CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge, 2019
TL;DR - 392 miles in 20 hours. 19.6 mph. Overall winner, both male and female. I fell short of my goal by 8 miles. It's going to have to be good enough.
Every year, since 2012, I have been participating in the Subaru CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge, either on a team or as a solo racer. It is a cycling-community staple & a huge fundraiser for our local Court Appointed Special Advocates. You can read all about the event here.
My approach to the CASA-Challenge this year was part-Plan-A, part-Plan-B & part-Plan-Hesitation. I attempted to join the 400-mile club in 2017 and fell 36 miles short. I thought that if there was ever a year to reach that goal, this would be the year to do it - my yearly mileage was the highest it ever was, I was the fittest I ever was... you only die once.
And so we devised Plan-B. If I slowed my roll and aimed for a consistent 18.1 mph, I could potentially pull off 400 miles if I rode for just under 23 hours. The issue with that, however, is that I am getting old... I spent my twenties doing third shift & on-call work that has left me with a sizeable sleep-debt. In short, the soft animal of my body wanted what it wanted. In 2017, I fell asleep on my bike, and after losing my 2018 season, the last thing I wanted to deal with was a an injury due to sleep deprivation. I needed a buffer to take a cat nap while still taking care of my nutrition & any potential issues that came up.
What resulted was a combination of Plan-A & Plan-B. Plan-Hesitation was what I fell back on when faced with some adversity that always happens in ultra-events. In the end, I was just proud of my efforts, grateful for the cycling community, and really excited to see everyone out there doing their thing. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I could really show my teeth at this event, or I could race RAAM-qualifiers. But instead, I prefer to stay in town for this weekend, to be part of something bigger than just my miles, to watch cyclists start to explore their limits, to support a charity.
The rest of this (really fucking long) report will be focused on my race, but please recognize that there are so many cool people doing really cool things in whatever way that can at this event, and in the end, what matters is that the CASAs for Kids Fund consistently receives over $125,000 every year to help advocate for abused & neglected children in our county.
Every year, since 2012, I have been participating in the Subaru CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge, either on a team or as a solo racer. It is a cycling-community staple & a huge fundraiser for our local Court Appointed Special Advocates. You can read all about the event here.
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| photo cred: Ryan Stremke photography |
Race Plan
Let's start with Plan-Hesitation. I was planning my cycling season in January - I assumed that Race Across the West could very well kill any desire I had to get back on the bike. I knew that in some capacity, I would be supporting CASAs for Kids Fund, but to what extent, I didn't know. By the time I was back from RAW, however, I was feeling strong, but mentally exhausted. The recovery from that race has been long, and drawn out, in ways that I don't think I or anyone else really respected until it hit. I registered as a solo racer with CASA with some trepidation: if ever there was a year to hit my goal, this was it. However, I had to be realistic: my mental health has been the lowest it ever has been in years (even compared to the shit of December!). My cross-training has been shit because everything hurt, so I could count on my body failing at some point. My endurance mileage was down, and while it takes quite some time for endurance fitness to fade, I couldn't count on the same level of stamina that I had in May's training to be there in August. Finally, this is it: I wanted to be done chasing an arbitrary number.I wanted to not lose the spirit of the event in the eternal chase of never feeling like it was good enough.Nathan and I always crunch numbers together and talk strategy. (That's why he's the best support, by the way.) We speculated that the fast rides that I've been doing to train for the Rollfast Fondo combined with my ever-present ability to sit on a bike forever could potentially be the key to success. Plan-A was 400 miles at a 20 mph pace - four 5-hour centuries. This meant that I would get 4 hours off of the bike to eat, stretch, sleep or eliminate. Plan-A was a high bar. Why? Well, I've never had sub-5 hour centuries, let alone back-to-back-to-back-to-back. My body is a beast as clearing lactate - to a point. But, I am not an anaerobic machine. Full disclosure: this is why I prefer training with men, because even though I feel like I'm getting picked on most of the time, it forces me to get into that really uncomfortable place, physically. So, if I exhaust myself in the first one or two centuries, at what point could my stamina take over and see it through?
And so we devised Plan-B. If I slowed my roll and aimed for a consistent 18.1 mph, I could potentially pull off 400 miles if I rode for just under 23 hours. The issue with that, however, is that I am getting old... I spent my twenties doing third shift & on-call work that has left me with a sizeable sleep-debt. In short, the soft animal of my body wanted what it wanted. In 2017, I fell asleep on my bike, and after losing my 2018 season, the last thing I wanted to deal with was a an injury due to sleep deprivation. I needed a buffer to take a cat nap while still taking care of my nutrition & any potential issues that came up.
What resulted was a combination of Plan-A & Plan-B. Plan-Hesitation was what I fell back on when faced with some adversity that always happens in ultra-events. In the end, I was just proud of my efforts, grateful for the cycling community, and really excited to see everyone out there doing their thing. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I could really show my teeth at this event, or I could race RAAM-qualifiers. But instead, I prefer to stay in town for this weekend, to be part of something bigger than just my miles, to watch cyclists start to explore their limits, to support a charity.
The rest of this (really fucking long) report will be focused on my race, but please recognize that there are so many cool people doing really cool things in whatever way that can at this event, and in the end, what matters is that the CASAs for Kids Fund consistently receives over $125,000 every year to help advocate for abused & neglected children in our county.
The Set-Up
I always tend to pack too much for these kinds of events, but I'm proud to say that the stress of figuring out what I need is becoming exponentially much less. Honestly, it helped that my gear is still organized from Race Across the West. I was able to assemble everything in less than two hours, which is basically unheard of. Hell, I didn't even reference My List... which is freaking insane. I suppose when you schlep your cycling gear across the country for the biggest race of your life, it's not such a big deal to do a community event, right?
Nathan would be acting as my support, so he had his gear to pack: hammock, hat, books, Nintendo Switch & Chex Mix. We talked pretty extensively about what I needed to accomplish (see above) and how he would support me to do so. I'm a pretty lucky lady. We made arrangements for our van to be headquarters. With the bed in the back, I could take cat naps, or he could really snooze if needed. We had a canopy set up outside of the van, where other solo racers like Shannon, Stacey and Ryan joined to share in the comradery. It was cool that we were camped next to Tamika and her husband, and Nathan started swapping race stories with them.
As far as my bike set up went, I would ride my 2018 Canyon WMN Endurace road bike exclusively, running 28mm Schwalbe One's & no aerobars. I didn't want to deal with the Jamis Renegade's tubeless setup to get road tires back on, so I just had the one bike. I would use my Wahoo ELMNT to track my speed, data & miles and have a portable battery to charge it. I had three front-lights to chose from, with my Lights'N'Motion Seca acting as my primary light source and my eat-shit Bontrager as a back up. The trusty, old HotShot tail light always has enough juice to get through 24-hour events, but I did pack the newer one, just in case.
I wore my usual Terry Euro shorts (long inseam, compression for days), black compression socks & prized blue Grand Champ jersey. My back-up shorts were a pair of gifted Rapha bibs, and I had my Team People's jersey as a backup but did not use. One of these days, I'll upgrade my road shoe game, but until that day, I was in my Bontraeger Aneras with the metatarsal-support insoles. To try and reduce the cyclist's palsy in my pinky fingers, I stuck with my Specialized Body Geometry Grail gloves, with my padded traditional gloves as backup (didn't use, but should have!) and long fingered gloves in case it got chilly. Speaking of chilly, I brought my wool Ibex tank base layer, arm warmers and Pearl Izumi sleeveless windbreaker - all of which I used - and a pair of long-legged tights. Thankfully, I didn't need those, but August is a fickle beast in Indiana.
When it came to food, I missed the mark a wee bit - of little detriment in the grand scheme of things, I think, but it certainly could have been improved upon! Nutrition will always be the biggest battle I've faced, and I think I dialed it in really well this year. I carried Clif ShotBloks - Mountain Berry & Margarita - and definitely ate those more than I normally do, as I like solid, legit food. As Jason says, you can only eat Science for so long. But, I wasn't regurgitating Science like I was all of the other shit, sooooo. I also had RX Nut Butter packets to down, which ended up being good to have, but again, just not something I could choke down when I was busting hump in the heat of the day. I had Fig Bars, but go-to get-sugar-now solid food were an absolute no-go. I don't know if I'm still averse to them after RAW or what, but... just fuck no.
My parents brought a milkshake in the evening, and I was very excited to down that bad boy at about mile 150. Where I had thought that Nathan would have grabbed a sandwich at the food tent when or a plate from the Human Movement cookout, he thought I didn't want any bulk food... and the end result was that at mile 200, I took more time off the bike to grab a small plate of pasta and two breadsticks from the tent - I needed something in my belly.
I had chocolate milk trackside, but after 20 hours, my stomach roiled at the idea of swallowing that. To stay alert, I had some cans of iced coffee (Dunkin' Donuts brand, I think?) that didn't make me too jittery, but ... I was annoying (sorry, Curt!). I also really blasted through nearly a dozen cans of Pepsi, which is a huge what-the-fuck-Cripe.
Actually, now that I am reading this, I'm pretty annoyed at my nutrition plan, but whatever. It's definitely something I need to work on - food aversion and gastric indigestion has been easily the biggest problem I deal with, and I think I was just desperate to keep something and anything down.
Nathan would be acting as my support, so he had his gear to pack: hammock, hat, books, Nintendo Switch & Chex Mix. We talked pretty extensively about what I needed to accomplish (see above) and how he would support me to do so. I'm a pretty lucky lady. We made arrangements for our van to be headquarters. With the bed in the back, I could take cat naps, or he could really snooze if needed. We had a canopy set up outside of the van, where other solo racers like Shannon, Stacey and Ryan joined to share in the comradery. It was cool that we were camped next to Tamika and her husband, and Nathan started swapping race stories with them.
As far as my bike set up went, I would ride my 2018 Canyon WMN Endurace road bike exclusively, running 28mm Schwalbe One's & no aerobars. I didn't want to deal with the Jamis Renegade's tubeless setup to get road tires back on, so I just had the one bike. I would use my Wahoo ELMNT to track my speed, data & miles and have a portable battery to charge it. I had three front-lights to chose from, with my Lights'N'Motion Seca acting as my primary light source and my eat-shit Bontrager as a back up. The trusty, old HotShot tail light always has enough juice to get through 24-hour events, but I did pack the newer one, just in case.
I wore my usual Terry Euro shorts (long inseam, compression for days), black compression socks & prized blue Grand Champ jersey. My back-up shorts were a pair of gifted Rapha bibs, and I had my Team People's jersey as a backup but did not use. One of these days, I'll upgrade my road shoe game, but until that day, I was in my Bontraeger Aneras with the metatarsal-support insoles. To try and reduce the cyclist's palsy in my pinky fingers, I stuck with my Specialized Body Geometry Grail gloves, with my padded traditional gloves as backup (didn't use, but should have!) and long fingered gloves in case it got chilly. Speaking of chilly, I brought my wool Ibex tank base layer, arm warmers and Pearl Izumi sleeveless windbreaker - all of which I used - and a pair of long-legged tights. Thankfully, I didn't need those, but August is a fickle beast in Indiana.
Nutrition
I carried two water bottles - one with water, the other with Gu Roctane. When I wasn't able to keep Roctane/food down any longer (which inevitably happens, I have yet to figure that out this year...), I switched to Hammer Nutrition electrolyte capsules. I could rely on Nathan's expert hand-ups trackside, and didn't feel the need to carry more or less as a result.When it came to food, I missed the mark a wee bit - of little detriment in the grand scheme of things, I think, but it certainly could have been improved upon! Nutrition will always be the biggest battle I've faced, and I think I dialed it in really well this year. I carried Clif ShotBloks - Mountain Berry & Margarita - and definitely ate those more than I normally do, as I like solid, legit food. As Jason says, you can only eat Science for so long. But, I wasn't regurgitating Science like I was all of the other shit, sooooo. I also had RX Nut Butter packets to down, which ended up being good to have, but again, just not something I could choke down when I was busting hump in the heat of the day. I had Fig Bars, but go-to get-sugar-now solid food were an absolute no-go. I don't know if I'm still averse to them after RAW or what, but... just fuck no.
My parents brought a milkshake in the evening, and I was very excited to down that bad boy at about mile 150. Where I had thought that Nathan would have grabbed a sandwich at the food tent when or a plate from the Human Movement cookout, he thought I didn't want any bulk food... and the end result was that at mile 200, I took more time off the bike to grab a small plate of pasta and two breadsticks from the tent - I needed something in my belly.
I had chocolate milk trackside, but after 20 hours, my stomach roiled at the idea of swallowing that. To stay alert, I had some cans of iced coffee (Dunkin' Donuts brand, I think?) that didn't make me too jittery, but ... I was annoying (sorry, Curt!). I also really blasted through nearly a dozen cans of Pepsi, which is a huge what-the-fuck-Cripe.
Actually, now that I am reading this, I'm pretty annoyed at my nutrition plan, but whatever. It's definitely something I need to work on - food aversion and gastric indigestion has been easily the biggest problem I deal with, and I think I was just desperate to keep something and anything down.
The Race
I positioned myself near the front of the mass start pack - mixed of solo & team cyclists. I was actually behind Santos, the manager of Rule 5 Race Team, and Curt, a friend & freaking powerhouse. I had no delusions to be able to keep up with those criterium beasts. However, I did not want to spend my time trying to negotiate into a paceline, deal with the squirrel-y antics of assholes or try to play catch-up with a group. I knew that I could have latched onto the Evansville Crew's solo paceline machine, but Dave was very clear about their plan, and I knew that to reach my goal, I needed to hammer down without apology. So, as the race started, I laid down the watts to try and catch the Santos-Jansen sprint... subsequently was dropped (surprise!) & passed by a couple of other triathlete bruisers, and just held my consistent, 22 mph line.
Shortly within the first lap, a paceline going the same speed organically developed around me, and the race was on. I would call out to my friends as we passed them: "Whoop, whoop! Looking good!" and I hoped that they understood why I was pile-driving my pace. If someone from a team would offer to pull but would kick the pace up to higher than 22 mph, I had to wave them on. Nathan executed beautiful hand-ups, and I could see he was enjoying (in his own grumpy way) managing Headquarters.
Before I could really blink, I had 60 miles knocked out... and it was starting to get hot. My pace was well beyond Plan A, and Nathan was very proud to report that I was in 4th place, overall the relay teams and solo cyclists. Well, shit! I wanted to keep that lead and I wanted to keep my motivation up, so I hopped back on my bike and took off. Well, I should say that I didn't really speed off... it does take a second for my creaky ass to get going again, even after such a short time off the bike - hence, keep it short.
Out of turn one, I saw on of my old Team ProAxis teammates & now solo cyclists pulled off the road. I called out if she was okay, and Tamika responded "I've got a flat!" We both knew she didn't really know how to fix it quickly, and I don't believe either of us was carrying spare gear. I kept going around, pulled out of the line near headquarters and hollered to Nathan and Tamika's husband to grab the mechanical gear and meet me on the other side. Around I went, there I met them - I grabbed a tube, my tire levers and the floor pump, and off I went again. It probably was pretty comical, actually. Upon arrival, local veterinary & marathon heroes Drs. McMunn and Becker were unpacking their saddle bag(s) - at least some of us are prepared! - and Dean was rolling the tire off of the wheel with impressive adeptness. I offered up my gear just as Curt rolled in; it was picked through, and then Curt kicked me out, saying I had miles to get and there was no place for me there. he wasn't wrong - Tamika was well cared for and soon enough back on track for her goal.
I cracked out the last forty miles, and completed my first century in just over five hours. I congratulated myself - it made me feel better about the potential for not making a fool of myself at the Rollfast Gran Fondo next month. I also needed to take some time to stretch - my fucking back was really killing me. Everything else was in good order, though, so after about 20 minutes, I made my way back onto the bike.
I'll admit - this usually happens - that after the first massive effort, the following efforts become blurs. I remember those first one hundred miles because I was honed in on keeping pace and very alight with who was around me. The second century, I kept my pace consistent and strong, but my skin felt very tight. No matter how much water I was drinking, that sun was brutal and I could tell that it was taking quite a bit of effort to keep fluids down. Several of my friends from the TMBA caught me puking off my bike, and I just had to laugh. They are a bunch of dirtbags, they know how this shit goes, right?
Nothing is sexy in ultra-racing, guys.
At mile 160, Nathan waved me in - my parents had brought me a milkshake from Dairy Queen. Liquid fat, sugar and "protein," in this heat? Fucking right on. I had to slow down my pace to suck that bad boy down, and it gave me a minute to catch up to Dean. Being able to ride with him is a joy - it speaks a bit about the silent camaraderie of two cyclists who saw some real shit a year ago still be able to ride together, even if we are a bit quiet or hesitant around each other. Dean is a good guy, and that's all that I will ever know.
As I saw the sun sinking lower in the sky, I saw my two hundredth mile in under twelve hours. I was starting to lose focus, things were a bit of a blur. That's the thing about the CASA event - it's flat, it's windy, it's rough and it's incredibly monotonous. The community of cyclists changed as teams swapped out with one another. I was still going at a 20 mph pace, and often would find myself having to chase down lines to get a break, which would often result in feeling a bit burnt. I would sometimes find myself working with the Evansville crew, and sometimes I would be on my own. I was still incredibly touchy about who I was riding behind - if I didn't like a wheel, or their behavior, I would peace out, simple as that.
I needed to take a break at mile 200, and I needed some fucking food. I also finally went to the bathroom, which should tell you about the level of exertion I was putting out over the past twelve hours. Nathan helped me compile my Wahoo data to show to the managers of Momentous Event Management to correct my lap count - I was still beating the men and women solo racers. Keep your edge, Cripe, and get some food. I ran into Cameron, Allison & Erin from Rule 5 Racing at the food tent and complimented them on their efforts out there - so damn fast and strong! I mumbled around my plate of pasta that it was so cool to see so many women on bikes this year. Not just women, but strong women, fast women, determined women. Hell, I had ridden behind Jill of TMBA gravel goddess fame & her celebratory Team Peoples Tutu for fifty miles or so - her high cadence and tutu butt really made for quite the show. This was the only picture I took that weekend. :-)
After a little too much time spent eating, stretching and making excuses for not riding, I eased myself back onto my bike saddle - Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, I need a new seat! - and lamented how there just wasn't time to be with people during solo attempts at these events. Not when you have places to go and things to do. I laughed at the irony at that, though. On the Subaru track, you don't go anywhere. You just turn left, turn left, turn left. And try not to hit a fucking pothole. And hit it, I did. My ass bitched back, but my hands really were starting to feel the effects of the rough track. I think it was between miles 220 and 260 that I swore that I wouldn't be coming back to the CASAs for Kids 24 Hour Cycling Challenge as a solo racer, at least for a long time.
Between listening to my Girl, Do You Even Bike? playlist and starting to compile a crew of women who I could captain for an all-women's team at next year's event, I found myself deep in the throes of typical roadie meditation. Alternatively singing to Lord Huron or if I could convince my girlfriends to ride competitively, the miles just ticked by. I wasn't really worried in this time space - I would fall in and out of pacelines, and I would see my pace drop from 20-22 mph down to 17-19 mph on my own. I expected this - I knew how this animal worked, and I wasn't worried. Should I have been?
The best part of the start to the night shift was when my good friend Drew caught me and offered his wheel. Here's the thing about Drew: he has one of the steadiest, most practical wheels with whom I have ever ridden. There are less than ten in the whole world who make that list, ya'll. I would race him to Hell, he's that trustworthy. Or, that's what my brain told me at that hour. But I found my pace had picked up and when he would tap out with one of his teammates, it would be someone I could ride with.
Lia, for example, was quite keen on riding with me. I had a good gaff at her polite assertion to total domination, too. She was making these awesome pulls, and some dudes would come up next to us and say, "I can pull, if you want." Lia would wave them in, and then they would take the pace from 21 mph down to 18. I could visibly see her roll her big blue eyes as she said, "Well, I appreciate you pulling, but we have to keep it at 20 mph, at least." If they didn't pick it up... well, she just went around them.
When I told her how funny I found her politeness, she just sighed and said, "I was trying to be nice!"
It was around the time that my Wahoo battery sputtered out that I decided I was okay for a quick cat nap. It was also around the time that I went from Plan-A to Plan-Hesitation in the blink of an eye. It never ceases to amaze me - no amount of preparation can ready me against the witching hour. Anyone in ultra-endurance sports can tell you about it. If they deny it, then I call bullshit on their facade. Everyone knows the kinds of games that are played at those hours. You hallucinate. You fall asleep standing up. You make negotiations with yourself. You doubt everything. And everything sucks. The only weapon is to keep pushing - and to learn from your mistakes, and to make changes to your mental game & toughness in the next race, and the one after that. Rinse, repeat.
For me, I let the fact that my pace was fading to get under my skin. I was also very worried about falling asleep on the bike - at the first sign of wooziness, I made a plan to pull over. I mentioned prior to stopping around 1 am that I was getting worried about how the woman in second was starting to creep up in her miles. Curt had just said, "Hands down, this is where you experience is going to matter the most." He wasn't wrong. I opted to stop for a fifteen minute cat nap, which totaled for about thirty minutes because absolutely I am not efficient when I am cold, sweaty and tired. My justification for that cat nap was that I was not going to do myself any favors by falling asleep or causing a crash, of which I had already seen two in less than an hour.
Not worth it. I was back on the bike, back to jamming to tunes, back to concentrating on keeping a consistent pace and trying to not to look at my watch... too much. There were some other things I focused on, when the demons came out and fed me self-doubt.
I gestured to Nathan that I was coming off - I did exactly as I said, but as usual, I have a nasty habit of hitting snooze, and it was really hard to get back on the bike. It was also this time that I took antacids & meloxicam. My stomach was still roiling and protesting the treatment in the heat, and I needed something to tamp down the increasing amounts of pain in my shoulder and knee. But I got back on my bike, and I started hammering it out, again.
At this point, I needed to average 17 mph, and I knew that I would have to stop frequently. Shit was not okay downstairs, and my body was really just revolting against me. This meant I needed to keep my pace up. There were several hours of darkness, and I could count on no one to see me through them. It was just me.
It's a lonely life, it's a lonely life, I sang.
The sun was slow to rise, but when it did, Shannon was holding up a can of coffee for me. I chugged it, and sang with joy to see that Curt and Ryan were back and fresh as ever. I could have hugged them. Instead, I entertained them with stories of people crashing their bikes, jabbering about how coffee gives me heart palpitations and also singing "Old Town Road" way too much. The miles slipped by, and I crowed to Patti on the side-lines, "It's 7 am in the Lafayette area!" She probably thought I lost my mind. Everyone did, except maybe Curt. He's been there for the other 400-mile club attempt - he knew I was insane years ago.
I was at mile 380, and it was close to 9 am. I had been having to stop frequently. Or, I let myself stop frequently. That is probably the worst part about an ultra-event on a closed track - the proximity to headquarters makes it so tempting to stop and refuel, sleep, talk... anything except getting back on that bike. My method for tracking miles was just not fool-proof. I couldn't keep track of where I was at on the leader board, and sleep deprivation made me argumentative with Nathan's reporting of the miles.
"You have to pick up the pace, baby girl."
"I'm tired!"
"You are ten miles up on Amanda, you have to pick up the pace, baby girl."
"I have to pee!"
"You are at mile 380."
"I don't fucking believe you!"
I'm an asshole when I'm tired, I know. I'm sorry. The back of my right knee was so swollen, I could barely tolerate pulling my leg up during the pedal stroke. I rolled my compression sock down to see if that would help. It didn't. My right shoulder was so inflamed, I could not get comfortable. At least my back didn't hurt? Both of my hands were numb and I just had to keep pedaling. But my pace was failing and so was my resolve. I let my doubts win, and it was showing.
And it was so fucking bizarre - I was surrounded by so many encouraging people. Friends who rode with me, trying to help keep pace. People who cheered from their bikes or sidelines. Amanda pulled up next to me, fresh as a daisy in new kit, and asked if I was going to reach my goal. I squinted into the sunlight and said, "No, you know, I don't think I will."
It was at that point that I just slowed to a crawl. I wrestled with some self-hatred and convinced myself that it was fine, because what the fuck did it matter? And, in a way, it was okay. I got to ride with Stacey. I got to see Shannon & Carolyn fly past blasting Kesha. It was incredibly sucky to be a little hateful sourpuss surrounded by cool people. So I picked my feet up a little, chugged a Pepsi that Curt handed me, and then started back up again.
Curt was crunching numbers in his head - if you can maintain a 22 mph, maybe you'll get it. I choked back a sob and said, "That's not going to happen, you can ride ahead without me if you want." Curt shrugged. "Nah," he said, "Caleb is coming soon." Chris ran along the trackside half naked, screaming, Allez! Allez! I laughed really hard, and tried to make more of an effort when Tim and Caleb joined us. The three of them were chattering and I didn't really listen. Nathan yelled, "You're at 390 or something, just give it all you have!"
Caleb, with his damn boyish grin, said, "We have an idea."
"Oh, fuck, what?"
"We've got five minutes to give you two more miles."
"No, Caleb."
"Curt's going to lead out. Tim will rotate with him. All you have to do is sit on my wheel."
"Caleb."
"I'll protect you."
"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered. We were coming down the homestretch, and the boys were pulling into formation. I wasn't even thinking at this point, I just dropped my gears, and felt my quads grinding. I think I yelled, because... what in the literal hell was I doing, pulling a two-mile sprint finish in a 24-hour race? After I let my mental guard down and failed my goal?
I concentrated on the boys' cadence, and listened to my breathing. Curt is nothing if not consistent. Tim is nothing if not enthusiastic. Caleb is nothing if not encouraging. We roared around turn one at twenty-five miles an hour, and I tucked down into my drops. I had tunnel vision like you would not believe. My lungs burned as I sucked air in and forced it out - I was like a freight train. We blew around turn two, and there was a half second where I was ready to fall off the back.
Don't you fucking do it. You worked too hard in this lap for it not to count. What does Rob say? Any cost, don't lose the wheel.
I dropped another gear and kept hammering the pedals. Curt swung wide to fall back. The manager of the timing company was counting down the seconds. Tim and Caleb fell back to pull in with Curt, and I just gave it all I had. We all crossed with seconds to spare.
I let L-12 just take that momentum and coast right past the finish, past the exit. I struggled to swing my leg over the bike, set her down gently, and then just laid down. I couldn't quit laughing and coughing. Caleb, Tim and Curt rolled up - Caleb took a damn picture, or something. Nathan ran up, with Rendi and Cameron hot on his heels to help haul me and my bike back to the start/finish line. I was useless.
By the time I limped back to the line, the awards had started. I peeled off my clothes until I was just in my base layer tank and bibs. I sat down in the grass and stared at my crotch - it was a mess of sweaty lycra and SensiCare seeping through the fabric. Sweet Jesus, what had I done? Was it worth it?
Shortly within the first lap, a paceline going the same speed organically developed around me, and the race was on. I would call out to my friends as we passed them: "Whoop, whoop! Looking good!" and I hoped that they understood why I was pile-driving my pace. If someone from a team would offer to pull but would kick the pace up to higher than 22 mph, I had to wave them on. Nathan executed beautiful hand-ups, and I could see he was enjoying (in his own grumpy way) managing Headquarters.
Before I could really blink, I had 60 miles knocked out... and it was starting to get hot. My pace was well beyond Plan A, and Nathan was very proud to report that I was in 4th place, overall the relay teams and solo cyclists. Well, shit! I wanted to keep that lead and I wanted to keep my motivation up, so I hopped back on my bike and took off. Well, I should say that I didn't really speed off... it does take a second for my creaky ass to get going again, even after such a short time off the bike - hence, keep it short.
Out of turn one, I saw on of my old Team ProAxis teammates & now solo cyclists pulled off the road. I called out if she was okay, and Tamika responded "I've got a flat!" We both knew she didn't really know how to fix it quickly, and I don't believe either of us was carrying spare gear. I kept going around, pulled out of the line near headquarters and hollered to Nathan and Tamika's husband to grab the mechanical gear and meet me on the other side. Around I went, there I met them - I grabbed a tube, my tire levers and the floor pump, and off I went again. It probably was pretty comical, actually. Upon arrival, local veterinary & marathon heroes Drs. McMunn and Becker were unpacking their saddle bag(s) - at least some of us are prepared! - and Dean was rolling the tire off of the wheel with impressive adeptness. I offered up my gear just as Curt rolled in; it was picked through, and then Curt kicked me out, saying I had miles to get and there was no place for me there. he wasn't wrong - Tamika was well cared for and soon enough back on track for her goal.
I cracked out the last forty miles, and completed my first century in just over five hours. I congratulated myself - it made me feel better about the potential for not making a fool of myself at the Rollfast Gran Fondo next month. I also needed to take some time to stretch - my fucking back was really killing me. Everything else was in good order, though, so after about 20 minutes, I made my way back onto the bike.
I'll admit - this usually happens - that after the first massive effort, the following efforts become blurs. I remember those first one hundred miles because I was honed in on keeping pace and very alight with who was around me. The second century, I kept my pace consistent and strong, but my skin felt very tight. No matter how much water I was drinking, that sun was brutal and I could tell that it was taking quite a bit of effort to keep fluids down. Several of my friends from the TMBA caught me puking off my bike, and I just had to laugh. They are a bunch of dirtbags, they know how this shit goes, right?
Nothing is sexy in ultra-racing, guys.
At mile 160, Nathan waved me in - my parents had brought me a milkshake from Dairy Queen. Liquid fat, sugar and "protein," in this heat? Fucking right on. I had to slow down my pace to suck that bad boy down, and it gave me a minute to catch up to Dean. Being able to ride with him is a joy - it speaks a bit about the silent camaraderie of two cyclists who saw some real shit a year ago still be able to ride together, even if we are a bit quiet or hesitant around each other. Dean is a good guy, and that's all that I will ever know.
As I saw the sun sinking lower in the sky, I saw my two hundredth mile in under twelve hours. I was starting to lose focus, things were a bit of a blur. That's the thing about the CASA event - it's flat, it's windy, it's rough and it's incredibly monotonous. The community of cyclists changed as teams swapped out with one another. I was still going at a 20 mph pace, and often would find myself having to chase down lines to get a break, which would often result in feeling a bit burnt. I would sometimes find myself working with the Evansville crew, and sometimes I would be on my own. I was still incredibly touchy about who I was riding behind - if I didn't like a wheel, or their behavior, I would peace out, simple as that.
I needed to take a break at mile 200, and I needed some fucking food. I also finally went to the bathroom, which should tell you about the level of exertion I was putting out over the past twelve hours. Nathan helped me compile my Wahoo data to show to the managers of Momentous Event Management to correct my lap count - I was still beating the men and women solo racers. Keep your edge, Cripe, and get some food. I ran into Cameron, Allison & Erin from Rule 5 Racing at the food tent and complimented them on their efforts out there - so damn fast and strong! I mumbled around my plate of pasta that it was so cool to see so many women on bikes this year. Not just women, but strong women, fast women, determined women. Hell, I had ridden behind Jill of TMBA gravel goddess fame & her celebratory Team Peoples Tutu for fifty miles or so - her high cadence and tutu butt really made for quite the show. This was the only picture I took that weekend. :-)
After a little too much time spent eating, stretching and making excuses for not riding, I eased myself back onto my bike saddle - Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, I need a new seat! - and lamented how there just wasn't time to be with people during solo attempts at these events. Not when you have places to go and things to do. I laughed at the irony at that, though. On the Subaru track, you don't go anywhere. You just turn left, turn left, turn left. And try not to hit a fucking pothole. And hit it, I did. My ass bitched back, but my hands really were starting to feel the effects of the rough track. I think it was between miles 220 and 260 that I swore that I wouldn't be coming back to the CASAs for Kids 24 Hour Cycling Challenge as a solo racer, at least for a long time.
Between listening to my Girl, Do You Even Bike? playlist and starting to compile a crew of women who I could captain for an all-women's team at next year's event, I found myself deep in the throes of typical roadie meditation. Alternatively singing to Lord Huron or if I could convince my girlfriends to ride competitively, the miles just ticked by. I wasn't really worried in this time space - I would fall in and out of pacelines, and I would see my pace drop from 20-22 mph down to 17-19 mph on my own. I expected this - I knew how this animal worked, and I wasn't worried. Should I have been?
The best part of the start to the night shift was when my good friend Drew caught me and offered his wheel. Here's the thing about Drew: he has one of the steadiest, most practical wheels with whom I have ever ridden. There are less than ten in the whole world who make that list, ya'll. I would race him to Hell, he's that trustworthy. Or, that's what my brain told me at that hour. But I found my pace had picked up and when he would tap out with one of his teammates, it would be someone I could ride with.
Lia, for example, was quite keen on riding with me. I had a good gaff at her polite assertion to total domination, too. She was making these awesome pulls, and some dudes would come up next to us and say, "I can pull, if you want." Lia would wave them in, and then they would take the pace from 21 mph down to 18. I could visibly see her roll her big blue eyes as she said, "Well, I appreciate you pulling, but we have to keep it at 20 mph, at least." If they didn't pick it up... well, she just went around them.
When I told her how funny I found her politeness, she just sighed and said, "I was trying to be nice!"
It was around the time that my Wahoo battery sputtered out that I decided I was okay for a quick cat nap. It was also around the time that I went from Plan-A to Plan-Hesitation in the blink of an eye. It never ceases to amaze me - no amount of preparation can ready me against the witching hour. Anyone in ultra-endurance sports can tell you about it. If they deny it, then I call bullshit on their facade. Everyone knows the kinds of games that are played at those hours. You hallucinate. You fall asleep standing up. You make negotiations with yourself. You doubt everything. And everything sucks. The only weapon is to keep pushing - and to learn from your mistakes, and to make changes to your mental game & toughness in the next race, and the one after that. Rinse, repeat.
For me, I let the fact that my pace was fading to get under my skin. I was also very worried about falling asleep on the bike - at the first sign of wooziness, I made a plan to pull over. I mentioned prior to stopping around 1 am that I was getting worried about how the woman in second was starting to creep up in her miles. Curt had just said, "Hands down, this is where you experience is going to matter the most." He wasn't wrong. I opted to stop for a fifteen minute cat nap, which totaled for about thirty minutes because absolutely I am not efficient when I am cold, sweaty and tired. My justification for that cat nap was that I was not going to do myself any favors by falling asleep or causing a crash, of which I had already seen two in less than an hour.
Not worth it. I was back on the bike, back to jamming to tunes, back to concentrating on keeping a consistent pace and trying to not to look at my watch... too much. There were some other things I focused on, when the demons came out and fed me self-doubt.
- I played back memories of the first time that I did CASA solo, in 2016, and how it felt to realize that I could ride 300 miles.
- I remembered 2017, how I found bravery to compete in the National 24-Hour Challenge,
- and how I learned so much about wasted time off of the bike.
- And at the 2017 CASA, how there was talk on the track side about how I was giving the overall male a run for his miles.
- How I shook his hand at the awards ceremony, which felt like I was inserting myself into a conversation that was strictly reserved for the guys-only, demanding to be recognized.
- I remembered convincing myself that no pain was going to cause serious damage and I just had to push through -
- and then working with Aaron and later Lucas to know that it really was true.
- And when I made the right decisions to make it an easier solo year in 2018, to really just have fun,
- that people thought that that was a solid effort, and how I wanted to prove them wrong, so bad.
- I remembered climbing gravel roads in Idaho with Laura & Josh,
- and exploring gravel roads with my Dirt Church friends in some of the shittest winter weather.
- I recalled the joy of reaching the top of Elk Mountain and Mount Mitchell in North Carolina.
- I thought about that silent minute at the finish line of Race Across the West, where Sandy and I hugged and cried.
- I thought about what it would be like to be the first female cyclist to hit the 400 mile club on the Subaru Track, and what that would mean to me.
- All of this, and more.
I gestured to Nathan that I was coming off - I did exactly as I said, but as usual, I have a nasty habit of hitting snooze, and it was really hard to get back on the bike. It was also this time that I took antacids & meloxicam. My stomach was still roiling and protesting the treatment in the heat, and I needed something to tamp down the increasing amounts of pain in my shoulder and knee. But I got back on my bike, and I started hammering it out, again.
At this point, I needed to average 17 mph, and I knew that I would have to stop frequently. Shit was not okay downstairs, and my body was really just revolting against me. This meant I needed to keep my pace up. There were several hours of darkness, and I could count on no one to see me through them. It was just me.
It's a lonely life, it's a lonely life, I sang.
The sun was slow to rise, but when it did, Shannon was holding up a can of coffee for me. I chugged it, and sang with joy to see that Curt and Ryan were back and fresh as ever. I could have hugged them. Instead, I entertained them with stories of people crashing their bikes, jabbering about how coffee gives me heart palpitations and also singing "Old Town Road" way too much. The miles slipped by, and I crowed to Patti on the side-lines, "It's 7 am in the Lafayette area!" She probably thought I lost my mind. Everyone did, except maybe Curt. He's been there for the other 400-mile club attempt - he knew I was insane years ago.
I was at mile 380, and it was close to 9 am. I had been having to stop frequently. Or, I let myself stop frequently. That is probably the worst part about an ultra-event on a closed track - the proximity to headquarters makes it so tempting to stop and refuel, sleep, talk... anything except getting back on that bike. My method for tracking miles was just not fool-proof. I couldn't keep track of where I was at on the leader board, and sleep deprivation made me argumentative with Nathan's reporting of the miles.
"You have to pick up the pace, baby girl."
"I'm tired!"
"You are ten miles up on Amanda, you have to pick up the pace, baby girl."
"I have to pee!"
"You are at mile 380."
"I don't fucking believe you!"
I'm an asshole when I'm tired, I know. I'm sorry. The back of my right knee was so swollen, I could barely tolerate pulling my leg up during the pedal stroke. I rolled my compression sock down to see if that would help. It didn't. My right shoulder was so inflamed, I could not get comfortable. At least my back didn't hurt? Both of my hands were numb and I just had to keep pedaling. But my pace was failing and so was my resolve. I let my doubts win, and it was showing.
And it was so fucking bizarre - I was surrounded by so many encouraging people. Friends who rode with me, trying to help keep pace. People who cheered from their bikes or sidelines. Amanda pulled up next to me, fresh as a daisy in new kit, and asked if I was going to reach my goal. I squinted into the sunlight and said, "No, you know, I don't think I will."
It was at that point that I just slowed to a crawl. I wrestled with some self-hatred and convinced myself that it was fine, because what the fuck did it matter? And, in a way, it was okay. I got to ride with Stacey. I got to see Shannon & Carolyn fly past blasting Kesha. It was incredibly sucky to be a little hateful sourpuss surrounded by cool people. So I picked my feet up a little, chugged a Pepsi that Curt handed me, and then started back up again.
Curt was crunching numbers in his head - if you can maintain a 22 mph, maybe you'll get it. I choked back a sob and said, "That's not going to happen, you can ride ahead without me if you want." Curt shrugged. "Nah," he said, "Caleb is coming soon." Chris ran along the trackside half naked, screaming, Allez! Allez! I laughed really hard, and tried to make more of an effort when Tim and Caleb joined us. The three of them were chattering and I didn't really listen. Nathan yelled, "You're at 390 or something, just give it all you have!"
Caleb, with his damn boyish grin, said, "We have an idea."
"Oh, fuck, what?"
"We've got five minutes to give you two more miles."
"No, Caleb."
"Curt's going to lead out. Tim will rotate with him. All you have to do is sit on my wheel."
"Caleb."
"I'll protect you."
"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered. We were coming down the homestretch, and the boys were pulling into formation. I wasn't even thinking at this point, I just dropped my gears, and felt my quads grinding. I think I yelled, because... what in the literal hell was I doing, pulling a two-mile sprint finish in a 24-hour race? After I let my mental guard down and failed my goal?
I concentrated on the boys' cadence, and listened to my breathing. Curt is nothing if not consistent. Tim is nothing if not enthusiastic. Caleb is nothing if not encouraging. We roared around turn one at twenty-five miles an hour, and I tucked down into my drops. I had tunnel vision like you would not believe. My lungs burned as I sucked air in and forced it out - I was like a freight train. We blew around turn two, and there was a half second where I was ready to fall off the back.
Don't you fucking do it. You worked too hard in this lap for it not to count. What does Rob say? Any cost, don't lose the wheel.
I dropped another gear and kept hammering the pedals. Curt swung wide to fall back. The manager of the timing company was counting down the seconds. Tim and Caleb fell back to pull in with Curt, and I just gave it all I had. We all crossed with seconds to spare.
I let L-12 just take that momentum and coast right past the finish, past the exit. I struggled to swing my leg over the bike, set her down gently, and then just laid down. I couldn't quit laughing and coughing. Caleb, Tim and Curt rolled up - Caleb took a damn picture, or something. Nathan ran up, with Rendi and Cameron hot on his heels to help haul me and my bike back to the start/finish line. I was useless.
By the time I limped back to the line, the awards had started. I peeled off my clothes until I was just in my base layer tank and bibs. I sat down in the grass and stared at my crotch - it was a mess of sweaty lycra and SensiCare seeping through the fabric. Sweet Jesus, what had I done? Was it worth it?
The Results
The awards are informal and filled with gratitude. Accolades are heaped upon the individuals and teams who were able to raise the most funds for CASAs for Kids. And rightly so, I should say!
I was so impressed with the achievements of solo cyclists and team both, particularly all of the women who showed up to race as solo cyclists. Thirteen! You can see results here.
With thirteen women and twenty-seven men in the solo category, I placed first overall at 392 miles, with Amanda Seymore second overall at 358 miles.
Uhm, fucking girl power!
The Damage & the Recovery
I had a difficult time recovering from this one. My lungs felt full of crap, both of my hands were numb, my right shoulder was locked up, the hamstring insertion on my right knee was royally pissed off, I had wicked saddle sores and horrible chaffing on my labia.
I was so tired, but I could not get comfortable sleeping. I ended up calling in sick to work, which made me feel like a real shite. But I could not even walk without hobbling around. With lots of hearty protein, rest & mobility and multiple epsom salt baths, I got my body back to functioning. I did several recovery rides, and then had to pack up for the two-day Ride Across Wisconsin the following weekend.
I am nothing if not abusive to my body. Do I regret it? No. Not in the slightest.
The Reflection
I am one of two thoughts, depending on the hour. The first is that I am disappointed that I did not reach 400 miles. The second is that it must be okay, because I did not lose the spirit of the CASA Ride for the sake of competition.
I know several things:
If I had not stopped to help Tamika with her flat, I likely could have made 400 miles. But, consciously, that would not have set well with me. I knew that going into this race that it was more important for me to be part of the community than it was to achieve an arbitrary number. Yes, they'd have gotten it figured out, but... again, what is the point if I can't help out my friend?
The resolution is simple: if I want to compete in 24-hour cycling challenges, I should not do it on my home turf. I may wear the queen's crown at this event (for now), but I do not think I can ever be nasty about keeping it. Race Across the West opened up tons of doors to ultra events around the world, so if I need to reach 400 miles someday, I will do it there.
If I had maintained a certain level of ultra-fitness leading up to the CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge, I may have reached my goal. Let me explain. After Race Across the West, I had a very, very difficult time getting back into cross-training. I did not feel well, which is partially due to recovery and partially due to what ended up being a PTSD diagnosis. So, the strength training that I had done to support my body for Race Across the West was lost. I rode my bike, and mostly focused on just riding for fun, re-learning how to ride in groups and race tactics. I knew that I needed to ride fast to be able to achieve 400 miles, so I focused on rehabilitating & strengthening my anaerobic sprints. But I did not put in the endurance miles to train for 400 miles. I am not surprised that my body failed me in the early morning hours. I am always impressed with the cyclists that do not cross-train... I am not one of them, I know that. I had not made this 24-Hour Race a priority, it was not an A-Race for me.
The resolution is simple: if I want to hit 400 miles in 24 hours, I must make it priority. I relied too heavily on my cycling fitness. And fuck, I am cycling fit! You don't just sit on your bike for that long. This event tore me up physically compared to Race Across the West and the recovery was really painful. If I had focused on strength training to keep my knees, hips, core & upper body in alignment, then who is to say if I would have had a physical failure?
If I had been able to have a better nutrition plan, I probably would not have felt so weak in hours 18 to 24. Part of that is dialing in what kind of solid foods do not give me serious indigestion. I cannot race on gels, shot bloks and Roctane alone. Neither should I have guzzled that much Pepsi. The fact that Nathan and I had a miscommunication about a plate of food at dinner time did not help, and tracking down a plate of pasta also kept me off the bike for longer than I would have liked.
I am so, so proud of what I was able to accomplish. Do not take the nit-picking as anything other than a reflection on how to improve. With all of the above, and more, that perhaps got in my way, I still rode my bike three hundred and ninety two miles. I still managed to win overall. In fact, two women placed overall, for the first time in CASA history. This just underscored how beastly women are in ultra-endurance cycling. I met Amanda, a type-one diabetic and mother of six, and it will be cool to see what she can accomplish in following years. I was able to ride with my people and be part of a community bigger than just my ego.
I look forward to being involved in the CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge for years to come - when the day comes that another queen comes along and breaks my records, I hope to be on the track when they do, so that I can see them achieve greatness the same way that Debbie Knapp did for me back in 2016.
As far as 2020 goes, I am not going to compete as a solo cyclist. My body needs a break from that track. I am hoping to assemble a striking team of lady cyclists, some of the sassiest, brassiest bitches I know.
I am so, so proud of what I was able to accomplish. Do not take the nit-picking as anything other than a reflection on how to improve. With all of the above, and more, that perhaps got in my way, I still rode my bike three hundred and ninety two miles. I still managed to win overall. In fact, two women placed overall, for the first time in CASA history. This just underscored how beastly women are in ultra-endurance cycling. I met Amanda, a type-one diabetic and mother of six, and it will be cool to see what she can accomplish in following years. I was able to ride with my people and be part of a community bigger than just my ego.
I look forward to being involved in the CASAs for Kids 24-Hour Cycling Challenge for years to come - when the day comes that another queen comes along and breaks my records, I hope to be on the track when they do, so that I can see them achieve greatness the same way that Debbie Knapp did for me back in 2016.
As far as 2020 goes, I am not going to compete as a solo cyclist. My body needs a break from that track. I am hoping to assemble a striking team of lady cyclists, some of the sassiest, brassiest bitches I know.
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