Sorry for the lack of activity up in these parts, last week was a busy week: I was in Louisville for the annual Idea Festival (yes, Cesar Milan was there, and no, I didn’t get to hear his talk…but I did pass him walking down the street with his dog), and Paul turned 30 (I got him a new iPod nano and a book on canning and making preserves. Because he’s been talking about it for months. Yes, for reals.)
So anyway, random, but in thinking about how old we’re all getting, it crossed my mind this weekend that 7 years ago this month I took my enormous green suitcase (“the size of a house”, according to my friend Jen) and hopped on a plane to move to Prague. 7 YEARS AGO. What.
I was thinking about getting old and different phases of life…but writing about deep thoughts isn’t really my forte. Then yesterday, serendipitously, out of the blue, my college roommate Margaret sent me the link of her cousin’s blog (her cousin is a travel writer), where I found a nice little post that pretty much sums it all up. And coincidentally happens to be about Prague…though it could be about anywhere. So I will let her deal with the sap.
So yes, the swim was cancelled. Which generally means I am completely screwed, because that’s the only part of the race that I’m remotely good at.
BUT! I did get in to test out the water the day before the race…
…and after a short bike/run actually got in to splash around with Paul. The water temp was in the high 70s, and the waves were juuust big enough to do some body surfing, which I did quite a bit of. Probably not the best pre-race activity, but I couldn’t help myself, the water felt so good. I miss the ocean.
Our hotel was in South Haven, about 30 miles north of Benton Harbor, and our stay coincided with the National Blueberry Festival. We just missed the parade where the National Blueberry Queen made her debut, which was a shame. But we did catch the South Haven Vintage Baseball Club baseball game in full swing. They even played without gloves.
The weather that day was completely erratic, going from severe thunderstorms to sun all day long (we left the beach just in time to see a major storm rolling in), which wasn’t super promising for the race.
Woke up on race day with serious winds, and upon entering transition the first thing they announced was that the swim had been cancelled, there was a small craft advisory, and winds of up to 25 mph were predicted for the day. Boo.
So we did a time trial start on the bike, going two at a time by bib number. My bike was solid, I think…never raced 56 miles for time before and wasn’t sure what to expect…but I averaged significantly faster than I did in the 14-mile bike leg of the Markey Race (yes, for reals) and came in a solid 10 minutes under my goal time of 3 hours.
My run was GREAT…for the first 8ish miles. My 10K split was right around 51:00. I was on pace to easily break 2 hours, no problem, and was running at a totally comfortable pace. Then suddenly, this happened:
Bonk.
It was ugly. I walked for about a minute. The next 2.5 miles were a combo of walk/run, and I grabbed a gel, some coke, and Gatorade from the aid stations as I went. I finally got my legs back and was able to jog the last few miles to the finish line. But it wasn’t pretty.
Final run time: 1:59:34. Just squeaked in. Paul met my semi-coherent self at the finish line, and helped me find my way back to transition to get my stuff. I also had knots the size of watermelons on my neck/shoulders from the new aerobars, which I rode on for almost the entire race.
Oh, and apparently I’m from Lexington, CA.
BUT! I finished, didn’t die, broke 5 hours, and learned that I need to eat or drink more earlier on in the run.
More on the race (if you actually want to hear any more) to be posted here shortly.
for allison, who was in hysterics for like 30 minutes when she found this picture on the web
…and on a similar note to the previous post…
Steelhead 70.3 is this coming weekend. All those months of training are finally coming to an end and I am TAPERING! After Nashville, I am only slightly less terrified than I look in the above picture that I might crumple up in a heap and die halfway through the run. Paul and I are driving up on Friday night, I’ll be doing all race-related reporting here.
Another morning. What day was it? Not sure. We woke up to another delish breakfast of granola, yogurt, fresh fruit, juice, and uh-mazing coffee, packed up our stuff, and headed out the door and downhill…into the jungle.
From high desert to snowy mountains to Scottish highlands to jungle. Ridiculous.
But on this day, after some downhill through the jungle, we stumbled upon our first set ruins.
…and through that, our first view of Machu Picchu in the distance.
I feel almost stupid posting photos of it, because they simply don’t do any of this justice. It was beautiful.
From here, we headed down some pretty steep, pretty muddy trails to a little place that was undergoing a renovation…
…for an amazing lunch of avocadosomethingdelicious.
After lunch, the we relaxed a little bit in the clearing, a few people took naps…
…and used the toilet that almost at Bernhard.
Finally, we rallied, and headed out into some serious downhill.
look how happy everyone looks!
It was muddy. It was steep. It was far. There were a few minor spills. It was hard. Some even said it was our hardest day of hiking to that point. When it finally started to flatten out, we hit this:
A suspension bridge suspended about a thousand feet above a raging, angry, rocky river. Our guides were so confident in the engineering that they made us cross one at a time. I was not a fan.
But we all survived. And made it to the train station.
It was here that we grabbed a bite to eat…
…and Susie’s hair did this…
…and we said goodbye to our superamazing guide Johann, snapping a final group shot with him before he departed.
Then, were on the train…
…to Aguas Calientes…
…where we stayed in a RIDICULOUS “hotel”/village tucked into the foothills of the mountains.
Everyone was beat after all the downhill, so after a group dinner that evening at the hotel restaurant everyone prepared for an early, early morning (3:30am meeting time) to catch the bus up to Machu Picchu the next day.
After a relaxing day and a night of great food and dancing, it was up and at ’em bright and early the next morning to head out of the mountains.
A portion of the trail we were supposed to take had gotten washed out, so instead of trying to hike over a rockslide we opted for an alternative route. Because of this, the first part of the hike was some serious up and downhill along cliffs with narrow, partially washed-out trails.
After the initial up and down the road flattened out, and the next few miles were on a wide dirt road running along a ravine, at bottom of which a (pretty raging) river ran.
pit stop
Eventually we reached our destination in the middle of the mountains, the end of this part of our trek. From here we were going to catch a ride to our next trail head.
So we bought a few refreshments from the tenants…
…said goodbye to our mules…
note: the guy in this pic is apparently over 100 years old
…and to the team that had helped us get there.
And then, we all hopped onto the mini-bus of terror for a death ride.
For the next 45 minutes we wound our way along a narrow dirt road packed in a top-heavy mini-bus, wedged between a rocky mountain face and a sheer cliff that dropped, oh, about a thousand feet down to the river. I was, of course, in the seat by the window on the cliff side. It was not one of my finer moments.
A few heart palpitations later, we made it down to the river, where the bus dropped us off and I dropped to my knees and kissed the ground. We followed the trail through a bunch of plantain trees and coffee plants…
coffee plant
…into the cloud forest to the 4th lodge.
Which was, of course, ridiculously awesome.
Plus everyone was feeling great because we were no longer at altitude.
That evening we took a little walk down the trail into the jungle to visit the house of a couple who grows coffee…
…where we learned how the beans are roasted and ground and, with a little help, made our own little pot of fresh ground coffee and got to taste it straight off the stove. It was AMAZING.
And yes, of course there were guinea pigs running around the house.
Waiting for dinner to start that night we played some local (?) games that Leo suggested. Unfortunately (or fortunately for some people) it doesn’t look like I have copies of any of those pictures.
It also happened to be the 50th birthday of one of our hiking mates. The staff baked a beautiful cake and we celebrated with a lot of Peruvian wine. It was a great night with great people, we went to bed happy and ready for our final day of hiking along the trail.
We woke up the next morning to another absolutely beautiful day. Salkantay, which had been shrouded in clouds the evening before, was visible through the window of our room and was completely spectacular.
We got to sleep in a little bit (till 6:30), and after a good breakfast and saying goodbye to the staff, we headed out into this.
Downhill.
As we dropped further and further the vegetation became more lush, and eventually we started seeing small villages and huts along the way. About 2 hours in we took a break in front of a home on the path…
…where this couple lived.
We (meaning the guides) talked to them for a while while the group regrouped. They asked how to say a few things in English (we practiced “have a nice day”), then we were on our way again, across a few waterfalls…
…and out of the altitude. Everyone (literally) breathed a big sigh of relief. Eventually we made our way down to the river running through the valley…
…went over the saggy bridge and up the hill to Lodge #3.
We arrived to a whole meal of guinea pig and other local cuisine. After a delicious lunch of local produce and guinea pig (yes, I ate some…Susie refused), we had some time to hang out. Some people sat in the chairs in front of the lodge…
…overlooking the valley.
A few people played volleyball with the staff…
…and a few others went down to the river we had crossed to do some fishing…
…with a piece of string.
Directly across the valley from our lodge was a pretty significant landslide, and we spent the better part of the evening watching two cows slowly slide down the side of the mountain.
(Apparently landslides weren’t uncommon in the area, in the opposite valley across from the lodge was a town whose name literally translated to “Big Scary Landslide.”)
That evening, after a delicious dinner (and a few drinks), some of the staff performed a traditional dance for us involving a creepy mask and a whip.
Masks are everywhere in this region of Peru, there are festivals in a number of towns that involve dancing for days wearing masks. There is even a town named “Black Underwear” because of one of these festivals held there and all the women wear masks and short skirts and do this dance where they flash their underwear, which is black (obviously).
So, naturally, there were masks lining the wall of the lodge. A guy in our group named Bob really liked one of them.
Rambulatory Ambulatory 