Goals for the Bix 7

I don't have any special excuses for not blogging for almost a month (!), so I'll just acknowledge the silence and move on ...

Yes, I'm still doing the Bix 7. Quite a few pieces of this experience will be different from the past three years' worth of races I've done.

Totally new: racing seven miles; sleeping in a tent the night before (I'm joining my RAGBRAI friends in Coralville just so I can see Cheap Trick!); and coordinating a finish-line viewing with other out-of-towners (my parents are coming in from Rockton to watch my race and then hang out).

Unfamiliar: traveling any farther than a half-hour — and outside my metro area — to a race; racing a distance that isn't 5K or a half marathon; picking a race between Memorial Day and Labor Day; and doing a race where my goals are basically no loftier than "finish."

What are my goals? In a second.

First, let me emphasize how glad I am that they're so underwhelming, because pretty much all conditions will be against me Saturday: hills PLUS 90 percent humidity, with the start-time temperature at 75 degrees. It should, at least, be overcast.

With that said, don't laugh too hard at how lame my aspirations are.

Most attainable: Beat my friend Emily's 2012 time of 1:19:03 (11ish-minute miles).

That summer was awful, so I'm not judging her ... but back when it was still late spring and I was fresh off my half marathon PR, I thought this seemed like a piece of cake.

Midrange goal: Focus on the experience and not the difficulties.

Lofty goal: Don't walk.

Pie-in-the-sky goal: Finish under 1:10:00 (faster than 10-minute miles).

I haven't trained hard — running twice a week — and much of the summer has been mild, but I haven't let myself avoid hills, and I have stayed active. So I'm not really sure what to expect ...

... except beer and ice cream. Bent River, here I come!

And now, the waiting begins

I went on my last run before the Hy-Vee Road Races half marathon today — a slow 3.25ish-mile endeavor. Nothing notable to report from it.

Tomorrow I'll ride to work, as usual, but otherwise rest up, and on Saturday, I'll be volunteering at the Run for the Trees 5K/1-mile fun run before probably just bumming around the apartment.

I really wanted to do the tree race, but it just seemed like a risky move, even when I don't have much half marathon pressure ... given that I'll likely be on my feet when I'm there, maybe it's ultimately a wash and I could have run ... but then again, standing is lower-impact.

Anyway, I've, unsurprisingly, been thinking about my weekend meals, for both before and after the race.

Saturday night dinner is looking like chicken pasta, maybe some garlic bread, and a beer (it's tradition!); Sunday breakfast could be scrambled eggs/toast or possibly blueberry pancakes.

After the race will probably be "wherever serves us fastest and cares least about how we smell" (in 2013, that was the Drake Jethro's breakfast buffet).

And now that I've wrapped up the workouts, I can lay out my race-day gear. I'm going with the standby outfit — pink T-shirt, black shorts, pink sweatband and sunglasses — and my newer Balega socks.

So that's probably it from me until next week, but I imagine I'll be posting my time on Twitter and Daily Mile, at the very least. Maybe there'll even be a sweaty selfie on Instagram afterwards, too.

Crazy, creepy and sometimes cute: A week of bike-ride sights

This week's rides covered country roads, nature trails, well-traveled thoroughfares and old-money neighborhoods.

Unsurprisingly, I saw a few things that amused me on those bike excursions, though I only stopped to take a picture of one.

You'll have to use your imagination with the crazy, creepy and cute sights listed below.

* A man riding west on Grand Avenue carrying a garbage bag with at least one case of cheap beer. I'm not kidding. Maybe the case was empty? I don't know how he held it up.

* A turtle on the Neal Smith Trail. They're bizarrely cute, for all their scary beakiness.

* Runners out on concrete, sunny trails during 80-plus-degree, full-humidity weather.

* Stumpy. Don't worry, Iowans; he's safely parked in northern Illinois.

* The third lost motorist who's asked me to rescue them from Shirland, Illinois.

* A biker stashing toilet paper and a tub of cat litter in a milk crate ziptied to the back of her bike. ... Oh wait, that was me.

Race report: Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K

Did you bet on a victory from me at the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K? I hope not, because I came up short on every goal.

That's not to say I didn't even manage to have fun — before and after the race, I did enjoy myself. (And during the race, when a tiny dog who lived on the race route totally bandited it, I grinned.) So let's focus on that.

It was Annah's first 5K ever, though funnily enough she's done a half marathon, and it went great for her.

All of the advice she sought from me over the weekend was either right or not-wrong, because she ran the whole way and finished in about 42 minutes, much faster than her goal/prediction of 45:00.

I spotted her during the out-and-back course, as well as Cory and book clubber Stephanie, and she looked strong. She still looked good as she crossed the finish line — less smiley than in our pre-race selfie, but much more determined:

Three friends who had planned to run actually weren't able to, but they showed up in surprise support.

Pam and Marco fought through a flu bug to cheer on Annah (Cory and I had finished by the time they arrived), and Joel woke up obscenely early to drive back from a college-friend reunion weeked in Columbia, Mo., in time for Annah's big finish.

As we stood around enjoying the free beer afterwards, we happened to notice that 5K times had already been posted, so we meandered over to see what we'd officially done.

"What's that one next to my name mean?" Cory asked when we found his time. It means a trophy for finishing first in your age group, you speed demon! (23:14, and that includes the amount of time it took to get to the official start.)

Race trophy and trophy girlfriend. Cory had a good Sunday.

Annah rocked, Cory rocked, and Stephanie rocked, coming in just behind Cory. What about me?

I finished in 26:22, walking probably six times and finishing almost a minute off my last year's time (not to mention how far away from my PR I was). There's nothing I can blame it on but myself, not weather or terrain or training-plan gaps: I was just incredibly mentally weak.

I could analyze it and point out the positives in my splits, and of course I did those things over post-race food and beer.

But it's long over now, and I'd rather remember my genuine happiness for those who did well, the sunshine and support at the afterparty, and the summery weather we kept soaking up on our post-race bike ride.

The spectrum of race-day goals has been established

We're three weeks out from the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick Day 5K, and having done a sort-of trial run for it recently, I've been able to draft some goals for it.

They are, in descending order of probability:

* Have fun. Spring could very well stick around until then, so what's not to like about running on a nice day with friends and beer?

And if the weather stinks, well, at least there will be a group of other people ready to grouse about it with me over beer. It'll be the Drake Relays half all over again!

* Resist the temptation to walk, even if -- especially if -- no other goals look plausible. If race day just isn't my day, then at the very least I can point to this minor victory. And if race day is my day, then nothing further down the list will happen.

Furthermore, while I can recite reasons why I'm not at peak physical shape until I'm blue in the face, I shouldn't have excuses for not being mentally strong: Sure, the winter made running outdoors tough, but I managed to actually get out there.

* Break 25:30. That's about how fast I did this race last year, and it's how fast I did the recent speedy three-miler. Race-day adrenaline should help me knock out that extra 0.1 without extra time.

* Beat my gentleman friend again. He has overall fitness and natural aptitude on his side. I have more consistent and speed-specific running on mine. Which will win? Let the smack talk continue.

* Set a PR (i.e., 24:08 and faster). I'd definitely "settle" for breaking a PR by mere seconds, with it being so early in the year and such a tough winter. Especially if this is a gun-time-only race like last year.

* Sub-24:00. I highly doubt this will happen, but a girl can hope and strive, right?

The ups and downs of the Holiday Running Streak

As it turns out, when I claimed the first run of the Holiday Running Streak was the toughest one, I was wrong. Or at least just not clairvoyant.

I actually almost broke my streak Friday. Almost.

The ice storm that day knocked out my power, and that in turn nearly knocked out my ambition to head outside and run a mile. (Holiday festivities meant I would not be able to do so after work, so it was now or never.)

Thankfully, the electricity was restored about an hour and a half before I had to be at work, and so was my desire to keep the streak alive. For as long as it took to reach the sidewalks, that is.

The first few steps were fine. The next few, and almost all the ones after that, were not. I eventually resorted to running back and forth on the snow-crusted grass — at least there was traction there.

Not my favorite run ever, but I got it done.

On the opposite end of the fun spectrum was last Monday's run ... or, rather, runs.

It was bitter cold when Regina and I met at Water Works Park, but because of "my stupid streak" (as she confided she thought), we still got three miles in. During the run, I received a call from a number I didn't recognize, so I didn't answer.

Once my phone came back from the dead, I discovered what the call was: The Cheese Shop telling me that two spots were open at that night's holiday beer class. My Christmas present for Cory had arrived!

It meant delaying his run further, from after work to after a plate of cheese and a dozen beer samples, but I think we both agreed it was worth it. Because I'm a good sport — and easily made to feel guilty — I agreed to run that single mile with him.

So off we went around 8:30 or 9 p.m. with recently filled bellies. The switch out of jeans and into (elastic-waisted) running pants felt good, and so did the laughter over how ill-advised this decision probably was. I even got a side stitch from giggling, which didn't feel physically nice, but I didn't mind.

More importantly, no one threw up, and most importantly, no one broke their streak.

Holiday Running Streak kickoff: First step is the hardest

There was no reason for my Holiday Running Streak not to start strong.

I had the day off work; my family had visited me the previous weekend to help with moving; and the potluck I was attending didn't start until 2 p.m.

So naturally, it was after 10 p.m. before I got around to running. Fellow streakers Joel and Cory had long ago logged their runs and made sure I knew it, so the pressure was on.

But run I did — a single mile, but that's all you have to do to make it count. Funny how much better I felt after that, physically and mentally.

Here's a rundown of my streak so far.

Thursday: 1 mile. Hills are not fun on bellies that, until you moved, were comfortably full of food and wine. 

Hills are fun, however, for minds that remember how many desserts you ate (four small ones), approximately how much wine you drank (and still didn't catch a buzz, given the food baby you conceived) and how excited you were to finally explore your new neighborhood.

Friday: 3.75 miles. I tested out what I thought was the best route to pick up the Des Moines trail system. I glided through quiet, winding neighborhoods down to a gravel trail through Water Works Park, then huffed and puffed back up the downhills that were so relaxing earlier.

Des Moines continues to surprise me by how suddenly it turns rural. And how hilly it is.

Unrelated: This sign made me laugh.

Saturday: 3.25 miles. What those hills give, they also take. I'd noticed a steep uphill and sketched a path around it, reasoning that a hill at the end was good enough justification. 

But because I barely know the roads around my new place, I ended up picking a roller-coaster ride. With the relatively mild weather and the novelty of unfamiliar roads, though, I didn't mind at all.

Sunday: 2.66 miles. Sunday was a classic example of why Runner's World organized this run streak. Regina and I delayed our run so that we could do this:

That is a beer-and-cookie flight: a breakfast stout with the brownie, a vanilla oatmeal stout with the vanilla chocolate chip cookie, a citrusy IPA with the lemon bar, and a chocolate porter with the chocolate chocolate chip cookie.

I had no regrets (OK, I wish only one of us had gotten the brownie pairing so we could've split that), but I did need a few hours for the stomach to settle. And to be honest, during the run, I realized it wasn't at 100 percent.

However — I went, and given how lovely it was earlier in the day (yeah, when I was drinking beer and eating baked goods), I dared to bare the legs. Shorts in December!

The very best thing about RAGBRAI

I must be getting sentimental in my old age, because there was no question in my mind that the best thing about RAGBRAI was my team.

A few of the people I went with were already "old" friends, who'd done running races and training rides with me; a few were acquaintances; and a few were complete strangers at the start.

But, to my great surprise, there wasn't a single person I secretly wanted to push into the Mississippi River by the end of the trip.

Sure, with a large group, we could alternate with whom we spent more time, but when you're with people from 6:30 a.m. until midnight, that's a lot of opportunity to grow irritated.

As a college bestie's wise mother says, traveling with people is the true test of whether you like them. I guess I like these folks.

Which is good, because everyone who isn't moving to the Caribbean for med school is already in for 2014, and the one who is moving to the Caribbean has already invited us to come out for a visit.

Some snapshots of our hijinks:

Wednesday began with one team member doing yoga to loosen up for the ride, so when we struck up a conversation with a yoga instructor in Monroe, a few of us were glad of the opportunity to expand our stretching knowledge. Chris (center) and Cory were good sports and let me do better downward dog than they did. 

The first time Regina and I rode around Lake Red Rock, we were tired and hungry, but the second day, we were more appreciative of the scenery.

A RAGBRAI tradition is to write "virgin" on the calves of first-time riders. I managed to avoid mentions of this until Friday, when we found ourselves at a beer garden with my second-favorite beer (Leinenkugel's Summer Shandy). Kyle (left) and I are asking Cory whether he's spelling virgin right. He is not. I was nearly a "virin."

This crowd had no bus to catch in Fort Madison, just the car of Mike (at right). So we took our sweet time Saturday; we're here in Keosauqua at the First Street Grille, which had four drinks on special. Joe and Mike suggested that we all get one of each, and Michelle and I decided to join them. Hence the duck faces.

Mike (from left), Michelle and Joe were all completely new to me when RAGBRAI began, but by the end, it was like we were old friends. Perhaps we'll re-create this photo in about six months, but with the Caribbean Sea behind us and swim gear in our hands — it's Michelle who's moving abroad.

My favorite moment, which didn't make it on camera (I tried; it was too dark), was partying in Fairfield's square. As described by one team member to another who called it a night early: "You missed the best night ever. There was a lot of yoga going on. We didn't do anything or meet any new people. We just acted like f*cking idiots."

There was also a lot of local wine going on, some dancing and much falling over while attempting plow pose. Surprisingly, though, no injuries.

Is it July 2014 yet?

You know nothing, Little Runner!

Last Wednesday, I congratulated myself for what seemed to be a RAGBRAI trial run: a ride with a lunch stop in the middle and a little bit of heat/wind at the end. I've totally got this.

Um, not quite. The 65-miler lacked humidity, 90-degree weather, more than a few hills, more than a few stops, fried food, frozen treats and beer.

But don't worry. I got all of that in Sunday, and I can handle it. Mostly.

I rode with several of my RAGBRAI companions from the Principal Riverwalk up to Big Creek and back that day, which was everything I've come to expect from July in Iowa. Throw in the hills on the Neal Smith Trail, plus some residual fatigue from the previous day's run, and I was a little uncertain about how well a 50-plus-miler would go.

The first prolonged one came at Latitude 41, and the idea of lunch had me positively giddy. I ordered a Summer Shandy and a catfish strip basket and tucked right into both.

It was so delicious ... and so greasy. Did we really have to get back up and keep riding north and then turn back around? We couldn't just nap? No? UGH.

The next seven or so miles were not the easiest miles I've ever done. My first all-fried-food meal in months sloshed around, and the beer's carbonation didn't bring me any relief until well into our next stop (at Big Creek).

Almost as good as the relief from the grease? The 25-cent Fla-Vor-Ice I got at the air-conditioned concession stand. So much welcome coolness.

When we trusted that the rain on the radar had passed, we hopped back on and flew. The hills were mostly down; the wind, mostly at our backs. I felt strong, cheerful and grateful for second-half momentum — and then we stopped again. Latitude 41 was still there and still open.

At the time, I would've rather kept going. But that's not what we're going to be doing in a few weeks. In a few weeks, we'll be riding only long enough to build up a thirst and a hunger. So it was good that we stopped for another beer and another few glasses of ice-cold water.

And really, come to think of it, our stop-and-go riding was done during the sunniest part of the day. After that beer, we stopped only for a bathroom break on the 16 miles back to the starting apartment, under a sky only just bright enough for my sunglasses to still help, not hinder.

So how did I feel upon our return? Surprisingly, just sweaty and of average fatigue/hunger. Not dehydrated, sunburned or queasy. And most of all, content with how my stomach handled a true RAGBRAI simulation.

Still to be determined: how my legs and seat will handle RAGBRAI.

Another surprising part of RAGBRAI training

I'm used to training plans, after a couple of years of running and not being effortlessly athletic. So I thought RAGBRAI training wouldn't be much of a switch from half marathon training.

I was wrong.

In addition to the differences in my hunger, soreness and sunburn locations, the training has been a big adjustment after all.

I mean, duh, RAGBRAI is longer than a half marathon, so each biking training session will cover more terrain, and that takes more time (even though biking gets you there faster).

What I hadn't expected was how much more of a role weather would play. And that's coming from someone who checks the hourly forecast at least twice a day.

Part of the problem is that I haven't overcome weather wimpiness for biking.

It took time, but I overcame my reluctance to run in the cold, rain, wind or snow (heat and humidity are still works in progress). Meanwhile, running only piqued my interest in the first place because I didn't want to ride my bike in cooler weather.

This mental block needs to be torn down, because to expect ideal conditions on the four days I'm doing RAGBRAI is completely irrational — better to prepare now.

So when I rule out less-than-ideal conditions, that further reduces the amount of time available to ride, when riding demands more time in the first place, meaning planning is an absolute must for me. (Until I toughen up and the weather backs off.)

I really hope this doesn't come across as a lament over bike training. Self-induced stress aside, I'm enjoying training; with a few test rides that involve stopping for sweets and/or beer under my belt, I'm confident that I'll really enjoy RAGBRAI.

However, along with the initial appetite suppression that running provides, I also miss the (slight) spontaneity it allowed me. A last-minute run, crammed in because of a change of plans or conditions, can be done in half an hour; I'd have to absolutely fly to justify that amount of time on a bike.

Expect further lip-chewing and teeth-gnashing as I enter the travel-heavy month of June. Or assume that the silence on this blog is because of my inability to get rides in.

But the ironic part in all of this? I'm actually not afraid that I won't be in sufficient physical shape anymore. It's just my Type A personality parts, with their obsession for planning and checking items off lists, kicking into overdrive.

It's time to relax ... and also live it up

On Friday I declared my excitement over seeing race day in the forecast. I wasn't lying, but it did occur to me that not so long ago, I also would have been admitting to a twinge of sadness that game time was almost here.

Training had been going so well — and it still is — and I'd been reveling in the discipline it imposed on my life. In fact, I even feared its end a little bit, because it signals the end of significant running for the next three months. That will be RAGBRAI time.

Over the past few days, and with a close-to-perfect forecast for race day, though, I've cast that melancholy aside for two reasons.

One, I'm ready to rest. Two, I'm ready to party.

For the first point: I took last Wednesday off, as I'd planned, and Thursday off, as I hadn't planned but certainly didn't refuse. And still, the siren songs of couch lounging, napping and hitting the snooze button one more time are blaring.

I don't think I've overtrained, because the runs feel fine, but the mileage is adding up for sure. An extended period of laziness seems like the most efficient way to make me stop wondering whether I've caught the sleeping sickness, somehow, despite living far from any tropical regions.

For the second point: As a runner in training, I don't regret making sure my body is hydrated, rested and ready for race day; as an introvert fighting her nature, I'm concerned about my growing reputation for — and inclination toward — staying in.

A few times, I've passed on grabbing a few drinks because I wanted to wake up refreshed for the next day's runs.

Other times, I've declined post-work because I was tired/hungry and wanted to go home, a problem I don't recall having as often last fall, when my running was less focused and more recreational. (I don't think the constant gloomy weather is helping my nesting instinct, either.)

And once — remember the only day in 2013 that we broke 70 degrees? — I had to decline because the day's workout had utterly drained me.

None of this is to say that I regret training for a half marathon.

I probably wouldn't find the thought of waking up with a smile after 7.25 hours of sleep — or waking up with a wine headache/beer gutache — as appealing had I been experiencing those phenomena frequently over the past few months.

Nor would I have netted one PR and cast my eyes on another, if I hadn't been relatively dedicated to my training.

In conclusion? It's a good thing I decided to follow up my half marathon with RAGBRAI, because as I understand it, training for this event will require me to practice nomming cake, raising a glass and demanding that I get up and crank out serious miles the next day.

Sprinting and spirits

Over the weekend, I read in Runner's World magazine that NPR's Peter Sagal attempted — and could not complete — a beer mile in Chicago recently.

Let me be honest. Although I read each issue nearly cover to cover, I hardly ever look at an article and think "hey, I can do that." The yoga feature is the most notable exception to that rule.

And now you think that months of reading about wacky races in which participants must either chug (beer, egg nog, etc.) or chow (Krispy Kremes) in between laps has worn me down.

Well, it hasn't, so you can relax and exhale again. So why do I bring up the rarity of RW-inspired action and beer chugging?

Here's a blow-by-blow account of my reaction to the piece.

I can't even finish a regular mile in the amount of time the winner finished in. (Note: Nor could I finish drinking a beer in the winning time.)

I can't chug beer.

I can't really chug anything.

Except water.

And Gatorade.

Maybe milk.

Possibly wine ...

(End flashback.)

Now, I know there are plenty of races that lead you through wine country for the specific purpose of letting you stop and sip.

But I have yet to come across a wine race built around speed instead of savoring. It's even reflected in the distances: a beer mile, but a wine half marathon/full marathon.

I suppose this makes sense, because I also have yet to come across a college culture built around chugging wine — only beer. Please illuminate me if wine-related competitions even exist; the only boasting I hear about wine is a solo person's ability to tuck away a bottle ... or more.

Sure, wine drinkers have a reputation for swirling, staring, sniffing, everything but gulping their drinks. But there's nothing (aside from shattering the sophisticated image) that would prevent them from skipping those steps during a race.

In fact, my love for wine and tepid acceptance of beer aside, I'd think slamming 12 ounces of a carbonated, carbohydrated beverage — then sprinting! — would be much more difficult than gulping 5 ounces of a juicelike drink.

Is that the answer for "why no wine miles?" That it actually would be easier? Or is it just that old habits die hard?