transitioning into spring

'Cross season has always signaled transitions. Like the rebound boyfriend [or, better, the really awesome guy friend that will voluntarily be a fake boyfriend post-break-up until you can go 24 hours without unraveling into a weepy mess], 'cross has held my hand every year as road left me. The air gets a little colder, I start pulling on knee warmers on rides, and by September the races I'm watching involve muddy stairs, and much less asphalt.
It's a good change of pace. Like hanging out with your big brother type friends - the ones you know will make sure you get home okay before going home with that girl you played wingman for - after you pulled a bit of a disappearing act over a crush that didn't work out. CX gives you something fun to do when it's freezing cold outside, with people you secretly think are insane, but you're still proud to call your friends. You end up with lots of good stories, inside jokes and killer hangovers. It's the best way to spend a winter. [Picture below taken by Alex...isn't my helmet hair amazing?]

But then there's a lull in February, after CX Worlds [although Cyclocross Tokyo holds me over a little longer]. Valentine's Day rolls around and the big brother figure that is 'cross is out wining and dining a hot date. The lack of romance in your life becomes a little too clear. You start intensely staring at the Competitive Cyclist postcard from three years ago with Cav on it racing in the Giro - even though you're not a Cav fan - because maybe, just maybe, you can will it to be May if you tried hard enough.
I know, I know, there are the Spring Classics, and it would be greedy of me to ignore Paris-Nice. Coming off the high of CX season, though, I've been craving something...more. The excitement of watching all the big names flex their muscles in the same race, Tour-style. The sprints, lead-out trains, and fast-as-fuck climbing that you get to see in stage races. The Italian sun bouncing off colorful jerseys on carbon fiber bikes...
Actually, that's all bullshit. I didn't see Adam Hansen's name on the Paris-Nice start list and immediately lost interest. Yeah, I understand there's value in watching races that don't include the most bangable dude in the pro peloton, but understanding that concept and acting on it are two different things, okay?

But then there was a tweet about Tirreno! And a start list shot full of HGH [that's Hendy, Greipel, and Hansen, in pedal-strike speak]! And just like that, it looked like I was going to make it through March without [too much] pro cycling stage racing withdrawal.
Sure, my entire face is in agony from the trees around Tokyo constantly jizzing pollen into the air, but I am seriously loving spring.

snotty but laid back

A friend commented the other day that he thought I was from the Pacific Northwest.
“You’re so laid back,” he said.
I burst out laughing. Me? Laid back? Yeah, laid back like bat shit crazy’s laid back. Still, oddly flattered, I brandished my compliment du jour later that night to Mike. His response:
“.....WHAT???? Does this kid even know you? Hahahahahahhaa! You, ‘laid back.’ Hahahahahaha...”
I told him to shut his face.

True, that compliment isn’t accurate, and was the farthest thing from the truth a few weeks ago. I had given up on the rollers; even Dragonforce couldn’t coax me on my track bike. Bored and frustrated, I was pretty much going stir crazy. The weather outside looked bleak and miserable. Riding bikes had ceased to be fun about two months ago. Spring didn’t look like it was going to make an appearance anytime soon. My middle name was “Doom and Gloom.”
But the weather turned on Saturday and for the first time in my [fairly short cycling] life, I did solid 2 hour rides on 5 out of the past 6 days. Fully aware of my finicky muscles, I rolled out my IT bands every few hours after riding, did some awesome yoga stretches, and even tried stretching in class. Miraculously, my IT bands didn’t break in half, my calves are still functioning, and my tendons haven’t been torn into itty bitty pieces. An ever-so-slightly lowered saddle fixed the aching hamstrings after the second day. Considering how out of shape I am - remember, two weeks off those rollers? - the fact that I’m capable of standing right now is pretty impressive.

The almost daily rides also meant that I’ve had that buzzy feeling of euphoric exhaustion all week [and a ravenous appetite]. Too tired post-ride to do much else than hold a highlighter, my frantic mood swings were unusually subdued. I was almost laid back. Mellow, even.
My rides were the same way, too, which is something you might expect, as they were far from long or fast. Sure, they were challenging enough to make my doughy legs work for it, but there was a lot of no-handed riding in there, too. And all week, I got to pat myself on the back for simply riding. Yay!
Everything on my rides was awesome...or is awesome, until the whole snot thing starts. For 80% of my ride, I’m sniffling or smearing snot around my face with my sleeve. I’m totally okay with being gross by myself, but my faucet-like nostrils are distracting, to say the least. Finally fed up with it yesterday, I looked up and down the street, made sure no cyclists were in sight, and tried my first snot rocket.
It splattered all over my right thigh. I’m not even going to tell you how obscene it looked.
If any of you have tips on how to master that elusive nostril-clearing technique, please let me know. I can really use help on this one.

taking a breath

Law school exams are sort of like that space between comfortably drunk and black out drunk. Okay, that's kind of a big range, but you know that phase that starts when everything goes numb and the room spins a little. That phase when that booze-fueled fog that's making bad decisions for you clears for a moment and you realize that that shot waiting for you at the bar is totally unnecessary, but you take it anyway.
The last time I did that, I went home in a cab around 7pm [yeah, we started early] and I was puking my guts out until 3am.
I thought I was going to die.
The next morning, I patched together pieces of the previous evening, only remembering hours later that I had literally crawled from the elevator to my sister's apartment that night. All those embarrassing moments, slowly filtering in, like your memory won't let your ego die of shame by bringing it back all at once.

That's kind of what exams are like. Really. It's a numbing three hours where at the end, you're not even sure what happened. And in a lot of ways, I don't even want to know what happened. I have three more exams coming up; how well I did [or not] is a question gladly deferred until my ego can handle it.
So when I walked out of my tax exam around 1pm today into a warm, sunny afternoon, I couldn't resist the longer ride home. A day this beautiful can't go to waste, especially when I have the handy excuse of "well, I need to clear my head after that exam totally effed me in the a." And so, I mercilessly exploited that excuse, riding through Watertown then heading through Cambridge, stopping to see flowers and trees with [green!] leaves on them and groups of friends or happy couples strolling lazily with coffee cups in their hands. And cruising past it all, I gulped in the fresh, spring air, trying to clear my lungs of the cobwebs and dust that's forming in them.

I sucked in more air when I stopped by Cambridge, and stomped around in my Sidis, running inside and out. But that's for tomorrow; for now, coffee [and maybe a little more law] calls.

pedal, interrupted

Not enough sleep. Not enough motivation. My two persistent problems this week.
Last night I blocked off time slots for studying. 8am to noon on Saturday is for Con Law, Tax, and Evidence. 12.30 to 5pm for outlining, reviewing, etc., etc., etc. It felt organized and good; at least it looked good on Google calendar. The unorganized mess is actually executing said plan.
And said plan is already being derailed. I woke up this morning and couldn't wait until 4.30pm - because when it's this warm out, I'm definitely leaving the library early, taking the long way home, and stopping at a few bike shops along the way.

I even had a post planned - well, half planned - about how gorgeous it is outside today and the fact that my gigantor thighs are no longer wrapped in Underarmour. I was then going to go on and say boring and mundane things about spring and how everyone should go out there and ride their bikes. Yeah, notice how I said "half planned." I am emphasizing the "half" here.
So with this weakly formulated post, I figured I'll try to boost interesting-ness with good pictures. Something nature-y, so people see that Boston actually has seasons other than "bitterly cold winters." Something that doesn't consist of the shots of Comm Ave that I love to take. Somethi-

W. T. F.
I screeched to a halt, just managing to wrench a foot out of my clips as I fumbled for the camera conveniently nestled in my pocket. With one foot still clipped in, I hopped/dragged my bike closer, zooming in on the turkey that decided to show up in the bougie streets of Newton. Seriously? I mean, I know this happens, but it's 8.30am and this is Comm Ave...! I almost reached out to tug the sleeve of an invisible friend and finding none, was left to sort of look around in amazement.
So, yes, I saw a wild turkey this morning. That means that, at the very least, it's going to be a good day [but with bike shops involved, how could it not be?]. It also means that everyone racing Battenkill tomorrow is going to have an awesomely good time.
Good luck, guys - I'll be there in spirit, eating a turkey drumstick!

sweet and salty

Until about a week ago, my friends [other than my IBC crew, obviously] who got to see progress pictures of my bike would constantly ask me when it was going to be done. It was more out of politeness on my friends' part though, as most of them don't ride bikes; and it's a too-easy topic of discussion that'll make me blatantly happy. A friend put it bluntly:
"Your face just lights up when you talk about that bike. Like what normal girls do when they talk about shoes."
I was sort of glad, though, that my lack of funds and thus, parts, was slowing down the whole process. It was still legitimately cold out when I bought the frame [in mid-February], and the days of alternating snow and icy rain kept me from wanting to jump on that bike ASAP.

Late nights in the library and a lack of lights for the Dolan are keeping me from riding it to school this week. But as I chased down a guy on a fixed gear this morning - white bike, spandex, some awesome kicks, and thighs that looked like tree trunks - I noticed something that made me smile.
Gasping for air as I attempted to keep pace with the fixed guy, I wasn't tasting salt anymore. That's become my barometer for full-on-New-England-okay-I've-had-enough-can-we-have-some-warmer-weather-now? winters. When my tires stop kicking up an invisible layer of salt dust grime, it's officially spring. No more snow or ice. No more getting stuck behind those salt trucks just as they start scattering the stuff [which resulted in an inadvertent facial exfoliation via rock salt]. No more white flakes of dried saltwater peeling off my bike.

I understand it's fairly disgusting to actually know that the aforementioned salt dust grime is going into my mouth. That's not to say that getting a taste of cycling is always salty, though. Because bike shops will always feed you, and when it's finally spring, Easter M&M cookies become not only muscle fuel, but also sweet promises of summer.
I'm already getting hungry [again].
[Thank you Bud and Mrs. Barry for the delicious cookies!!!]