While climbing with C on one of our many sessions, I heard an echo from the past as I listened to her talk about how much she wanted to improve her climbing. It seemed like such a distant memory when those very words were being uttered from my own mouth.
After having observed C’s marked improvements during the last few months that we had been climbing together, I am certain she will surpass all I have achieved in climbing. If she maintains the determination she has expressed and continues to climb the way she has, I can’t imagine anything that could stop her from realizing her goals.
I watch her breeze through the type of route that she used to struggle on and it amazes me how far she has progressed despite our sporadic climbing sessions together. Being married hasn’t distracted her focus on climbing either. Fantastic stuff, C! You go girl!
On the Monday after Malakoff weekend, I decided to ease back into the gym – the climbing one, of course. Since PL was on leave for two weeks (she was in between jobs), she joined C and I at Camp5.
Still feeling a little weary from the weekend, I wasn’t inclined to push too hard. We did some top ropes and quickly migrated to the boulder cave. My pink route was as elusive as ever. I guess my left hamstring still needed more time for recovery.
We tried a few other routes that we had never attempted before. It wasn’t a difficult route, but it required me to make a dynamic move halfway up. Being the little chicken that I was, I kept thinking about how far I was going to fall that I would make the move and turn my head towards the mats even before I had touched the next hold. Naturally, I tumbled down without ever managing to secure the next hold.
On my third and last attempt, I decided to keep my eyes glued to the hold regardless of whether I stuck it or not. Surprise, surprise, I stuck.
Lesson: keep your eyes focused on where you want to go and that’s where you’ll go. If you look at where you don’t want to go, that’s also where you’ll end up.
I don’t know what was in my mind at the time, but I agreed to go for a Spinning class at Celebrity Fitness with PL in the evening of the day post-Malakoff. As if my rear end wasn’t hurting enough… Perhaps I figured that Malakoff would be the race to kick start my back to fitness program.
When I sat on the bike, the familiar sensation of a raw tush was the first thing that greeted me. There was one good thing about riding a stationary bike – it’s a little easier to place the behind in a less uncomfortable position without having to worry about falling off the bike.
Besides the painful butt, that was where the similarity ended. Somehow, the sensation just isn’t the same riding a stationary bike. I’m not sure how to describe it. I mean, it’s not just the fact that I’m not moving, the scenery isn’t changing and that there is no wind in my face. There is something distinctively different. I’ll have to keep this in mind for the next time if I decide to train indoors for a bike race…
Apart from the sore behind, I felt good to power it out through most of the class. Although, I think my fitness isn’t nearly anywhere near what it used to be because I felt a little light-headed and unsteady as I stepped off the bike at the end of the class. I was also slightly nauseous by the time we were walking back to the changing rooms.
Since I don’t sport one of those funky heart-rate monitors that SKT and G have, I can’t be certain if I went into overkill on the heart rate. Although I’m sure I don’t really need a heart-rate monitor to tell that I pushed myself a little too hard during the class. Another thing to keep in mind for the next class – take it easy. I have plenty of time to myself back to the line.
It makes me feel somewhat comforted that all these people look very “bin tai” and super fit. Since I’m just a Sunday rider, I no longer feel so bad clocking in at 2 hours and 20 minutes (thus making me the record holder for the slowest rider in the race).
I slept early (well, sort of) the night before to make sure I would be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but mainly to make sure I didn’t end up flying another airplane after the Power Run incident. It would seem that my one slip-up has made me infamous, for even my team mates decided to add a little measure of security by giving me a wake up call.
For the preparation the night, I roped the unwilling hubby into pumping up the air pressure in my tyres. DT had suggested I get it up to 50-60 Psi but we couldn’t figure out why the pump was so hard to use, so we only managed 40 Psi. I figured that would do it. 40 or 50 Psi, what was the difference? I also filled up my High Sierra Lumbar Pack and stashed a few sachets of Powergels to keep me going. I guess I must have been rather anxious because I was awake a full hour and a half before the alarm went off. After tossing and turning with no respite, I decided to get up and start loading my bike onto the car. Even if I made it out there early, I figured I could put the time to good use by familiarising with the gear shifts again because December (the last time I tried riding suddenly seemed a long time ago.
It was probably a good thing I got off to an early start because I forgot how to attach the bike rack to the car. I must have been quite a sight standing at the boot of my car turning the bike rack around and around as I tried to figure out which way was up. A fifty per cent guess and I managed to get it wrong. I sort of realized when I was holding up the bike and the bar was tilted at an odd angle.
Despite the delay, I was on the road by 6am so I took the hubby’s advice to pump up the tyres a little more by using the air pumps at a petrol kiosk. It was probably not one of my smarter decisions, especially considering that I had no idea how to use those pumps. Instead of pumping air in, all I managed to do was let out the air. Figuring that it couldn’t possible get any worse, I tried again to see if I could get it working. After letting out most of the air, I gave up and drove to the meeting point where I could rope someone into helping me pump up the tyres the hard way.
Shortly after I arrived, T’s car appeared. He helped me tag my bike and helmet while I tinkered around with the bicycle pump DT had lent me for the race. I don’t think I was inspiring a lot of confidence in my fellow Red member because it was clearly evident that I had no idea what I was doing. Even so, he kept his silence and I was grateful for that for my nerves of steel had been shattered the day before as I struggled to keep in control of DT’s road bike.
SKT, MT, G, T, the Pilot and I made up two relay teams, while D went out for the full race on her own. I have to salute her. What a brave girl! Especially if you take into consideration that she landed with a flat tyre halfway through the race and had to come back to the start twice! This iron lady is simply amazing! I am in awe…
Team: The Reds (a.k.a. Liverpool)
Team: ClimbXmedia
Individual: Superwoman
As we walked out to Dataran Merdeka, I became acutely aware that there were no mountain bikes to be seen. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, I regretted my decision to decline the use of DT’s bike. Even if it gave me sores, at least I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb (pardon the pun).
According to T, there were 8 mixed teams for the relay. To demonstrate the confidence of the Reds (never mind the fact that Liverpool won the match last night), here’s a conversation I had with T:
Me: 8 teams? Our goal should be not to come last!
T: (pause) Er… It is?
I think that said it all…
7:30am sharp the real duathletes flagged off while we stood by the sidelines cheering D on.
7:40am the relay flagged off with G and T taking the rear. Wonderful, we had barely begun and we were already coming last.
(G warming up before the relay flag off)
8am MT, the Pilot, SKT, A (our resident photographer), and I went off for breakfast. I ordered a roti telur and retracted the order when SKT decided he wasn’t eating anything. Never having biked in a race before, I figured I had better do like the Romans.
8:20am we made it back to the starting point and waited for our boys to come in from the 10km leg.
8:25am D completed the 10km and picked up her bike
8:30am D returned with a flat and had to borrow Op’s pump. He gave her a tube as well in case her tube had blown.
8:35am G came in making good time.
8:40am T arrived and I took off.
I felt a little wobbly taking the corners but otherwise glad that I had been elected to take the biking leg. This was a lot easier than running, or so I thought. I had barely started pedaling down Jalan Kuching when my thighs were starting to burn. Even though the road looked flat, it seemed like a lot of effort to keep pedaling on the large front gear.
By the time I hit the off ramp at the Duta round-a-bout, my legs were ready to give way. I must have been barely moving when I rode past the policemen and marshals because one of them shouted out to me that I should go faster. After more ragging about my pace, I was stating to get annoyed by the misconception of non-bikers that biking is easier than running therefore you should be able to keep going flat out. Attach a motor to my bike perhaps…
The difference in comments from the marshals:
When running: C’mon! You can do it!
When biking: Eh! Cepat lah!
The other problem I faced was not being able to ride with one hand (yes, I know, I’m unco). That meant I couldn’t reach for my water tube, let along my Powergels. When I passed the water station, I had to decline the water with a shake of my head because I couldn’t even hold up a hand to say, “No, thanks.” The only way I could drink was to get off my bike, so I held off on the fluids for the first lap.
I guess I must have been the only one who couldn’t drink and ride because when I got off my bike by the road side on the third lap, the first aid van stopped to check if I was okay. Even a rider checked in on me. How kind these people were.
The next major hill was somewhere along Jalan Duta. It’s funny how I fail to recognize the roads when I’m on a bike because I knew I’d been on this road many a time in a car. I had to drop down to my granny gear just to make it up the slope otherwise I would have been walking it. It’s amazing that I never noticed how steep the inclines on these roads were despite having driven them countless times.
All the way through, bikers were overtaking me from the left and right and I felt like a kid on a tricycle being overtaken by the big boys on their 10-speed racers. On my third lap, the bikes had stopped overtaking which I knew it was bad sign. Either I was one of the last bikes on the road, or worse, the last bike. I certainly didn’t feel any better that one of the marshals was following me on a motor bike either.
The downhill run after that climb was bliss. On my first lap, I was rather hesitant and cautious, tapping on the brakes to keep my pace in control. By the second and third lap, I was tearing down that hill because there was no way I was going to waste a precious meter of momentum on fear.
After rounding up on Jalan Duta, we cut right into Jalan Sultan Salahuddin. On the second lap, SKT lapped me as we approached the traffic lights - bloody fast, he was… I thought of the poor Pilot waiting for me at Padang Merdeka and I tried to pedal faster, but it was only for a minute before my body gave out to fatigue.
(SKT means business)
The track at this point was familiar. I had been through it on many a race before so I knew I was close to home. As I approached the round-a-bout, I received a nasty shock when I was turned away from Padang Merdeka onto Jalan Parliament for an extra leg. Jalan Parliament is another one of those deceiving stretches that seem like a flat road but is really inclined. Don’t believe me? Take your bike out there and try it. I never noticed it before either.
I made the first lap in 50 minutes. At this rate, I figured I would be lucky to finish in three hours. I really felt sorry for the Pilot having taken the last leg because he would have to run in the full heat of the approaching noon-day sun.
I would like to say I flew down that stretch along Dataran Merdeka, but it was more like the equivalent of a jog than a sprint. Somebody spotted the Liverpool jersey that I was wearing (for my team had sported the jersey to signify the meaning behind our team name – The Reds) and shouted, “Go Liverpool!”
I ought to thank that person for the support because the next thing I knew, the
Liverpool song started playing in my head and I felt energized to keep pushing. Regrettably, it was not for long. By the time I hit the uphill slope, all inspiration had drained out of me and I had to stop for a drink of water. I must have been really dehydrated because the water tasted like an elixir from heaven and I just couldn’t get enough of it.
My bum was also starting to throb and no matter how I shifted it, I couldn’t find a comfortable position to continue riding. My rear end was extremely grateful for the opportunity to get off the bike and protested vehemently when I tried to get back on to continue. Had it not been for the Pilot waiting for his 5km run, I probably would have quit at that point.
It wasn’t that my legs couldn’t take it. I mean, sure they were tired, but the fact that I maintained a constant lap time of 50 minutes was indicative that I was keeping my pace fairly steady. The part that brought on the thoughts of quitting was due to one badly aching behind. The stiff wrists might have also had something to do with it, though I think my backside was complaining the loudest.
As I rounded onto Jalan Sultan Shamuddin for the final time, they had sealed off the road to the Padang. Still at my top speed, I shouted, “Hey! Coming through!”
Magically, a portal opened up in front of me to let me through and I heard one of the race assistants mutter sheepishly, “You the last bike lah…”
For a moment, I felt quite bad making them all wait until I turned to see another bike approaching and then I felt mad that they were making excuses for closing the road early.
(While I was still out there MT hits the finishing line)
The pilot took the bib as I apologized profusely for being so slow then he ran off for the final leg of the race. MT had already completed the 5km and waiting at the tag point so I knew we were really far behind. Even D, performing the full race, had overtaken me in the biking leg despite being delayed by a flat. In essence, there was really no need for the Pilot to run, but it was all in the name of team spirit that I he took off when he did.
(The Pilot runs with great team spirit)
I wobbled onto solid ground and was surprised that my legs felt like Jell-O. My behind was on fire and even as T offered me the chair he had been sitting in, I couldn’t bear the thought of resting on my delicate bottom.
(The climbers/marshals)
All in all, it was a great race. Another one those events that I can add to my tick list of “first and lasts”. We ran into a lot of familiar faces; the marshals who appeared more like a climbers’ congregation than marshals of a duathlon race; Op, the embodiment of the boy scouts’ motto; the team from KSH biking shop.
I caught sight of DB and P from FYC before the race - DB when she ran up to me to greet her beloved bike that was on extended loan to me, and P again later when he was approaching the finishing line. DB and P both entered the individual full duathlon - excellent stuff!
(The Team from KSH and others)
(Op after the 10km coming in to commence the biking leg)
Lucky for D that Op and KSH were there for Op had brought a spare tube and pump (mine was in the car – fat lot of good that was), while KSH kindly lent her a device required for her to replace the tubing in her flat tyre. Poor dear was almost in tears when she came to an abrupt halt in the race. I don’t think enough can be said about how well she performed in the race despite the tremendous odds working against her. D, you’re my hero!
(The Superwoman, herself)
Final thoughts? If I ever get stupid enough to ride a long distance again, I’m going to strap a cushion to my tush.
Note: All photos were courtesy of our resident photographer Ayamanna- thanks for the photos! Sorry I didn’t ask your permission to use them, but I know you’d let me anyway ;o)
Call it stupidity, but I agreed to join a three person team for the Malakoff Malaysian duathlon series. When I agreed to it, I had the idea that I would be taking on one of the running legs. Somehow or other, I ended up with the 45km biking leg. Perhaps it was by default since I was the only one in my team who was in possession of a bike.
We are The Reds – dubbed after Liverpool because I happened to be watching the match against Blackburn when G messaged me for a team name. Laugh it up, but someone had actually suggested “Power Puff” – good grief! I might have survived the name but I doubt my two male partners would ever be able to face the world again without being taunted about “Brokebacking”.
Anyway, Thursday night, D came over for dinner and I told him I was in the race for this Sunday. He looked over my bike and raised an eyebrow about whether I was seriously thinking of riding a trail bike for a road race. I had been feeling fairly calm about the race up until my exchanges with D.
After some measurements for crotch clearance (no, it’s not really as crude as you think – I’m talking about the distance from the ground to your crotch, a measurement used to determine the height your bike should be at), we discovered that I have fairly long legs. With a 1.5 inch difference in crotch clearance between us, I should be able to use his road bike.
On the eve of the race, I went over to D’s house to test ride the bike and to familiarize myself with the gears. Before I’d even begun, I’d nearly catapulted myself onto the ground because I couldn’t remember how to get on and off the bike. When I finally got moving, I ran into some difficulties pressing the front gear shifts. I couldn’t move the chain to the larger gear because my left hand fingers didn’t have the strength required.
Okay, skip the larger gear. I was pretty sure I could survive on the middle gear just toggling up and down on the rear gears.
After about 2km, my rear was starting to ache and the webbing between my thumb and fore finger was hurting from being jammed against the handle bars so I could hit the brakes when necessary. I powered up a short 500m hill and found my quads were burning by the time I had reached the top. I could hardly imagine having to ride another 43km of this.
Suddenly, I found myself questioning the wisdom of being so agreeable to enter the race with effectively zero training. The last time I rode was in December last year… I ought to win an award for stupidity.
So in the famous words of Cover Boy: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
Back at the gym on Thursday afternoon with C, we warmed up on some long and easy routes near the auto-belay. I was pretty eager to hit the brown and black route again to see how I could handle it.
Perhaps I was a little over eager because I could still feel the residual effects of a finger strain from Monday night’s climb. My right elbow was also feeling the twinge from being over pumped.
The first half of the brown came as smoothly falling into a hang dog only because I missed the hold when my hand got tangled with the rope. It was also a good excuse to rest. Two hangs and I was through… nice work, except for a confused hand sequence at the top that landed me with a cross hand move to reach the anchor.
Next up was the black route which clearly needed more work. Forgetting the crux sequence, I had to hang at the first crux to rediscover my moves. The next problematic area was the second crux before the anchor. I have some positive moves to try the next time I attempt that route, but regrettably no confirmed sequence for a free point as yet.
C was also going strong powering through four routes with a “roof” crux. She really amazes me the way she’s been improving in leaps and bounds.
When we migrated to the boulder cave, she worked on a green problem that seemed just out of her reach, but she devoured it as an entrée before heading home for dinner. Watch this girl – she’s up and coming!
I was quite pleased with my own efforts in the cave, too. The pink route that I’d been working on with P and J about a week ago was coming along very well. With some encouragement from Cover Boy, whom we bumped into at the gym, I managed to work out the sequence to complete the problem. I realized that I’ve been attempting a move that wasn’t within my power capabilities which left me struggling towards the end.
For now, I’m happy that I have the sequence for my first real boulder problem. The next challenge will be to link up the entire sequence.
I think I just need a little more rest because my left hamstring muscle was still complaining of overuse. Heel hooking is not a move I’m accustomed to. Since it is a move commonly used in boulder problems with roof sections, having it among my repertoire of moves will come in handy now that I’ve taken to bouldering.
I wonder if there is any real physical conversion of strength or if my feelings are purely mental, but I do seem to feel a lot stronger at the gym now that I have been dabbling with boulder problems. When I climbed the brown route, I held one of the holds by its lower lobe which was less favourable than the higher lobe that was deeper. That was a move that had strained me enormously the first time I attempted it and in my most recent attempt, it felt like a regular move I had accustomed to.
In any case, one of the nicest feelings has always been to grab a hold I had once considered “unholdable”, and find that it has become a comfortable grip.
Monday night, I went climbing at Camp-5 with the hubby’s gang again. What began as an unremarkable night ended superbly with some major progress on three routes I had long ago written off as “impossible”.
I really ought to thank JY for forcing me to get onto the brown route because I had always pictured it as something out of my reach ever since the first day Camp-5 opened. Of course, it was the first time I had been climbing after a long leave of absence so I should have expected it to be out of my reach.
The second time I attempted that route was a couple of Sunday’s back when JY goaded me into attempting the route. I climbed it shamelessly with plenty of rope assistance from my belayer. After that round, I was probably even more convinced that it was out of my reach.
Interestingly, it was JY again who nagged me into making a third attempt on the route, although I have to admit it didn’t take a lot to convince me to try it. I had expected a much tougher experience and was pleasantly surprised to find the moves a lot easier. I still needed to hangdog on the way up to regain some power, but I was essentially performing most of the moves on my own with some minor assistance towards the anchor.
Monday night was my fourth attempt and I made a clean sweep of the bottom section. The holds I had branded as “unholdable” felt a lot friendlier than I had remembered.
The positive experience on the brown encouraged me to attempt the black route. Even though I was inspired, I was still expecting a weaker attempt on the black. I was delighted to discover that I could get through the first half quite smoothly minus one hangdog.
As they say, “success breeds success”, I moved on to the red dihedral near the auto-belay. The first crux that I had struggled on so long ago felt almost effortless. The second crux was still problematic, but at least I was able to make it to the anchor with a little scuffle near the top rather than struggle ineffectually despite all the tight rope assistance below.
By that stage, I could feel the fatigue in my arms, but I was itching for a return on the boulder problem I had been working on past Friday. I knew my body was tiring but my mental was in top form so I didn’t want to miss this opportunity to test myself. Regrettably, my left leg was not up for the heel hook that I had tried one too many times on Friday. I felt the pull on the muscle and a responding weakness that threatened my stability.
I tried repeating the move several times to no avail. Even when I tried to conjure up a new move, I found my body was already in shut down.
Despite feeling tired, I was reluctant to leave the gym. I wanted to work on more endurance routes, but forced myself away from the auto-belay because PL was waiting for me and I remembered the hubby at home.
If ever inspiration is required, evident advancement of skill creates the exuberance to press on.
Late Friday evening, MT sent out a message about running on Saturday morning. Having been climbing at the gym since 4:30pm until almost closing, I slept through until nearly 9am.
Sunday morning was a chance to redeem myself and I set the alarm with all the best intentions to hit the track. I remember turning off the alarm and thinking I had to wake up, but the point between that and the dream state that led me to believe the run was called off seemed rather hazy.
In my dream, I received an SMS stating that the run was called off and I happily dozed off again. It was not until I opened my eyes to a brightly lit room that I realized I had slept in.
Since PCL and I agreed to postpone our morning runs until May due to a hectic traveling schedule, my running is going down the tubes. It’s almost as though we are taking one step forwards and two steps back.
At the start of the month, we had been working on a rewards system to increase our motivation to get out onto the track because we were consistently canceling runs for the feeblest reasons, such as, “I’m feeling quite lazy today.” We thought perhaps we were getting bored of the track and decided to tackle a hill trail but bailed from it on the morning of the intended run in favour of an easier track.
Friday night, I went climbing with C for the first time in two weeks. For some reason, she and I were not able to make our regular climbing sessions for any number of “married women” reasons.
Feeling out of form, C didn’t climb as much as I would have expected after suffering two weeks of withdrawals. She was more determined than ever to build her strength so I suggested she should boulder more. After all, that was what the guru P told me to do when I was at my peak climbing performance and wanted to know how else I could improve myself.
After a couple of “warm up” climbs at the auto-belay section, we went over to do some bouldering.
Surprise, surprise, I actually enjoyed myself. The next big surprise was that I wasn’t as afraid of the height as I used to be. We continued working on various routes until P came, followed shortly after by J. At that stage, C had to go home for more wifely duties, so P, J and I continued bouldering in the cave.
It is no surprise to many in the climbing arena who know me that I have never liked bouldering for I’ve made no secret of it. So what triggered the hundred-and-eighty-degree-turn-around?
Was it because it felt fun figuring out the moves together as a group? Was it because I could actually do the moves for a change? Was it because I was stagnating as a climber and looking for a refreshing change?
Honestly, I don’t know what it was, but suddenly I feel a renewed eagerness to hit the boulder cave. Throughout the weekend after that session, my thoughts kept returning to the boulder cave. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at my surroundings and wondered about the features I can climb. That my thoughts have flitted back to the boulder cave as often as they have over the weekend feels indicative of another wave of fervour that is about to break.
To be this excited again, I feel like a teenager with her first crush.
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