Starting Thursday, most of my weekend was spent doing this:
I woke up Thursday night with a fever. The next few days involved raspy coughing, lots of sleep, and some colossally disgusting phlegm. I was popping pills like
the pros M&Ms.
Needless to say, there wasn’t much time on the bike [somewhat good because it actually snowed on Friday...FYI, IT IS MARCH, PEOPLE...!]. This meant that by Saturday, I was going slightly stir-crazy, and actually considered riding.
Which was a terrible idea because I could barely go 10 minutes without coughing and/or blowing my nose. I was pretty much a disgusting mess. But, oh, the guilt...!
Apparently, committing to riding some arbitrary number of miles a week is sort of like strapping myself into a guilt rollercoaster. When I’m not hitting those stupid damn numbers, I feel lazy, even if I have a pile of possibly more important things vying for my attention. Of course, when I do hit those magical numbers of miles or hours in the saddle, I feel like I’ve been straddling that thing for a small eternity, and I tell myself I’ll welcome the rest day. I don’t. I spend most of it restlessly reading and forcing myself to walk, not ride, to Cafe Fixe.
Yes, I sound like a budding addict. I might possibly be one at this point. Possibly.
My illness did a pretty good job of confining me to bed rest this weekend, though. While I don’t appreciate the attempt to break my addiction, it did mean that I got dinner cooked for me on Saturday night and some good cycling company [okay, of one] to help keep the cabin fever at bay. It did the trick - by Sunday night I knew I would be able to ride through any residual phlegm.
Too bad the weather decided to give me a big “FUCK YOU” in the form of rain. Until Wednesday. Awesome.
...Yeah, I probably should invest in a rain jacket. I’m going to be one of those annoying optimists and pretend that a high volume of hope will somehow mitigate the misery of the commute this week. So, yeah. Wish me luck.
But then again, Plastic Peloton found me on twitter and said some super nice things about the blog. Maybe this week is looking up...!
Ughhhhhhhhhhh soooooooooo windy out. UGHHHHHHHHHHH.
Yeah, I am currently a whine-fest, but I really love how the week after I meet with my faux-ch, it rains for most of the week. I mean, nevermind that I’m swamped with work and I couldn’t get out to ride anyway...how am I supposed to hit my 100+ miles/week goal at this rainy rate?
Well, in other news, my leg is starting to feel okay. When I told DS that my hamstring’s been killing me for the past two weeks, he informed me that my body was just adjusting to the bike. As in, HTFU. Hilarious.
With the weather being like it is, I honestly didn’t have much to post about...until, flipping through pictures taken this weekend, I found a picture of these:
Women’s Sidi MTB Dominator 5. Red. Hot. Incredibly hot.
The one on display was my size [I think God’s trying to tell me and/or my credit card something], so I couldn’t resist trying them on. They’re the first MTB shoes I’ve tried and holy shit can you say comfortable?! My toes weren’t pointing up like they do with my road shoes and I could sort of walk normally. PLUS THEY’RE RED. I'm still regretting not spending the money I don't have on these! [FYI, Sidi, I wouldn't mind if you sent me a pair of these, you know, just because.]
With my luck, some luckier girl is going to walk out with that same pair next week. But that’s okay; I’m telling myself that despite how incredibly sexy they are, they won’t match either of my bikes, nor would I be able to do longer rides with SPD pedals, anyway. Still...don’t they look good on me?!
And if shoes don’t excite you on this otherwise dreary day, how’s a sick Geekhouse ‘cross bike for you? This baby is now sitting pretty in NYC Velo; Marty himself even brought it from Boston. Which is a good thing, because it’s something like a 56cm [don’t quote me on that], and Andy actually asked me if I could bring it down with me this past weekend. I’m not sure if he wanted me to strap it to my back or actually try to ride it, but both would have resulted in a destroyed Geekhouse by yours truly.
Granted, it would have been funny to watch, but I’m pretty sure both Marty and Andy would have killed me.
Okay that’s all I got for you on this seriously shitty hump day. Vicarious retail therapy. Speaking of which...anyone have any short-sleeve jersey recommendations?
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.]
I have the worst luck in the world. I will manage to leave just when it starts to pour and arrive at my destination as it starts to clear up, usually end up with the worst exam schedule on the face of the planet, and will consistently get thrown under the bus for things I have absolutely nothing to do with.
Yeah, it's totally awesome.
The most recent episode of incredibly shitty luck involved an incident which occurred on a weekend I was away. That's right; I was about 200 miles away from Boston and somehow the whole thing twisted around to bite me - a completely uninvolved, neutral party - in the ass. The pressure of throwing around the unpinned hand grenade that is my law journal only exacerbated things. And given the luxury of a warning this time around, I was bracing myself for the damn thing to explode in my face.
Surprisingly, it didn't. Which is a good thing, if only for the fact that I can continue to keep my bike in our law journal lounge.
But of course, the weather never wanted to stop screwing with me. Clad in underarmour, wool socks, and a raincoat, I left my apartment yesterday in legitimate rain. Water found its way between the vents of my helmet, soaked the Mengoni hat I'm ridiculously proud of, and dripped down the back of my neck. Drops of rain clung to my socks and seeped into my Sidis while gloves got soaked. And just when I rolled up to the front of the law school, the sun peeked out. The rain stopped. I was still drenched. Awesome.
I secretly hoped that it would rain more later in the afternoon, mostly because I brought my raincoat. I felt more and more cheated as the sun shone increasingly brightly outside, and save for a 5 minute downpour that I gleefully watched and took pictures of, the rain vanished.
The road was mostly dry by the time I got home.
Just my luck that, when sticky social situations seem to be easing up a bit, the weather manages to royally fuck me. Actually, it didn't fuck me, it essentially built up some hype and left me high and dry, so to speak. Which feels somehow worse.
And yes, those are going to be famous last words.
I don't know what my parents were really thinking but my name is a homonym for "silkworm" in Japanese.
Or maybe they weren't really thinking.
The characters are different, obviously, but it still makes for somewhat awkward introductions. Like oh, hello, my parents named me after a worm that you eventually boil in its own cocoon to get silk thread, and no, my family isn't [legally] insane.
These days, though, the name seems more appropriate than ever. Because with thunderstorms predicted for the next week and the desire not to get sick, I'm dutifully wrapping myself up in a proper raincoat...and steaming in my own body heat all the way to and from work.
Put a cycling cap and a helmet on top of that and I was actually dripping sweat [yeah, seems like a common theme nowadays] when I got to work yesterday. The worse part being that when I got to the office, I couldn't get my raincoat off fast enough. With a sheen of salt water covering my arms, I ended up standing in front of my desk, waving my arms around as rivets of sweat ran down my face, desperately trying to free myself of the waterproof fabric.
Ripping off my shirt and tank top, all I wanted to do was douse myself in some ice water. Instead, in the tiny space between two desks, I struggled into a button down shirt, skirt, and heels, looking like I was ready to start another 9-5er at the office.
I say looking because although I was seated at my desk, a cup of coffee clutched in my left hand, I really just sat there for about 10 minutes, staring at a completely unexciting inbox, trying to somehow stop my uncontrollable sweating. Of course no amount of mental willpower actually did the trick; my mind only slowly flickered on when I heard the familiar stuttered rumbling of the AC kicking in.
Of course, the way home was worse. Refusing to wrap my legs in the same sauna-esque waterproof material, my bare legs got drenched within minutes, the water running down my thighs and the back of my knees to slowly soak into my knee highs, along with my misery. The rain and my own sweat worked to slow me down, and it wasn't until the mystery guy kitted out in an IBC jersey drew up beside me at a light that I realized that the streets were pretty deserted. The usual commuters just weren't out in this shitty weather.
With nothing to fuel my uber-competitiveness, I crawled home at a record slow, hardly bothering to pedal in better circles. The worst part being that when I got home, I was too drenched to bother getting on the rollers.
I'm justifying it as a "day off. We all need a few of those, right? I promise to do some time on those things tonight, though. Even if I get home absolutely soaked [with rain and/or sweat].