Dispatches From the Field 2-9-11 (Racing the Repairman)

My life always seemed jammed with things that need to be done. Striking a balance is always going to be difficult for me in this life.

Life1: The washing machine is broken. In a household with a sweaty husband and a four year old that has yet to truly grasp the concept of how a napkin works and is in all other things a magnet for dirt, this simple fact throws the house into crisis mode. The repairman will be at the house today sometime between 1-3pm.

The fact that my wife has deemed it necessary to brief my brother-in-law about our washer issues shows the dim view she currently has regarding my dependability. This does not go unnoticed by me. I assure Melissa that I will be at the house for the repairman when he arrives. Note that I do this several times.

Life2: After dropping off my daughter at school, getting a haircut and finishing up a couple other items for work, it is close to 11:00am. I've got a 35 mile ride to get in and just over 2 hours to get it done. This is going to be tight. I'm feeling a little pressure from two sides at once; if I am not home in time, my wife is going to kill me. The flip side is that I have got to get this bike ride in. Tour de Palm Springs is at the end of this week and I have already come up short on two critical training rides due to illness. I feel a strong need to make this ride count as it is the last ride I will get in before the TPS Century.

One of my dirty little secrets in life: if you are a person that show really shows faith in my ability and confidence in me, I will kill myself for you. Coach Cyndee has always given me that and the thought of letting her down is unfathomable. I'm going to get this ride done.

I get on the bike and start without even having a plan about where I am going. It's like the rule in triathlon transition: always be moving. As I make the turn out of my neighborhood, I decide to head to Sloan and make the turn somewhere past the CEMEX plant and then head back. That means uphill on the way out, but downhill on the way back. I figure I can gauge the time better that way. If I get into serious trouble on the ride, it will be easier to bail and get back to the house in time for the repairman.

I feel strong today and as Martha Stewart would say, "that is a good thing." Pace is solid and I try to focus on keeping my cadence up. This is something that Cyndee is constantly on me for (80+) and I am always coming up short on (mid 70s). I always try to force myself to be working on something specific during a training session. Turn the pedals Jeffrey...

The ride out is very fast and I can feel it. I'm supposed to be in zone 2 for my heart rate during this ride and that is simply not going to happen. I need to bust a move and get out to the turnaround. If I take too long on the hill on the way out, I'm guaranteed to have to cut things short. I put my head down and go making a deal with myself that I will try to stay under zone 4.

I pass the CEMEX plant in sub 55:00. For the average rider this is probably not a big deal, but for me this is blazing. Fast is 1 hour and it's been as slow as 1:16 when the head wind has been particularly fierce. I keep churning up the hill. The top of the hill is a little past mile 17. If I can get out 18 miles in 1:10, I should make it. With the current blitz I am riding I think I can make it. I am the little train that could.

I notice that one of the roadside markers across the road is fluttering...that should mean something important to me but it is just not computing at the moment. I ignore it and push on.

I hammer my way to the top and my heart rate is definitely creeping up. Very close to zone 4 now. I crest the top and roll over to mile 18. Everything feels good. I stop and quickly down a gel before making the turn for home. Pride before the fall...

I turn around and immediately feel an arctic blast of wind hit me full in the chest. I actually curse out loud. Of course I was fast, because I have had a tailwind the entire way out! This is not good. I was counting on being fast on the way down the hill. I put my head down and start battling my way back through the wind.

Perception is everything. In my panic over potentially missing the damned repairman, every mile is an eternity. I have suddenly graduated to Professor Eichelberger as I continuously run numbers through my head about how fast I am going (way to slow), where I am (not far enough) and if I can get home in time (questionable). I start to rave about the whole idea of a window appointment. Why is it that the washer repairman and the cable company can give you some vague answer as to when they will be there? If I told work that I would show up sometime between 3 and 6, they would fire me! Speaking of which, Melissa is going to kill me...

I am driving myself so hard into the wind that my chest is out in front of the handlebars. How could I have not noticed the freaking tailwind on the way out? Where did I think I got all this improved performance suddenly? Stupid...stupid...stupid.

My legs are on fire as I hit the M Resort and make the turn onto St. Rose Parkway. A large truck pulls around me and I jump on his rear wheel as he is breaking the wind for me. My own modified echelon formation. I see him looking at me through his rear view mirror as I sprint to try and hold his wheel. This of course is both stupid and unsustainable, but I am desperate to try and make up any time that I can at this point. He is grinning as he speeds up and slows down. I have to grin through gritted teeth as the man is obviously a sadist to my masochist tendencies. He finishes toying with me and speeds up for good after about a mile leaving me exposed to the wind again.

I'm now thinking of excuses for my wife. What am I going to say when I miss the repairman? I have visions of him driving away from my house and calling my wife, "I'm sorry Mame, but no one answered at your home." How am I going to cover myself? Acceptable answers to these questions seem a little elusive at this moment. Magic Eight ball is saying that "the outcome is uncertain" and "ask again later". This sucks.

I make the turn onto Maryland and the houses block the wind. I find another gear. I can still make it if I fly. Hope springs eternal.

I don't know if this happens with other people, but under severe stress I tend to find gears that I don't know that I have. I am literally the guy you want to have around when you have a heart attack, because I suddenly stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night when it is on the line...

I am totally committed to the idea of beating the damned repairman to my house. If a car pulls out in front of me I will be their new hood ornament...there is no doubt. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. I will be home by 1pm...16 minutes left.

I worked for a Chef who had all these little sayings. I can hear him in my head as I pant and sweat and curse under my breath definitely in zone 4 now; it's like the chicken and the pig at the breakfast table, chef, you can be the chicken who is involved in breakfast by supplying the eggs or you can be the pig who is the bacon and is totally committed. Be the bacon! 12 minutes left.

Somewhere is this ride there is an important lesson for me, but it is eluding me right now. All I know is that it is hard to breathe and everything hurts. The light is turning yellow and I dig for one more gear and find it as I rocket through the intersection. 10 minutes to go.

When I was a kid I was always supposed to be in the house before dark. It was one of my Dad's standing rules and there was hell to pay if I didn't get in. The problem was I would put myself into positions where no matter how good my intentions were, I couldn't possibly get in on time and then I would have the temerity to be shocked when I got spanked. Some things never change...

The crap that I think about at times like this.

Last mile and it's all out there. I could ride into the side of a house at this point and not feel it. One light to go...and a miracle occurs that makes me sure that there must be divine intervention...

As I approach the last light it turns green. This light is always red and the wait is always forever. I sprint like mad for the light.

As I blow through the intersection I would point to the heavens like a professional athlete if I didn't have the handlebars in a death grip. I am going to make it. I am saved! Hallelujah!

I pull into the driveway and look down at my Garmin. Five minutes to spare. Plenty of time...

2:04:39 / 34.01 miles