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...

slowing down [with snob]

Like most people, I can't stand people that are like me.
It's not because I see all of my own personality faults in them [I wisely choose not to acknowledge that], it's actually far more basic. I just can't stand people who are obsessed with multi-tasking; thinking about 20,000 things at a million miles a minute. If I'm honest with myself, though, I'm equally as irritating as the people who drive me insane.
No surprise then, that I start my day off with a cup of rocket fuel. Strong enough to keep the gears spinning for the next four hours or so, it's sipped after a quick warm up on the rollers, while I check my inbox, pack a lunch, do my hair, and compile the day's to-do list in my head. Bold, strong, and hot, it definitely makes this girl's morning worth waking up for.

Then chugging the slowly cooling liquid, the bike ride to school is done while rummaging around my brain for lectures, events, rides, and errands that have to get done. People to email back, posts to publish, pictures to take. Climb four flights of stairs and change out of my shoes and sweaty clothes before sitting in class, taking notes, checking the NY Times, looking up the weather for the following week, deleting emails, jotting down random ideas, etc., etc., etc.
It's not like I can't sit still. I can. Quite well, in fact. It's just - like most people my age - I'm addicted to multi-tasking. And when you add law school and cycling to the mix, it seems like it all has to be done at breakneck speed. Get to school fast, get reading done fast, get journal stuff done fast, get home fast. Sleep for a little while and get up fast tomorrow.

Rushing home yesterday for another cup of caffeinated diesel because the thin, watery stuff at school just wasn't cutting it, I plopped down on my couch to fly through a few articles in the October issue of Bicycling Magazine. Even though really good writing seems extremely hard to find these days, I was still ready to read the thing from cover to cover in some ridiculously short amount of time.
Chance dictated that I would open the page to Bike Snob's column, and despite the steaming cup of coffee in my left hand, I finally managed to slow down. And think. And relax just a tiny bit.

Because according to BSNYC, I've been doing the equivalent of "shotgunning" my life, when it really should be "sipped" and "savored." Okay, he was talking about bike rides, but when you're spinning your way through life like you're racing on 2:1 gearing, the analogy is appropriate. At least my ADD thinks so.
I read just a few articles, slowly drinking my coffee, actually tasting the stuff instead of trying to directly inject it into my bloodstream ASAP. I left most of the magazine unread, for later.
And then I got on my rollers and tried to make the time fly faster while watching an episode of CSI and allotting out sections of my night for whatever long list of things I had to do. Such is life.
[And here's a Rapha Scarf Friday for you, complete with caffeine...]

[imaginary] friends

One reason I tend to ride alone is the blissful ignorance of how fast I am not going. No fancy cycloputer on my handlebars, no stop watch, just a cell phone and a mental note of when I roll out.
Of course, when you ride with friends with gears, everything sort of changes.
Not in a bad way, though. You just start to see things differently. And while I dread using the word, in a way you start to compare.
Heading out this morning on a ride, alone, I almost wondered why I wasn't with a friend or two. It's gorgeous out. Just cool enough to keep the sweat from flowing down your face in rivets, and the sun shining just enough to head out in shorts and a jersey. Not even a strong wind to discourage the ride; and thank God for that, because I was definitely dragging my cleats.

Those are sort of the times I wish I had a friend who didn't have social obligations on Saturdays, and would drag me out on rides. Maybe someone on a single-speed. Because remembering the constant dropping and catching up of a few days ago, my ego wanted to be coddled a bit, not shattered into a million pieces.
I was still pretending, though, that Matt was churning those cranks ahead of me, almost hearing that wet sound of a chain being funneled through a derailleur, and the clickety-click of shifting gears. I mashed harder on the hills, imagining him ahead of me in that bright white kit, and flat terrain meant I had to go even faster to catch up to an imaginary friend.
And I did it fast. As fast as Matt and I did it last time, even. And descending those hills, I remembered how Matt flew down them. Finally catching up to him, I said:
"You don't like to use your brakes, do you?"

He smirked in response as he shook his head. Ah, the irony of learning that brakes are unnecessary from a roadie. Or, maybe it's not so ironic at all.
Home at last, I stretched while struggling out of a sweaty jersey, shorts, and cycling cap. And oddly enough, I finally realized that while my friends may be working while I ride, I'm sort of carrying them with me wherever I go. The jersey from IBC, the spoke bracelet from Chris [plus the two bracelets from my best friend], the cycling cap from CB.
Then, of course, there's the bike. But that a whole nother story involving more friends, sub-stories, and a few broken parts. Suffice it to say that it's the product of a lot of love, and of course, very real friends.

faking it

Fake til you make it. That's what some reliable news sources [read: Cosmo] have taught me.
That might be why I only wear spandex and Sidis nowadays and will at least try to look the part of serious cyclist. Let's try to forget that I'm currently - and probably will continue to be - incredibly slow. Those are small details that aren't really relevant to this discussion.
Given my recent acquisition of Sidis [seriously one of the most comfortable, efficient things I've ever had attached to my feet], it probably doesn't come as a surprise that I'm turning the "faking it" up a notch. I even have a jersey now [okay, that was almost a joke purchase but I love to rock it]. Now if only my Bianchi looked less like a commuter beater bike and more...racy.
Of course - this being me - I mean that in both senses of the word. The Bianchi being my official training bike [I am currently shamelessly loving that freewheel], I need it to be fast and, you know, as sexy as possible. And while the pink + dark green theme was cool in that super fixster look-I'm-so-hipster-I-can-look-good-in-colors-that-don't-really-match kind of way, watermelons don't really move quickly. They sort of just roll sluggishly.

So it was time for a change. Chris had been pointing out how faded out and gross my formerly pink bartape was for about the past month [yeah, I have amazing friends]. I tested the waters with the purchase and application of a pair of Vittoria Randonneurs. They looked fast. I plunged into the "racy" pool with Pro white bartape last night.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Me? Fast? It's more than a vain hope. It's more like a delusion. Still, I've heard, from reliable sources, that while training endlessly will make you fast, white bartape makes you go even faster. Okay, yeah, that presumes you enjoy training for hours on a trainer, Powercranks, and that inexplicable pain of drinking protein shakes. I'm obviously not there yet...but I'm working on it.

In the meantime, the goal is to at least look like I enjoy all of the above. I'm already practicing chugging protein shakes with a smile. Now if only my legs can keep up...
[Oh, and I'm expecting full reports on Battenkill!]

inferiority complex

So I'm still feeding off the trackosaurus-rex-posting-plus-garrett-chow-facebook-friending extravaganza of Monday. I'm not going to lie, that totally made my week life.
Sure, my 15 minutes of fame might already be over, but I was having a hard time thinking up new [blogging] goals. Think Lance after winning the Tour seven times, minus the dating hot models and celebrities [unfortunately]. I sat there, watching the hit count on this blog skyrocket, and patted myself on the back. Go me.
Of course, within 24 hours of that, blowing myself got kind of old. And, like Lance, there's not much that can really get me to give up...well...anything. Besides, there's a bike to be built up, more hats to be made, and I'm convinced that some people out there will continue to be interested in the trials and tribulations of a girl who can barely stay on her first fixed gear.

Which brings me to the actual bike-riding part of my life. I mean, sure Lance and I could probably make some legit hill-climbing babies...but what about owning those time trials? I'm not saying he's not fast - just that I wouldn't ever want him to slow down [that much] for me. After, you know, [he realizes we were totally meant to be and] we get married.
Actually, I wouldn't want any boy on a bike slowing down for me. Even though I don't so much ride my bike as crawl around on it in traffic. So, like Lance [do you see how we're made for each other?], my competitive side/inferiority complex has gotten me sprinting on my commute.
I may have achieved my personal dream blog goal, but here's to new ones: not running into cars, getting faster, and a larger thigh to arm ratio!