Where the Rubber Meets the Road

As it turns out, 'round 'bout Independence Day, each and every year, I like to torture myself.  Last year's facebook status was this:

"Shannon K. Harvey Hurliman thinks you shouldn't try to PR a 5K after 9am in the Mile High City on July 3rd.  Trust me, it ends badly."

I remember it well - it was swealtering hot, and I decided I had to go for a run.  It was awful.  But apparently I don't learn lessons easily (some may call it "stubbornness," I call it "persistance").

On a similar note, last year I wrote a (I think) humorous e-mail about my first road-biking expedition ever (it is important to note that this event happened on July 2nd, just one day before the run mentioned above, further evidence my brain dysfunctions in the heat of summertime):

So I went on a 18.5 mile ride. I started out strong, and was really liking the bike ride. It was early, there was hardly any traffic, and I thought, "I'm gonna do alright on this part of the tri!" I strolled up to Monaghan Road and turned south and learned a few things.

In case you're not all up to date on your Irish translations, let me break down "Monaghan Road's" true meaning for you.

"Mon" - the ancient Gaelic term for "flipping hill that never ends." It stems from Jamacian for "that's a long, sloping hill, Mon."

"ag" - now this is interesting, as in pronunciation of the word "Monaghan," the "g" is silent. But it's original meaning cannot be hidden. In it's pure Celtic form, it is "ag" as in GAG, as in "the smell of pig $h!t will make you want to GAG."

"han" - clearly the Anglo-Saxon form of the word "wind." Over time, the use of this word for wind has come to represent wind that will "han"d you your ass.

OMG that was a stretch of road. I just kept thinking....this hill will end eventually, right? I mean, it has to, right? And then when it did, I was pedaling my heart out going DOWNHILL and couldn't get above 10mph because of the wind. And then the pig smell. You'd think, being from Southern Illinois, one would get used to this stench - alas, you do not.

From there I turned back east onto 26th Avenue, a road which CLEARLY hadn't been blacktopped since 1984. Instead, they had chosen to just fill potholes with tar patch, which was awesome when I was going over 20mph down a nice big slope, scared to DEATH because I was bouncing all over the place and trying to steer to avoid cracks and bumps as much as possible. After that downhill was a heinous tar-and-blacktop hill that was tough to steer up - but at least on that hill there was a clear "top."

After that last hill, I got into more civilization, the roads got better, and I ended my ride thinking "wow, I can do alright on this part of the tri!" But I was exhausted. Can't wait to do it again later this week.

So what of this year?  Well, clearly, for me, Independence Day only means that I am "independent" enough to make questionably irresponsible decisions about my physical capabilities.  Today, in an attempt at physical prowess, the Rubber Met the Road, both figuratively and literally.

Let it be known that on July 4th, in the swealtering Denver heat, I decided I would go for my first bike ride of the season at 11am (given that I'm signed up for a triathalon in a month, I thought I should finally get the bike down from the rafters).  I also decided that, for my first go of 2011, I'd go ahead and ride 20 miles (Let Freedom Ring, y'all).

The evolution of facebook status updates in my head went something like this:

After the first 7 miles, "Shannon K. Harvey Hurliman got out the bike today, and it was...well...just like riding a bike!" 

At mile 11, "Shannon K. Harvey Hurliman got out the bike today, and thinks that the saying 'just like riding a bike' needs to be reconsidered."

At mile 14.6, "Shannon K. Harvey Hurliman was *obviously* unaware of how unprepared my hips, butt, lumbar, @$$, spine, toosh, shoulders, bootie, neck, bum, arms, gluteus, quads, and behind were for this inagural bike ride.  Did I mention my butt hurts?"

At that point, I literally had to dismount.  I was about 7 miles northeast of my house, approaching high-noon, and I thought I might have to call John to pick me up.  But then I considered that he was probably playing with the girls outside in the pool and it would be a ginormo pain in the butt (pun intended) for him to do so.  So I walked, stretched, and drank some water, got back on that bike, and pedaled home.  (The break actually helped alot and I was pretty good until about 10 blocks from home.  Then, instead of dying, I just pedaled my little heart out until I hit our cul-de-sac).

I'm sure that by now the Janti are reading this, cringing that they are friends with such a novice biker (Jess just did a Century ride - 100 miles - for Team Young Life in Evergreen; Jeff bikes all the time and recently rode from my house to Golden, making it a 50 mile loop, "just for fun").  Another possibility is they're so ashamed they've stopped reading altogether and may unfriend me on facebook.  Either way, they should know that I learned a something today, wisdom I know they tried to impart over my last year of novice biking, but I was too stubborn to heed:  I do, indeed, need one bottle of water for every 10 miles biked.

However awful I felt mid-ride, the day wasn't a total bust.  I did finish 12 miles in 36 minutes, which is probably 6-8 minutes faster than my previous triathalon outings.  Good.  And overall, I finished 20+ miles in just over an hour; last year, it regularly took me about 1:10 to finish 18.  So, I'd say I did alright, even if I did use my independent-decision-making capabilities to make stupid decisions about the timing and duration of my workout activities.

Just goes to show you that you can buy all the spandex you want, but that still doesn't make you a good biker.  Next purchase is bike SHOES, which will probably produce nothing more than large areas of roadrash on my otherwise flawless skin.

Now before you get all upset, I know I promised lots of pictures of the girls swimming and having fun as my next blog post.  Well....I lied.  But I am working on them.  Soon enough, Splish, Splash and Camp Hurliyard will be up for your viewing pleasure.  Promise.  (I think).