snotty but laid back

A friend commented the other day that he thought I was from the Pacific Northwest.
“You’re so laid back,” he said.
I burst out laughing. Me? Laid back? Yeah, laid back like bat shit crazy’s laid back. Still, oddly flattered, I brandished my compliment du jour later that night to Mike. His response:
“.....WHAT???? Does this kid even know you? Hahahahahahhaa! You, ‘laid back.’ Hahahahahaha...”
I told him to shut his face.

True, that compliment isn’t accurate, and was the farthest thing from the truth a few weeks ago. I had given up on the rollers; even Dragonforce couldn’t coax me on my track bike. Bored and frustrated, I was pretty much going stir crazy. The weather outside looked bleak and miserable. Riding bikes had ceased to be fun about two months ago. Spring didn’t look like it was going to make an appearance anytime soon. My middle name was “Doom and Gloom.”
But the weather turned on Saturday and for the first time in my [fairly short cycling] life, I did solid 2 hour rides on 5 out of the past 6 days. Fully aware of my finicky muscles, I rolled out my IT bands every few hours after riding, did some awesome yoga stretches, and even tried stretching in class. Miraculously, my IT bands didn’t break in half, my calves are still functioning, and my tendons haven’t been torn into itty bitty pieces. An ever-so-slightly lowered saddle fixed the aching hamstrings after the second day. Considering how out of shape I am - remember, two weeks off those rollers? - the fact that I’m capable of standing right now is pretty impressive.

The almost daily rides also meant that I’ve had that buzzy feeling of euphoric exhaustion all week [and a ravenous appetite]. Too tired post-ride to do much else than hold a highlighter, my frantic mood swings were unusually subdued. I was almost laid back. Mellow, even.
My rides were the same way, too, which is something you might expect, as they were far from long or fast. Sure, they were challenging enough to make my doughy legs work for it, but there was a lot of no-handed riding in there, too. And all week, I got to pat myself on the back for simply riding. Yay!
Everything on my rides was awesome...or is awesome, until the whole snot thing starts. For 80% of my ride, I’m sniffling or smearing snot around my face with my sleeve. I’m totally okay with being gross by myself, but my faucet-like nostrils are distracting, to say the least. Finally fed up with it yesterday, I looked up and down the street, made sure no cyclists were in sight, and tried my first snot rocket.
It splattered all over my right thigh. I’m not even going to tell you how obscene it looked.
If any of you have tips on how to master that elusive nostril-clearing technique, please let me know. I can really use help on this one.

velo bento -- march 11, 2010

Okay, more like apres velo bento.
Mixed baby greens, sliced mushrooms, and grape tomatoes drizzled with balsalmic vinegar, a sprinkle of nooch [a.k.a. nutritional yeast - it's addictive], plus some chunks of goat's cheese were devoured after an easy 2hr20min ride yesterday.

I was going top off that salad with slices of roasted sweet potato, but completely forgot. I made up for it with the orange I stuffed into my face after that salad.
And yes, I eat my salads with [pink!] chopsticks. More proof that I am awesome!

early bird

So I did the absurd yesterday. Somehow, I decided it would be an awesome idea to get up at 5.30am and be out the door, on my bike, by 6.30am. Do an easy, breezy 2 hours, shower, pack my bag and head to school for a 10am class.
Um...what?

I almost didn’t. Seriously. I slept in until 5.45am, then had to choke down breakfast [I mean it was delicious - see yesterday’s post - but eating anything before the sun is fully up is kind of hard]. I ended up leaving around 6.45am, still groggy and crusty-eyed.
You know how they say that the first 5 minutes of anything is the hardest part? But like once you get into it, it’s okay? Apparently, as applied to yours truly, “first 5 minutes” means “first 30 minutes.” I was completely hating myself, my ideas, decisions, and legs. The voice in my head was all “but it’s not even 7am yet...! What are you doing? Wahhh wahhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh--“ And then I hit a hill and I didn’t have the energy to complain and kick myself while trying to climb on my one gear. Because keeping your bike upright at 4mph is actually harder than you’d think.

Oh and you know how I said I’d ride 2 hours? Yeah, it turned out to be closer to 2hr30min. It took a while to stretch my legs [see above], and even though I promised myself I’d take it easy, I felt pretty drained on the way back. My feet went numb from the toe clips and wind, snot was everywhere. But the reward of the post-ride shower kept me pedaling and shooting down the hills.
I got home later than I planned [9.15am! Eeeep!], and just barely squeezed in the shower and eyeliner-ing while packing up a smoothie, my lunch, books, and laptop. I stretched briefly before I hopped right back on the bike.
It took me about 20 minutes to get to school. It’s 3 miles away.
Ahahahaha....um....yeah...

sunny unpreparedness

Sorry for the radio silence, peeps! There just really wasn’t much going on last week; I had planned a [geared] ride while I was down in the city, and then it rained. Which sounds like the lamest excuse on the planet but a) Mike only has one set of fenders and b) I lack the proper gear to ride in wet conditions. I did push-ups and Pilates instead.
And then I came back to Boston, fully prepared to hole up in my apartment until cabin fever had me running around my block, screaming a la Linda on Intervention [a.k.a. that Asian woman that was addicted to those painkiller lollipops and who was absolutely insane...did anyone else see that episode? BECAUSE IT WAS INSANE]. I pretended I wanted to be on the rollers again. I tried really hard to act like a law student and get work done. I sighed a lot.
But then...but then...it got warm...!

Like warm enough that I’ll have to quit trying to even call myself a “cyclist” if I didn’t ride. Even if the whole concept of riding outdoors for more than 30min has, by this point, become completely foreign to me, it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, there wasn’t going to be much wind. Which meant I could probably survive riding some short distance and then pat myself on the back for not wanting to die afterwards. Perfect!
And then I realized I left my shoes, only light windproof jacket, and only light pair of gloves in NYC. Oops.
But realizing that that is the most ridiculous excuse that I’ve come up with thus far, I made up my mind: I was going to go on that damn ride, regardless of whether I looked like a poor hipster or not. Lack of a proper jersey meant that all my tools went into my Baileyworks bag, which went over a black fleece zip up, layered over my long sleeve Underarmour. Shorts went on under Underarmour leggings, paired with Sidi socks, sneakers [um...yeah...don't hate], and my NYC Velo cap. And I was like damnnn, yo, this is like the most pro thing I’ve ever worn, in my life...!

Pro-ed out, I pointed the front wheel southwest towards Dover and did a super easy 2 hours. I waved at some peeps, got some nods and sunglass-ed smiles from other peeps, and still got my ass handed to me on the easy hills. It was refreshing, though, if only in that it wasn’t freezing out and I was perfectly fine in my completely unprepared state.
Of course, I forgot about bringing food. I was starving by the time I got home but a smoothie craving demanded I run to Trader Joe’s to stock up on yogurt. Actually I was starving 1hr30min into my ride but I just really wanted that smoothie. Yes, I thought about the potential embarrassment of walking into a grocery store in the most revealing outfit I own, but somehow I found the idea of spending most of my morning without underwear on mildly appealing.

So 5 hours after I ate breakfast, I blended the shit out of some nonfat greek yogurt [yeah, I'm not vegan anymore], almond milk, hemp protein powder [the unflavored kind that sort of tastes like ground up rope from Bob’s Red Mill...don’t worry, you can’t really taste it], half a banana, and some frozen peach slices. It was delicious, regardless of how disgusting it looks in that picture. And then I inhaled lunch.
I spent the rest of the day rolling out my IT bands and trying not to fall over from sheer exhaustion. Just so I could do it all over again on Sunday, a little more prepared that time around. But more on that tomorrow...
[Please tell me all you Boston people rode this weekend?!]

pumping iron

I really love that everyone’s referring to my unnamed friend in Friday’s post as “Mr. 15-25hours.” Hilarious. You guys know how to make me laugh.
And while that email initially had me whimpering in a corner, I was totally okay not training this weekend. Even when it was in the 40s and gorgeous out. Even if I saw a few familiar riders headed west. Even if spring’s on its way and I haven’t gotten on my rollers in about...um...more than two days...
Wait, that’s not entirely true; I did spend some quality time rolling out my IT bands which are feeling like pieces of wood, again. One side was so tight that my knee was starting to feel it, which meant that I spent more time rocking back and forth on a foam cylinder, mermaid-style, than in the saddle this weekend. But unable to get away completely, I was - close friends would say predictably, at this point - pumping iron.

I know it goes counter to everything that serious cyclists would tell you; that you should really just let your arms waste away into wisps and do nothing but move those pedals up, down and around. Pushing, pulling, squatting, lunging, curling, pumping, huffing, puffing, and otherwise using muscles that you only discover off the bike means that it’s not going to do you any good on a ride. It might have you looking jacked, ripped, toned, or just plain sexy, but in the end, it’s extraneous effort that will have most roadies turning up their noses in disgust.
Even so, I knew that a real ride would just have my IT band doing the equivalent of falling over and dying. I don’t enjoy that feeling, which meant that I woke up on Saturday with leaden arms, abs burning from the previous day’s bicycle crunches [see, “bicycle” was sort of involved!]. My addiction to email overcame the lactic acid built up in my biceps and just as I felt an accusatory glare from my neglected track bike, an email from a friend appeared, linking me to a post on Rivendell’s site.
It’s worth a read, especially if you’re a woman. Or if you’re “chunky.” Or, if you’re “chunky” and a woman who is also afraid of getting osteoporosis [read: me!]. Yeah they tell you to get off the bike once in a while and do - of all things - burpees, but they have a valid point. And no, it's not - as far as I can tell - motivated by a sadistic desire to see manorexic cyclists attempt to do dips and push ups [hell, I can only do...hold on...about 2 real push ups]. There's no harm [and actually a lot of benefit] in doing the occasional push-up and some load-bearing exercises, though. It’s not fun at first, especially after you find out how weak you really are, but progress is fast and as I've learned, there’s nothing quite like the burn of sore muscles in your inner thighs, obliques, glutes, and arms.

There’s nothing quite as addicting, either. In between the pedalstrokes, I’m fast slipping into a subculture that celebrates tone and muscle definition. After a deliciously indulgent dinner last Saturday, I found myself immersed in the world of bodybuilding circa 1975, via the documentary Pumping Iron. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the muscle tanks and short shorts, gaped at the bulging muscles of Franco Columbo, and was appalled by Schwarzenegger’s psychological manipulation of his fellow competitors.
Yeah, yeah, I didn’t get in a ride all weekend. But hey, sometimes a girl’s just gotta channel a little Lou Ferrigno on her days off. Minus all that green bodypaint, of course.

commute to train

"It's cold out today. Or, that's what I thought when I got in my car."
I'm met with a variation of that comment at least once a week when people see me with a bike in one hand and a helmet in the other. A friend once informed me, in the middle of that frigid cold snap we had back in December, that no one should be riding in this weather. It's probably true and sometimes - other than the fact that the bike just gets me there faster - I'm not sure why I still do it. I know I'm capable of riding through a Boston winter. I have nothing to prove by repeating the miserable experience.
Because while winter bike commuters deserve a gold foil star sticker, that doesn't make them - myself included - any better than any other cyclist. Tolerating the short commute from my apartment to school and back in something like 0F temperatures isn't fun, but it takes a little lot more to do that, then go home to get back on a bicycle for a few solid hours.

Yeah, I know, it's old news. But listening to the things my friends are doing, and then actually trying to emulate even just a tiny slice of their training, is kind of like finally admitting to yourself that you're dating an asshole. First, you attribute that whole gap between yourself and your Cat 1 and 2 friends to mutant elite genes that you just don't have. Like this is as good as it's going to get, right? [Wrong.] Then those friends start to encourage separation from that lifestyle and you start to believe that it's actually possible and you're not going to die [of heartbreak or otherwise] in the process. Finally you're like WTF, I can do way better than this and I'm going to prove it and you dump the motherfucker [or in this case, the couch and TV].
But when people have real jobs that don't include "student" somewhere in the title, training apparently involves things like getting up at 5.30am to spin for an hour, then going to work and afterwards hitting the gym, running and riding on the weekends and spending every waking moment not in bed or on the toilet in the saddle. And finding myself in that slight limbo where I don't really know what I'm doing, I'm tempted to regress to the familiar confines of my couch and wasting countless hours on the Internet. Even if, like any overdue break-up, I know that once I man up about this, I'm never going to want to go back to what I had going before.

So I've been trying. To not make excuses, that is. I'm trying to spend more and more time on the rollers [love those things] while retaining all my other time commitments. Which presents a very obvious and elementary math problem of not having enough hours in the day [another reason why I am currently in awe of all of those in training; they have somehow managed to control time by leading fairly regular lives while getting in 3-4 hour rides at least every other day]. And on top of all that, they also have the ability to push themselves really, really hard. When they're alone. In their houses. On their trainers. If that doesn't turn you on, you need to go find another blog to read [...maybe this break up won't be so hard, afterall?].
With my complete lack of discipline and the desire to stop when things get ridiculously sweaty, at least half of me is fairly sure that I'll meet spring still out of shape and whining in the pedals. But like my regular announcements to best friends after a break up that I will never, ever date another man again, I'm hoping that thinking positive in the face of the seemingly impossible might be enough to prove me wrong. If not, I'll at least get skinny trying.
Or so I hope.