Clock Out, Click In

5K Race Along the Rillito

My goal: sub-28 minutes. My preparation: seven runs since January 1; that is to say, minimal.  I had a hair cut yesterday; I’m sure it will improve my aerodynamics. I am reading The Perfect Mile by Neal Bascomb, detailing the training regimens of the Brit, Yank, and Aussie who vied to be the first to break the 4-minute mile. Reading about training is almost the same as training, right?

 

The day dawns sunny and cold, for Tucson, about 47 degrees. I bike two miles to the Lighthouse YMCA, pick up my race number and t-shirt, then stand around for 45 minutes waiting for the start. (Note: the lighthouse is metaphorical; I live in a desert, after all.) I find out about the course: down the street to the Rillito River path, out the path the turn-around point, and back the same way.  My brother and his family arrive, a pleasant distraction, and I push my nephew in the park swing.  They plan to walk the 5k course and I envy them.

 

Various singlet-clad sinewy people mill about.   I am nervous. I make a second trip to the restroom.  I realize that I should warm-up a bit, so I jog 200 yards around the parking lot. The Star-Spangled Banner plays. The announcer and his megaphone provide the usual unintelligible instructions. I realize that I forgot to take one last gulp of water before the race.

 

And we’re off, north on Columbus Avenue toward the Rillito River and the mountains. The sun is shining, the birds are singing; we are running downhill.  We run on pavement, we run on sidewalks. A woman pushing a double stroller runs by me. I try to keep up with a gray-haired gentleman of uneven gait, and he runs away from me.

 

Hey, here’s a drink station! I grab a Dixie cup of water and choke while drinking it. Hacking and coughing, I carry on. We are on the river path of packed dirt, headed into the sun. I am dressed perfectly, I think to myself, long sleeve performance fabric shirt and running shorts. I’m all about affirmations. At Mile 1, a volunteer helpfully calls out our times: “nine minutes ten seconds,” he says as I pass. I’m on target for my 28 minutes.

 

About 200 yards later, the first racers run toward me, they are approaching their final mile and I’m not even half-way through my race.  I search for the turn-around point, but can’t see it due to curves and undulations of the river path. I’m hot, regretting the long-sleeved shirt. I roll up the tight sleeves and they become tourniquets at my elbows.

 

At last, I reach the turn-around point, and head back toward the start. I am happy to be running with my back to the sun. I see my brother and his family and do a crazy wave to amuse my nephew. At the Mile 2 marker, I hear my time called out, “eighteen minutes twenty seconds.” So I’ll  have to pick up the pace for the last mile.  I turn off the river path and start the gradual uphill run toward the finish line. This time, I skip the drink station.

 

A ZZ Top doppelganger passes me, and I am alarmed by his tube socks and long pony tail. No one passes me on hills. So I pass him back and leave him in my dust. I long to see the finish line, but don’t, because it’s over the crest of the hill.

 

Yes, I see the finish!  I attempt to sprint, but it's more of a lope, I'm seriously gassed. About 100 meters from the finish, I see the clock 27:40, and this is what races through my mind: “The world record for 100 meters is less than ten seconds, is that men or women, and I can certainly run 100 meters in 15 seconds, or can I, because that clock is running awfully fast.” I sprint the last few yards and lunge for the line, coming in at 27:57! My lungs burn, I have to cough, but worry that I’ll throw up. I cough and do not vomit. Thank goodness.

 

After my stomach calms down, I enjoy the excellent snack buffet, watch my nephew and his pal run in the 200-yard kids race, enjoy more snacks and ride my bike home.  I have met my goal, and resolve to train smarter, so I can run a 25-minute 5K in six months. Because 25 minutes would have moved me from 7^th place all the way to 6^th place in my age group today. A fine first 5K for 2010.

Pre-dawn Hills

 
Craycroft Road climbs toward the Catalinas. 

Riding a bike uphill in the dark challenges the legs and focuses the mind. This morning, I left home at 6 am in total darkness, armed with bike headlight, flashing rear light, lemon-lime reflective vest over my commuter backpack. The rosy fingers of dawn display nary a fingernail. The Craycroft climb from Ft. Lowell Park to Sunrise Road starts off with a descent to the Rillito River bridge and a definite chill from the low-lying bosque. I can’t see if the river has water because it is dark. The slightly more than slivered moon does nothing to illuminate the riverbed. The outline of the Catalinas is visible, but the end of the climb is not. My MPH is not visible, thankfully, because my speed is extremely low.

I am temporarily blinded by lights that shine upon the River Road intersection, then ride on, uphill toward the mountains.  I pass the houses of the foothills, but no one seems to be up yet.  Windows are dark, yard lights are small white spots.  I pass an old ranch and search the stables, the horses are not up yet either.  How much longer must I climb? At last, I reach Sunrise where I pick up speed on the descent to Swan.  I turn right and head again toward the mountains up Swan, because I want to climb some more.  Two figures emerge from the darkness—a man and his dog—both wearing multiple flashing red lights. The roadway remains dark while the sky lightens. 

Left onto Skyline brings another beautiful view of the Tucson valley as the sky turns many shades of pink and purple and orange and gold. I ride Skyline down and up and down back to Sunrise which has become the Daytona 500 of car commuters. After a left turn onto Campbell, the real fun begins:  a curvy downhill acceleration, with few cars on this road, which is good thing, because there’s no bike lane.  Strange metal sculptures pop out of desert front yards. Diving into another curve. Is that a house or an office building? I’m distracted by speed and windchill.  When I cross the Rillito again, it is light enough to see the shallow stream of water from last week’s mountain snow.

For the rest of my journey, I turn left on Prince, right onto Tucson Boulevard.  Pinks and oranges fade to sky blue. Now I hit every red light and another bike commuter joins me. At last I reach my car parked at my brother’s house, and note that I rode 16 miles in the time some people spend at the gym. I change my clothes inside, put the bike in the hatchback, scrape ice off the windshield, and invigorated, I’m off into the sunrise.

Suggestions for rides in Tucson area hills—a great workout in a short amount of time:

East side: Sabino Canyon Rd, Bear Canyon Rd, Mt. Lemmon Hwy, Craycroft Road, Old Spanish Trail

West side: Starr Pass, Anklam, Gates Pass (no bike lane)

North side: Oracle (lots of cars), First Avenue/Rancho Vistoso, Christie, Magee, Hacienda del Sol (no bike lane), Campbell (no bike lane)

South side: It’s flat in the south

Sahuarita/Green Valley:  Helmet Peak, Duval Mine Rd, Whitehouse Canyon/Madera Canyon Rd

Check out MapMyRide to figure out suitable loops and distances.

Prologue: Adventures Possible Every Day

 
 
I’m an outdoor enthusiast—I bike, hike, run, backpack. Throughout this blog, I will tell tales of my excursions in the Tucson area.  I will report on 5K races, hike up and over mountain ranges, and mountain bike around the Santa Ritas.  Sometimes, I will write about my ride around the park.  Featuring both mild meanders and epic rides, I will focus on “micro-adventures,” to show that you don’t need to travel to a troubled nation or even spend a lot of time to find adventure. I hope to inspire people to ramble during the lunch hour, get up early and bike in the dark, or even camp overnight in the middle of the week.  Tucsonans are lucky to have National Forests, State Parks, and other public land within an hour’s drive—why not sleep in a tent on a beautiful Tuesday night? You could even have dinner first at a local restaurant.

I recently started a new job with the probationary period of requisite good behavior, and worse, no vacation days. Every weekend moment became a precious commodity.  As a result, I decided to take advantage of cheap and mostly self-propelled recreational opportunities here in my hometown. 

When my serious athletic side writes, stories may include critical data like maximum heart rate, mileage, number of intervals, average speed, elevation gains, and calories burned. My explorer side will write about flora and fauna, quirky people and places.  Don’t worry, I won’t neglect my gear head readership.  A girl needs her gear, but this girl doesn’t like spending money. Forays into frugality may include, and may be limited to, building a penny stove from a beer can and sewing a bivvy sack.  Perhaps new energy bars and drinks will be developed in my kitchen.  I know I can bake a mean cookie. If these endeavors fail, purchased products will be dutifully tested.

My micro-adventure could be a twenty-hour trip away from the comforts of home, or a one-hour trip away from the discomforts of work. I won’t have to worry about airline tickets, passports, or tropical diseases. I will be free from the sickness of sea and altitude. But every week, I will have an adventure. Because I live in Tucson, and I can.

 “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.” –Helen Keller