By Rumon Carter
April 3, 2007 -- While stopping by my sponsor bike shop the other day, to pick up some clothing and other goodies, one of the guys called across the counter, “Carter, if you’re going to be hitting us up for all that swag, you’re going to have to start showing your face at the Saturday morning group rides.” Externally I smiled and nodded my assent; inside was closer to a groan.
Though I love racing mass start cycling races, especially bar-to-bar criteriums, recreational group rides in my memory have always been an entirely different creature. Squirrelly riders, dodgy bike handling and the inevitable crash(es). I wasn’t looking forward to white-knuckling my handlebars for 3 hours.
As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. Whether by a miraculous feat of group engineering or pure serendipity on the part of the shop and its staff, the ride was relatively smooth and aside from the occasional charges off the front that my ego (if not my spring mileage legs) demanded I chase down completely pain free. Okay, so there was one crash within the last 10 km. Regardless, I finished up the ride with a huge smile on my face and my first 100+ km ride of the season in my legs.
The fun I’d had, especially mixing it up with the boys at the front, got me thinking about my position on riding in groups while Ironman training. If you want to do more than simply survive Ironman (i.e. you want to race it), you have to put in your solo time on the bike.
Why?
Because Ironman is ultimately a time trial: You. Only you. Against the clock. I’ve heard the stories about athletes walking into the finish of a six-hour Ironman marathon, nearly giddy with having met “the greatest guy from some place in upstate New York”. An instant soul mate.
Heck, I’ve heard those stories from friends, seen the pictures of them and two other guys, best friends for 17-miles, mugging for the camera while they limp along. They’re having a great time, but each and every one of them, if asked, would tell you they’d trade that experience for the one of finishing strong, seeing a new PR on the clock as they crossed the finish line. Triathletes may be inherently social creatures, but we’re competitors first.
Which is why you need to face the lonely road on your own, at least for a portion of your training. You need to teach yourself to exist for hours on your own devices, to push when no one but yourself will tell you to push, to face whatever demons exist over the horizon of a 100+ mile ride or 2+ hour run.
So where does that leave the Saturday morning group ride? Right where it was, in March, on a chilly day months away from race day. Sure, I too will definitely need to put in those hours with my nose glued to my handlebars, but not yet.
The same is true for the athletes I coach. One of my guys, having recently learned that by the good graces of a local specialty running store he has an entry to Ironman Canada, emailed me in a tizzy, telling me he was ready to “ramp things up and do whatever it takes”.
So, when I sent him his weekly program and told him he should feel free to do the 2:40 ride with a group, he came back with, “no way, I’m focused, I’m ready to rock”.
“Put your guitar away”, I told him, with a late August race day you’re rocking sessions are still a couple months in the future. Even then, the mental breaks afforded by getting out for rides and runs with your buddies is a great thing, the mental recovery necessary to be ready to attack the next session of constant physical efforts and near constant mental focus.
Right now though, in what is still the preseason for many of us, keep the high intensity focus to a moderate level and the fun to a maximal level. It’s a lesson I pass on to my athletes but one I had to be reminded of last Saturday. I’m sure glad for the reminder. So thanks to the Oak Bay Bikes crew and see you next week.
Following this week’s Saturday morning group ride I packed my bags and jumped in my buddy’s car for the 3-hour drive north to the race site of this past Sunday’s Comox Valley Half Marathon (don’t look for it in your international race calendar). This was to be my last significant test leading into the Flora London Marathon, now just 5 short weeks away. Consequently, I wanted to run a time that would be a true indication of my current fitness, so took the week leading up to it nice and light.
A very un-profound note before my race report: Getting back into shape after so long away from sport is really @#$*ing hard. Sure, I was starting to get fit last year before things when awry with my heart again and I ended up back in hospital. But at no point was I nearly so focused or committed as I am now.
The cost of that commitment is borne by realizing that even putting in a 100% effort I’m not regaining fitness at the rate that I would like. Is it the fact I’m now over 30. The fact I was out of it for nearly 6 years. Does my heart, now with a section of muscle burned in order to correct my cardiac condition, still work as well as it once did? Frankly, I think all those questions are moot; it’s simply going to take time.
But I’m not a patient guy and I don’t care for running times large handfuls of minutes slower than I once did. Still, I swallow that every day before heading out to a workout and trust in the fact that if I train smarter and am willing to hurt more than the rest, eventually I’ll catch up.
Sunday, I hoped to catch a few more at the half marathon. Primarily though, I hoped to see a time on the clock that would indicate I was on pace to hit my (moderately ambitious) London time goal of 2:45. How’d it go? Well, I’m not quite there, but that London time is coming into the sights. I ran a smart, well-paced race, one that nonetheless hurt like a mother, and came in at 1:19:22. Using standard conversion factors (I won’t bore you with the formula), that translates to a 2:46:30 marathon over similar terrain.
Just five more weeks, 2 more training micro-cycles and a taper left before the start line; hopefully somewhere along the way I’ll find those 90 seconds.