Springtime Ride

Spring is here in full effect!  It is azalea and dogwood season, and DC couldn't be prettier.  After the forecast for the apocalypse proved to bring nothing more than a drizzle (sorry, St. Louis), we had two gorgeous days for outdoor activities this weekend.  Turns out you can still get plenty of exercise with a broken nose, just not of the rugby variety.

Yesterday's run was a last-minute decision, since I was waiting all day for the thunderstorms that never came.  Late in the afternoon, I decided that the bright blue sky and golden sun was a signal that there would not be tornadoes, and it was probably safe to venture outside.  You must understand, however, that I did not eat like I was going for a run yesterday.  I ate like I was going to spend the rest of the day inside comfortably digesting while reading a book.  Needless to say, the run was not super fast or super long, it was just super obvious that I had a burrito baby the whole time.

Anyway, today's long awaited first bike ride (outside the parking lot) couldn't have gone better.  After a flurry of rescheduling, Megan the bike tutor (not to be confused with EMT Megan or Hooker Megan...) met me at the corner of East-West Highway (no joke...it runs east and west) and Beach Drive, a gorgeous road that is closed to cars on the weekends and reserved for outdoor activities.  We rode for about an hour and 20 minutes, did about 17 miles (estimate), I didn't fall off, we conquered some hills, and enjoyed the lovely weather. 

And what did I learn?  Well...

1. Though it feels like you're wearing a diaper in the store, and in the elevator, and in front of everyone, you are SO GLAD you bought those shorts with padding in the butt.

2. The guy at REI who tried to scare you about your fancy bike was just jealous.  It's not hard to ride, in fact it's quite fun with its "Barca Lounger handlebars (Barinholtz, 2011)."

3. Bike riding uses different muscles from running, though your awesome calves that you developed running still look awesome when you're riding your bike.  In fact, "The only reason I do any of this is to have awesome calves (O'Rourke, 2011)."

4. You should REALLY make sure you have water-bottle cages BEFORE your first bike ride with your crazy bike-riding friend.  Because you will be thirsty.

5. Even though you used to make fun of shirts with pockets in the back (I mean seriously...POCKETS??? In the back???  Of a SHIRT???), you will probably go out this afternoon and buy a shirt with pockets in the back.  Because where else are you supposed to put all the crap?  Answer: Megan's shirt with pockets in the back.

So now I've conquered two of the three sports in my triathlon.  Up next: Bathing suit shopping.  I think I'll go this one alone...

Season. Over.

I had grand hopes for the weekend.  It was my first rugby tournament in nearly 10 years.  At the 2001 Scrum by the Sea tournament in San Diego, I finally realized that if you don't stop running when someone tries to tackle you, you can sometimes keep going!  This is what I was trying to do when my cleat got stuck in the mud and my ankle kept moving, resulting in a dislocation.  The aforementioned tacklers then fell on the leg, fracturing my fibula in the process. 

All through warm-ups at the Virginia Beach tournament this weekend I kept thinking, "I'm back!  I'm in great shape!  I've been playing so well lately!  This is going to be an awesome welcome back to the land of rugby tournaments after a 10-year hiatus.  Don't F this up!"  And for a while, it seemed I would be successful.

Our first match of the day left much to be desired.  Our scrums were inexplicably crap, after our first try we went scoreless, and the opposing team's fly half walked all over us.  I had my favorite run of the season, in which I bowled over one girl and kept running (flashbacks to SD!!!), but to no avail.  We still left with a loss.

The second match was against Norfolk, a Mid Atlantic RFU powerhouse.  Their scrum was supposed to be beastly, and their backs fast and strong.  Somehow we fixed the challenges from the first match and bowled them over in nearly every scrum.  We played a much better game, but still lost.  They had a psychotic lock who took a swing at our kindest, most dignified player who, quite literally, turned the other cheek.  Did the girl get ejected?  No.  She didn't even get a red card.  Perhaps home cooking on the part of the ref lost us the match.  But you didn't hear that from me.

My tackles that game were beastly, and I took real pleasure in chucking girls to the ground.  I was incredibly pumped for the final match of the tournament against Chesapeake, a team we had beaten just a week before.  I was focused on my goal for the tournament: to tackle like Nicole, our 90-pound wing who thinks she's 300 pounds.  The girl is fearless, and I figured if her tiny ass could hit the big girls, then I could too.

About five minutes into the first half, I was focusing on sprinting off the line the moment the scrumhalf took the ball from the ruck.  I had visions of leveling their flyhalf with a textbook tackle.  Unfortunately, my teammate Q (who has hit me hard a number of times in practice and left me with ringing in my ears) had the same vision.  At the same time.  For the same girl.  In to the tackle we both went.  Let's just say the girl from Chesapeake was the only one who left the exchange unscathed. 

I heard a deafening crunch/pop/knock as Q's forehead (a hard one at that) went straight into the bridge of my nose.  Down I went.  My thoughts, in the following order:

1. Get up.  You always come out for lame ass reasons.  Get up.
2. Ow.
3. Shit.  I think it's broken.  Get ready for the blood.
4. Get up, there's no blood.

So I stood up.  Well, I got to my knees, got one foot up, and collapsed back into the fetal position.

5.  Shit.  I think it's broken.

Megan and Megan, our hooker, and a trained EMT/rugby girlfriend came rushing out on the field once play had stopped, helped me up off the ground, and walked me to the sidelines.  On the way, EMT Megan said "It's br..."  Apparently at his point I smacked her repeatedly and said "Stop talking!  Just stop talking."  Though I knew she was right, I didn't want to hear it.  Luckily, the tournament medic was out of arms reach since his first words were "Well, it's sure broke and bruisin' up real nice!"  Jerk.

Three x-rays later, their suspicions were confirmed, and I was left with an ice pack, a prescription for percocet, and the knowledge that not only was my season likely over, but I would not be participating in the post-tourney debauchery for which rugby players are known.  But, at least they won the game after I left.

Am I disappointed in the way the season ended?  Yes.  But I'm pleased with the rest of the tournament, I had an incredibly fun weekend, percocet apparently leads to plenty of debauchery, and the black eyes totally got me street cred at my detention center job.  All in all, I'd say it was a good weekend.  And based on my track record, it's probably a good thing I can't go to another tournament next weekend...

Just Like Riding a Bike

After three weeks of waiting patiently, I finally got on my new bike!  The long road to the joy of a triathlon bike began when my old high school basketball coach sent an e-mail asking me if I'd like to buy her bike, as she was upgrading to a super sweet carbon fiber model.  Knowing nothing about bikes except that I needed one for the triathlon, and that we are about the same height, I went for it.

Mom picked the bike up from Courtney and drove it out here like the fabulous drop everything and do favors for her kids woman she is.  In an effort to prevent the evil suburban Pennsylvania thieves from stealing it from the hotel, however, she took it out of the car and lost a piece.  Hence the bike spent a week at REI waiting for a new bearing and getting a nice tune-up.

When we dropped it off at the store, it became abundantly clear that this was going to be a bit too much bike for me.  The sweet old man at the bike shop looked me up and down and asked "Have you ever ridden a bike like THAT?" 

Shit.

Luckily my bike tutor/friend Megan was returning from a trip to Africa the next weekend and promised to take me accessory shopping and give me a bike lesson.  When she saw that bike she said "Wow.  Ok.  We'll make this work.  Those are the hard pedals."

Shit.

But we bought shoes, attached the cleats, got a helmet, and made a date for bike lesson number one.  She joined me in the parking lot this afternoon, and step by step taught me how to put on my shoes.  I'm not joking.  There's steps to putting ON the shoes.  But because she's such a good teacher, I was able to clip into the pedals and ride without falling down!  I rode around the whole apartment complex (comparable to a city block or two), and even leaned down onto the fancy "areo-bars" and went SUPOR fast (for me) until I got scared and pumped the breaks.

Then I decided it was time to take pictures.  Guess what.  I fell down.

Well, at least I got that out of the way.  And I landed on my rugby bruise, so no harm done.  Next week we leave the parking lot!

Dedication

Two-thirds of the way through last night's rugby practice, I realized I was freezing and that it had begun to rain.  I have no idea how long it had been raining, or how cold it really was.  We were standing in a circle, coach Pam's head surrounded by a halo of Thursday night lights perfectly highlighting each individual raindrop, steam rising off our heads and bodies.  And it occurred to me.  This was ridiculous.  There I was with a group of about 20 women, most of whom are flirting with middle age.  We were throwing each other into the mud and tearing up the field at 9:00 on a frigid Thursday night.  We all had to go to work the next day and pretend like our muscles weren't aching, our joints weren't creaking, and our eyelids weren't drooping with exhaustion.  (This doesn't even take into account the "Maryland Fun Club" some folks attended following practice.)  I was struck by the absurdity of our audacity to play this most violent of sports, but I was also moved by the dedication each of us have to our team.

This highlights a lesson I learned this week.  I was also shocked to realize the depth of the importance I place on improving my mental and physical state through exercise and being a part of a team.

During last weekend's match I tweaked my back and the pain had been getting steadily worse throughout the week.  I was terrified because the pain was similar to the summer of 2009 in which I was diagnosed with a bulging disk and told by a super-comforting doctor that I would probably always be in pain.  He was wrong -- the pain dissipated as I lost weight.  Yet here, at my life's fittest, it came rushing back.  During running club on Monday I made it 3/4 of a mile before I walked.  I was trying to "listen to my body," a skill that for me needs work.  At practice the following night I bowed out of several drills due to the pain.  Wednesday I ran a mile and a half before breaking down, physically and mentally.

Running buddy Matt was up ahead with running buddy Chelsea.  She took off faster to make an appointment, and Matt turned around to join me.  At this moment the pain in my lower back was intensifying with each pounding step, and all I could think was that either rugby or running was going to have to go.  There I was, half way through our 3-mile loop around the spooky old detention center and through a beautiful field, and I was beginning to think this injury would prevent me from reaching my rugby and triathlon goals.  While poor Matt looked on I began to walk, and to cry.  We talked about options, giving up one sport or the other temporarily, or pushing through the pain to risk further injury but to keep playing with the team.  He asked, "What hurts worst?  Your body, your head, or your heart."

In that split second I came to the conclusion that I was less worried about the pain and injury that I was about losing this new athlete identity.  My life has become increasingly positive as a result of athletics, and I would be heartbroken if I couldn't continue.

Luckily, Matt convinced me to try to find a physical therapist before I threw in the towel.  So I called around and got a good referral from a friend.  I swear to you, this woman she recommended works miracles.  She laughed at how misaligned my body was, from my feet up through my neck.  Then she got to work.  Two sessions (and a boat load of cash) later, my back pain is almost gone, my joints are looser, and my surgically repaired ankle has massively improved range of motion.  I'll be back next Tuesday...

Most importantly, I feel whole again, knowing I can keep pushing towards my goals.  Afterall, SATURDAY'S A RUGBY DAY!!!