Sitting at work on Friday, I really couldn't get my head around the fact that I was driving to Boston that night. By myself. I almost forgot to print directions and when I got home after work to collect my bike I sat on my couch and thought about just staying home. I didn't. I packed up the car and 15 miles into the 200 mile trip there was a detour. And traffic. And I almost turned back. But I didn't.
And eventually, 4 hours later I was in Quincy and could not find the hotel. I was so close but I just kept missing the proper turn - at 10 pm on a Friday night though I did not consider turning back. I eventually found the hotel and there were no parking spots. Seriously? Really? I eventually found some staff parking and in an effort to get everything packed up and into the hotel in one trip I spilled a bottle of water in my purse - under normal circumstances this would have been nothing more than an annoyance but it almost ruined my weekend.
An hour later after I was checked in, had made a few phone calls, sent a few texts, checked facebook etc. I went to charge my iphone and realized that the charger was wet and ... would not charge. My battery was LOW so I emailed the Boston people I knew that were doing the race and begging for an extra charger ....
I woke up early the next morning and read one email that said an extra charger had been packed when ... my phone died. Awesome.
I gathered up my stuff and headed out giving myself 45 minutes to travel 6 miles and get breakfast. Unfortunately the last mile of that trip took 1 hour - and that was without a breakfast stop. I parked when the ride should have started. Fortunately, it was delayed. I checked in, grabbed 1/4 of a bagel and a shot of coffee and could not find my team. And I had no phone. I had to put my luggage on the luggage truck but I had a decision to make: keep the luggage and head home or check the luggage and risk not finding anyone I knew until the first night's stop (at best).
I soldiered on and found the group with seconds to spare. Literally. Things were going ok - I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up with the faster group if I had any hope of finishing the second day so at the first rest stop I fell back with the next group which - as is typical of my life - was mostly couples. As we approached the second rest stop I decided I needed a bit of solo time to get my head together so I pressed on and ... got a flat.
I can change a flat. But its slow and I did not want the group to pass me because ... all together now ... I had no phone. So I did what I could in terms of changing the tire without really taking my eyes off the road. I basically jumped into the road to prevent the group from passing me and while I can change a tire slowly I get even slower when under pressure so I delegated what was left to one of the group. I kind of wanted to cry but he did great.
Or so I thought for 5 minutes until it went flat again. The guys in the group wanted to macgyver the tire together with a gel wrapper but I convinced them to let me SAG to the next rest stop (about 10 miles) and get professional help. Interestingly my SAG was a couple dressed in tiger costumes.
Don't ask. I didn't.
I still felt awful for taking up time and attention and wondered why I came on this journey once my friend bailed and I did briefly consider if there were any options that resulted in me going home but there weren't and the professional declared my bike to have a mere pinch flat that was remedied while I scarfed a turkey sandwich and chugged a pepsi that someone brought to me. They were awesome and once I was all set we were on our way and the experience ultimately led us to bond. Or at least led me to think we did because for the rest of the day I was much more at ease. Although I should note that in the latter half of the days there were hills. And I was promised a flat ride. Liars.
We arrived at the first night's stop, which was beautiful. I had a normal roommate who I had spent most of the day with. There were showers and food. Once I was clean I think I ate more then I've ever eaten in one sitting. And then we just sat around looking at the ocean, drinking beer, listening to music and rehashing the day. I was the flat girl - this was not a reference to my lack of boobs - by the time the story had spread up the line I had 5-7 flats.
Lights out was at 9 so we went to bed. And ... I don't think I've ever said this before, and I might not ever say this again, but I should have camped because that night in the top bunk was the hottest, most miserable, restless night sleep I've ever had. Lesson learned.
The next day was more of the same. Except there might have been more hills. And when it ended I decided to forgo the booze cruise and bus back to Boston to begin my 5 hour ride home.
Doesn't really sound fun, right? But for whatever reason it was. So much so, I'd like to do it again. Crazy.
Of course, it took me close to a week to recover and then it was the fourth and now I leave tomorrow for my favorite local but not local to me sprint triathlon!
Happy weekend peeps.
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