My cousin after her amazing finish. Look how cute she is and how dirty I am .

Wanna take a walk….

            In my shoes that is.  They say you really do not know who a person truly is until you take a walk in their shoes.  In other words, what you see on the outside and what is truly on the inside are almost never the same.  I guess I never really thought about seeing the true sides of people as it relates to racing until this weekend, but more on that later.  This weekend was the Mountain Championships, but to the outside eye, it could have Nationals or even Worlds.  The course is that hard and the field, it contained over 500 of the country’s strongest triathletes.  Yes, racing anywhere in the US is hard, but as I have always said in Colorado every race is of National caliber. 

I started my weekend by welcoming my teammate Tim to Boulder.  Since the boys are still in South Carolina, he got take up residence in Mason’s room.  He is probably one of the smartest and most gracious people I have ever met. He was nice enough to wait for me as I took him on a quick bike tour of Boulder.  He was in awe of how many people there were out running and riding.  I just smiled; proud of the town I call home.  As we rode, Paul was making us dinner and we came home to a Mexican fiesta of gigantic proportions.  Even with five of us, we barely made a dent.  Sharing good food with good friends is one of my favorite activities.  I headed into work early Friday morning and managed to shove eight hours of work into four hours.  My plan was to leave Boulder in time to get to the race and do a small spin, but my husband derailed those plans pretty quickly.  He had been wavering since he got his bike, which was about a week prior, on whether or not he was going to partake in the Breck 100 this year.  On Friday alone, he changed his mind three times and when he called me the last time to tell me once again he had flip flopped, I almost reached through the phone to strangle him.  His fickleness had not only made me two hours late and made me unpack the car and repack the truck.  By the time we got to Beaver Creek, it was past four, I was starving, and not in the best mood.  The ride and run plans were scrapped and instead we made our way to packet pick-up.  My cousin had decided to race the sport race months prior and there was no way I was going to let her sit the race out.  She joined us and since Paul knows everyone in the tri state area, by the time we got out of there the sun must have been setting.  We met Tim for some sushi and headed to bed. 

Usually I am a mess the night before a race.  I toss and turn waking every hour, but this time I was calm, excited, but not nervous.  I woke with the sun and went with Sherise to T-1 to help her get ready and grab a spot.  I do not know why I bother with attempting to save a spot, because no matter how early I get there, someone always moves my things and steals it anyways.  I might as well sleep in and get there ten minutes before race start.  I headed up to T 2 with Paul and grabbed one of the last spots and rode down to the swim.  As I started down, I noticed my front brake was squealing.  Paul assured me it was nothing and it would calm down once I got going.  If there is one annoying fault that I really need to change about myself, it is the fact that I never speak up for myself.  Instead I shrugged it off and racked my bike.  I got to see Sherise finish her swim and scream some encouraging words her way.  I am a freak about my swim warm-up.  I tend to be more like a diesel train and if I do not warm-up, I implode.  My main concern with the swim was staying out of the way of the slower men.  Last year, they had almost drowned me and unzipped my wetsuit, so I had decided to stay as far on the outside as I could. 

            After all these years of racing, I still can not understand why people start out so darn hard.  The whistle sounded and the field took off like jackrabbits.  About two hundred yards in everyone around me began to fade and I could settle into a more reasonable pace.  Before the first buoy I had caught the first group of men and by the second buoy, I was in the thick of it.  I was making good time and as Paul said, I was flying and was the first woman to round lap one.  By the second lap, I felt like I was swimming all alone and managed to swim half way across the lake in the wrong directions, until a kayak stopped me and sent me back on my way.  The extra yards left me in third place out of the water, but somehow I still managed a sub 22 minute mile, so I was happy.  I headed out on the bike and by the first climb I could hear my front wheel squealing with each peddle stroke.  The course at Beaver Creek is hard enough but a dragging front brake on top of all that climbing can frustrate even the most seasoned athlete.  Nothing I could do, so I just kept riding.  The course is not ideal for me as it is super steep with very little downhill.  By the time I ventured out on the run my legs were not feeling so fresh anymore.  I headed up and up barely running until the slope would force me to a walk.  By the last descent of the run, my legs were trembling, shaking under each step.  I crossed the line to see Janet’s smiling face.  Paul and I ran into one of our friends we had not seen for a while.  We exchanged updates and she explained with tears in her eyes that she had been trying to get pregnant unsuccessfully for the last two years.  Remember how I said that you never truly know a person until you walk in their shoes.  I was standing in front of a very successful amateur who had won almost every race she had entered and even with all that success on the race course, all she really wanted was what I already had, a family.  Sometimes, most of the time, I beat myself up because of a number on a race clock.  That number, nor the number next to my name of the finish list does not define who I am, nor does it determine my value in the World.  It has taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but as I sat there and listened to a friends’ pain, it all became crystal clear.  My Dad and I spoke last night and I shared my plans to make this season my last.  He told me to be proud of all I had accomplishments I had made, to take a step back and to take it in.  He also reminded me that I am not superwoman and that it is okay to not be able to do it all.  He is right.  Well before my thirtieth birthday, I had what most women work a lifetime for; a husband that adored me, two healthy little boys, a solid career, and a house to call home and no number on a clock can diminish all of my hard work to get where I stand today.  You see some days my shoes are heavy and some days they are light as feathers, but no matter the weight, they have taken me exactly where I need to go.  These shoes fit me just right.

All Good Things…….

            must come to an end.  It is ironic that sometimes no matter how far you travel; you end up back at the starting point.  My first championship race was the Mountain Championship in Keystone, Colorado.  The year was 2004 and I had a two year old and a new baby. I was 27 years old.  Thank goodness I had youth on my side, because my training schedule was sporadic at best.  My idea of training was five days a week, one workout a day.  I would swim one day a week, bike two or three, and run twice.  I had not stepped foot near a pool in eleven years, I had not run in fifteen and even that was maybe a half dozen times, and I had been mountain biking for six years, two of which I was pregnant during.  I had no idea what I was doing and that would be an understatement.  The idea of riding hard was foreign to me; I just rode for fun and prayed I did not come home bloody.  In addition, I was still recovering from two back to back pregnancies which had left my body ravished.  That race was the first time I met Janet, and Dave, and Mel.  My parents flew into watch me.  Miles did the kid’s bike race and his little smiling face ended up in an Xterra ad in Triathlete.  Paul was left inspired by the infectious air of fun and support that surrounded that race.  I however, barely finished.  I was terrified during the swim that I was going to drown.  Even with a strong swimming background the Keystone washing machine left me gasping for air.  I was used to swimming in a pool and I was being kicked and punched and my wetsuit was strangling me.  

I had preridden the bike course with Paul and I had to stop, numerous times to catch my breath.  Do not even get me started on the descent, Wild Thing left me in tremors and I had to ride through the same section that had left me with two fractured arms less then two years prior.  On race day I pushed my body to the top of the mountain to see my family cheering me on.  Their enthusiasm and pride gave me the boost that I needed to finish the bike, but I still had to run, oh the dreaded run.  I limped my way through, dizzy, thirsty, and praying that every turn would be my last.  It was at that moment that I realized that running six miles and running six miles after a swim and a ride up a mountain were worlds apart.  I wanted to quit, every muscle in my body was begging me to quit.  I had been throwing up for the last couple of miles, but I finished and I was hooked.  My family was just as hooked and it was at that moment that we became part of the Xterra family.  For six years we have traveled from Keystone to Ogden

and now, Beaver Creek,

so that I could partake in Mountain Championships.  Some years have been good, some great, some not so great, but none have been without challenge and pain and hours of sacrifice that took place many months prior to me towing the start line. 

            Looking back, I am amazed at how far I have come and yet how many similarities I share with my 27 year old self.  That day at Keystone I came in last in my age group and I was at the very end of the line of finishers, but it was probably the proudest finish I have ever had.  Six years later and I have been to Nationals and Worlds and I have people that come up to me on a daily basis for advice for their first Xterra.  There are days when I still feel like I have no idea what I am doing and my boys are now, well boys, no longer little babies.  So it is very fitting that I am back where I started, the Mountain Championships.  The venue has changed it is now Beaver Creek instead of Keystone.  The pond is a little larger, but you still get that washing machine feeling.  It is just now I am little faster in the water, a little wiser, and my wetsuit fits me better.  We still have to ride up the side of a mountain, but I have learned to train better for the terrain.  It is just as hard, it is just now I can go a little faster for a little longer.  I am still dreading the run; I just do not think that will ever change. At least now I am not throwing up in the trees between strides.  If you see me with tears in my eyes at the finish this weekend, do not worry.  This is my last Mountain Championship, at least for a while and more then likely, forever.  How do you say goodbye to all of the friends you have made and the thing that taught you so much about your own strength and will.  More then anything else, how do you say thank you for something that changed your life in such a major way.  My boys are still at my parents’ house, so they will not be there and even if they were, you would barely recognize them, they have grown so much.  Paul is still contemplating racing the Breck 100, so he may be absent as well.  I will be my own cheerleader this time as I have been so many times this year.  My cousin is doing the sport race and I have equipped her with shoes and a wetsuit and anything else she might need.  I am eager to see her smile after she crosses the line and for her to feel the inspiration that I have cherished for so many years.  My teammates Jo and Tim are flying in and staying with us in Boulder Thursday night.  It is always nice to show off the town I so lovingly call home.  Brian and Sara will be there too, even though we will be missing our fearless leader.  So I guess the Weepies were right, all good things do come to an end and I do, wish you well.  I hope that there is another bright eyed twenty seven year old out there that is dipping her feet in the water.  That will struggle just to finish and that will leave inspired.    For me, I do not see it as an end, just a new beginning.  Less days filled  with racing and more days filled with this.

Have fun out there,

Becky

Fit versus Racing Fit

            There seem to be two types of racers out there.  There is the type that loves to race.  They sign up for every race they see.  They love the competition and the rush of racing.  Sometimes even a casual ride can turn into a race day for these types.  Some race for the challenge, others race so they can prove to everyone else how fast and superior they really are.  They believe they can win and they know how to suffer.  Then there is the second type, those that shy away from racing unless it has a specific purpose.  While the type A racer’s belly rumbles with excitement, the type B fills with anxiety and fear.  Just getting to the race line can be the toughest, most grueling part of the day.  Training is really what drives the type B racer.  They love the hard hill climbs, the swims that leave them gasping for air, and the runs that make their legs tremble.  They prefer to train solo, but do not shy away from group training.  They look at these training sessions as a great way to spend time with those they care about and instead of putting it to them, they offer encouraging words.  Do not get me wrong these types do not work hard in training to loose on race day, but they do not value their self worth on how fast they where on a given day.  As much as I would love to be the A racer, I am defiantly not.  Since I was a small child, I was fine with not leading the lane, and I am still that way.  The problem is that all of that hard training has left me fit, but not racing fit.  There just is no substitute for a hard race day.  As much as I lie to myself that I go as hard in training as I do on race day, it is a fact that it just does not happen.  A couple of years ago I had a great running coach who tried to pound it into my thick head.  She was a marathoner that had won many races and raced in the Olympic trials.  It had always perplexed her why triathletes refused to not work on their racing fitness.  Instead, they choose to log extra hours solo getting fit, but not getting fast.  Last year I raced a ton, more then I had ever raced before and my body collapsed beneath me and I got race fit, but then combusted.  I am not sure if it had more to do with my heart fighting my brain or my body just not accustomed to the racing volume.  Finding the balance between training and racing can be challenging, but if you want to race fast, as much as it pains me to say, you need to show up and race.

            It is July 12, 2010 and we still have had no Xterras in our region.  It is hard to race when there are no races to race; at least no races that do not require some serious cash and traveling time.  I knew this heading into this year, so I planned my training and racing schedule so that July would really be the true start of my season.  I have to keep whispering those words in my head, so I can make sure not to get too discouraged.  In all honesty, I am right where I should be in July.  I have a great base fitness and as my race season begins to unfold into August, the speed will come with it. 

            Saturday my lack of race fitness hit me smack in the face.  I had planned to start my official race season two weeks earlier, but a nasty bout of bronchitis can put even the best laid plans to rest.  I moved my race to Saturday the tenth instead.  As I pulled up to the start line, I was happy to recognize some familiar Xterra faces among the crowd and was more excited then nervous.  The thing about racing in Colorado is that there are more women in the expert class alone, then there are total in most races in other states.  In fact, I think two of the only places that rival us in numbers are California and BC.  As I always say, it is an honor to be surrounded by so many super speedy women.  They counted us down and off we went.  Okay correction, off they went.  By the second climb, I was dropped like a bad prom date and my race day turned into a solo training day.  About three miles in, I ran into Paul’s smiling face.  I think he could see the dismay in my face as I uttered the words, “They are killing me.”  He just smiled and said, “They are just right ahead, just race your own race, training day,” he reminded me.  I took a deep breath, looked around, and smiled.  The course was a blast and it was a beautiful Colorado day.  I refocused on just trying to stay ahead of the sport men, who would soon be nipping at my heels.  About five miles in I saw my first expert woman and from there I was able to reel in a couple more.  About thirteen miles in, I was feeling much better and the shock of racing began to wear off.  The road and mountain bike racing season in Colorado has been in full swing for months and my lack of race fitness was pretty apparent compared to my competition.  The men began to catch me, but I managed to pass a couple back as they began to fade and I began to actually feel good.  One lesson I have learned from my Xterra days is how to be passed graciously. The sportsmanship and camaraderie shown to me by my fellow racers has always left me humbled.  It should be a rule that you offer some encouraging words as you are passed or pass others.  I may not be the fastest racer out there, but I do try to be gracious.  Not allowing someone to pass is in my opinion, in bad taste.  I offered my GU2O to one of my fellow racers that was cramping and after some prodding he agreed to take it.  I noticed the finish through the rain and Paul waiting with a smile.  No matter how I finish, he always points out the positive.  I felt great, which was good because we had a six mile cold rainy ride back to the car.  Racing season is upon me and I am ready to stop my hiding and get out there and race.  Who knows maybe that type A racer is just hiding deep down inside of me and maybe a couple of months of solid racing will find her rearing her head.  I can only hope….see you in Beaver Creek.

“Becky”  “Yes” “Where the hell have you been?” 

Okay that is not a real conversation, but in my head, that is what I imagine the conversation to be.  This time last year, I was surrounded by people on my rides, on my swims, on my runs, and in my free time.  This year, as my friend described me, I have been antisocial.  I have not raced as much and I have spent most of my training time logging solo hours.  It was actually by accident that I ended up being a loner.  I just have a hard time finding people that can relate to my crazy life.  The people I work with do not really play the way I do.  The people I know that have families either do not have to work or can not understand why I wake up before the sun. They are more interested in traditional sports like tennis and golf; both of which make me yawn.   The people I know that race; well, they either do not have to work or do not have kids.  It is hard to explain why you have to go on a ride at eight am on Saturday, so you can be back by twelve to make a soccer game, a movie, or just let your spouse have some free time.  In the past, I never really noticed the difference, but this year as our commitments increase; it has been quite apparent.   After a crazy school year, Paul and I finally got some reprieve as my boys have gone to my parents’ house for twenty one days.  I am only five days in and I am blown away by how much more relaxed I am.  Do not get me wrong, I miss them more then words can explain, but lately I have also missed part of myself.  That part that can escape to the mountains on a moment’s notice and not worry about what toys to pack or listen to the whines of not wanting to go.  There is no stress about what to make for dinner or getting the laundry done.  I can ride when I want, run when I want, and training is 100% easier, even with a 40+ hour work week. 

Paul and I have been like kids in a candy store planning where we are going to ride.  A new day, a new adventure, and time spent talking about everything but the boys.  This last weekend we enjoyed an extra day to play and decided that two epic Colorado rides in two days, some time with a good friend, and a tank of gas is all we needed to create a weekend of memories.  Most of my days are so rigid with training, work, and the boys, that the idea of getting away from it all was a welcome reprieve.  While most of our friends planned to race in the Firecracker in Breckenridge, we just planned to ride.  It is funny how much I miss just riding.   It is something that most of us take for granted before we have kids and one day, even if it is nine years later, you wake up and realize you may be an adult, but you still  need your own time to play.  As I look out on my near future, I can see the sun setting on my racing days.  The time and financial commitments between my job, Paul’s job, and raising two little boys is just too much to balance with training.  Part of me is sad, but the sun is rising on a new horizon that is yet to be defined and I am excited to see the new path that lies in front of me.

The two weeks previous were a whirlwind.  A mid week business trip to Arizona left me exhausted and with a serious infection in my chest.  A week of antibiotics and rest and I was still barely able to breathe.  I had to bail on a mountain bike race and spent all of my free time in bed.  I was defiantly in need of a pick me up, so Paul planned a weekend get away to make me smile again.

First on the list was Kenosha Pass.  I had ridden the ride about eleven years earlier.  It was my first year mountain biking and all I remembered was the suffering and the amazing view.  I could not contain my excitement as we pulled up to the trailhead; thoughts of redemption filled my head.  I made like Superman and changed and hoped on the bike.  It was not long before we ran into a fellow rider needing help.  Some broken spokes had left him with some bumps and bruises and hiking out.  Since Paul is a wiz with bike repair, he made some quick fixes and we wished him luck and sent him on his way.  I was in complete awe every time I turned a corner.  I almost wrecked a couple of times from checking out the view.

 We raced down and headed up towards Georgia Pass.  We ran into a rider that was fading quickly and had no food.  I have learned my lesson over the years and always bring extras to give away to fellow riders in need.  We reached the summit, which was still covered in Colorado snow and headed back to our car. 

As we were climbing out I told Paul that he should be proud of all his patience with me, ten years later and I was riding it all with no problems.  I have to admit that he is a great teacher.  Not only did we have an amazing ride, we also helped out some fellow riders in need, which made the day even more special.

We made our way over to Breckenridge to meet up with our friend Richard and make him dinner.  I asked him for directions to the nearest trailhead and headed out for a run.  Richard was nice enough to point me to a trail that headed straight up, so by the time I got back, I was exhausted and starving.  Paul made a great dinner and Richard provided us with a dinner show as we convinced him to try brussel sprouts and he spit them out in his napkin.  Full and tired, Paul and I readied ourselves for a 5:30 am wake-up call to head over to Sailida to ride Monarch Pass.

If you look up epic rides in Colorado, guaranteed The Monarch Crest will be on the top of the list.  The ride is miles of single track that takes you from high alpine above tree line riding to alpine desert similar to Boulder’s riding environment.  If you’re feeling very adventurous, you can ride up as well, but do not be fooled.  Just because you take a shuttle up to the trailhead that does not mean it is all downhill.  We set out on an adventure and after the first hour of passing about fifty fellow riders, we were riding by ourselves.  I am very rarely left speechless, but this ride almost made me cry. 

I never take for granted how lucky I am to live in this beautiful state or to be healthy enough to ride or be able to afford it.  The amount of gratitude that I felt on that ride was immeasurable and to be with someone you love, makes it that much better.  There are a bunch a bail out points along the way, but since this is a rare opportunity, Paul and I rode it all.  The last five miles were tough and I had not eaten enough and was starting to get dizzy and grumpy.  Even with the last struggle, it was an amazing day.

We packed up and headed back to Boulder tired, but smiling.  Racing has been such an amazing experience for me over the last couple of years, but there is something equally amazing about just riding because you love it.  I can honestly say that I love mountain biking.  I love to go up, I love to go down, I love the fun and I love the pain.  Most importantly I love the time to play and the opportunity to leave all of the stress and breakneck pace of my everyday life behind.  Paul and I are busy planning this weekend’s adventure, but no matter what, I am sure it will include lots of time in the saddle and lots of smiles.  Have fun out there and remember, it is almost Friday.

Dear Dad……

                This Sunday is Father’s Day and as one of our own, Fred, is about to embark on the wonderful journey that is fatherhood.  In the spirit of Stuff my Dad says, I thought I would pass along some useful advice that my Dad taught me.

·          He taught me how to swim, fast.  It is one thing to teach your kids how to swim, a whole other to teach them to grow gills.

·          Nothing makes you go faster in backstroke then black under your eyes. 

·          He taught me the importance of a healthy mind and body.  One can not be successful without the other.

·          He taught me the value of humility.  It is okay to admit that you are wrong. We all make mistakes. 

·          How to make amazing mashed potatoes, on word, butter.

·          He taught me watching TV is a waste of time, but a good book is an adventure.

·          He taught me to never stop learning.  There are enough undereducated people in the World already.

·          Grandchildren are not fun until they can wipe themselves.

·          Diapers are optional, newspaper and paper towels on the floor work fine.

·          He taught me to always wear sunscreen.

·          He taught me how to ride a bike.  Paul taught me how to ride a bike well, but I will never forget that time with my Dad in the Acme grocery store parking lot with my blue banana seat Schwinn.  You never let me fall, not even once.

·          Until college, swimming is wonderful.  After college, chlorine is the devil’s serum.

·          He taught me how to fish.  A lesson I could not repeat with my own boys.  Worms give me the willies.

·          He taught me how to skip stones.  A creek in Kentucky, my Dad, and some stones is all we needed for hours of fun.

·          He taught me the importance of family.  Friends come and go, but you will always have your family.  So true.

·          He taught me how to study.  Med school with a newborn is a whole new level of challenge.

·          He taught me it is never too late, to change your destiny.

·          He taught me the value of honesty.  Without that, you are nothing.  Cheaters never win in school, in sports, or in life.

·          He taught me nothing good in life comes without hard work.  That is what makes all the good so great.

·          He taught me to treat everyone equally and to not place value on people based on their titles.  Not everyone gets the same opportunities in life.

·          He taught me that money means nothing if you can not see others enjoy it.  I think Warren Buffet and Bill Gates think just like him.

·          He taught me to help others in need; one day that person in need may be you.

·          He taught me to live each day like it is your last, you never know, it may actually be.  No regrets.

·          He taught me my multiplication tables by laughing.  Nothing like being tickled when you get a wrong answer.

·          He taught me how to shoot basketball. 

·          He taught me all the words I needed to know in Hungarian and what longos is, pure ecstasy.

·          He taught me about my legacy and to be proud of my last name for what it represents.

·          He taught me it is cool to be different.

·          He taught me about amino acids, chemistry, and physics and that it is okay for a girl to be smart.

·          He taught me that failure is the best way to learn and to never be too scared to try.

·          He taught me to laugh at myself. 

·          He taught me the value of freedom and how lucky we are to live in the United States and not in a communist country.  He also taught me how easily that freedom can be taken away.

·          He taught me to always end a conversation with I love you.  You never know if it is your last.

·          Most importantly, he taught me to look at myself in the mirror at the end of everyday and make sure I still liked what I saw staring back at me.

You see Fred, your daughter will turn out great if you teach her to laugh, work hard, and be a good person.  Knowing you, I am sure she will turn out amazing.  Happy Father’s Day to all of you hard working Dads out there.  Especially my husband and my own Dad, none of my successes, on or off the race course, would be possible without you.