, it was the first time during the ride I questioned myself. It was a, “You want me to do what?” moment. But there were so many bikers bottlenecked at the bottom of the bridge and traffic was being directed that there was no need to go fast. There was no turning back either. Everyone climbed at a slow, steady rate, so it made it easier to climb than the other hills we had to huff up all alone. The biker in front of me kept taking selfies as we climbed, so I’m sure he had plenty of me photobombing him. It was then that we crossed into Oregon.

Peanut butter sandwich ftw.

From then on, we learned that it was the hardest part of the ride. For the next 42 miles we were on Highway 30. Although it was flat, it was single file riding on the shoulder with cars flying by and no scenic relief. All we were left with were our thoughts focused on our aching muscles and the momentary shock of cars driving by at 60mph. A short break at mile 164 to fill water and apply sunscreen as the sun had finally broke through the clouds and began to beat down on us. We crawled into the rest stop at mile 176 and didn’t even grab food other than the blackberries we picked off the bush where we were resting in the shade. The final rest stop at mile 188 was when my body started to break down. I could feel my mind starting to lose its grip on patience and although I had been calm for nearly 190 miles, it was not the time to have my mind break with just under 20 miles to go. My eyes glazed over as I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a banana. I lingered in the shade just long enough to put myself back together, and then we made our final push for Portland.

Leading up to the St. Johns Bridge, we were pushing it. No more easy pace or enjoying the view, just pedaling as much as our legs would let us to get us to the finish line. Just before the bridge at mile 197 was a short windy hill up. I am counting on my momentum to ride into it, but just at the bottom of the hill a rider takes a spill and all bikers come to a complete stop. All I can see is a pod of the Georgia team-in-training riders with their little peaches and bows atop their helmets bobbing around to help the rider up. A Cascade Outrider happened to be right there, so she quickly shuffled everyone aside and got the rest of us moving. Unfortunately, it had taken my focus off the hill and was now faced with climbing up from a dead stop. I lost both Molly and Rory at this point, so I had to push hard to catch up with them. I thought about just walking up, but I had no reason to wimp out at this point. There were still 13 miles to go. As I climbed the bridge solo, I dug into every push and used my breath to steady myself. That relief of coasting down was just within reach, so I blocked all other senses to finish the climb. As I made it over the bridge, there was a huge sense of accomplishment knowing I had finally made it into Portland. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the last 6 miles. Knowing that there was still a hefty amount of distance from the finish line with nothing left to give was a true test of mental and physical strength.

Just under a mile to go and the struggle is real. Molly and I had dropped our pace significantly and were now just cruising our way downtown. At a stoplight I look over and see Molly is ready to be done, so I just give her a nod and we get ourselves to pick it back up. As we near the final block, my spirits lift. There are people lined up along the street with cameras and bells and signs. They are cheering and high fiving. I can see the finish line just on the next block and I sit up in my saddle. I can hear the announcer and the music and I come to terms that it is going to be over if i just peddle a little more.

How could I not spot the cutest guy with a sign? Look at that face.

And then there it is. The finish line. Shortly after I cross it I notice a little sign with my bib number on it. It is the bf, with the biggest, cheesiest grin on his face. He had spent the whole day telling me he wouldn’t be able to make it to the finish line, but there he was, ready to embrace me and look me in the eye to tell me how proud he was of me.

The Aftermath

All the donuts. ALL OF THEM.

After we finish and dismount our bikes, it is a bit of a hot mess, with crowds of friends and family members and bikers delirious from miles of pain, sweat and maybe some tears. All I want to do is ditch my bike and drink my free chocolate milk, so we get that done right away. We make our way to the beer garden where I join the rest of my bike gang. One has already passed out on the table, but the rest are happily drinking their beer. My old teammate Goods, who now lives in Portland meets us there with donuts in hand, making her the best human being in the world.

Full tummies. Clean plates.

Another leaguemate who is also a recent Portland transplant, Schwartz, meets us and brings us to dinner at Teote, where we devour plates of plantains, arepas and lamb chops along with very tall glasses of Michelada and Princesa Sucias. Before heading back to our accommodations for the night, Schwartz brings us to a romantic little ice cream parlor called The Rimsky Korsakoffee House, where the place smells like 100 year old dust and has the wallpaper to match.

Settling in for the night and not wanting to even climb the stairs, we hit the bed hard. Even though my body was completely exhausted, I still couldn’t fall asleep right away. I ended up lying awake, my mind running. Not on the ride in particular, but what I had just put myself through. I fell asleep with no particular question answered, but pleased that I had gotten myself there after enduring such a challenge.

Breakfast in the dining car. Luxury at its finest.

Monday morning we head to the the train station and hop on the Amtrak back to Seattle. Joey had been talking non-stop about the dining car since before we had booked the tickets weeks ago, so as soon as our tickets were checked, we made our way over. We ordered our microwaved breakfast sandwiches and enjoyed a bit of train luxury. It was everything he had dreamed of. Passing through Tacoma was the most scenic, making plans to come down one day and explore the islands. Arriving back in Seattle, we embraced each other and parted ways to get back to the regular routine of heading to work or home.

The Takeaway

Would I do it again? For sure. But probably not next year. It took a lot of work to get myself prepared for STP, in which a lot of it meant being solo and dealing with my own demons. I definitely want to keep pedaling, so the plan is doing do another organized ride later in the fall and then sign up for a few centuries next year. The next month or so will be going back to kettlebell training now that my shoulder is slowly recovering and getting more technical with rock climbing. But now I can add a badge of PNW living to my accomplishments—with my bib number and finisher patch now hanging on the wall. Molly said that one thing she observed about PNW living is how people like to earn their battle scars and compare their most grueling physical challenges in the unknown. What is it about that badge of honor? Why do we own these accomplishments so proudly? I can’t quite say, but she also put it in the most eloquent words. She said, “... the physical effort was all my own. No one could help me peddle.”

Despite all the support and organization by the Cascade Bicycle Club, the friends who believed in me, the complete strangers offering nothing but smiles along the way ... 206 miles. Those were all my own.

Me Vs. The Volcano

Normally, I start off July in the most epic way possible. By watching Independence Day and yelling “Welcome to Earf” a million times before enjoying the middle of the summer. But this year is going to be the year of Mega July, a.k.a. the July I Decided to Conquer Everything. Starting exactly at midnight, we set off to summit Mt. St. Helens via the Monitor Ridge trail.

I knew that this hike was going to be difficult, and we had been training for this hike for some time, but nothing can really prepare you for things out of your control. With the current heat wave and dry spout happening here in Washington it lead to two things: no snow pack and extreme heat. Reading several trip reports, it was advised to start well before sunrise to avoid mid-day heat. Even starting at midnight and arriving at the summit just after sunrise we barely made it back down the trail in the early morning heat that quickly reached the high 80s. It was well into the mid-90s by the time we made it back to the trailhead.

Into the Darkness

Hiking a volcano is what you would imagine. The higher we climbed the more we felt like we were facing Mt. Doom, except there was no Samwise Gamgee to push us forward or make us second breakfast. The hike starts out pleasant enough, through a moonlit forest which was probably supposed to feel magical, but only being able to see as far as the headlight could shine, it was more unsettling than comforting. When we made it out of the forest, then began the climb. We started to ascend the steep field of rock and pumice. At one point we thought we spotting the reflective trail markers in the distance, only to realize they were a pair of eyes. I kept telling myself it was just an owl, and then 2 more pairs became visible. Owls hanging out it groups, right?

After about an hour into the steep terrain, we realized that maybe we weren’t going the right way. We decided to start moving laterally to see what was on the other side of the ridge to our left, only to find that we were completely off trail and finding the actual trail markers. Our steep and messy shortcut cut out a huge chunk of the trail. Back on the right path, we reached the first of 5 boulder fields. As we reached the top of each one, we thought the summit was in reach, only to find there was another staring back at us. The only thing that kept us going at that point was a little bit of Journey and The Boss himself.

The bf makes an excellent portable pillow for cat naps on mountains.

At the end of the boulder field, I started to feel like my body was failing. It was just around 5am and I should of been asleep, so everything was in a state of confusion. We had to take a long break so I could nap for a few minutes and let the feeling pass.

Now was time for the final push. The final mile in nothing but sliding ash and pumice. It was literally a “two steps forward one step back” scenario. It went on forever. The sun was starting to rise over Mt. Adams to the east of us. And then, after an hour of exhausting climbing, we made it to the summit.

View from the top.

The view was pretty amazing. To see the direction of the explosion to the North and all that it took out—including what was left of Spirit Lake—was breathtaking. Looking back towards the south, it was very clear where the mud flow from the eruption ended and forest began. Standing on top of a volcano that erupted not too long ago was a certainly a privilege not to be taken for granted.

The descent down was twice as grueling. With no snow pack, there was no chance of glissading down. The sun was now up and scorching despite the early morning hours. Water breaks and hiding behind boulders for some shade came more often and left us silent from exhaustion. It nearly broke our spirits at one point thinking we were never going to make it down. When we finally reached the forest line, we thought the last two miles would be easier. But it wasn’t. It felt like the longest two miles of our lives. When we finally made it back to the trailhead, I dropped my pack and wanted to yell Andy Samberg style and walk away.

Looking back, it was a humbling experience. Whatever assumptions I had about my physical and mental abilities were tested to the max. I had been there before, but in a more controlled setting. Adding the beast that is nature was a whole new challenge. But I can thankfully cross this volcano off my list and look back, shake my fist at it, and say, “I walked on your face!”

This also marks just 7 days until STP. By the end of July I am pretty sure the reply I'll have to how I'm feeling will be this.