layered denial

A few years ago, my "spring break" coincided with Valentine's Day. Finally taking the time to head down to NYC to visit a sister and a best friend I hadn't seen in a small eternity, I walked into an apartment full of...cupcakes. There were about 10 or so cupcakes, all from various donors privy to the fact that my sister's girlfriend has something of a cupcake obsession. The situation escalated into the absurd when my best friend came over for dinner, bringing with her a half dozen, softball-sized Crumbs cupcakes.
After gorging ourselves, we felt obligated to put a dent into the cupcake surplus. But given how large Crumbs cupcakes can be, we modestly cut them into fourths. But 10 minutes into dessert, with all of us dipping back into the tray for "just another piece," my best friend made the following observation:
"We don't we all stop lying to ourselves...we're all going to eat the equivalent of one cupcake."

It was true. We were in denial, nonetheless, and only assented to that observation after we each demolished at least 3/4 of a cupcake. And this time of year, I'm back to cutting my cupcakes, so to speak. Because in full denial of the current onslaught of winter, instead of perhaps wearing a proper jacket, I'm leaving the house in layers: long-sleeved Underamour, leggings, jeans, knee high socks, fleece jacket, soft shell jacket, and a down vest. Add to that a giant Ortlieb bag, helmet, and Pearl Izumi AmFIBs, and I look like a colorblind Ninja Turtle [my jacket and hat are red...the down vest dark green]. But hey, it keeps me on the bike, and that's the important part.
Because fully in finals mode, too little time is spent in the saddle. Countless hours are clocked in in front of a desk, and the Bianchi only gets ridden when I manage to find an excuse to venture outside. But when I do, whether I'm bundled up to the gills or relishing the absurdly warm weather we had earlier this week, I'm savoring.

And not only because I've been filling up on some awesomely good vegan yumminess [read: curried split pea soup from "Vegan With A Vengeance"]. Sure, it could be my body finally getting some Vitamin D, but the motion of pedals and the feel of the frosty wind that's preventing me from actually moving forward are oddly appreciated this time of year. Even short rides to the grocery store to pick up something I didn't really need - but convinced myself I should get to alleviate the cabin fever - are fun, despite their simplicity and lack of length. With windows wide open at night, I'm doing too much time on the rollers, too. So as the hours and days dwindle down to that Corporate Tax exam that I'm so not prepared for, I'm clinging to both of my bikes as if they were security blankets of tax law knowledge.

And somehow, there's a complete lack of that feeling I usually get around exam time, where I panic and productively spend my time wishing I could hit a magic "Pause" button and buy myself some time and comprehension. None of that feeling of my bowels going through a blender when I see the days disappearing on my calendar, either. Even if studying is getting done at the pace I ride the rollers [i.e., slowly].
But then again, I just might be waist-deep in denial. Attempting to take a power nap a few days ago resulted in dreams plagued by conflicting tax provisions. But...ignorance is bliss [until I get my grades back], right?

vegan training wheels

"What is it with you and food?" a friend once jokingly asked.
He was referring to my choice of legal note topics for my journal; last fall I wrote about the Southern Bluefin Tuna Cases, in the spring about the regulation of geographic indicators of food in the European Union [publication forthcoming, spring 2010...eeepp!!!]. I learned about cases revolving around cheese and how overfishing is screwing up the entire ecosystem. The latter supplemented by my environmental law class really pulled at heartstrings. We're killing the planet, was the general message, do something!
The thing is, while I may have enough ethics to pass the MPRE, and while I may prefer the company of small, furry animals to most human beings, I am fully comfortable with grilling anything I am comfortable killing. I've gutted fish in front of friends without batting an eye, only realizing later what a grotesque sight that must have been. I like to think that I would be capable of killing a chicken if I had to. Pigs and cows, probably not.

That begs the question: why? Why set down some arbitrary dietary rules for myself? Why fried chicken and no bacon?
To be honest, I'm not sure. It started with watching what I was eating so I wouldn't gain 50 pounds over the winter. That turned into cutting out 90% of processed food from my diet. And that has suddenly morphed into the beginnings of veganism.
The worst part? It's easy to stop buying processed food, but it's infuriatingly frustrating when you're expected to explain exactly why. Simply pulling out a ziplock bag full of baby carrots or grapes will elicit the self conscious "I should eat healthier, too," when I had no intention of making a judgment call on what my friends are eating. Then there are those who express concern bordering on anger over what I'm eating. When I try to brush off questions with the power-to-weight ratio argument, I've been met with the vehement [predictably, from girls] "will you STOP trying to lose weight?!"

Food, apparently, has a weird control over us. It's like my bag of veggies, or the fact that I eat mini-meals throughout the day triggers feelings of dietary self-consciousness in others. The annoying part being that I have no intent to do this...I have no ethical agenda or desire to educate. I just want to eat my food.
Ironically, as the more common "cycling/power-to-weight ratio" argument fails, it seems as if the more extreme "I'm vegan" justification is easier. The stereotype of the slightly crazed ethical vegan seems so intense that people will consciously choose not to ask about it because they want to avoid a lecture on environmental sustainability. Cycling - and the manorexia that's associated with it - is apparently too normal to avoid prying questions.
The strange thing being that my cycling friends don't tend to ask those weird questions. When I expressed surprise at finding out that Brett was vegetarian, he looked at me with an air of mock disdain, and asked me if people still ate meat. When I told M1 I was going vegan - or at least trying - and that I wanted to make my own soy yogurt, he gamely asked if I was going to start growing mung beans on my walls next. Small wonder I love those guys.

So I'm trying out this whole vegan thing. Just for a few days. Milk and dairy aren't a huge problem because my fragile Asian constitution [read: lactose intolerance] can't take more than 3 tablespoons of the stuff anyway; but cutting out eggs and honey was proving pretty painful. Then Amazon came to the rescue with my copy of Anna Thomas's Love Soup. The recipes are all vegetarian, but more than half of them are vegan, too. So to power me through a few finals, I cooked up a big batch of her Red Lentil and Squash Soup. Except I used brown lentils instead of red, forgot to buy ginger, and omitted the red pepper, and added leeks.
Yeah, there's something about me and food.
Vegan Training Wheels Lentil and Squash Soup Adapted from Love Soup
[I understand the results aren't very photogenic, but I imagine this soup is gorgeous if made with red lentils instead of brown. Regardless of how it looks, it's hearty and thick and sweet without being cloying. I'm already looking forward to dinner for the next few days...]
Serves 6-8
Ingredients: 1 cup red lentils 1 tsp sea salt 1 small butternut squash 1 medium onion, chopped 1 large leek, white and light green parts only, chopped 1 medium sweet potato, peeled and diced 1 tsp ground cumin 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes [optional, I didn't use them] 4-5 cups vegetable broth 1 1/2 cups spinach, fresh or frozen 1/2 lemon
Directions: 1. Preheat the oven to 375F. 2. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and brush it with olive oil. 3. Cut the squash in half, seed it, and place cut side down on the baking sheet. Roast for 30-45 minutes, until it can be easily pierced with a fork 4. Meanwhile, rinse the lentils and put them in a pot with 4 cups of water and 1 tsp salt. Bring to a boil, then simmer, covered, for 20 minutes [30 if you're using brown lentils]. 5. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a pan and saute the onions slowly, until they begin to soften [Anna Thomas says 10 minutes, I did it in about 5]. Add the leeks and continue to cook until they are turning soft and golden brown [Anna Thomas says about 20-30 minutes; I probably did it in 10-15]. 6. When the lentils are tender, add the onions and leeks, sweet potato, cumin, red pepper flakes [if using] and 4 cups of vegetable broth. Simmer for 25 minutes. 7. Once the squash is done, scoop out 2 1/2 cups of the flesh and add it to the soup. Cook until everything is heated through and add more broth if the soup is too thick. 8. Add the spinach and cover, until spinach is wilted or thawed [if using frozen, just throwing them in is fine, you don't have to thaw them beforehand]. 9. Stir in the lemon juice and season with salt if necessary. Devour.

eat to compete

"Why do straight girls always try to one-up their friends? It's so weird," my sister once said.
It's true, and something that also baffles me. It seems irrational and disingenuous to claim friendship, then turn around and compare, or worse, compete. The thing is, I'm not sure it's confined to the heterosexual female friendship sphere; we all compete with each other at certain things. Maybe not to the snarky extent that straight girls do, but in a way it's human nature to be just a little bit competitive.
So when the Salahis crashed President Obama's first state dinner last Tuesday night, I pretty much turned around and did the same.
Okay, it wasn't the White House. And it was Thanksgiving. And politics weren't involved. And there was at least an oral invite...so I didn't really crash it a la wannabe celebrities in hot pursuit of relevancy...does it count if I was the only minority...?

Yeah, didn't think so. But it was awesomely fun regardless; an invitation to M1's parents's place in Marshfield resulted in absolute turkey-and-pie coma. Organic, incredibly moist turkey, bright orange winter squash, creamy mashed potatoes, unbelievable stuffing, just-right gravy, amazing apple-cranberry pie, chocolate-pecan pie [yes, that's right, chocolate and pecan], richy frothy eggnog, and, of course, really good coffee. That all went into my stomach. In one sitting. Oh my God, I love America.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking: I'm a total glutton, right? Whatever happened to moderation?
The thing is, when you do on a decent ride on your 25 pounder of a 'cross bike the day before, the only thing you can really do when that voice of moderation pipes up is to tell it to go fuck itself. You know what I mean, we've all been there; legs dead after a ride with a brain caught between hazy sleep and adrenaline fueled alertness. The last thing you want to hear as you cram your mouth full of whatever's in your fridge is that you really need to practice moderation.

And when you do the ride in shitty, cold weather, with gloved fingers alternating between freezing and sweaty, you get a free ticket to stuff yourself silly at your favorite person's parents's house that you almost invited yourself to for Thanksgiving. And free license to polish off the mountain of leftovers you're sent home with as well.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm going to be working off that feast well into this month [can you believe it's December?]. But let's be honest, it was totally worth it; and while Thanksgiving might not exist to fuel off-season training, it's still a pretty good motivator.

superstitious americanos

Like most girls, I secretly love checking my horoscope. I am inclined to believe in compatibility between certain astrological signs but will freely disregard the day's predicted fortunes if it is clearly not in my favor. The next day, I'll get just a tiny bit excited if "flirtatious encounters" are included in the day's fate.
Granted, horoscopes tend to be as hit or miss as my blind stabs at concepts of Corporate Taxation, but that doesn't mean that superstition has no value. Because when things consistently line up and bring good things with it, that's enough to have me convinced that luck might just exist [and doesn't hate me].

You're dying to know this lucky correlation, aren't you? It's actually fairly old news, but one that, I believe, somehow creates this awesome situation where great minds come together to form and execute some fairly incredible ideas. Take one serious cyclist, mix with one part Asian-sensation-cyclist-blogger, brew with two good Americanos, and you have a winning combination. Great ideas will flow. I promise.
It's consistently yielded results; t-shirts, designs, a crew of friends in NYC, and more written words than I can remember typing. How else can you explain the moka pot logo of Embrocation Cycling Journal, their uber secret Mad Alchemy coffee embrocation, the Giro d'Italia espresso machine at NYC Velo, and the beginnings of Outlier [they met at a coffee shop]? It's like a ritual that has to be done between pedalstrokes for amazing to result. Offer me an Americano, while I'm still slightly sweaty from a ride and there's a good chance something awesome will happen [and I'm talking platonically, people].

So it's a little hard for me to turn down an offer to bike over to a reputable cafe that can pull good shots of rich, dark brown inspiration. Cafe Fixe serves up Americanos that, with one sip, will nearly blow your face off, but when M1 comes up to Boston to use my apartment as a base camp for rides to Dover visit and offers to meet up after class, something out west was a little more appropriate. Good thing the Boston Globe did an article on good coffee shops a few weeks ago and mentioned Taste Coffee House in Newtonville.
A plan was formed and duly executed. And while I hesitated over a latte or a regular coffee or the go-to Americano, the last won out as usual. Sipping the dark liquid in shorts due to the incredible weather, the stage was set for some prime scheming. Caffeine making my brain buzz, we chattered and came up with new designs, ideas, and between sentences, commented on the perfectly balanced Americanos.

That cup fueled me through a ride amped up by the persistent buzzing of M1's freewheel behind me. I was breathless when I got home [I had casebooks on my back!], but still humming off the adrenaline and caffeine, even took the Dolan for a quick spin.
I have more plans later this week for coffee. Regardless of my daily horoscope, though, I know this one's going to be equally awesome. Call me superstitious, but I plan to get an Americano. That means good things are gonna happen. Trust.

chicken fix

Despite the "fat" post last week that generated more comments than all of the previous month's comments combined [okay not really but it was a lot], I actually have an obsession with really disgusting food.
Olive Garden's Never-Ending Pasta Bowl, Domino's Pasta Bread Bowl, Reb Robin's Wise Guy Burger [yes, those are mozzarella sticks on top of a beef patty]...it seems like the grand old U. S. of A. has no shortage of revolting food. Even with an "obesity epidemic" well underway, there's apparently a mad rush to stuff as much fat, sugar, and lard down our throats as fast as we can. And as a dietary sado-maschoist, I can't help but look, feel horrified, then email the offending item's picture to friends. Mostly because I like the feeling of collectively puking a little in our mouths in disgust. And because I'm such a good friend.

Of course, just when I thought that fast food chains were done pumping out the culinary equivalent of condensed vomit, KFC proved me wrong with the Double Down Chicken Sandwich. Yes, that's two slices of bacon between slices of pepperjack and swiss cheese...all smooshed between two deep-fried chicken fillets. It's disgusting. It's absolutely, unbelievably, mind-blowingly dis-GUST-ing. I dry-heaved a little, then got to emailing.
"Dude. No. Stop," was the first response I got.
"Yo, let's go to KFC," was my reply.
Because even with my slightly vegetarian past, I do love my chicken. But because of that same slightly vegetarian past, I'm not the kind of person who believes meat is a necessity to complete a meal. Still, I'm only human; the mere thought of chicken dipped in hot oil had my stomach demanding bird meat.

I acquiesced by carnivorizing a formerly vegan chickpea salad recipe courtesy of Whole Foods. Chicken breasts were roasted in the oven while I did intervals on the rollers, then got chopped and tossed with a mix of olive oil, vinegar, curry powder, and ground cumin. Raisins, chickpeas, bell peppers, and cilantro add a yummy sweetness that borders on the addictive. And served over kale salad [a current staple in the pedalstrike household...and by "staple" I mean I've been eating it for lunch and dinner every day for the past week], it won't be the kind of addiction you'll have to hide.
It's no Double Down Chicken Sandwich, but when you need something less lethal to hit the spot, this might be a pretty good contender.
Curried Chickenpea Salad Adapted from this recipe.
Ingredients:
For the chicken:
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts salt and pepper olive oil [This will make a lot more than needed; I slice the rest to throw into a salad.]
For the rest of the salad:
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar 2 tablespoons lemon juice [or juice of 1/2 a lemon] 3 tablespoons olive oil 2 teaspoons curry powder 1 teaspoon ground cumin 2 teaspoons maple syrup 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup raisins 1 [15 ounce] can chickpeas 2 cups cooked chicken, chopped [see above] 1 bell pepper, seeded and chopped [I only had 1/2 on hand and it was fine] 1/2 cup cilantro, chopped
Directions: 1. Prepare the chicken: (a) Preheat the oven to 350F. [About 15 minutes, or a quick warm up on the rollers.] (b) Poke holes through the thickest part of the chicken with a fork. Season the chicken breasts with salt and pepper, drizzle with olive oil. (c) Place in a casserole dish lined with aluminum foil. Cover with aluminum foil and bake for 15 minutes. [Do intervals.] (d) Uncover, and continue baking for 10-15 more minutes; 30-40min total or until juices run clear. [Cool down or continue intervals.] 2. Cool the chicken, then chop into chickpea-size pieces. You'll only need about 2 cups. 3. In a large bowl, mix the vinegar, lemon juice, olive oil, curry powder, ground cumin, maple syrup, and salt. 4. Add the raisins, chickpeas, bell pepper, chicken, and cilantro. Toss to combine. 5. Serve over salad greens or kale salad. Devour.

being the blimp

Bicycling Magazine's "250 Best Cycling Tips" had this to tell me:
"The ideal amount of body fat for an elite male rider is 6 to 9 percent, for a woman, 11 to 14 percent."
I found it mildly hilarious that I would somehow have to lose close to 10% of my body fat by spring. Putting it up as my gchat status message, a fellow legal-eagle-cyclist-Belgophile IMed me:
"Story of my life, friend."

Manorexia is old news in the cycling world, but when all a guy has to do is eat 2 cheeseburgers a day rather than 5 to lose weight, where does that leave the girls? When 20 to 24% of the average woman's body consists of fat, how do you shed the pounds? By eating tissues? Doing the Master Cleanse...forever?
Sure women are built differently than men - except for maybe my sister who could probably eat nutella and peanut butter all day and still clock in at an envious 96 lbs - but that doesn't mean I'm not prone to self-conscious pangs of guilt and gluttony. When Brett saw a picture of M1 pre-riding-seriously-several-times-a-week-and-losing-more-than-25-lbs, he [half] jokingly called him fat. When I heard that, I wanted to either run on a treadmill until I lost 20 lbs or eat a whole chocolate cake. Instead I sighed and got back on the rollers the next day.

What can you do? Surrounding yourself with guys who seriously love racing will teach you a thing or two about training and the mechanics of a bike, but it'll also have you inspecting your arms and legs to see if the veins are popping out of them yet. It'll have you wearing loose t-shirts to hide love handles and anything less than washboard abs. "Fat" and "skinny" in the cycling world aren't defined by normal people. They're defined by the Olson twins.
Which is enough to have me - usually the only girl in the crew - feeling like the resident blimp. And it's not too far off base; poptarts and cereal for dinner my first year of law school left me with 10 additional pounds that I've been trying to get rid of since. But now officially in my late-twenties, and with dreams of Kissena, there's a reason to drop those 10 pounds [and hopefully more].

So I've been cutting calories, avoiding refined flour, and riding and running whenever I'm not at a desk. It's slightly embarrassing; it's actually the first time in my life that I've been concerned about my weight, and ashamed by it.
Sounds kind of like confessions of a developing anorexic, huh? Don't worry. As we were discussing the need to drop weight, my legal-eagle-Belgophile friend said:
"Manorexia takes dedication that I just don't have."
I agreed. I'm just too damn lazy.