treadmills and triathlons

A few years ago - back when I could be found in nothing lower than 2 inch heels, with hair down to the middle of my back - Sex and the City was blowing up on HBO. Lack of a TV in my college dorm room meant that I was never able to follow Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha quite as closely as some of my friends, but that didn't mean I was oblivious to it all. And as that infamous foursome sought love in the Big Apple, people claimed that the show was clear evidence that the "30s were the new 20s."
I naively believed it back then; barely 21 and fully immersed in the self-centered mentality of college, where you're not really expected to think outside the small universe you've built around yourself. I remember being sort of relieved upon hearing that claim, actually; a decade plus of time mentally stretched out before me. Plenty of time to figure out love, life, and everything in between.
But now officially in my late twenties, I can tell you this: your 30s will not, in fact, be anything like your 20s. I don't care how "mentally young" you claim to be, it's not the same, if only for the sheer fact that when you're 30, you probably aren't still partying on your parents's dime. And by that time, it's really not socially acceptable for you to be doing so, either. So that whole bit about your 30s being the new 20s? Huge lie.

null

Unless, of course, we're talking about treadmills and triathlons. Then, it somehow seems like women in their 30s dominate, and are having as much or more fun than their 20 something counterparts.
Maybe it's the typical social calendar and Friday nights of the recently-post-college set that tends to get in the way of regimented training sessions and yoga classes [and who can really blame them?]. But the typical "fitness chick" tends to be a woman more experienced than those just making their way into the workforce. They eat well, hit the gym nearly daily, and work around their work-outs, all while juggling spouses or boyfriends and possibly children. The image isn't an envious one; fitness chicks are constantly busy, and all they eat are salads and health food. Sure they have amazing bodies, but who really wants to put in that much work to be like them?
Or so the 21-year old me thought. But looking around - at my calendar, the rollers, the yoga mat that has it's permanent place in the center of the floor, and even the contents of my fridge - it seems as if I'm slowly becoming a fitness chick. Granted, I mostly stick to cycling, but I've ventured into Pilates and will sometimes even hit the gym. Five years ago, I hardly knew how to work a treadmill and detested wearing sneakers. Now, I can't live without either. When did that happen?

null

null

Last July, on the weekend following my birthday, my sister had cackled as she asked:
"So how does it feel to be in your late twenties?"
As if, at 28, she wasn't already well into her late twenties. I had a bit of an existential crisis for a full minute before heading out the door to my new favorite bike shop. Neatly clipping into my pedals on Second Ave, I didn't feel 26 yet [bicycles tend to have that general effect]. But I knew I was pushing a gear ratio that would have killed both my knees a few years ago.
Dodging pedestrians in Chinatown, I finally had an answer for my sister: it feels great to be in my late twenties. It feels better, in fact, than when I was 21, smoked daily, and could live off bad Chinese food, pizza, and Krispy Kreme. And I'm kind of proud to say that...even if I have my inner budding fitness chick to thank for it.

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...?

null

null

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.

null

null

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.

sooo sicxxx!

I didn't go to Cornell [for college] but I found the best room mate there.
We found each other in a slightly musty dorm room on the first day of summer school. Hailing from Staten Island, Mell was lightly freckled and Irish to the core. She was confident without being arrogant and charismatic without being annoying. We listened to early 90s punk and squealed over boys but gave each other enough space to avoid nasty cat fights. She pulled off the sexy tomboy thing with ease and had a drama-free relationship with a pretty gorgeous, tall blonde. She was basically awesome without being overbearing, and we got along magnificently.
I've never quite found another roomie like her. I've lived with both genders but the amicable yet trustworthy relationship I had with Mell is, I've found, quite elusive. Because you can love your friends, but living with them is always another animal.

null

I made a lot of long-lasting friendships that summer, but Mell still sticks out in my mind. Whenever I hear of Staten Island, I wonder what she - currently a chocolatier - is up to, and how I really should drop her a line. And if I had plans to be down in NYC this coming Sunday, I'd make sure to drag her out to an awesome event on her own home turf: SICX.
Conceived by CJ and Jed - NYC resident representatives for all things 'cross - it makes a small part of me wish that I wasn't going to gorge myself on turkey and pumpkin pie up in Massachusetts, but that my sister had invited me to whatever she and her small, Asian, lesbian friends were doing for Thanksgiving in NYC. The line-up of sponsors is enough to have me drooling and I'll even consider dropping the whole "no eating four-legged animals" thing for the fifty - yes, FIFTY - pounds of bacon from Wellshire Farms that CJ has [supposedly] stashed in his 'fridge for this event [if that bacon goes missing, you know who the culprit is].

null

But wafels, bacon, and croque monsieurs isn't the only reason you should make your way out there. Because if you live in NYC and enjoy riding your bicycle in mud, this is an absolute godsend. Any other weekend, you'll have to travel by car to get to any decent 'cross race. SICX is placing a legit event in your lap, accessible by public transport. If you're in the city, have a cross bike, and aren't going to this, CJ and Jed are right - you do hate to have fun.
Or you're just a fatass. Post-Thanksgiving, there's probably no better way to burn off those two pieces of pecan pie you'll down on Thursday, and the massive turkey sandwich you'll have on Friday for lunch, and that apple pie you know you'll indulge in on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. If you're blessed with a body fat percentage of 2%, and you can use all the calories you can humanly consume, then, well, Thanksgiving is going to be the perfect carb-fest for SICX.

null

Unfortunately, I'm going to have to learn how to run before I race SICX, and the promise of starchy, meaty, sugary deliciousness a mere 30 miles from my house is going to keep me in MA. But for all those NYC residents, I expect a full disclosure of the awesomeness that will be SICX.
[And if you are in Boston, come out to the Middlesex tonight to support the Geekhouse CX Team. Come on, admit it, you can't resist those kits and bikes!]

pump it up

Can you believe it's November?
I understand that happened almost three weeks ago, but it's finally sinking in. It's almost Thanksgiving. That means it's almost December. When did that happen?
I blame the deceptively warm weather that has me thinking it's still early October. My long-sleeve Underarmour gear has remained untouched in my closet for the past several weeks; if I recall correctly, I was living in that stuff this time last year. And though the fact that the sun seems to set at 3pm has my body begging me to go into hibernation, I'm mentally waiting for the cold to hit Boston. Against all hope, the weather's held its surprisingly warm embrace.

null

I'm grateful for that; I really am. It means more time outside, and more time outside on the track bike. At the same time, it feels like that frustrating [and ultimately embarrassing] dance you do when you try to walk around someone coming from the opposite direction; you both just end up shuffling laterally in the same direction, bobbing your heads like pigeons as you try to navigate where the other stranger is trying to go. I feel like I've been doing that for weeks now, and cold or no cold, I'm itching to feel that sense of relief when you finally manage to break free from that awkward side shuffling and go your separate ways.
Because this weather is holding everything up. It's placed me in that in-between phase of late fall/early winter where nothing in your closet is really appropriate. That seems to apply to my bike as well. Once temperatures started to dip into the low 30s, I had promised myself that I'd change out my Vittoria Randonneurs for knobbier 'cross tires. I promised myself I'll sit down, pick the glass and other crap out of my winter tires and strip my rims of those white-ish gray rounds of rubber. I even switched out the clipless pedals for toe clips well in advance of any chance of snow. I had it all planned out; by December, I was going to be well bundled up and hauling around the commuter-converted-into-snow-bike. It was going to suck, but I was prepared to be prepared.

null

null

Instead, my grand plans of blasting Elvis Costello's "Pump It Up" while making the tire switch has apparently been put on the back burner. It's like when your date leans in for that first kiss and you're waiting and getting slightly nervous because you hope it's going to be a good one and then you wait...and wait...and wait...until you start wondering what the hell is going on??? Just get it over with, already! Stop making me WAIT!
Okay maybe it's not really like that, but you know what I mean. I'm thankful for the fact that I can entertain the possibility of going on a ride during turkey break, but a part of me wishes I wasn't just lip syncing in the mirror along with Elvis. True, that might be because my building has turned on the heat and my apartment currently feels like an oven [with windows open and everything]. Sometimes, though, I suspect I might like to bike in the snow [at least for a week or two]. On the other hand, I could just be a selfish bitch who wants the entire road to herself.
Personally, I like to think that it's really because freezing temperatures would give me the perfect excuse to polish my Costello Pump It Up Dance. Admit it, you've totally tried it, too.
[Friday! Rapha Scarf Friday!]