Well, as blogs often do, this one took an unintentional hiatus. Sorry about that; I really should contribute more regularly. But then there are many, many things I should do more often.
I was really inspired to break my silence because of a new wrinkle in my training: trail ("mountain") biking! Though our household goods shipment made it to Kigali a few weeks ago, putting my bike together has not been the first priority in furnishing our house. But a few days ago I was able to complete the task. I had ridden it in the driveway just to shake the dust off and see if it had been assembled properly (and because Zoe wanted to see me ride), but today I actually got out there on a real ride!
It should be noted that this is a new bike, (a Specialized Stumpjumper Comp 29)that I bought only a few days before our pack-out from New Orleans. Everything on it is stock, and I have Crank Brothers Candy pedals. It has 27 gears, a suspension fork, and hydraulic disc brakes. I rode it there a couple times, but there aren't any significant trails worth mentioning near our house, and so as a trail bike, it was still a virgin. Today, I can honestly say it's a trail bike.
I started from the street right in front of our driveway. Now, "street" and even "driveway" are terms that essentially mean the same thing here in Kigali, but in reality are most likely different from what you in the US would picture in your head. We actually need to put our 1996 Blazer into 4WD Low to make it up the driveway, and the street is not a lot better. It's quite flat and smooth hard-packed dirt at some places, and extremely rutted/washed out, scree and soft sand at others. No mud today, but some days quite deep and greasy. And some amazing inclines that get you winded just walking up the first several feet. Some even that are difficult to walk down. I guess you could say I live on a street that is perfect for really testing a mountain bike and its rider.
For the ride I stayed largely on lesser-used roads to avoid traffic as much as possible. But I live in the capital city of the most densely populated country in Africa. There is no such thing as an empty road. So I had to be very aware of cars, trucks, motorcycles, cyclists (not the kind I was riding; workhorses used for transporting amazingly large heavy things and even taxis), and zillions of pedestrians. And the roads varied from a short stretch of pavement to (very rough) cobblestones to my road and from dead flat to very steep. So I had singletrack and doubletrack, sand, rocks, hardpack, asphalt, cobbles, loose gravel, a little grass even.
And I couldn't have been happier. What a ride! I am so excited about this bike; it's exactly what I'd hoped for. In spite of the larger 29-inch frame, it's lighter than any trail bike I've been on (admittedly not many in the last several years). The suspension fork and overall design made little and big bumps alike nearly inconsequential. And the disc brakes are incredibly sticky. I could just leap down the bigger hills, despite the shifting terrain, and having to pick a very meandering line. And climbing up and up the same hills was a lot easier than I'd expected. Maybe it's because I've been running them for months that my heart and lungs could take it, but I just kept climbing up and up, though slowly. I really felt like a kid again, when I had a new (used) BMX bike out with my friends.
Until I wrecked.
As I was finishing the long dramatic descent after my turn-around point, the decline sort of flattened out a little, though the road didn't. I was still riding at maybe 10mph or more in the ruts and footpaths with occasional washout ruts crossing the path, and really thirsty. So I grabbed a bottle from my seat tube and drank a little swig. I was just starting to replace the bottle in the cage when I spotted a huge rut just ahead. I had my left hand on the bar and grabbed the front brake subtly (or so I thought). Next thing I know, I'm ass over elbows and very aware that I was about to hit the dirt. It was all over in a second, with me over the handlebars, the bike flying up and landing partially on me. And the locals from the neighborhood gasping. This turned to laughter after I got up and dusted myself off. I still didn't really see what was so damn funny, but checked myself over first, and then my bike. Damage Report: filthy, scraped-up left elbow and forearm; left ribs very very painful, but probably not broken; left knee also filthy and bleeding (not a lot); left shoulder sore, right thumb pinched and painful but there (full-finger glove now with a hole in it). For the bike, the clamps securing the brake levers to the handlebar a little scraped, and the left grip/bar-end scraped up good. My iPod and phone (both in back jersey pockets) and helmet without a scrape. Clothes filthy but not torn. So a little road rash (is it still called that on dirt?) and some bruised ribs. Nothing much to worry about other than several sore days. But all in all, a tidy little crash.
I guess this is what really allows me to say I have been riding trails. A simple thing like drinking from my water bottle was nothing on my triathlon bike. But when the terrain is always a little threatening (or interesting), it can be complicated. So this is a good little lesson for me. I'm always "on" when this bike is moving. No iPod. No eating while riding (until I'm a lot more proficient at least). Either use my hydration pack for drinking, use my left hand for the bottle, or stop to drink water. Use my cheaper sunglasses. And if this happens again soon, I may actually join so many of the other cyclists out there who shave their legs.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Our Story Continues
Our Story Continues
Well, it's been a good few weeks of running. I've been able to keep up about 5 or 6 days per week of running, and steadily increasing my training in all respects. I've had progressively longer runs of all categories: long, slow ones, medium-tempo, easy recovery runs. And I'm starting to increase the run:walk ratio for all categories as well, though still stick to around 4:1 or so, with the long runs at something like 6:2.
I'm able to see an appreciable difference in my heart rates after the runs as well, with my average for the longer runs down in the 130s, and for the tempo runs in the mid-140s. But even more important than the numbers is that I feel much better. I have really begun to look forward to these runs, and physically feel very satisfied for several hours after they finish, though I am usually very hungry most of the time now. I do think I've started to lose some of my extra weight and can see it in my face, though I think I'd have a bit of a spare tire even if I lost another 40 pounds.
I admit that I have a ways to go in my aerobic conditioning. I'd like to be able to go on a run with minute walk breaks after 9-12 minutes of running like I could in New Orleans. That may require just living at this altitude for a few more months in addition to continuing to train. And I'd like to really work on speed and going genuinely hard on the hills some time. And of course, I need to begin strength and flexibility training in earnest as well. But all that will come with time. This is still the period of simply building a good aerobic base, and I need to keep this in mind patiently. It's fun to start seeing that my work is paying off! Now I just have to not get greedy and screw it up with an injury or burnout.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Lesson
Since moving to Kigali, I've been trying to be as patient as possible in slowly building my aerobic base. I recognize that I have taken off enough time that I have probably lost a lot of conditioning in general. Add to that the high altitude and the new challenge of running hills, I suddenly feel really really slow.
My solution to this has been to go slowly and take much more frequent walk breaks. Back at sea level in New Orleans, I have been accustomed to taking one-minute walk breaks regularly, usually after 9-14 minutes of running. Runners will recognize this as the Galloway Method, long touted by marathon guru Jeff Galloway, and I've used it for years. Since coming here, I started taking my one-minute breaks every 5 minutes or a little more (to even out over a 55-minute run). I look at my heart-rate monitor, a Polar RS200, occasionally during the runs as a guide to keeping it cool. But for me, it has recently been just as helpful to look at the ExerciseLog feature after the run. This not only gives the max HR and the average HR, but the calories burned, and time within each of the 5 customized heart rate zones generally recognized by most endurance coaches.
I am no expert, but I think I can summarize the approach to heart-rate zones. They are all based on either an age-estimated or a determined maximum. Zone 1 is 50-60% of your max HR, and usually compared to a brisk walk. Zone 2 is 60-70% of max, and is described as a slow jog, commonly called the "fat-burning zone." Zone 3 is 70-80% of max, and is called the "anaerobic zone" because this is the zone in which cardiovascular health is most improved, and calories are burned most effeciently. Zone 4 is called the anaerobic threshold and is when you use your anaerobic system for energy. This is not sustainable for long periods, and is usually when people really feel the burn and cannot speak typically because they are too busy huffing and puffing. The final zone is "the redline," in which you are really giving it your all.
Back to me. Since arriving here, I have started paying attention to how much time (proportionally) I have spent in each of the 5 zones at the conclusion of the workout. It has been very instructive. I realized that 5 1/2 minutes of running per minute of walking was not nearly enough rest. So I tuned down to 5 minutes. Then to 4 1/2. Then to 4. All this while, I'm trying to go slower. Slower on the walk breaks. Slower up hills. Slower on the flats. Slower, and more deliberate. I find that a way to remind myself to keep it cool is that I should be able to greet everyone I come across. I try to keep it easy enough running that I can smile a little and say either "Good Morning," "Bon Jour," or both to nearly everyone I meet.
I run through neighborhoods with large private homes, with small shanty villes, with business, with government offices, and with industrial businesses. As I run, I come across professionals, tradesmen, men and women looking for work, people sleeping in the shade, peddlers selling various things (including a guy who tried to sell me some shorts that couldn't possibly have fit me), and many, many children.
Kids here don't start public school until age 7. Some can't afford to go. And -like New Orleans- the poor parts of town are very much integrated with the tony parts. And so I have become the interesting muzungu to a lot of (usually dirty) beautiful, enthusiastic young children at different parts of my run.
This morning's run was an hour and with more flats than normal. But I still did my Big Nasty Hill. I'll have to come up with a more poetic name than that, but I'll say that it's not incredibly long, but I don't think anyone would call it an easy or short hill. It's all dirt and very uneven, with many ruts and rocks, and a few switchbacks. There is one segment that is a path used by the local poor to get to a municipal water faucet. I go down this hill on my way out of the run, and turn around and go back up it on the way back.
Well, on a quarter-mile segment going up to the beginning of the hill, I somehow picked up a little boy in old dirty flip-flops. He looked to be about 6 years old or so, and carried a water bottle, though he never drank from it. He was smiling enthusiastically and talking to me for most of the time in Kinyarwanda, though occasionally in French a little. He stayed with me on the uphill approach, then on the first two-thirds of the downhill. He stopped at the last switchback until I came back up again, about 3-5 minutes later. Then I called to him, "Allez, garcon!" (Let's go, boy!), and he took off by my side. I was huffing and puffing, trying to keep the smile on my face and failing. I was just looking at one foot in front of the other, and this guy was smiling, and trying to talk me up. I kept thinking I would lose him, but he kept coming.
When we got back to where I had found him, he kept with me for another quarter-mile up the next hill before growing bored. I really hope he becomes my regular training partner, because he is awesome. Here I am, trying to just not be quite so pathetically slow, and this little kid in flip-flops totally schools me. I guess that's a good sign that I'm slowing it down. And the real lesson, of course, is to not become competitive and say to myself, "am I going to let this little kid beat me?" A lesson in humility. A lesson in patience. A lesson in strategy. And a nice kid, to boot. I hope to get a photo of him when our smaller camera arrives.
My solution to this has been to go slowly and take much more frequent walk breaks. Back at sea level in New Orleans, I have been accustomed to taking one-minute walk breaks regularly, usually after 9-14 minutes of running. Runners will recognize this as the Galloway Method, long touted by marathon guru Jeff Galloway, and I've used it for years. Since coming here, I started taking my one-minute breaks every 5 minutes or a little more (to even out over a 55-minute run). I look at my heart-rate monitor, a Polar RS200, occasionally during the runs as a guide to keeping it cool. But for me, it has recently been just as helpful to look at the ExerciseLog feature after the run. This not only gives the max HR and the average HR, but the calories burned, and time within each of the 5 customized heart rate zones generally recognized by most endurance coaches.
I am no expert, but I think I can summarize the approach to heart-rate zones. They are all based on either an age-estimated or a determined maximum. Zone 1 is 50-60% of your max HR, and usually compared to a brisk walk. Zone 2 is 60-70% of max, and is described as a slow jog, commonly called the "fat-burning zone." Zone 3 is 70-80% of max, and is called the "anaerobic zone" because this is the zone in which cardiovascular health is most improved, and calories are burned most effeciently. Zone 4 is called the anaerobic threshold and is when you use your anaerobic system for energy. This is not sustainable for long periods, and is usually when people really feel the burn and cannot speak typically because they are too busy huffing and puffing. The final zone is "the redline," in which you are really giving it your all.
Back to me. Since arriving here, I have started paying attention to how much time (proportionally) I have spent in each of the 5 zones at the conclusion of the workout. It has been very instructive. I realized that 5 1/2 minutes of running per minute of walking was not nearly enough rest. So I tuned down to 5 minutes. Then to 4 1/2. Then to 4. All this while, I'm trying to go slower. Slower on the walk breaks. Slower up hills. Slower on the flats. Slower, and more deliberate. I find that a way to remind myself to keep it cool is that I should be able to greet everyone I come across. I try to keep it easy enough running that I can smile a little and say either "Good Morning," "Bon Jour," or both to nearly everyone I meet.
I run through neighborhoods with large private homes, with small shanty villes, with business, with government offices, and with industrial businesses. As I run, I come across professionals, tradesmen, men and women looking for work, people sleeping in the shade, peddlers selling various things (including a guy who tried to sell me some shorts that couldn't possibly have fit me), and many, many children.
Kids here don't start public school until age 7. Some can't afford to go. And -like New Orleans- the poor parts of town are very much integrated with the tony parts. And so I have become the interesting muzungu to a lot of (usually dirty) beautiful, enthusiastic young children at different parts of my run.
This morning's run was an hour and with more flats than normal. But I still did my Big Nasty Hill. I'll have to come up with a more poetic name than that, but I'll say that it's not incredibly long, but I don't think anyone would call it an easy or short hill. It's all dirt and very uneven, with many ruts and rocks, and a few switchbacks. There is one segment that is a path used by the local poor to get to a municipal water faucet. I go down this hill on my way out of the run, and turn around and go back up it on the way back.
Well, on a quarter-mile segment going up to the beginning of the hill, I somehow picked up a little boy in old dirty flip-flops. He looked to be about 6 years old or so, and carried a water bottle, though he never drank from it. He was smiling enthusiastically and talking to me for most of the time in Kinyarwanda, though occasionally in French a little. He stayed with me on the uphill approach, then on the first two-thirds of the downhill. He stopped at the last switchback until I came back up again, about 3-5 minutes later. Then I called to him, "Allez, garcon!" (Let's go, boy!), and he took off by my side. I was huffing and puffing, trying to keep the smile on my face and failing. I was just looking at one foot in front of the other, and this guy was smiling, and trying to talk me up. I kept thinking I would lose him, but he kept coming.
When we got back to where I had found him, he kept with me for another quarter-mile up the next hill before growing bored. I really hope he becomes my regular training partner, because he is awesome. Here I am, trying to just not be quite so pathetically slow, and this little kid in flip-flops totally schools me. I guess that's a good sign that I'm slowing it down. And the real lesson, of course, is to not become competitive and say to myself, "am I going to let this little kid beat me?" A lesson in humility. A lesson in patience. A lesson in strategy. And a nice kid, to boot. I hope to get a photo of him when our smaller camera arrives.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Where I've Been
Well, it's been quite a while since the last post. I'm a little surprised that blogger allowed my site to stay up after so long away.
I have to be brief today but wanted to add a little something.
Three weeks ago, Andrea, Zoe, and I moved to Kigali, Rwanda for Andrea's job as a public health researcher. I don't have work lined up yet, but am currently very busy settling in and trying to figure out how to get us a house and a bit of comfort. So far we like the place, and I have been able to start running again with a few runs this week.
It's incredibly hilly here, and the altitude is about the same as Denver, so getting back into condition may be a slow process, but that's OK.
More to come; hopefully it won't take a year to happen.
I have to be brief today but wanted to add a little something.
Three weeks ago, Andrea, Zoe, and I moved to Kigali, Rwanda for Andrea's job as a public health researcher. I don't have work lined up yet, but am currently very busy settling in and trying to figure out how to get us a house and a bit of comfort. So far we like the place, and I have been able to start running again with a few runs this week.
It's incredibly hilly here, and the altitude is about the same as Denver, so getting back into condition may be a slow process, but that's OK.
More to come; hopefully it won't take a year to happen.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Where I'm Coming From
I'm a fairly average triathlete, I think.
I don't train 10 hours per week (except once in a rare while). I go through periods of not feeling like or not having time to train. I have a full-time job and a family. I can't spend thousands of dollars on triathlon every year. I don't have washboard abs.
But I do love training. In fact, I think I only really compete to give me the justification to train when I can. And I'm fairly consistent with my conditioning, if not speed work or drills. I do spend a lot more on tri equipment than my co-workers think is sane.
I started in 2004 with a sprint tri in Maryland when I was living in DC. I had just bought my first tri bike -taking a chance I would love it- and got through intact and loving it. The end of the season came soon after, and we moved to New Orleans.
While I was interviewing for my next job, I trained like mad, and my next tri in June 2005: the Georgia Multi-Sports Rock 'N Rollman, a half-IM distance race on a hilly course. I absolutely flipped for training and loved competing in this. This was a USAT nationals qualifier and I was only a few minutes from actually being able to compete at a higher level. I couldn't believe it at all. Did a sprint later that summer in Destin, FL. Two days later, Hurricane Katrina hit our new home, and my season was over. I was able to pull off competing at the Rock 'N Rollman the following June, but with a lot less focus and a slower time. I still loved it.
Near the end of 2006, Extra Baby came along. My training fell to a far distant place on the priority list, but didn't disappear completely. I hardly believe it but 2007 came and went without any triathlon competition. I did a few organized running races but mostly just rode and ran on my own when I could.
Over the holidays this past winter, my brother, brother-in-law, and I committed to competing in the LifeTime Fitness Triathlon in July in my hometown of Minneapolis. And I committed to trying to kick their asses. I ran my first ultramarathon, the Ouachita Trail 50Km in the hills outside of Little Rock, AR. I was slow -just over 7 hours- but had fun the whole way and never felt like quitting. I've been hitting the road on bike and foot, and getting into the pool. It's been fun getting back to it. And here I am.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Extra Medium!
Welcome, blog world!
I have to admit, I'm a little intimidated to even begin writing this at all. There have been so many wonderful bloggers in the world of personal triathlon discovery ahead of me, that I know it's close to impossible to live up to these examples. But then, this isn't about my blog heroes and their experiences. It's about mine.
To defend myself up front, I will say that again. Though I do really love triathlon blogs and -even more- triathlon podcasts, I am not attempting to compete or even really contribute much to this larger community. Really, I'm looking for a place to have my own say. I'm not sure if anyone else will ever read this, and don't really care. After all, triathlon is truly an individual sport. I have to run this alone. But in the race, I'm always meeting new people.
This may sometimes be a training diary. Sometimes a journal. Sometimes a way to connect with other triathletes around the country or world.
Enjoy the ride,
Scott
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