a superb elite [party]

It's Friday night, and there's a hand sneaking in between my legs. Fingers brush my inner thigh as I squeal and giggle.
I wasn't tipsy at all. Just a little drunk off adrenaline from the Superb Grand Opening party.
I had cleared my schedule weeks in advance for this party [and not only because cassette was a sponsor]. With a Fuji Feather being given away, who wouldn't? But there was also the promise of "fraternaliz[ing] with Boston's cycling elite." And knowing Superb was going to fully deliver on that promise, it's a party I wasn't going to miss.

Arriving close to an hour after the doors opened, the place was already packed. Bikes lined both sides of the new shop, and people had spilled out onto the sidewalk. Squeezing our bikes into a narrow open space and locking them up, M1 and I ran into none other than Mr. Igleheart, the awesomely friendly framebuilder behind those delicious bikes that "ride like butter" [I wasn't kidding when I told him that I was saving up for one of his frames]. And as I turned around, ready to elbow my way into the shop, I waved hello to Marty of Geekhouse. This was going to be a really good party.
Inside, people swirled around the central display of bikes underneath the chandelier. There was a wave and thumbs up exchange between myself and Tyler of IF, an introduction to James of Revolution Bicycle Repair [he and M1 worked downtown together back in the day], and quick hellos to Croth and Kip. Lucas Brunelle was sighted, as was Joe of Sugar Coat and Geekhouse, and of course, all the hot Asian girls of Cambridge Bikes. Jason, the mastermind behind Superb, clearly delivered on his promise, and more.

Good beats streamed from the speakers as people moved around the room. Stepping outside to check on our bikes and cool off, another Boston cycling persona, Natasha of Pedal Power Photography, rolled up. In great company, we checked out the array of bicycles entered into the "Hot Bike Contest." The contestants varied from a slick Specialized to a swoon-worthy vintage Pinarello pursuit frame with a tri-color, glittery paint job. While I regretted not riding the Dolan in, even with its new fall/winter 2009 look [coming soon!], a part of me knew that it probably wouldn't have stood a chance with this kind of competition.
But I did take part in another kind of contest: $3 got Team Cassette 5 tickets into the raffle. With fingers crossed that we'd win something a Fuji Feather, we checked out the rest of the prizes and ate up some of Jason's time before we reluctantly headed out the door for a friend's birthday party. It was early, the party was still in full swing, but I didn't feel lame leaving. Superb tends to have that effect; there's no insecure pre-judgment of those who walk in the door, but you better be prepared to walk out feeling not only cooler but also like you've just managed to infiltrate Boston's decidedly unpretentious cycling elite.

Which would explain the big smile on my face as I rolled away from 842 Beacon Street, despite my early departure. Thighs even pumped harder as we sped around taxis in Friday night traffic, spinning wheels and pedals to the next scheduled event of the night. And on the way, that hand. My palms seared with cold nervous sweat in response.
"Got it," M1 said as he drew up next to me.
I relaxed as we surged up a hill - no longer needing to hold a motionless line - mashing en danseuse on the pedals, secure in the knowledge that the Knog Beetle on my seatpost was now diligently blinking red.
[More pictures of the event here.]

dirty laundry

Sloane Crosley's book I Was Told There'd Be Cake, starts with:
"As most New Yorkers have done, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day."
I might live in Boston, but I know the feeling. Living in a studio apartment [owned by Boston College] that I knew I would be leaving in three years meant that I refused to put even a postcard up on my walls until my final year of school. I need another bookcase but, too lazy to get one, books are currently strewn around the floor, the sofa, and the extra chair that sits by my desk. The bed is constantly a pile of blankets, jackets, and laundry. I'm not even going to get into what the kitchen looks like.

Of course, yesterday had to be the day when the Office of Graduate Housing came around to make sure we weren't igniting fires with "prohibited" items like candles and octopus lamps. Of course, I had to have a fully booked schedule which meant no time to run home and clean. Of course, they had to come by when my bike was doing double duty as a drying rack.
When I started hitting the gym and sweating on rollers, I finally realized how much goddamn laundry athletes have to do.

Woolite now lives next to my bathtub and lack of a drying rack means Underarmour and bike shorts get to dry on my shower rod, the back of a chair, or on the track bike. My hands are all dried out and gross with all the hand washing. I've considered buying a whole new wardrobe and hiring a personal laundry assistant. I'm still considering it.
And between trying to find places to hang athletic gear, I was slightly thankful I wasn't racing 'cross this year. I'd probably end up buying about 10 kits to avoid washing the mud, grass, and grossness off of them post-race. Watching friends get splattered - and doing their own laundry - is quite enough for me this fall.

Standing on something that wasn't muddy dirt after the Elite Men's race in Gloucester, Andy had turned to me to [jokingly] ask:
"Hey, does your dorm have laundry?"
"I'm a grad student, Andy. I don't live in a dorm," I replied, feigning indignation.
"Is your RA cool?" Rich Bravo asked.
"Yeah," I said, laughing, "but I have curfew and no boys allowed after 10pm, sorry."
[BUT, I will be partying with the boys well past 10pm tomorrow night for Superb's Grand Opening Party. You should go, you really should.]

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.

ugg[h] season

It's Ugg season, again.
Remember those boots that became popular in, oh, 2002? Yeah apparently, they're still around, despite their highly unflattering, leg shortening and fattening qualities [unless you're over 5'10" and under 100lbs, of course]. Which inevitably gives rise to snarky jokes with my best friend:
"Is she wearing Uggs?"
"Yeah. Welcome to 2002."

I've never been one to jump on fashion trends that would make me look like the lovechild of a munchkin and a tree trunk. Still, that doesn't mean I'm capable of keeping up with what's hip and trendy [Rapha does that for me...juuuust kidding].
Because it sometimes takes snow to get me riding more.
Sunday afternoon's rain turned into snow as I realized that I couldn't avoid not going to the grocery store if I wanted more than cheese and ketchup for dinner. And battling the big, frosty flakes, I dragged the bike up and down hills that felt like mountains in jeans that were getting drenched with icy water.
I hate how winter makes me feel like Jabba the Hutt on a tricycle.
But despite my intense desire to be a better rider, I'm also a busy girl without a realistic concept of time. Which means that I'll tell myself that 6 hours of sleep is plenty to keep me going, only to end up face first on my yoga mat at 4pm, fast asleep, my head on top of an open casebook, highlighter still clutched in my right hand. Yesterday, though, I woke up 20 minutes later, completely disoriented [no drool, though], looked around at the piles of books in my room, and then got on my rollers.

I really should be reading cases and trying to figure out Section 316 of the Internal Revenue Code, but I'm trying to see how fast I can get my shoulders sweating instead.
It's weird, but when I'm pressed for time, some part of me insists that I spend more of it on my bike. And when it snows in mid-October, that's also enough to make me irrationally freak out and run to my rollers.
Irrational because I should be savoring the remaining warm-ish days. Yesterday was the perfect fall day - just cool enough with the sun shining brightly and innocently, as if the sky hadn't dumped snow all over me Sunday afternoon. Escaping school a bit on the early side, a small part of me whispered temptations to go to Dover, to putz around and find a park, to ride in lazy circles around this small New England city.

Instead, I read cases at a much faster clip than the I-totally-don't-want-to-be-doing-this-oh-who's-on-gchat?-wait-I-should-finish-this-reading pace, condensing the schoolwork into that narrow space between the power nap and dinner. And before stuffing my face, I spun on my track bike for a decent amount of time while distracting myself with "Kitchen Nightmares" [my new addiction].
Okay, I didn't finish all of my work, and went to bed too late to get up too early. Old habits die hard, sometimes, I guess. Still, do I at least get points for not wearing Uggs?

hunting season

My latest post for Embrocation Cycling Journal has been posted!

Enjoy!

a different design

A classmate turned to me yesterday and asked:
"Okay, is the tie terrible?"
He was dressed in a dark gray suit and white collared shirt with dark blue stripes for a job interview. The tie was an olive green paisley kind of affair, and was honestly really, really ugly.
"I mean, I know it's bad," he said, "but is it like interview-losing bad?"

I gave my honest opinion that it was pretty bad, but he probably didn't need to run home for another one, before realizing that he was talking about the state of the tie, not the color or design. He had gotten it wet earlier. Oops. I played it off like that was exactly what I was talking about before retreating behind my laptop. I know, I'm such a bitch.
It's not like I'm one to talk, either. I show up to school these days in a mish-mash of whatever looks like it's going to keep me insulated and warm. And while I knit a red hat a few years ago to match my Patagonia jacket, that's the extent of any color/design/brand name coordination. I'm sure people are giving me points for creativity, or for the boldness involved in wearing heinous outfits, but like split kits that can give rise to Twitter battles, I worry that I'm doing it all wrong.

Granted, I can put a half-decent outfit together if I had to, but the thing is that cycling doesn't seem to track the fashion world very neatly. It defies that old adage that one should always take off two accessories before walking out the door. Instead, I feel like I'm piling them on: Rapha Winter Collar, Outlier cap, my own knit hat, gloves, an extra set of clothes in my bag, layers of Underarmour...a massive silver Ortlieb bag, white helmet, and dark green bike on top of it all. Everything clashes.
Add to this the fact that I'm mixing brands. Not that it would be obvious to the untrained eye, but given the fact that the gentlemen of Rapha only seem to wear Rapha, can their gear be feasibly combined with Underarmour? Is that as tacky as wearing Chanel and pairing it with Coach shoes and a Louis Vuitton bag? Or as weirdly unsettling as seeing an Asian girl dressed up as a cowgirl? Even with all the neutral colors that bike gear comes in, is there some hidden "omg-she's-trying-way-too-hard" when you end up wearing all the gear you own at once because it's just that damn cold?

My classmate left in the middle of class for his job interview, and I wondered if the tie was really going to affect his chances. Not negatively, I hoped, because although he didn't seem too interested in the job in the first place, even I'd feel bad if that happened because of the tie. But taking off my Outlier hat at home so I could pull the Rapha Winter Collar over my head, and feeling a tad self-conscious about it all, I remembered a quote from none other than Coco Chanel:
"In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different."
I can live with that. I can definitely live with that.
[Yay Friday! Yay Rapha! Yay Rapha Scarf Friday!]