Fellow Bella Nikki was recently featured in an article, and that's pretty damn cool so I'm posting it. I'm fixing some of the errors the reporter made.
Nikki was last in Iraq in 2004, not currently scheduled to return anytime soon. However, two of the other gals briefly mentioned are currently in Iraq.
http://www.cyclingnews.com/features.php?id=features/2007/velo_bella_when_duty_calls07
Tales from the peloton November 17, 2007
Velo Bella - When Duty Calls
Many of the women competing at a high level in cycling have full-time careers, but in the case of a few special riders, those careers offer very unique challenges. For a few, their jobs include serving in the United States military in Iraq. Surface Warfare Officer for the US Navy and Velo Bella racer Nicole Shue spoke with Cyclingnews' Kirsten Robbins about her life on the bike while at sea.
The Velo Bella team is a diverse group of women from across the United States. With riders from beginner to world class, the team has fun while taking racing seriously. It's a perfect environment for some special athletes like Nicole Shue and Nicole Messinger, who both work in the US Navy, and with Rebecca Gross and Beth Boyer, who work for the US Air Force. Team manager Alex Burgess regards the careers of these women cyclists as nothing short of heroic.
All of them are currently serving in the US military and have been relocated to Iraq, and Burgess thinks they have courageous stories that need to be shared. "The fact that these women split their lives amongst their family and careers as officers while continuing to achieve to be elite level athletes is a statement on their ability and talent," said Burgess.
Surface Warfare Officer Nicole Shue is a just one of several Velo Bella cyclists who balances the life of an athlete with a career in the US Navy. Shue is out to sea nearly half of every month and though she finds it difficult to train full time, being attached to a ship, she noted that her chain of command is supportive of her passion as a cyclist.
Shue admitted that officers are nurtured to have type-A personalities, a competitive personality that translates well into cycling. "We are extremely organized, methodical and display a strict execution of schedules, plans and missions," explained Shue who tapped into these qualities when training for her latest half Ironman.
When long work days start in the early morning, finding training time is very precious for anyone, let alone someone living on a ship, but Shue found a way to fit training into her life at sea with limited resources. "I received a lot of strange looks when I first brought my bike and trainer aboard the ship. I would set up my bike on the flight deck of the ship during dinnertime, and ride with the sun setting behind the ocean as my scenery."
Rigorous training and strict time management skills are essential qualities of sport and military life, and more often than not, being an athlete can mean having a somewhat selfish existence. However, the responsibilities of an officer extend beyond a single person and into the many lives they are linked to. According to Shue being a Naval Officer is a higher calling. "I'm placed in charge of the sons and daughters of the United States and am expected to mold them into capable sailors, leaders, and citizens - anything less is a failure," said Shue. "There aren't too many CEO's of companies who'd be fired because an employee got a DUI or committed a crime. But Naval Officers are held responsible for the actions of those we lead. It is a direct reflection of our leadership when our people fail to succeed."
Drawing Parallels
To better understand the lifestyle to which women need to adapt as officers, Shue focused on the similarities between her life as a cyclist and applied it to her daily routine in the Navy. Not only because both careers are physically demanding but because both military and sport are traditionally considered to be male dominant activities.
"For starters, I'm definitely the minority!" said Shue. "It doesn't faze me when I show up for the weekly road ride and I'm the only woman there. I realize I'm going to have to work hard to keep up, but as long as I'm not complaining or asking for special allowances, the guys recognize that I'm doing my best and they are supportive and encouraging."
"The same goes for the Navy," added Shue. "My first ship had a crew of a thousand men and six women. That was a scary experience at twenty-three years of age. But once the men realized that I could pull my weight and was a capable officer, we were able to work together to accomplish the mission. And it's great to be part of a team, whether it be a peloton screaming down the road and working as one organism to tackle the miles, or as a ship's crew and sailing together into harm's way, ready to carry out the mission my country depends on us to accomplish."
A typical day
Shue, like many other officers, can be deployed for months along the Persian Gulf. She described a typical day as beginning at six in the morning for breakfast along with all the officers onboard the ship, followed by morning meetings and then physical training until noon. "There are more meetings after lunch and more training all the while the ship is operating in the Gulf, protecting the coast of Iraq and its oil platforms from terrorist/insurgent attack," said Shue. "The workday continues after dinner where the officers have an opportunity to catch up on the administrative work and day's events until it's my turn to go operate the ship, either in the pilot house or down in the Combat Information Center."
Officers routinely get about four hours of sleep each night during their six months deployment at sea. The captain is always close at hand and fellow officers are always in sight, so Shue admitted that though life on the ship can become cramped, but it brings "teammates" closer together and makes the camaraderie unbreakable. "I've met people in the Navy whom I wouldn't think twice to lend them my car, my house, whatever they needed in a tight spot, no questions asked," said Shue.
"The Navy is an extended family," Shue added. "They have to be because so much of my time is spent far away from my real family. But there is definitely a fun side to it too. I have been to countless countries from Australia to Pakistan to Tonga, and have had priceless experiences, seen beautiful places and met some truly amazing people. It has opened my eyes to the cultures of the world, how all of us are so different, yet at the heart of it, we all just want to lead happy, fulfilling and peaceful lives."
Monday, November 19, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Cancer to 5K
The Cancer to 5K program is the brainchild of fellow DC Tri-er and cancer survivor Holly.
Simply put, they train cancer patients and survivors to complete a 5K to help keep them healthy and happy. The program culminated with the Ulman Cancer Fund 5K at merriwether post pavillion. 
Race day conditions were less than ideal. It did warm up a bit for race day, but it was raining almost the whole time, and quite a few people were no-shows. There was supposed to be a bike race accompanying the 5K, but they ended up canceling it both for safety and because they didn't have enough volunteers to support it. A few of the bikers ran in their bike gear, which was really nice of them.
Holly gave me the heads up that Cheryl had never completed more than two miles in training and was really nervous about the possibility of either not finishing, or finishing last. I reassured them that Cheryl would not have to be last, and that there's no shame in it. Especially when you've just finished chemo.
The festivites started with Lance Armstrong giving a speech and leading the runners out. I have to say it was really cool that he showed up even though it was pouring and not a lot of people were there.
On a sad note, Jess, a Team Z alumnae, didn't make it to the race because she was in the hospital having surgery for breast cancer. There was a booth at the finish line handing out keychains representing the size of tumors. The smallest was the average size when found by a mammogram, the largest was the average size when found by accident. Jess's was the latter. My heart goes out to her and I hope she is with us for the spring class of the Cancer to 5K group.
For more information: http://cancerto5k.com/
Simply put, they train cancer patients and survivors to complete a 5K to help keep them healthy and happy. The program culminated with the Ulman Cancer Fund 5K at merriwether post pavillion.
I promise, I am wearing a running skirt, which is not evident in these pictures.
I was supposed to be a pace group leader, but the shoulder intervened. Luckily, I got cleared to run the Friday before race day, so I was able to be a race day sherpa for cancer patient Cheryl.
Me, Kris, Cheryl, and Sherpa #3 who's name I can never remember.
Race day conditions were less than ideal. It did warm up a bit for race day, but it was raining almost the whole time, and quite a few people were no-shows. There was supposed to be a bike race accompanying the 5K, but they ended up canceling it both for safety and because they didn't have enough volunteers to support it. A few of the bikers ran in their bike gear, which was really nice of them.
Holly gave me the heads up that Cheryl had never completed more than two miles in training and was really nervous about the possibility of either not finishing, or finishing last. I reassured them that Cheryl would not have to be last, and that there's no shame in it. Especially when you've just finished chemo.
The festivites started with Lance Armstrong giving a speech and leading the runners out. I have to say it was really cool that he showed up even though it was pouring and not a lot of people were there.
Lance crossing the finish line.
It was pretty hilly and Cheryl had something of a tough time. Kris, the other sherpa, and I tried to keep her distracted/ entertained, and on a good intensity interval schedule so she didn't get tired out before the finish. She really was a trooper, and she wasn't last. There is no way I could have done that 3 weeks after finishing chemo.
Cheryl crossing the finish line.
On a sad note, Jess, a Team Z alumnae, didn't make it to the race because she was in the hospital having surgery for breast cancer. There was a booth at the finish line handing out keychains representing the size of tumors. The smallest was the average size when found by a mammogram, the largest was the average size when found by accident. Jess's was the latter. My heart goes out to her and I hope she is with us for the spring class of the Cancer to 5K group.
For more information: http://cancerto5k.com/
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Major Payne
Today I almost passed out again at PT. The walls got all sparkly, and then the PT made me drink some water.
The good news: I'm gaining range of motion vertically, the bad news: even with all the agony, I'm losing it in rotation. My muscles are locking. And even pulling things out of whack with the cramping.
I am living so far beyond my pain threshold. I've gotten into the pattern of coming home from PT, eating a carb heavy breakfast, and passing out under a hypoglycemic daze. No, this isn't smart or remotely healthy, but it does let me escape from the pain for a few hours. It's gotten to the point where I can't eat before PT since the pain makes me so nauseous. Today, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to drive home. Sitting in traffic with the seat belt over my shoulder going to work was out of the question. I feel really guilty for working from home so much, I really love my job and my co-workers. I'm trying to remind myself that this is necessary to be whole and healthy again and the pain is temporary.
The good news: I'm gaining range of motion vertically, the bad news: even with all the agony, I'm losing it in rotation. My muscles are locking. And even pulling things out of whack with the cramping.
I am living so far beyond my pain threshold. I've gotten into the pattern of coming home from PT, eating a carb heavy breakfast, and passing out under a hypoglycemic daze. No, this isn't smart or remotely healthy, but it does let me escape from the pain for a few hours. It's gotten to the point where I can't eat before PT since the pain makes me so nauseous. Today, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to drive home. Sitting in traffic with the seat belt over my shoulder going to work was out of the question. I feel really guilty for working from home so much, I really love my job and my co-workers. I'm trying to remind myself that this is necessary to be whole and healthy again and the pain is temporary.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Putting the PT in PITA
Physical Therapy. I need it, yet hate it. My quest to find the person responsible for me being able to row winter conditioning was complicated and had repercussions I wouldn't realize until today. Originally, I was going to see the PT who trains with my tri club. I wanted someone who was sports oriented, not someone who spent their days rehabilitating hip replacements. Someone who understood the demands of the sports I was trying to get back to, and who could tailor my treatment to facillitate that. Problem was, her office was so deep in trafficland it was unreachable except by helicopter. The second problem would become evident later.
Names witheld to protect the guilty:
Since I was clearly not going to be able to get to her office, and certainly not in a timely manner for the next 8 weeks, she recommended I see another PT with her practice at a location closer to my office and easier to reach. When I was supposed to have the appointment with her, I was a little more than 3 weeks out of surgery. Time to start therapy. The new PT was not able to get me in until almost a week from that date and only scheduled me for my initial consultation. First clue. The PT took some basic measurements using a huge protractor, then after a little bit passed me off to a PT Assistant for the second half of my appointment. Second clue. I also was uncomfortable with the fact that PT was carried out entirely in a common space. How they were managing to skirt around HIPAA, I have no idea. Then, I go to make the rest of my appointments and was told they couldn't get me in to see my PT again for ten days. Third clue, and I can solve the puzzle: Q_U_A_C_K_S
It was fairly obvious they were a body shop, they didn't care about their patients, which was evidenced by the fact that this was a critical time in my recovery to regain range of motion and they had no concerns about my not being seen for a long time, or concerned about keeping me with one PT.
Progress is measured in range of motion gained over each session. measuring it is a little soft, and everyone has quirks. Seeing one PT over time minimizes confounds in the measurements. Not to mention, there is a degree of trust involved.
So back to the doctor I went:
Doctor: Where are you looking for an office?
Me: Either X or Y.
Doctor: Why Y?
Me: My boyfriend lives there.
Doctor: Do I need to tell your parents?
Me: Is this a trick question?
Then the admission of guilt:
Doctor: Why do you go see a PT at Quacks are us?
Me: I knew someone there.
Doctor: Was it on the list of recommended therapists?
Me: Is this a trick question?
So the good Dr. gave me a contact for a legitimate PT. They were polite, made my whole bank of appointments at once, tried to keep me with the same therapist, and spent a lot of time talking about my injury, the surgery, what my goals were, and generally getting to know my health history. They are great.
The caveat is that since I got started with a competent therapist so late, my shoulder had already started freezing. We have only been able to make marginal progress in regaining range of motion. Which led to to today. 8 weeks after surgery. Signaling while driving, getting dressed, washing my hair, are all difficult if not impossible. The membrane holding my shoulder in place has overachieved and fused itself to places it shouldn't have, causing frozen shoulder. The first step to thawing it is to stretch and heat or ice. That was the last three weeks. Now, we come to the fun part, forcing it to move until literally it rips free. It makes a sound like a pair of pants splitting up the back, and is excruciatingly painful.
All in all I wouldn't recommend it. Friday, I almost threw up from the pain, today I almost passed out.
Names witheld to protect the guilty:
Since I was clearly not going to be able to get to her office, and certainly not in a timely manner for the next 8 weeks, she recommended I see another PT with her practice at a location closer to my office and easier to reach. When I was supposed to have the appointment with her, I was a little more than 3 weeks out of surgery. Time to start therapy. The new PT was not able to get me in until almost a week from that date and only scheduled me for my initial consultation. First clue. The PT took some basic measurements using a huge protractor, then after a little bit passed me off to a PT Assistant for the second half of my appointment. Second clue. I also was uncomfortable with the fact that PT was carried out entirely in a common space. How they were managing to skirt around HIPAA, I have no idea. Then, I go to make the rest of my appointments and was told they couldn't get me in to see my PT again for ten days. Third clue, and I can solve the puzzle: Q_U_A_C_K_S
It was fairly obvious they were a body shop, they didn't care about their patients, which was evidenced by the fact that this was a critical time in my recovery to regain range of motion and they had no concerns about my not being seen for a long time, or concerned about keeping me with one PT.
Progress is measured in range of motion gained over each session. measuring it is a little soft, and everyone has quirks. Seeing one PT over time minimizes confounds in the measurements. Not to mention, there is a degree of trust involved.
So back to the doctor I went:
Doctor: Where are you looking for an office?
Me: Either X or Y.
Doctor: Why Y?
Me: My boyfriend lives there.
Doctor: Do I need to tell your parents?
Me: Is this a trick question?
Then the admission of guilt:
Doctor: Why do you go see a PT at Quacks are us?
Me: I knew someone there.
Doctor: Was it on the list of recommended therapists?
Me: Is this a trick question?
So the good Dr. gave me a contact for a legitimate PT. They were polite, made my whole bank of appointments at once, tried to keep me with the same therapist, and spent a lot of time talking about my injury, the surgery, what my goals were, and generally getting to know my health history. They are great.
The caveat is that since I got started with a competent therapist so late, my shoulder had already started freezing. We have only been able to make marginal progress in regaining range of motion. Which led to to today. 8 weeks after surgery. Signaling while driving, getting dressed, washing my hair, are all difficult if not impossible. The membrane holding my shoulder in place has overachieved and fused itself to places it shouldn't have, causing frozen shoulder. The first step to thawing it is to stretch and heat or ice. That was the last three weeks. Now, we come to the fun part, forcing it to move until literally it rips free. It makes a sound like a pair of pants splitting up the back, and is excruciatingly painful.
All in all I wouldn't recommend it. Friday, I almost threw up from the pain, today I almost passed out.
Monday, October 29, 2007
99 Red Balloons ...
Earlier this month, I did the Light the Night walk with my company.
The LTN walk is a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and I was still feeling a little guilty about only having completed the Rock n Roll half marathon for the TNT program. So I suckered New Boy into walking with me. We drove to Reston Town Center and made it just in time. The walk is held at night, and you're suppsed to carry a battery lit balloon, and the sight is pretty cool, tons of floating flickering balloons in the woods. We were late, so our balloons were sad and unlit, but there were so many people out, it didn't really matter. We headed out for a roughly 3 mile walk on unseen paths through Reston, including past the place where I had surgery.
There were a group of high schools in front of us including a cancer survivor. It looked like the kid was wearing a wig, so I'm guessing he was still in treatment, but it was nice (kind of) to see that wasn't stopping them from being teenagers. There were also cheerleaders cheering us on, and volunteers with posterboard signs with cancer facts on them every so often.
It was good to get out for a walk and to support a great organization. And I was really happy that New Boy supported my charity effort.
The LTN walk is a fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and I was still feeling a little guilty about only having completed the Rock n Roll half marathon for the TNT program. So I suckered New Boy into walking with me. We drove to Reston Town Center and made it just in time. The walk is held at night, and you're suppsed to carry a battery lit balloon, and the sight is pretty cool, tons of floating flickering balloons in the woods. We were late, so our balloons were sad and unlit, but there were so many people out, it didn't really matter. We headed out for a roughly 3 mile walk on unseen paths through Reston, including past the place where I had surgery.
There were a group of high schools in front of us including a cancer survivor. It looked like the kid was wearing a wig, so I'm guessing he was still in treatment, but it was nice (kind of) to see that wasn't stopping them from being teenagers. There were also cheerleaders cheering us on, and volunteers with posterboard signs with cancer facts on them every so often.
It was good to get out for a walk and to support a great organization. And I was really happy that New Boy supported my charity effort.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Sling blade
The psychic shoulder required professional help to fix it. So, the Thursday after Labor Day I had surgery.
I wasn't allowed to eat for 12 hours before surgery, so Wednesday night, New Boy stuffed me full of portobello ravioli. The next morning at o'dark thirty, superfriend M picked me up and took me to the hospital. I gave her the list of allergies, phone numbers, etc. and she sweetly hung out with me while waiting for everyone to be ready for showtime. She also managed to get the nurse to give her my prescription for Percoset which she got filled while I was under the knife. There were a few interesting moments. The first of which came when we were talking to the anesthesiolgist, going over my list of allergies. I said, yeah and I'm deathly allergic to K right as the nurse was apparently hanging a bag of it on my IV. Nearly comical freezing mid-air.
The second came when I woke up from anesthesia. I had warned them I don't handle anesthesia well. I didn't remember going under, thought I hadn't had surgery yet, and inexplicably had the overwhelming urge to sob. The nurse told me this is common if you have control issues. Shocking. All I knew was I was confused, and I wanted to see New Boy RIGHT NOW. They also couldn't get my blood pressure down and I was cold and shaking, piled under five hospital blankets. I don't know what they do to make them so warm, but it's like getting laundry straight from the dryer.
M took me home, kept track of my schedule of drugs, and basically babysat me until New Boy picked me up at lunchtime. The next day she brought me Starbucks and baby-sat me again while New Boy was at work. The plan had been to try to meet up with a third friend B for lunch if I was feeling up to it, or just caged, but B wasn't available, and I felt like ish. The GA had completely worn off, I couldn't sleep, the Aleve upset my stomach, and the Percoset made me itch and it difficult to breathe. It's 1:00 and New Boy is not home yet. Turns out he decided that this was the most appropriate time to buy a HDTV. Yes, while my friend is at his house watching me so he didn't have to take off a ton of vacation time, and I am in pain, he is going to buy a TV. Not bothering to call and check on me first, or ask if M has to be anywhere. He also said a number of things that were pretty cruel, like I was self-centered. Needless to say, this did not go over well. Last I checked, I'd had surgery, was having a reaction to the painkillers, and had taken care of him during his comps and when his mom was in the hospital. I had hoped my boyfriend would take care of me post-op out of love, but at the bare minimum quid pro quo Clarice.
I ended up at M's house for the duration of the weekend. She and her husband were kind beyond words, and I owe them a ton. Especially Saturday morning when I woke from my Percoset induced haze and thought it was Sunday, and got a little panicky and belligerent. I hate drugs. Their cats kept watch over me both nights, watching to make sure I was still breathing, occasionally crawling up to check, then crawling back down to the foot of the bed.
It's been six weeks and my shoulder is slowly healing, trying to heal things with New Boy, but the wound from the fight seems deeper than the one from the surgery.
I wasn't allowed to eat for 12 hours before surgery, so Wednesday night, New Boy stuffed me full of portobello ravioli. The next morning at o'dark thirty, superfriend M picked me up and took me to the hospital. I gave her the list of allergies, phone numbers, etc. and she sweetly hung out with me while waiting for everyone to be ready for showtime. She also managed to get the nurse to give her my prescription for Percoset which she got filled while I was under the knife. There were a few interesting moments. The first of which came when we were talking to the anesthesiolgist, going over my list of allergies. I said, yeah and I'm deathly allergic to K right as the nurse was apparently hanging a bag of it on my IV. Nearly comical freezing mid-air.
The second came when I woke up from anesthesia. I had warned them I don't handle anesthesia well. I didn't remember going under, thought I hadn't had surgery yet, and inexplicably had the overwhelming urge to sob. The nurse told me this is common if you have control issues. Shocking. All I knew was I was confused, and I wanted to see New Boy RIGHT NOW. They also couldn't get my blood pressure down and I was cold and shaking, piled under five hospital blankets. I don't know what they do to make them so warm, but it's like getting laundry straight from the dryer.
M took me home, kept track of my schedule of drugs, and basically babysat me until New Boy picked me up at lunchtime. The next day she brought me Starbucks and baby-sat me again while New Boy was at work. The plan had been to try to meet up with a third friend B for lunch if I was feeling up to it, or just caged, but B wasn't available, and I felt like ish. The GA had completely worn off, I couldn't sleep, the Aleve upset my stomach, and the Percoset made me itch and it difficult to breathe. It's 1:00 and New Boy is not home yet. Turns out he decided that this was the most appropriate time to buy a HDTV. Yes, while my friend is at his house watching me so he didn't have to take off a ton of vacation time, and I am in pain, he is going to buy a TV. Not bothering to call and check on me first, or ask if M has to be anywhere. He also said a number of things that were pretty cruel, like I was self-centered. Needless to say, this did not go over well. Last I checked, I'd had surgery, was having a reaction to the painkillers, and had taken care of him during his comps and when his mom was in the hospital. I had hoped my boyfriend would take care of me post-op out of love, but at the bare minimum quid pro quo Clarice.
I ended up at M's house for the duration of the weekend. She and her husband were kind beyond words, and I owe them a ton. Especially Saturday morning when I woke from my Percoset induced haze and thought it was Sunday, and got a little panicky and belligerent. I hate drugs. Their cats kept watch over me both nights, watching to make sure I was still breathing, occasionally crawling up to check, then crawling back down to the foot of the bed.
It's been six weeks and my shoulder is slowly healing, trying to heal things with New Boy, but the wound from the fight seems deeper than the one from the surgery.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Biking with the Bellas
A while ago I trekked with VeloBella Nikki to the Pennsylvania Keystone State Cat race.
Cat racing is competitive cycling. It's a world ripe for spoofing in a "Dog Show" type of movie ("But you picked the one that looks the least like a bee ..."), or a bud light Real men of Genius commercial (We salute you spandex wearing tube sock cycling guy, you may weigh in excess of 250 pounds, but you still sport your areo helmet. Does that remind you of something? You shave your time by a whopping tenth of a second. I'm only 14 minutes and 59 seconds behind the next guy now ...)
Anyways, I had emailed the race director to ask if it would be okay to race since I had no experience with CAT racing, or really with group cycling. This was an all ladies race and a pretty small one, I was thinking this would be a good one to cut my teeth on.
Emails modified to make them more entertaining:
Dear Race Director,
I was wondering if this would be a good race to try for my first. I come from my triathlon background but I'm not a freak. I have a road bike and am not a squirrelly a-hole. Can I handle your race and sit with the cool kids at lunch?
Kisses,
Iron Panda
Yo IP,
CAT cycling is the real deal and requires skilz. If you even think about coming to my race, I'll take you to skool.
Cycling rulz, tri geeks drool!
Outie,
RD
So, aptly frightened off by the race director who told me there would be hills aplenty and technical riding, I decided to tag along as a spectator. Nikki was racing, so I got up at o'dark thirty to get to Nikki's by the butt crack of dawn. Then we and her bike drove up to PA. We got there with a good couple of hours to spare. We were the first Bellas there, and among the first racers there at all. It was freezing cold and I was working on about four hours of sleep, so I took a nap in the car while Nikki warmed up, I am the best sherpa ever.
Slowly the Bellas trickled in, but the race still looked pretty empty. Turns out there was a major accident on 81 which meant half the race was stuck in trafic. They ended up delaying the Cat 4 race almost an hour during which I learned all about Cat racing. Such as: roadies hate triathletes, drafting is not only legal but encouraged, you are REQUIRED to wear the dreaded bike jersy, you are not allowed to ride a tri bike or any bike with aerobars, time is irrelevant- only relative place matters, there aren't volunteers on the course unless you bring you own, and finally roadies hate triathletes. It's some weird West Side Story jets vs. sharks, Redskins vs. Cowboys inane hatred. Which brings me to the next point, the course wasn't cake, but it was totally doable, and nothing like what the race director was making it out to be. And with only 14 women in the Cat 4 race, I could have scored points. Cheap points, but points nonetheless.
Nikki and Hilary set off to the start and Hilary's husband, her little boy, and I headed to the feeding zone. The Velobellas are sponsored by Kona bikes, so the cheering has an Aloha theme, decked out in a Hawaiin skirt and lei, I listened while Hilary's husband explained the art of the feeding zone. Holding out the water bottle such that the athete can grab it while riding without running into you or ripping your arm off. All while cultivating the best sock tan known to man.
All in all I'm excited to check this out next season and might make an appearance at a She Got Bike this season. Nikki and Hilary were all hot for the cyclocross season. That looks hardcore and like a lot of fun, but I like big races and not being cold and wet. And I'm more than capable of injuring myself without the assistance of trees.
Cat racing is competitive cycling. It's a world ripe for spoofing in a "Dog Show" type of movie ("But you picked the one that looks the least like a bee ..."), or a bud light Real men of Genius commercial (We salute you spandex wearing tube sock cycling guy, you may weigh in excess of 250 pounds, but you still sport your areo helmet. Does that remind you of something? You shave your time by a whopping tenth of a second. I'm only 14 minutes and 59 seconds behind the next guy now ...)
Anyways, I had emailed the race director to ask if it would be okay to race since I had no experience with CAT racing, or really with group cycling. This was an all ladies race and a pretty small one, I was thinking this would be a good one to cut my teeth on.
Emails modified to make them more entertaining:
Dear Race Director,
I was wondering if this would be a good race to try for my first. I come from my triathlon background but I'm not a freak. I have a road bike and am not a squirrelly a-hole. Can I handle your race and sit with the cool kids at lunch?
Kisses,
Iron Panda
Yo IP,
CAT cycling is the real deal and requires skilz. If you even think about coming to my race, I'll take you to skool.
Cycling rulz, tri geeks drool!
Outie,
RD
So, aptly frightened off by the race director who told me there would be hills aplenty and technical riding, I decided to tag along as a spectator. Nikki was racing, so I got up at o'dark thirty to get to Nikki's by the butt crack of dawn. Then we and her bike drove up to PA. We got there with a good couple of hours to spare. We were the first Bellas there, and among the first racers there at all. It was freezing cold and I was working on about four hours of sleep, so I took a nap in the car while Nikki warmed up, I am the best sherpa ever.
Slowly the Bellas trickled in, but the race still looked pretty empty. Turns out there was a major accident on 81 which meant half the race was stuck in trafic. They ended up delaying the Cat 4 race almost an hour during which I learned all about Cat racing. Such as: roadies hate triathletes, drafting is not only legal but encouraged, you are REQUIRED to wear the dreaded bike jersy, you are not allowed to ride a tri bike or any bike with aerobars, time is irrelevant- only relative place matters, there aren't volunteers on the course unless you bring you own, and finally roadies hate triathletes. It's some weird West Side Story jets vs. sharks, Redskins vs. Cowboys inane hatred. Which brings me to the next point, the course wasn't cake, but it was totally doable, and nothing like what the race director was making it out to be. And with only 14 women in the Cat 4 race, I could have scored points. Cheap points, but points nonetheless.
Nikki and Hilary set off to the start and Hilary's husband, her little boy, and I headed to the feeding zone. The Velobellas are sponsored by Kona bikes, so the cheering has an Aloha theme, decked out in a Hawaiin skirt and lei, I listened while Hilary's husband explained the art of the feeding zone. Holding out the water bottle such that the athete can grab it while riding without running into you or ripping your arm off. All while cultivating the best sock tan known to man.
All in all I'm excited to check this out next season and might make an appearance at a She Got Bike this season. Nikki and Hilary were all hot for the cyclocross season. That looks hardcore and like a lot of fun, but I like big races and not being cold and wet. And I'm more than capable of injuring myself without the assistance of trees.
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