The Importance of Kindness

Today brings two seemingly unrelated items:

• I am blessed to live with one of the kindest humans out there.
• Our plumber died suddenly last night.

Paula is now the facilities manager of the house and in her duties as such, she ran across Chuck, who was a friend of the random landscaper that she had found.

Serendipity being what it is, Chuck came along just as we were discovering major plumbing issues. Between clearing stubborn sewer clogs, replacing cracked sewer pipes, installing toilets, and other miscellaneous whatnot, he has saved us thousands of dollars. He was temporarily unemployed (he'd worked for some major industrial company, like a shipbuilder or something, I don't even know), so we came along at the perfect time for him as well.

I never met Chuck, but he and Paula spent several long days working together at the house. Apparently they bonded more than either of us had considered.

This morning, Paula received a text at 6:20am or so. When she loudly exclaimed, "Oh NO!", I knew it wasn't good. It was Chuck's wife, informing her that Chuck had suddenly passed away at 2:50am this morning. She told Paula that she (Paula) had made his week last week, and that he was very fond of her. He had been working with his son on some jobs, and she told Paula that the son would finish whatever Chuck had started. She also said that there would be no funeral, as that was not Chuck's style, but there would be instead a BBQ to celebrate his life, and that she would let Paula know the details.

I am struck by the power of a seemingly unimportant connection. While I was thrilled to have a good (and affordable) plumber to call, I never met him, so I never made a human connection with him. Paula, being Paula, immediately befriended him somehow, and the two developed a bond that meant more than probably either of them realized. He obviously sang her praises to his wife; she spoke very highly of him to me. I am pleased and touched that Paula can be a source of comfort to a total stranger: Chuck's wife felt compelled to reach out to Paula and wants to meet her, at what has got to be one of the worst times of the woman's life.

I have two takeaways from this:

• Never underestimate the power of humanity.
• Don't be an asshole and squander a potential opportunity to add a bright spot to the world.

Peace.

Half #75: 3M Austin Half Marathon

There's a reason this one is called "Down hill to downtown" – the overall elevation gain is negative. Oh sure, there's some slight inclines, but nothing that qualifies as a hill. The declines are equally mild, but pleasantly noticeable. It's a good race if you want to set a PR.

I had no such ambitions; I just wanted to see how it felt to do 13 miles on a couple of months of decent training. I haven’t been remotely prepared for an event since the end of 2014, and was anticipating a pleasantly suck-free race. Even though I did a number of events in 2015 (a marathon, six half-marathons, and a few shorter runs), I was woefully under-prepared for almost all of them. It was time to actually enjoy one, start to finish. It was encouraging that the 12K's of Christmas run in December had gone very well, even though I was wearing a "borrowed" pair of test shoes. (FYI, Brooks Ghost running shoes feel great!) I was in town to visit my elderly mother and other family, so a Sunday morning run fit in nicely.

Typical of January in Austin, the weather was great. 30-something to start, warming to low-50s by the time I finished. Perfect running weather! There was no strategy for this one. I have misplaced my Garmin, and in my morning grogginess, forgot to even put on the FitBit. I was taking a risk by wearing my Newtons, which I had only run in a couple of times in the past year. As I was crawling into bed the night before, too tired to go out again, I realized I had forgotten to buy any food for a pre-race breakfast. Dammit. Scrounged around and found a protein bar in my luggage, so that was breakfast. My training runs had only been 3-5 miles, so I didn’t know how I would feel after that. Just gonna take it as it comes, since I was already half-assing it anyway.

I enjoyed eavesdropping and watching the sun rise while we all waited to start at 7am. A chilly breeze was threatening to kick up and become uncomfortable, but thankfully it never took hold. I put myself in the back of the 2:20 group, and tried to wake up. At some point I realized I had checked my sunglasses with my jacket. Sigh. The half-assery continues. At least I had remembered to put on pants.

Finally we were on our way. And it felt great. I was passing a lot of folks, but figured that would come to an end before too long -- it always does. But it felt good to start that way, especially when the vast majority of people that I passed were obviously at least twenty years younger than me!

Passed the 5K mat and course clock, and was pleased. Since I was gadget-free (due to my own incompetence), and there were almost no course clocks, I had no idea how I was actually doing, only that it felt good and I was still passing people. 5K in 31:something... I'd overheard someone earlier comment that it took six minutes to get to the start line, so I was doing pretty close to 10-minute miles. My treadmill runs had been considerably slower, so I was pleased with that pace.

The race is point-to-point, beginning up in Northwest Austin and finishing just shy of the Capitol building. The course isn't particularly scenic, but it's pleasant enough and well-supported. The neighborhoods are fun, with locals offering up anything from bowls of Gummi bears to small cups of Shiner Bock. I gave the Shiner some thought, but decided against it. That was around mile 6 or so, and I just wasn’t awake enough to find it appealing. Guys, can you move the beer down to mile 11?

Hit the 10K mat at an hour and a handful of minutes, deducting six, hmmm, pretty close to an hour (1:01:31). Maintaining the pace, great! Not long after that I caught and passed the 2:15 pace group. Can I possibly catch the 2:10 group? Not likely. Took a gel around mile 8, and choked that down. It was stiff, like it had been out in the 30-degree weather all night, so was the consistency of thick paste. Eating it, I was a squirrel with peanut butter and it took a few tries. But it's calories.

The clock at 9 miles was under 1:30. Seriously? How is that happening? Well, I guess I AM still passing people...consistently. Is it possible that I will PR today? Not gonna kill myself trying, but will push a little harder than I had planned and see what happens. Was noticeably tired by now, but still felt good, didn't hurt anywhere, and was still passing people. Why not? By mile 11 I did have to start taking walking breaks (until then I had only walked at aid stations), and was very very tired for mile 13. Tried not to walk, but was just running out of gas. Was still passing people when I did run, but needed those breaks.

Wonder how I'm doing for time? Never did catch the 2:10 group, but...

Rounded the last corner, and saw the finish clock getting close to 2:15…which meant I MIGHT break 2:10. Awesome! Forced myself to trot it in, and finished with a very respectable time of 2:09:35. Just under 10-minute miles. How did that happen? Couldn’t remember exactly what my PR was, but knew I was close. Didn’t beat it, but was close. Hey, I'll take it! Not a bad result for a no-expectation day!

Collected the medal (which is pretty cool), obligatory banana, water, etc., and found Shirley. Wandered into the nearby Starbucks with all the other finishers and relaxed a bit. Spent the rest of the afternoon yelling at my mother (she’s deaf as a post sometimes), then caught my flight back to Seattle.

The next day, I verified that my current PR is 2:07:56, so I missed it by a minute and a half. Not too shabby. This was half-marathon #75, but only my third under 2:10.

Overall: Course is easy and pleasant enough. Event is very well-managed, with about 6500 runners. Swag is interesting: an eclectic assortment of 3M products. Plenty of water stops, Nuun for electrolytes (not any nastier than other drinks of that ilk), gels around mile 8. Where there are spectators, they're laid-back and fun. The finish is very nice, in front of the Museum of Texas History with the Capitol as a backdrop. I didn't take the shuttle back to the start, but it looked like there were plenty of buses, and I didn't notice any long lines waiting for them. If you happen to be in town, do it!

2015: Moving On

I've been intending to write a retrospective on 2015 for some time, but have struggled to work up any enthusiasm about it. Why? Though off to a rough start, it was far from a crappy year. Overall, it was reasonably balanced between good and bad, and had many lessons to offer. My soulmate and I had finally accomplished our long-term dream of moving to the Seattle area: I should be ecstatic, right? There was much good about last year. So why my reticence to reflect, and great happiness to see the departure of 2015?

I think it starts with trying to define things as either "good" or "bad". The "good" things can be incredibly stressful, and the "bad" can be incredibly bittersweet. When either is a significant life event, it's often so stressful that it's hard to sort out exactly how to feel. I spent most of 2015 puzzling on this, and have concluded that the only possible way to feel is...alive. I feel like I have emerged from a not-unpleasant cave of emotions and turmoil and aimlessness. And while it wasn't totally unpleasant, it wasn't in the least bit gratifying or life-inspiring. It just was part of the typical set of a first-world 50-something life's challenges.

I've been extraordinarily lucky for many, many years. For most of my life, actually. For the most part, gain has outweighed loss. I've been able to merrily go along my way, not sweating the losses because there simply wasn't that much to deal with. Oh sure, the typical nonsense, like failed relationships, lousy jobs, fender-benders, other whatnot, as well as the more important losses that come with living on this planet. Losing dear friends over the years has been hard, but acknowledged as a price to pay for living long enough, and is the only truly crappy thing about getting older.

So what was different about 2015?

Ya know that popular "top ten" list of life's stressors? Those major life events that most of us experience at one time or another? Yeah, that one. Some items on that list are harder than others but, one at a time, can be managed. Not so easy when you blow through half the list in a six-month period – even if they are the least stressful items on the list.

• Unemployment? Check.
• Major move across the country (and lose social network)? Check.
• Death of a loved pet? Check.
• Death of a revered parent? Check.
• New job? Check.
• Run through the wringer by a mortgage company? Check.
• Moving into new (purchased) home? Check.

Whew. Not all bad, not all good. All very stressful. And yes, all first-world problems. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

I wish I could say I handled it all well, and didn't let it throw me into a not-so-great place, but that would be lying. I lived in a weird place of bittersweet: sad but grateful to have experienced such an amazing father; torn between throwing a pity party and realizing how ridiculously lucky I am for so many things; thrilled to be living in the Pacific Northwest but not feeling at home; excited about meeting new people while being socially isolated; equally excited about running and biking in this beautiful place yet not motivated to train.

That bittersweet place enveloped me like a fog. The emotions were a thick, viscous mess that swirled unpredictably (Is this what depression feels like? PMS on steroids?), and sadness (but not pessimism) permeated everything. I knew my father wasn't going to live forever, but had a minimal support system in which to grieve: no routines, no social outlets where I could just forget about it for a while, no distracting job. My Seattle family was wonderful, but what I was feeling was too much to dump on anybody. Paula was extremely patient with me, and we churned through it.

After completely blowing an interview for a job that was mine for the taking (because I'd had a meltdown that morning and was too foolish to reschedule), I decided enough was enough. Time to wrap up the grieving and move into a more positive place: that's what my father would have wanted. Time to apply the weird-ass energy generated by the maelstrom of mixed emotions towards something more productive. Signing up for some runs or triathlons would have been perfect, but I had no income (yet) and those things aren't cheap. Aaargh. What to do?

Well let's think about this. Living in the present is free. Enjoying the company of my mate is free (or close to it, depending what we decide to do with ourselves). Enjoying the year-round green and the glorious sunsets literally steps from my door is free. Getting outside is free. Being optimistic about finding a job is free.

And I got a job! After a 20-minute phone conversation, no less. Funny how that positive thinking stuff works, huh? Still wasn't doing so great about exercising and eating properly (and feeling it – bleah), but hey, at least I could afford to do some things that were good for the soul. Did some races, enjoyed being active around other people, fantasized about getting my running mojo back.

Fast-forward to the Labor Day half-marathon. Ooooh my running shorts are WAY too tight – they've never been this tight. And my thighs are rubbing together. What the hell? And this flat low-key half-marathon is KILLING me. The photos are dreadful. I look like I'm wishing for a technical issue, perhaps a shoe blowout or massive bout of diarrhea, so I can quit. OK that's it. No more.

Found a great CrossFit gym (where they are all about finding workarounds and aren't a bunch of meatheads), bought a good rowing machine and used it, and started forcing myself to do short, pathetic walks/trots/jogs several times a week, hating every minute and loathing my pathetic-ness. After a couple of months, CrossFit got easier and a lot less exhausting. Rowing became less torturous. Running still sucked, but hey, one thing at a time.

Finally, sometime in December, I ran 5 miles, and IT DIDN'T SUCK. OMG. It actually felt good. How is that possible? Thank gawd. I was beginning to worry how much longer it was going to take to find that errant mojo. I'm still not getting on the bike trainer, but it's set up and ready to go. That'll happen...not sure when, but soon. CrossFit is now my run warmup: go to CrossFit, then go run a minimum of three miles. When not preceded by CrossFit, run at least five miles. And while I'm still not at pre-2015 running pace, I'm getting closer all the time. The heart rate isn't maxing out anymore. It. Feels. Good.

So. I head into 2016 in a much more positive space, even though some things are still seriously lacking. I still need to make friends here (but I now have a plan), I still need to get my butt back on the bike saddle, still need to do more exploring of trails, still need to improve the eating habits (sigh), but...it'll happen. Meanwhile, I'm still absorbing the many more lessons of the past year, from a much healthier place.

It's all good. 2015, you can suck it. 2016, let's go kick some ass.

In Memoriam: Austin Marathon 2015

I had absolutely no expectation of running a marathon any time in the first few months of 2015. The year had already been quite busy. The first two weeks of January were consumed with packing for a long-distance move. The rest of the month was filled with driving from Indianapolis to Seattle and unpacking, along with searching for a job. In addition, my eldest kitty finally reached the end of his year-long decline, and we had to say goodbye January 31.

The first weekend in February I decided it was time to get down to Texas to visit my parents. I hadn’t been since Thanksgiving, and I knew my ailing father (congestive heart failure and COPD) had been struggling more than usual lately. He was getting ever nearer the end, but he had already held on far, far more longer than any doctor would have dared dream, so I was feeling only a little more anxious than usual. The plan was to fly down there mid-week, depending on availability of seats. My dear brother, who has been looking out for both parents for years, sent some concerning texts early in the week, so Wednesday afternoon I went ahead and purchased a ticket to Austin. By this time, I knew my Pop was likely having his last ride on the downward side of the roller-coaster he’d been on for so long, but still didn’t expect to lose him for another few days. I landed in San Jose early Thursday morning to find a text from my brother.

Ugh. Now it’s a race to say goodbye. Dammit. Of course the flight was 20 minutes late and we had a never-happens Easterly headwind, so I just had to cross my fingers that I wouldn’t miss him. Thankfully, Pop was still alive, and was keeping his promise to hold on until I got there.

He was clearly miserable, laying in his recliner, covered in blankets just trying to be as comfortable as possible. By now he was too weak to speak with any voice, but he was completely present and aware of his surroundings. He was able to rouse and open his eyes, and we said our goodbyes. He told me he was proud of me, and said “I love you” many times, to everyone. His mind was there until the end.

He gave up the fight and died at around 6:30pm Thursday. He had defied the odds for many, many years and had far surpassed many doctors’ expectations. His will to live was extraordinary, and we had benefited from that will for a very long time. He never stopped smiling and finding joy in being alive, no matter the circumstance.

So how does this relate to the marathon? Well, Friday I decided to do the marathon, after the following conversation with my brother.

Me: I don’t know which to do, the full or the half.
Bro: Are you trained for a marathon?
Me: [Laughing] Oh heck no!
Bro: But you can do a half, easy, right? Isn’t that like a long training run?
Me: Yeah...I can get through a half without too much trouble.
Bro: Well, a full would probably be really good at burning off stress. Would give you more time.
Me: Oh what the hell. Gonna hurt anyway.

I had packed a minimal set of running clothes, in the hopes of getting a training run in, but no fuel belts or gels or any other typical racing items. The route is laid out such that if, by mile 12, I was severely hurting and needed to bail, I could simply turn off and finish the half. Given that my “training” had essentially consisted of 4-5 30-minute or so trots around Seattle and zero bike training for two months, my expectations were quite low. I just wanted to finish. My father had always enjoyed my spontaneous (lack of planning) nature, and got a kick out of the fact that his baby girl does endurance events, so he would have loved it that I just decided to do this race to remember him and try to burn off some grief.

Somehow I survived, resisted the urge to turn right at mile 12, and trotted to the finish line. My slowest marathon ever, but I finished. I had five hours and 44 minutes to reflect on how lucky I was to enjoy my father’s presence for 53 years. The day was pleasant, I was surrounded by several thousand people who each had their own story, and it was easy to enjoy being alive.

This one was for you, Pop. I love you.

Sorry For Your Loss

"I'm sorry for your loss." These words seem so trite when they don’t apply to you. I’ve heard these words many times, as I’m a huge fan of TV programs whose characters often utter these words. (You know the ones: CSI, Law & Order, etc.) As a viewer, I’ve felt that these words sound so contrived and empty, and have wondered if it was better to say nothing at all.

I've concluded that it isn't.

My sweet and cherished father passed away two weeks ago, and many people have said, "I'm sorry for your loss." And it has mattered. It helps. It doesn't matter if I'm close to the person uttering those words, or if they're a new acquaintance, or if they even knew my father. It helps.

This seemingly trite phrase conveys far more than the simple words. It conveys a visceral understanding of something that happens to all of us: we all lose people we love. It’s unavoidable, yet we rarely speak of it. We don't talk about grief, or sadness, or how we suddenly deeply miss the person at the most inopportune times. We don’t talk about how surreal it feels, how hard it is to truly believe that we will never see or speak with the person again, how blindingly final the death is.

Yet it's a universal experience. None of this is unusual or special. It just is. And everyone who lives long enough shares the pain. "I'm sorry for your loss" is an acknowledgment that the pain goes to your core and there's not a damned thing you can do about it besides outlast it. It's an acknowledgment that this is a shared experience that ranks at the bottom of human existence. And it's a reminder that we all suffer together, in different ways and at different times, and that we all empathize and care for each other.

Saying nothing is denial of reality.

So. Please. When we know there's nothing we can do to help, say "I'm sorry for your loss." In its own small, but significant way, it helps.

Group hugs, on the other hand...um, no!

Serendipity Epitomized: Bourbon Chase 2014

I'm not normally calendar-impaired, but occasionally it happens. I've spent much of my life "winging it", and this past weekend was a marvel of serendipity and the value of human connections. I don't recommend winging everything, and it's definitely a personality preference, but sometimes it's fun to just refuse to worry about ANYTHING and trust that things will work out. And if they don't...deal with it. At least there'll be no "what if" going on.

Due to my inability to read a calendar, about a week and a half out I realized that I was indeed free and available to do the Bourbon Chase. For those that haven't had to suffer through my gushing about this event, it is a 200-mile relay that stops at every distillery on the Bourbon Trail in Kentucky (there are many more that are not part of the official trail). It starts at Jim Beam, near Louisville, and finishes in downtown Lexington approximately 30 hours later. I've done this event three times, and I wasn't doing well with the idea of missing out this year for no good reason. This just wouldn't do.

Thankfully the Bourbon Chase people have a very efficient online bulletin board, where teams and runners can find each other. Sunday, five days before the race, I went online and found a team that sounded like a good candidate: happy with a slower runner (10:00 pace), all female (a first for me), a great team name (the Bourbonettes), and focused on enjoying the experience. By Sunday night, I was speaking with the team captain, Liz. While some members knew each other, most did not. This will be fun!

For those who have never done a relay, the logistics can get confusing. The Chase is 200 miles, and makes stops at Woodford Reserve, Wild Turkey, Heaven Hills, Four Roses, and Maker's Mark. It also passes through several quaint small towns along the way, and is a great way to see a lot of the Kentucky bourbon and horse country. This year there were 400 teams, and most teams had 12 runners. Like most teams, we had two vans with six runners each, and each runner had to run three legs, for a grand total of 36 segments. At the end of each leg, a wristband with a chip in it was handed off to the next runner. The average total mileage for each runner was 13-18 miles, with some legs longer (and harder) than others. I was runner #11, so was in Van 2. Three of us were Chase veterans; three were not.

Since Van 2 didn't have to be anywhere until after noon, I drove down to Louisville early Friday morning. One of the runners lived in Louisville, and could recommend a very safe place to leave my car: the parking lot across from a police station in an historic and relatively quiet part of town. Perfect! However, she was in Van 1 and had to leave Louisville before 6am, so I still had to hook up with my people somehow. Another runner flew in from Pennsylvania Thursday night and would be picking up our rental van Friday morning, then heading over to Lexington to pick up everyone else. She swung by to fetch me, and we rode together. Yet another runner lived in Lexington, where we picked up the rest of our crew. Time to head to Maker's Mark, get checked in, explore the distillery, and wait for runner #6 to arrive.

The team's first runner left Jim Beam at 9:45am Friday morning. Sometime after 2:30pm runner #6 arrived, handed off the wristband, and Van 2 was on our way. We cheered our incoming and outgoing runners, hopped into the van, and headed for the next exchange point. Now we would REALLY start getting to know each other, find out how accurate our pace estimates were (and how dependable we were as runners), and how well everyone did with lack of sleep.

Thankfully, we had a drama-free group. Everyone was there to do their part, have a good time, and make the most of the experience as a team. We breezed through our first six legs, with everyone having a good run. All of us either ran at pace or faster, and between the two vans we built a 35-minute lead on our estimated time. The predicted severe weather held off, and all we got was a few hours of rain. The runners in Van 1 had to deal with the worst of the rain, but everyone was happy it wasn't miserably cold and lightning. We handed off the wristband around 8pm, and went off in search of food and sleep.

Danville, KY is home to two major runner exchanges, and they have embraced the invasion of white vans and tired/hungry runners. The Hub coffee shop stays open overnight, and not only sells wonderful coffee, but very good sandwiches. It stays swamped with business all night long. This was the earliest I've ever been there -- years past it's been well after midnight. We got fed, and I ordered an extra sandwich for later. The local high school was renting out floor space in their gym for $5/head, so we went over there to attempt to sleep for a few hours. They had wrestling mats out, so we joined the other folks in their sleeping bags and laid down to rest.

We heard the heavy rain on the roof around midnight, when we needed to be getting up and ready to go. Oh joy. This could be a messy night. I don't think any of us slept, but we had all dozed some and enjoyed laying down and spreading out for a bit. Our lovely hosts had coffee and snacks, so we loaded up and headed out to the next exchange...and were thrilled that the rain had stopped. A quick check of the radar showed that the bad weather was done for the duration. We would be dry from now on, and the temp was going to stay perfect for running, in the 50's. Hooray! Life is good.

Somewhere in the night we ended up parking right behind some friends of mine from Indianapolis. I had no idea where they were, and they saw me first. Turned out they had grossly over-estimated how long it would take them, and they were going too fast. The race directors were holding them back for two hours before letting them run again, so they were cooling their heels. (Race organizers want all the teams to finish within a certain window Saturday afternoon/evening, and they plan aid station hours accordingly.) It was a remarkable coincidence to see them at all. They were staying positive, but were bummed about having to kill so much time.

Side note: Each year the race has a theme: this year it was disco. Some teams went all-out decorating their vans. We saw this team's vans throughout the race, and laughed every time. They had lights mounted to illuminate the disco balls, and one was playing disco music through a loudspeaker all night long. Very impressive.

Now we were running on narrow country roads with no lights whatsoever, aside from whatever light we were carrying and the occasional headlights of vans moving on to the next exchange. It was wonderful. This is truly horse country, and most of these roads aren't much more than a car-width wide. They wind around and through and up and down hills throughout farmland, and the area (in the daylight) is quite beautiful. Running at night in such a quiet, dark area is a very peaceful experience. You occasionally see the tail-light of another runner up ahead, or the headlamp of one catching up and passing, and that's it. Not even shadows, it's so dark. I finally had to hold my headlamp in my hand to better see the road ahead, and loved it. I knew I was almost there when I saw Four Roses illuminated up ahead on a hill. Handed off the wristband and helped myself to a bourbon ball (chocolate with bourbon inside). My first leg had been a 10k, this one was 5.3 miles, and it felt quite good. All of us had a good run, and handed off the wristband to Van 1 at Wild Turkey around 6am or so.

A couple of us passed out in our sleeping bags in the van and slept through Wild Turkey. Before I knew it, we were parked at a Cracker Barrel that was close to the next exchange. Even though I had inhaled my second sandwich at some point in the night, I figured it'd be a good idea to eat again. We had some breakfast, I ran into my Indy friends again on my way out of the restaurant, exchanged hugs, and went back out to the van to sleep some more. I've never gotten so much sleep at this event, and it was quite nice!

Our last set of legs began around 11am or so, and by now everyone was feeling the lack of sleep. Even though we all had good runs, they were far more painful than the previous legs. Finally I handed off the wristband to our last and final runner, and we headed to the finish line to run in the last hundred feet with her. The finish is in downtown Lexington, and the streets are closed for a giant outdoor party. Another team member lived about two blocks away, so we parked the van there and walked over. Before long our finishing runner rounded the bend, and the team followed her across the finish line. Go Bourbonettes! We finished just under 30 hours, in 29:49:06. That was good enough for 5th out of 16 Female Open teams, not bad for a group that wasn't even really competing! Now it was time to have some bourbon.

We were issued wristbands with four tabs to redeem for samples, and ushered into a giant tent. Tables lined the perimeter, and all of the participating distillers were handing out samples. I ran into my Indianapolis friends again, who offered a place to stay in Frankfort, about 30 minutes away. I really wanted to drink without worrying about driving, so I declined. The van was only two blocks away, I knew from experience that the bench seats were pretty comfortable, and I had my sleeping bag, so that was always an option. My teammates couldn't offer any space, but it wasn't too cold and I just didn't care where I slept. I wanted bourbon samples and food.

A little later, still in the very crowded bourbon tent, I looked up and saw two people from last year's team. I didn't even know they were running this year! They're both from Chicago, and had just done the race with only eight people, due to dropouts and injuries. Yikes. That's a lot of hard running. They had a room at the Hilton across the street, and had plumbing and a floor to offer. Sold! We enjoyed some more bourbon, then I headed to the room for a shower (which was a little slice of heaven). I went back out for dinner and another bourbon sample (friends gave me their unused tabs), then gave up and called it a night. My roommates were out until later, but I was too sound asleep to notice when they came back. Slept ten hours on the floor and made up for the previous two days' lack of rest. Thank you Brian and Jessica!

Sunday morning, I met the driver of the other van and we got on our way. I drove our van back to Louisville, got a ride to my car, then went to see a friend who lives about 30 minutes away in southern Indiana. We had a good visit, she fed me a wonderful pot-roast meal, and I headed home to my bed and two happy cats. Of course, once I got into my bed, I couldn't sleep. Go figure. Kill Bill 2 is always entertaining.

I'm not known for obsessing over details, but this was probably one of the most half-assed things I've done in a long time. I didn't plan anything beyond the bare minimum needed for the immediate future, and it somehow seemed to work. Solutions kept dropping into my lap, at the right time. Let's hear it for serendipity!

How to Go Broke on a $25 Bike Ride: Wabash River Ride

So I think I'm being all smart and clever when I sign up for a $25 bike ride. I needed to get a last long training ride in, and I really don’t like riding long distances alone, on an unsupported route. I'm old enough to be paranoid about getting hit by a car out in the middle of nowhere, and lying for who knows how long in a ditch next to some cornfield before any help arrives. For this reason, recreational supported bike rides are very appealing. They aren’t races so you go at your own pace, there’re food and drink stops on the course (so you don’t have to drag along food and worry about having enough fuel to finish), they’re conducive to riding with friends, and the best part: there are usually plenty of SAG vehicles roaming the course, looking to help anyone who might be in trouble. The feeling of security is complete.

A friend, Lisa, told me about this one, put on by a cycle club in a city about 50 minutes from home. She also needed to get a last 100-mile ride in. Neither of us was interested in trying to go fast; we just wanted to cover the distance and spend the time in the saddle. We both wanted a riding companion and they were only charging $25, so this was perfect. Let’s do it!

We were a little later getting going than we had hoped, but finally got on our way and had a very enjoyable morning. A third companion, Mary, rode with us for the first part of the day, then went her own way after about 35 miles. We took our time, pushed each other just enough to do some work, and took advantage of all the food/drink stations. The day passed uneventfully, and the tedium of almost 8 hours of riding was greatly relieved by the company. The ride was on Indiana country roads with little automobile traffic, so we could ride long stretches side-by-side and chat, a welcome break from most long-distance riding.

All was well until mile 97.5. We had been coming down a nice long descent for the last couple of miles, and it had just started to flatten out a little. Both of us were very ready to be done and back at the car. Lisa was perhaps 20 yards ahead of me, and no one else was within sight (riders were spread out by this point). We were just starting to pedal again, after enjoying the restful coast down the hill.

By the time I saw it, it was too late. Lisa had seen it, but hadn’t had enough reaction time to warn me about it. She passed closely, but avoided it.

A giant, rusted bolt lying directly in our path.

By the time I saw it, I had enough time to stop pedaling and start feathering my brakes, while running directly over it. It was perpendicular to my front wheel, so I was hopeful that I’d just roll over it, or worst-case scenario, get a flat. When I heard the explosive blow-out, I wasn’t surprised. “Oh great, a flat, but at least I’m almost home. No worries.” But it did feel strange, and I immediately unclipped one foot and started getting the other unclipped, while continuing to brake. The last time something like this happened (June 2013), I had a heck of a time staying upright, so was prepared to have to struggle again.

Surprisingly, there was no swerving, I just skidded to a stop on the rim of the wheel. Hooray!

Meanwhile Lisa, who was ahead of me and heard all this going on, was yelling back at me to make sure I was ok. She figured that since she didn’t hear any swearing or crashing sounds that I must be alright. I yelled back that I was fine, just had a flat. But it HAD sounded like a massive blowout. She thought both tires had blown, it was so loud. She turned around and came back while I climbed off the bike and moved to the side of the road. We were both astounded by what we saw.

We were even more astounded when I tried to pull the bolt out – it didn’t budge. Oh my. It was embedded so deeply into my wheel (the rim, not the tire), that as the wheel came around, the bolt slammed into my brake assembly and stopped the wheel cold. No wonder I was skidding! Since we were so close to the car and I was obviously fine, she went on ahead while I waited. In the short time it took her to get ready to come fetch me, two SAG vehicles stopped. Everyone got out, oohed and ahh’d at it, then got me and the bike loaded up and took me back. Back at the ride’s start/end, there was another ogling session, as anyone who saw it immediately called other people over to look. There was universal agreement that I was incredibly lucky. No argument there.

On the way home, I started mentally preparing myself for the repair bill. The bike shop was suitably impressed, and asked if they could keep the bolt for their collection of road hazards. After they pulled it out, I felt even more lucky. If that thing had hit ANYTHING besides my tire, it could have been very, very ugly. If it had hit my leg, it would have been catastrophic, with many many months of recovery. Scary stuff.

As I had feared, the wheel was ruined for road riding. The bolt had punched a good hole in it, dangerously compromising its structural integrity. Sigh. Wheels come in sets, so while I could have simply replaced the rear one, the darned things are priced in sets and I may as well upgrade while I’m at it. The impaled wheel was fine for use on an indoor trainer, so I put a trainer tire on it and kept it. Since I’m relocating to Seattle in a few months, where all riding is hill riding (very much unlike Indianapolis), I replaced the cassette with one that’s intended for climbing, with more gears. A pittance compared to the wheels. The brake assembly was questionable: when the bolt came around and slammed into it, it bent the piece holding the entire thing together. Ok for non-sudden stops, but not ok if I really needed it. Add new brakes to the list (of course those come in sets as well).

I’ve since ridden a handful times on the new wheels/gears, and am very happy with them. The wheels are lighter, more nimble and responsive, and the gearing makes Indiana rollers a piece of cake. Seattle will be an entirely new class of hills to conquer, but at least I’m well equipped now.

And I’ve already used the trainer wheel on the other bike, when I was too lazy to change a tire at 5:30 in the morning.

Total bill: $1140
Cost of walking away unscathed, albeit with a thinner wallet: Priceless