On September 21, for the fourth year, I will ride 125 miles from Boston to Provincetown with the Harbor to the Bay AIDS ride. This benefits four local AIDS organizations, most of whom saw their funding cut last year. The programs were, bizarrely, too effective; the government decided to divert money from Massachusetts to provide funding to states who were struggling. So these organizations need your help more than ever.
This year, I am not fundraising for myself. I am fortunate enough to be sponsored by the State Street Bank team so I can ride as a guide for Bobby Mac. Bobby runs my weekly group ride and has trained hundreds, if not thousands, of charity riders for this ride, the PMC, the Seacoast Safari, MS, and other events. He is also legally blind due to macular degeneration. Bobby and I are a great team, completing several sub-six centuries this year, and I'm thrilled and honored to be his eyes on this ride. Please support us by donating here.
On October 13 I will participate in The Dempsey Challenge, a 100-mile ride starting and ending in Lewiston, ME to raise money for the Patrick Dempsey Cancer Center. I'm riding in memory of my aunt Jackie, a heart-transplant survivor who passed away from cancer this past April. Last year, I did this ride in her honor and it was a tough day. It was 45 degrees and raining steadily at the starting line, and the weather didn't improve much. I toyed with backing out, but I'd committed to Jackie. The spectators were amazing--picture small children in head-to-toe rain gear, standing by the side of the road clutching cardboard signs reading "GO DADDY GO"--but even beyond that I was heartened by Jackie's frequent text messages, encouraging me to keep going, enjoy the chicken broth at the pit stops, think about how well I was doing. It was like she was there with me. She was an incredibly courageous person and I miss her. To support me on the Dempsey ride, please click here.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
The Triple Metric: 204 miles in 20 hours!
This was not a charity ride. It was a brevet, which is a long, continuous ride during which riders are supposed to provide most of their own support and check in at specific "controls" along the route. While it's not a race, there is a time limit. A lot of the people doing these brevets are training for Boston-Montreal-Boston or Paris-Brest-Paris.
So on June 1, just before 5 AM, my friend Brian and I set out to do our first triple metric, riding ten miles to the start/finish line at Hanscom Air Force Base armed with headlights, reflective gear, multiple GPS devices and extra batteries. Six o'clock was the official start, and we headed to Harvard and from there to a place called Tweedo's in Ashburnham, where we were met by my dad, Al. I'm not particularly interested in being a brevet rider--I'd just wanted to do a triple metric--so Al was riding support, carrying food, Gatorade, extra tubes and wheels and even an extra bike. We needed him just short of the halfway point in Northfield, MA, when my Garmin told us to take a wrong turn and we wound up on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in Orange, with a flat tire and two torn spare tubes. I figured that would set us way behind the other riders, but when we got to the barbecue joint in Northfield they were all there, happily consuming piles of pulled pork.
But it was really hot--that was the problem. Ninety-six degrees with intense sun. I felt just fine in Northfield, but then the wheels started to come off the wagon. The next 20 miles comprised what was supposed to be the "recovery" leg--short and flat and hopefully an opportunity to pick up some speed as we weren't thrilled with our 14.6 MPH average. Instead, we climbed 1000 feet, mostly on shadeless main roads in a headwind during the hottest part of the day. Shortly after the pit stop in Sunderland, MA, I began to flag, and by the tenth mile of that next leg it was obvious that I was hitting the wall. I was tired. I was nauseous. My speed dropped to a 12 MPH average and the distance to the next pit seemed to stretch out before me. An impromptu stop for ginger ale helped only very marginally. I began to doubt my ability to finish.
By the time we rolled into Petersham, MA around 7:30, at mile 146, I was beyond exhausted, and lay in the grass staring up at the sky while other riders milled around and chatted. I wanted to get in the car. I was dehydrated and had wracked up a huge calorie deficit, but could not imagine eating or drinking. Bobby Mac, who runs my group ride, texted and said it wasn't worth it and I should get in the car. My friend Kate texted and said she knew I could do it and I should get back on the bike. Another rider from my group, Tsun, said the worst of the climbing was behind us and the rest of the route was "not bad." I drank Pepto Bismol that Al had in his car and ate half a slice of bread. Then, somehow, I got back on the bike.
What followed was not pretty. The sun was setting and I could not hold a line, instead swerving all over the road. I'd try to focus on one object only to see four of them rotating in front of me. My lips were numb and I had a hard time forming words. Further, Tsun had lied, and this leg had just about the worst climbs of the entire ride. We were headed to Sterling Center, 26 miles away, and I kept telling myself that all I had to do was get there. Anyone can do 26 miles. But in the back of my head I knew that would not be the end. Who drops out of a 200-mile ride with 30 miles to go? Who does that?
10:00 found me slumped in the doorway of a convenience store in Sterling, sipping a bottle of plain water, actually shaking with cold despite the 85-degree heat. Brian chatted with Al, but I could feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I forced down a packet of gu and fought the urge to get in the car and turn the heat on high. Then, somehow, I was on my feat and headed toward the bike. I heard Brian tell Al, "OK, we'll see you at Hanscom." And I realized suddenly that we actually were going to Hanscom, that we were going home, that we were going to finish the ride. The decision had been made.
And once I grasped that, once I really wrapped my head around it, I was FINE. Energy returned and we got our speed up over fifteen. My appetite also came back and I ate the rest of my food as we rode. We skimmed through Harvard in the pitch dark and onto roads I knew. Brian's Garmin died and I navigated. My headlight died and I rode alongside Brian to take advantage of his. I felt like a force field was actually pulling us in. Side by side, we zoomed up the final hill and then glided down to applause at the finish line. It was 12:40 AM and we'd been in motion for 20 hours. Half the field had dropped out, probably because of the heat. We celebrated with grilled cheese and beer provided by Brian's wife, and then I went home to discover that I was eight and a half pounds lighter than I'd been when we left. It took several days to recover, but this ride was the ultimate triumph.
So on June 1, just before 5 AM, my friend Brian and I set out to do our first triple metric, riding ten miles to the start/finish line at Hanscom Air Force Base armed with headlights, reflective gear, multiple GPS devices and extra batteries. Six o'clock was the official start, and we headed to Harvard and from there to a place called Tweedo's in Ashburnham, where we were met by my dad, Al. I'm not particularly interested in being a brevet rider--I'd just wanted to do a triple metric--so Al was riding support, carrying food, Gatorade, extra tubes and wheels and even an extra bike. We needed him just short of the halfway point in Northfield, MA, when my Garmin told us to take a wrong turn and we wound up on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in Orange, with a flat tire and two torn spare tubes. I figured that would set us way behind the other riders, but when we got to the barbecue joint in Northfield they were all there, happily consuming piles of pulled pork.
But it was really hot--that was the problem. Ninety-six degrees with intense sun. I felt just fine in Northfield, but then the wheels started to come off the wagon. The next 20 miles comprised what was supposed to be the "recovery" leg--short and flat and hopefully an opportunity to pick up some speed as we weren't thrilled with our 14.6 MPH average. Instead, we climbed 1000 feet, mostly on shadeless main roads in a headwind during the hottest part of the day. Shortly after the pit stop in Sunderland, MA, I began to flag, and by the tenth mile of that next leg it was obvious that I was hitting the wall. I was tired. I was nauseous. My speed dropped to a 12 MPH average and the distance to the next pit seemed to stretch out before me. An impromptu stop for ginger ale helped only very marginally. I began to doubt my ability to finish.
By the time we rolled into Petersham, MA around 7:30, at mile 146, I was beyond exhausted, and lay in the grass staring up at the sky while other riders milled around and chatted. I wanted to get in the car. I was dehydrated and had wracked up a huge calorie deficit, but could not imagine eating or drinking. Bobby Mac, who runs my group ride, texted and said it wasn't worth it and I should get in the car. My friend Kate texted and said she knew I could do it and I should get back on the bike. Another rider from my group, Tsun, said the worst of the climbing was behind us and the rest of the route was "not bad." I drank Pepto Bismol that Al had in his car and ate half a slice of bread. Then, somehow, I got back on the bike.
What followed was not pretty. The sun was setting and I could not hold a line, instead swerving all over the road. I'd try to focus on one object only to see four of them rotating in front of me. My lips were numb and I had a hard time forming words. Further, Tsun had lied, and this leg had just about the worst climbs of the entire ride. We were headed to Sterling Center, 26 miles away, and I kept telling myself that all I had to do was get there. Anyone can do 26 miles. But in the back of my head I knew that would not be the end. Who drops out of a 200-mile ride with 30 miles to go? Who does that?
10:00 found me slumped in the doorway of a convenience store in Sterling, sipping a bottle of plain water, actually shaking with cold despite the 85-degree heat. Brian chatted with Al, but I could feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I forced down a packet of gu and fought the urge to get in the car and turn the heat on high. Then, somehow, I was on my feat and headed toward the bike. I heard Brian tell Al, "OK, we'll see you at Hanscom." And I realized suddenly that we actually were going to Hanscom, that we were going home, that we were going to finish the ride. The decision had been made.
And once I grasped that, once I really wrapped my head around it, I was FINE. Energy returned and we got our speed up over fifteen. My appetite also came back and I ate the rest of my food as we rode. We skimmed through Harvard in the pitch dark and onto roads I knew. Brian's Garmin died and I navigated. My headlight died and I rode alongside Brian to take advantage of his. I felt like a force field was actually pulling us in. Side by side, we zoomed up the final hill and then glided down to applause at the finish line. It was 12:40 AM and we'd been in motion for 20 hours. Half the field had dropped out, probably because of the heat. We celebrated with grilled cheese and beer provided by Brian's wife, and then I went home to discover that I was eight and a half pounds lighter than I'd been when we left. It took several days to recover, but this ride was the ultimate triumph.
Monday, September 17, 2012
The Harbor to the Bay Ride
This is how your charity ride starts: you wake up at 4:11 in the morning. Your alarm is set for 4:30, but your cat has decided that 4:11 is a more suitable time, and honestly, you're excited and don't need much persuasion. After a flurry of last-minute text messages, your friends arrive a little after 5, and by 5:40 you're signing in in the dark outside Trinity Church at Copley Plaza. You eat breakfast (oatmeal--it'll digest easily); put on socks, bike shoes, hat, gloves, helmet; affix your rider number (282) to your jersey, your bike, and the backpack containing a change of clothes that will go on the luggage truck. You half-listen to the opening speeches; you try to be respectful but it's Time to Go.
I thought I could do well on this ride. I'm in peak shape, had rested for the two days previous, and having learned important lessons over the summer about not dieting the night before a major event, I had consumed a huge plate of Pad Thai before going to bed early. I was close to my fundraising goal and excited about that. And when they finally sent us off I felt strong and solid, like I could ride for days.
I rode with Jerry, a guy from my team who proudly wore his Positive Pedalers bike jersey on this AIDS benefit ride. He and I were reasonably well matched and drifted in and out of other groups. Charity rides are not really about speed, except that sometimes they sort of are, and I was pleased to be in a large group of guys and going fast. The idea when you're riding is to stay out of the wind as much as possible by keeping other people in front of you. In a group like the one I had, it often doesn't make much sense for me to "pull" (or take the lead) because I can't go as fast as a guy in good shape and because I'm short enough that they can't really get a good draft off of me anyway. So for the first thirty miles I got sucked along, averaging between 18 and 19, before we stopped at Pit Two and I got my picture taken with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence:
Then my heros started to drop off. They got tired. I did not. Jerry and I took turns on the front until we got to the "lunch stop" (at 10 in the morning) at Mile 60--the Sagamore Bridge--averaging 18.3. There I rested:
After lunch we walked across the bridge to begin the second half of our ride:
This is where the fun began in earnest, as we began to pick off other riders--slower folks, who were just doing 60 miles and had started at the bridge, and others who had started with us but were now starting to feel the distance. We passed everyone we saw. No one passed us. I felt like a rock star.
Our next stop was the Mile 90 pit. One of my favorite things about his ride is the pit stops. On most rides, the organizers take direct responsibility for staffing the pits and providing supplies. On Harbor to the Bay, though, each pit is sponsored by a different AIDS-related organization, and they're encouraged to personalize. The Mile 90 Pit is one of my favorite places out of all the rides I do. It's run by the Seacoast Gay Men, and they have managed to encapsulate every positive gay-male stereotype into a single pit stop. They all wear grass skirts and hand out leis. Sometimes, though not this year, they play show tunes. They offer a wide range of baked goods--regular and gluten-free--along with fresh fruit, and the drag queens who come out to support the ride congregate there.
I ate two brownies--a volunteer tried to sell me on a hummus wrap but all I wanted was sugar--and hopped back on the bike. We did twelve miles on the Cape Cod Rail Trail and then got onto Route 6.
Things got hillier. And windier. I had taken the lead and, after pulling for a while, pulled to the left and gestured for Jerry to pass me so I could rest behind him for a while. Nothing happened. So I looked back and saw nothing but empty road. At some point I had dropped Jerry and was on my own, riding into a headwind, fifteen miles from the finish.
Undaunted, I pressed on, passing still more riders, climbing a series of wedding-cake-shaped hills in Truro with an energy born of a surfeit of sugar in my system (I'd also been eating Oreos all day). And finally, there it was, up ahead: a crowd of people in orange "pit crew" t-shirts, waving flags and ringing cowbells and cheering. The finish line. Victory! With an average of 17.8 MPH and a ride time of 6 hours and 42 minutes, I was the first woman to cross, and can therefore claim that I WON THE CHARITY RIDE.
This was a fantastic day (we even avoided all the rain) that raised over $450,000 for AIDS foundations (you can still donate; click here) and pushed people to previously unimagined heights. One woman cried as she crossed the finish line. One man crossed, tried to get off his bike, and tipped over sideways. A bunch of volunteers rushed over and I could hear him, sitting on the ground, saying, "I'm just a little tired; that's all. I'm just a little tired."
Some people rested. I got up the next day and rode another 82 miles--still on a high. I'm just a little tired myself. But it was an awesome experience and I feel great.
I thought I could do well on this ride. I'm in peak shape, had rested for the two days previous, and having learned important lessons over the summer about not dieting the night before a major event, I had consumed a huge plate of Pad Thai before going to bed early. I was close to my fundraising goal and excited about that. And when they finally sent us off I felt strong and solid, like I could ride for days.
I rode with Jerry, a guy from my team who proudly wore his Positive Pedalers bike jersey on this AIDS benefit ride. He and I were reasonably well matched and drifted in and out of other groups. Charity rides are not really about speed, except that sometimes they sort of are, and I was pleased to be in a large group of guys and going fast. The idea when you're riding is to stay out of the wind as much as possible by keeping other people in front of you. In a group like the one I had, it often doesn't make much sense for me to "pull" (or take the lead) because I can't go as fast as a guy in good shape and because I'm short enough that they can't really get a good draft off of me anyway. So for the first thirty miles I got sucked along, averaging between 18 and 19, before we stopped at Pit Two and I got my picture taken with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence:
Our next stop was the Mile 90 pit. One of my favorite things about his ride is the pit stops. On most rides, the organizers take direct responsibility for staffing the pits and providing supplies. On Harbor to the Bay, though, each pit is sponsored by a different AIDS-related organization, and they're encouraged to personalize. The Mile 90 Pit is one of my favorite places out of all the rides I do. It's run by the Seacoast Gay Men, and they have managed to encapsulate every positive gay-male stereotype into a single pit stop. They all wear grass skirts and hand out leis. Sometimes, though not this year, they play show tunes. They offer a wide range of baked goods--regular and gluten-free--along with fresh fruit, and the drag queens who come out to support the ride congregate there.
Things got hillier. And windier. I had taken the lead and, after pulling for a while, pulled to the left and gestured for Jerry to pass me so I could rest behind him for a while. Nothing happened. So I looked back and saw nothing but empty road. At some point I had dropped Jerry and was on my own, riding into a headwind, fifteen miles from the finish.
Undaunted, I pressed on, passing still more riders, climbing a series of wedding-cake-shaped hills in Truro with an energy born of a surfeit of sugar in my system (I'd also been eating Oreos all day). And finally, there it was, up ahead: a crowd of people in orange "pit crew" t-shirts, waving flags and ringing cowbells and cheering. The finish line. Victory! With an average of 17.8 MPH and a ride time of 6 hours and 42 minutes, I was the first woman to cross, and can therefore claim that I WON THE CHARITY RIDE.
Some people rested. I got up the next day and rode another 82 miles--still on a high. I'm just a little tired myself. But it was an awesome experience and I feel great.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Upcoming Charity Rides
Click on the links below to learn more or donate. All donations are tax-deductible.
Harbor to the Bay: September 15, 125 miles, fundraising minimum: $1000. Money for this ride goes to support four local AIDS organizations. These groups saw their funding slashed last year--paradoxically, because they were too effective. The federal government decided to shift the funds to states that weren't doing as well. So they need your help more than ever.
H2B is one of my favorite rides; it's the longest one-day route I do (though next year I will try a triple-K) and has the best volunteers, including an all-female biker group called the Moving Violations who ride around on their Harleys, directing traffic and just generally looking menacing.
The Dempsey Challenge: October 14, 100 miles, fundraising minimum: $150. This will be my third year doing Dempsey, which raises millions for the Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Care and Healing in Maine. It takes place over 100 hilly miles starting and ending in Lewiston, involving more climbing than almost any ride I've done (Tahoe was more). It's a great ride that hundreds of spectators come out to support.
Harbor to the Bay: September 15, 125 miles, fundraising minimum: $1000. Money for this ride goes to support four local AIDS organizations. These groups saw their funding slashed last year--paradoxically, because they were too effective. The federal government decided to shift the funds to states that weren't doing as well. So they need your help more than ever.
H2B is one of my favorite rides; it's the longest one-day route I do (though next year I will try a triple-K) and has the best volunteers, including an all-female biker group called the Moving Violations who ride around on their Harleys, directing traffic and just generally looking menacing.
The Dempsey Challenge: October 14, 100 miles, fundraising minimum: $150. This will be my third year doing Dempsey, which raises millions for the Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Care and Healing in Maine. It takes place over 100 hilly miles starting and ending in Lewiston, involving more climbing than almost any ride I've done (Tahoe was more). It's a great ride that hundreds of spectators come out to support.
My 2012 Charity Season
Due to a new job and various other occurrences, I've had a somewhat abbreviated charity season. In June I did the two-day, 183-mile MS ride from Boston to Provincetown. It rained the first day and I forgot my jacket, so I did the first chunk of the ride wearing a giant trash bag. I was proud to have done a sub-six-hour century and to have helped Bike MS raise over $2 million. In July I did Seacoast Safari, to benefit cystic fibrosis research. This was my fourth time doing this ride and I was actually on the planning board this year. Vertex has developed a drug that essentially makes the disease chronic instead of fatal for a small portion of the CF population, and it's exciting to be able to support that kind of progress in some small way. At the end of the July I did the Mass Bike Summer Century--and bonked, hard. But hey, it happens to the best of us.
Friday, November 25, 2011
1000 Miles For Charity
On Thanksgiving Day, November 24, at approximately 2PM, I rode my thousandth mile for charity as part of the Second Annual Bobby Mac Century Charity Ride to benefit the Foundation Fighting Blindness. It was, admittedly, a bit chilly when we started out at 8, and I found myself initially wishing for heavier gloves, my quilted shoe covers, and even my balaclava, which I normally don't break out if it's above 30. But it warmed up nicely and by 10 I was perfectly comfortable if still somewhat in the weeds after not having eaten well all week ("in the weeds" = "sluggish and tired on the charity ride"). I remain eternally thankful for the existence of caffeinated gu. We were following my Garmin, which baffled us by taking us on a route we had never seen before, but we figured the blue line had to lead somewhere, and we made it home after 102 total miles. We raised over $3,000 for the FFB, in honor of our leader Bobby Mac, and charity season ended in a blaze of glory. I wouldn't spend Thanksgiving any other way.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
The Bobby Mac Century Approaches!
Bobby Mac runs my group ride. Every Saturday and Sunday, he's out there doing a 60-mile loop, encouraging--and feeding--new riders, steering us around potholes, instructing us on riding over ice, snow, fallen leaves and wet roads. Dozens if not hundreds of regular riders owe their start to him, myself included. When I began riding with Quad, Bobby encouraged me to challenge myself beyond what I would have thought possible, taught me how to eat and how to sneak up on and then pass other riders, convinced me to race, and introduced me to charity rides.
He does all this despite being legally blind.
Bobby once described macular degeneration for me like this: "Imagine smearing your glasses with Vaseline and then blacking out the centers with magic marker." He rides when it's dark. He rides when it's raining. Sometimes he rides when he can't even see the roads.
To give back, just a little, I am doing THE BOBBY MAC CENTURY CHARITY RIDE on Thanksgiving day, proceeds to benefit the Foundation Fighting Blindness. The FFB contributes to research which will one day lead to a cure for macular degeneration.
Please consider donating! If you click on the link to the right, please indicate that you are donating in honor of Bobby Mac, and notify me at 80 Everett St., Arlington, MA 02474.
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