sniff, roll, cough

These days, a cough, sneeze, or sniffle is enough is send me running. Preferably outdoors.
Like trains, buses, and crowded public areas, classrooms are cesspools of bacteria and germs. I made a vow this year not to get H1N1. Not so much because I heard that it sucks more than having your impacted wisdom teeth torn out of your mouth without anaesthetic, but because I simply can't afford it. November means my sights are set on the goal of finals. I don't have time to have sickness derail me.

Of course, even with all the time I spend indoors, away from people, apparently the internet can carry diseases too. Because when Competitive Cyclist reported on his "lung-clotting cold" and mentioned me in the same breath, I somehow started to sniffle. And sneeze.
Okay, that girl in my class who was hospitalized with H1N1 and double pneumonia might have had something to do with it. As well as the guy who sits next to me in tax class and probably doesn't shower on a regular basis. The end result is, however, the same: I am sniffling my way through intervals on the rollers. Total suck.

And because these things are quite contagious, the Bianchi hasn't been feeling much better. Crusty brake pads, rims coated in a layer of grime, and a chain that's as stretched thin as my sanity these days. Being a negligent bike mom, I hadn't addressed my ailing two-wheeled wonder until last night. Rims finally got wiped down, the underside of the downtube de-crusted, chain lubed, and the saddle even got some Proofide treatment.
It was like dirty therapy. Hands oily and black, I couldn't be happier. Or feel more productive.
Apparently a clean bike didn't do much for my cold, though. I'm back to clutching my cup of tea as if that's going to make this runny nose go away. But hey, I'll at least look good biking to the ER if I do end up with H1N1...

resting day

I am no stranger to working hard to be lazy.
I will stay ahead in my class readings so I won't have to work that hard over the weekend, cram my Ortlieb bag full of food so I'll only have to go on one grocery run a week, and run up five flights of stairs with a bike slung over my shoulder so I can savor an extra 3 minutes doing absolutely nothing before class.
Some might argue this takes the joy out of being lazy; that the sheer organization skills involved and constant planning makes life more hectic than languid. But I'm a creature of [rushed, busy] habit, and besides, that whole "everything should be done in moderation" argument falls apart faster than a Walmart bike when it comes from people who enjoy biking more than 200 miles a week.

But when you're an aspiring Cat 100 track racer with a couple finnicky IT bands, taking a day off the rollers [not the foam ones] is sometimes a good thing. And while I felt guilty enough to contemplate a sweat session after dinner, like my end-of-the-day reward of taking the elevator instead of portaging the bike down those stairs, I have to admit I sort of enjoyed it.
Hey, I said "sort of," for all of you bike jocks who are shaking your heads in disgust while averaging 100000000 watts on your warm ups. Keep in mind that I'm not even at junior varsity level yet...I'm the equivalent of an intramural club hopeful. And though I live, breathe, and write about bicycles every day, a small part of me is ever-so-slightly scared that this obsession can pour over into an overdose. Like the kind that requires hospitalization and detox.

So like the tiny bites I'll take of my Walnut and Date Kind Bar [they are so good] to make them last that much longer, I'm trying to nibble and savor every sweetly satisfying bite of my bicycles. And when it seems like my enthusiasm is waning to the point where it could become slightly nonexistent for several days, it's time to take a temporary leave of absence and allow myself just a small morsel of laziness.
And you know what? I woke up today and couldn't wait to get back on those damn rollers.

ethical ifs

New England falls, post-Halloween and lumbering sleepily towards the promise of Thanksgiving feasts, always bring to mind one of my favorite movies: The Scent of a Woman.
With lines like "the day we stop looking is the day we die," and Al Pacino playing a stubborn, sarcastic, blind Lieutenant, it has to be a popular favorite. While I haven't watched the movie in ages, it's been on my mind recently. And biking past trees that are turning from yellow to bare, it finally hit me why scenes from the movie have been playing in my head.
The Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam [MPRE] is this Saturday, and I'm having some serious doubts.

It's not that I lack ethics, or a sense of professional responsibility, as many friends have joked. It's just that I'm not quite sure I have the right ones. Because when I walked into a review session last weekend and the first thing I heard was "squeal like a pig and rat on your friends," I realized I might need to seriously study for this one.
I do understand why attorneys need to be ethical. But despite the nuclear winter that is my social life, I have difficulty betraying what friendships I have. And if law school has taught me anything, it's that trampling on people to get a better grade has to be possibly the most abhorrent behavior man is capable of.
I'm sure the American Bar Association is fully aware of this, though. Because why else would they make you rat out your friends under threat of punishment [and possibly disbarment]? Still, that's enough cause for concern to have me hitting the books this week; poring over what behavior is absolutely not permitted and what you might be able to do. And ignoring all lessons learned from The Scent of a Woman.

Of course, the bikes are not only serving as vehicles of distraction and procrastination, but also a source of a fair share of disappointment. Because while I'll be guesstimating my way through the MPRE on Saturday, I will be totally missing NYC Velo's "IF You Please" event. Okay, not that I could ride to Piermont, NY on a single-speed, much less a single-speed Bianchi with the IF show ponies that are inevitably going to show up for this ride, but did I really have to be taking an exam while this was going down? A ride with some awesome guys, the chance to ogle pretty IF bikes, and even talk to IF about your dream bike...It feels harsh...a little cruel, even, that I'll have to miss this.
Professional responsibility, however, dictates that I'll be taking the MPRE. So go for me, please. If only to watch Rich Bravo ghost ride both of his IFs all the way to Piermont and back.

miss manners

It's that time of month. Embrocation Cycling Journal Monday, that is.

Will you be so kind as to click here to read my post?

halloween realities

A tad chilly but sunny and bright, I made it my mission to properly slack off yesterday afternoon. The day was too perfect to spend inside; coffee and lazy reading at Cafe Fixe were in order.
Rolling home in the late afternoon, caffeinated and fully pleased with my slacking off, I passed a few carved pumpkins on doorsteps. Oh yeah, Saturday is Halloween. I totally forgot about that.

It's no surprise, really. I have ambivalent feelings about Halloween. Candy is great [even if I hardly eat it anymore], and little kids dressed up as superheros or princesses are downright adorable. It gives me an excuse to eat a few kernels of candy corn [come on, it's not that gross], munch on a few handfuls of pumpkin seeds, and contemplate trying to buy a pumpkin before deciding that there's no way I could get it home on my bike.
On the other hand, I can't bring myself to dress up. Or, more accurately, use Halloween as an excuse to take most of my clothes off and scamper around in public in less than what I sleep in. The obvious question of at what age Halloween becomes a fetishized sex fest aside, I don't particularly enjoy seeing classmates in overpriced porn star gear. It's not so much the less than perfect physiques of students who spend too much time poring over casebooks as much as the total lack of originality in sexy nurse outfits. Come on, guys. That shit is so played out.

And when your primary mode of transportation is a bicycle, that severely limits your dressing up/dressing off options, anyway. So while friends made plans to dress up and party downtown, the only thing I was looking forward to was how warm it's supposed to be on Saturday. And how that's perfect for bike rides.
Which is probably for the best as last year, someone dressed up as me in a totally non-ironic "look, I'm that crazy bike girl in knee highs" kind of way. But such social deterrents aside, I'd really just rather spend Halloween getting my legs wrecked on my track bike, or bonking on the Bianchi. That almost sounds like I think I have better things to do than be a normal, social person, doesn't it?

It's not that, really. Halloween's a great holiday; it lets you live a different reality for a night. It's just that, unlike the scantily clad one-night-stands that Halloween at my age should lead to, my different reality is one I'd like to live for longer than a single night.
So I'm not dressing up as a cyclist, as easy as that would be, for Halloween. I'm just going to be one.
[Happy Halloween! And here's a Rapha Scarf Friday for you, even.]

riding to be righteous

Yesterday was cold and wet. Not the sharp cold that makes your sinuses hurt and your eyes tear up within 3 pedalstrokes. This was more a lethargic humidity that makes you briefly consider ditching class, before you reprimand yourself for how incredibly lame that would be. There was a good showing of rain too - just enough to make you hope you can avoid it if you sprinted fast enough, but not enough to make you just give up and get drenched - which made sure I was properly miserable [not to mention sweaty].
And in the middle of the day, a fog so thick it looked like Halloween outside. I wondered if I'd be able to get home; if those Knog lights would even work, or if I'd get crushed under the BC shuttle bus instead [those drivers are not kidding around]. I decided I didn't really care, either way; my mind felt like a moldy piece of fruit, and anything more complicated than zoning out was proving to be a bit much.

Yeah, it was one of those days. You know, those "yeah, whatever" kind of days. Like "yeah, whatever, run my ass over, that's cool," or "yeah, whatever, pretend like you didn't see me, that's fine."
Which is a terrible mentality when you're on a bicycle. Halfway up Heartbreak Hill, it finally sort of registered and with bits of foliage blowing into my face, I managed to not fall into a pothole I knew was right there, or run into that pile of gravel that's been over there for the past month. Not that I was scared of the impact of falling per se; but it would just be embarrassing.

Because that's a total noob mistake. You know it, and I know it. Sure, shit happens, but biting it on a route I can navigate half-blind? Even that "well it was slippery and wet and my brakes weren't working and this is Boston so potholes appear out of nowhere" excuse doesn't cut it in that kind of situation. And with the NY Times article "Do More Bicyclists Lead to More Injuries?" fresh on my mind, I had no intention of making myself a neat little injury statistic to re-prove how Boston cannot give a flying fuck about cyclists.
By the time I got home, I sort of regretted reading that article; mostly because the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes in the comments had driven me absolutely insane. But even slightly drenched, with bits of New England stuck to my face and leggings, and every bit cranky, I realized it's been a while since I've even flipped the bird at a driver. At some point, you get used to unpredictability. You pick and choose your battles, and sometime earlier this year, I guess I simply decided that unless I got hit or swerved at, I wasn't going to waste my time being a patronizing [m]asshole to drivers.

Bikes are for riding, not for being annoyingly righteous, right?
[Yeah, watch me get hit by a car tomorrow. That would sort of funny...if my health insurance coverage wasn't the equivalent of a box of bandaids. So let's hope this doesn't happen.]