rolling through shit

When I said I was good at creating disasters, I was only half serious. I mean, I can make a pretty mean mess in the kitchen, have gotten myself into some spectacularly stupid situations, and have somehow managed to permanently scar my knees within 6 months of starting to ride. Despite all that, I haven’t endo-ed, broken my collarbone, or lost any fingers. This lulled me into being comfortable on my rides. I had a routine down, and it seemed to work.
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared on those rides. I love being prepared. Not being prepared and armed with several alternative plans and to do lists exponentially increases the likelihood that I will turn into a crankopotamus. Diving straight into disastrous situations due to lack of preparation turns me into a giant bitch bomb. So I try to avoid that.
I said “try.”

Because when you’re doped up on sunshine and bike rides, sometimes, shit happens before you even realize it’s happening. And that’s exactly what happened on Friday.
With plenty of good weather outside, Mike and I planned a super easy 3 hour coffee ride. The planned route was the full 40 mile Dover loop; nothing new or special about it. Just a lazy, relaxing ride with a lot of Vitamin D thrown in. We fueled up on oatmeal and coffee beforehand, stuffed our pockets with all the essentials, and headed out in the late morning.
Even with a relaxed pace, we made good time, but an hour in, and my stomach started to growl and whine. The coffee and shared slice of banana bread were more than welcome by the time we rolled up to the Charles River Coffee House and quieted my rumbling tummy. Amped up on caffeine, we climbed back onto our bikes and headed west.

Half an hour later, I was suddenly fucking starving. Famished, I was looking at another hour and a half in the saddle with hills that kill me even on my good days. My legs felt more wrung out than painful. Welcome to bonks-ville.
The power turned down and the bitchery turned up. I was hurting and cranky and frustrated and that voice in my head started to ask all the discouraging rhetorical questions about what in the world I was actually doing. Meanwhile, I was barely able to keep my bike upright. Of course, I refused to stop, take a break, or touch the Larabar in my pocket. I felt like a failure. I just wanted to get home.
We pushed through the hills, mostly in silence as I was completely devoid of humor. Finally on flatter ground, I pushed away thoughts of a juicy [turkey] burger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake and gave it all I got. Almost, almost home.
Then Mike got a double flat.

By this point, the ride had edged itself out of “terrible” and into “ridiculous.” Mike flipped his bike over and with only one spare tube on him, we ended up stuffing my 700x28 tube into his 23 tires. Somehow we managed not to release all the CO2 from the cartridges before attaching it to the valve [I’m a master of wasting those things], which is a good thing because we only had two between us. In the middle of peeling off his rear tire, I mentioned how the ride was devolving into a disaster.
“What are you talking about?,” Mike asked, “This is fun!”
He wasn’t being sarcastic. And he was right. Well, we both were. It was slightly disastrous but in the end, nothing I couldn’t handle. Which was a kind of cool thing to learn.
We did get home in one piece. And once through the door, we even came up with a really good meat snack. I heart me my meat snacks.
Shit happens [to everyone], I guess. You just have to learn how to roll through it.

success not an option

Mike is always telling me that I should start another blog [“you should start a running blog....called ‘Foot Strike,’” or when I mentioned my hamstrings, “you should just change the blog to “Hamstring Strike”]. Fed up with his constant suggestions, I told him I was going to change the name of this blog to “Face Plant” so I wouldn’t have to start another one and it would be generally applicable to my life.
So I was going to change my banner today [April Fool’s] to “Face Plant.” I was too busy face planting to get it done, though.
I’m picking myself up, dusting myself off, and heading out to do the usual 2 hour ride for the first time in a week. I can already feel my entire lower body hurting. But that’s okay, I think I’m getting used to that part.

Remember last week when I was booking it through some legit wind? My legs hurt, but I wasn’t afraid of it for once. I knew I could juice them out a little more and I’ll still be able to make it home, mostly injury free [there’s little in this world that Aleve can’t fix]. It might sound silly, but I thought that was kind of cool. Maybe proof that I was getting a little stronger. Maybe proof that there was some hidden potential in those legs. Maybe proof that I was getting this whole thing right for once.
But a week off the bike and a little bit of cabin fever makes for prime face planting situations. I’ve been trying to get back up but sometimes it can be kind of a struggle.
This time last year, I just liked bikes. And then it got complicated. Stupidly so. Who knew that what kind of bike you’re riding, what kind of jersey you’re wearing, or what kind of helmet you have on could be the basis of superficial judgment? I mean...seriously? We’re all in the equivalent of an 80’s take on a superhero outfit gone terribly wrong. I’m of the opinion that we all look pretty fricking ridiculous.
Still, being a single-speed among derailleurs, I fight that self-conscious mentality a lot. I know I stick out more than I maybe am comfortable with. I know my limitations are pretty glaring, too. And it’s clear that I’ve managed to put myself in an awesome situation where I can’t conveniently hide in a pack or relate to people who can ride for more than 6 hours. As far as the internet goes, I’m apparently the only female cyclist foolish enough to acquire two single-speeds and insist on riding them like road bikes. I’m going to be honest; that can be frustrating. It makes getting on the bike just that much harder.
But sometimes, I forget: success is not an option.

A mantra that originated on one of those rare days when I had the confidence to admit that I don’t really belong anywhere near a bike, it’s actually helped me stay on the damn thing. It even got me thinking I should try my hand at a crit, just to see how long it would take for me to get lapped [and oh yes, I would ride that 25lbs+ Bianchi]. People would probably take offense at that, but failure’s a lot more fun when you can spectacularly redefine “disaster” in the process. And quite honestly, I’m pretty good at that.
It’s all about attitude, people. Attitude in Lycra. Now off to blow up that Dover ride...!

being sold short

Dear sirs [and I mean sirs] in the cycling industry,
I am a 26 year old female law student who is in love with bicycles. I commute to school in all kinds of weather, sweat it out on the rollers in the winter, and ride outdoors every chance I get. I’ve grown accustomed to the sweaty rides, messy hair, and the image in the mirror when I manage to squeeze myself into Lycra. Arguments could be made that I’ve completely let myself go. However, like most women, I still want to look good while I’m pushing those pedals.
When I got wind of Rapha’s new women’s line, a [male] source told me that it was “only” going to be a pair of shorts, a jersey, and a jacket.
“Only?,” I responded, “at least they’re making some women’s stuff!”

I think he shrugged in response, or possibly nodded. I was excited, and couldn’t see why my source expected me to be disappointed at the limited nature of the new line. What I failed to realize then was that my own statement was an admission that, since I’ve started cycling, I’ve gotten far too used to selling myself short.
In an industry where most of the consumers are male, it’s not surprising that women are asked to take a backseat. I understand market demand and enough economic concepts to realize that asking every bicycle company to devote half of their resources into development of women’s specific gear/bicycles/accessories borders on the insane. But there’s a big middle that you guys are missing here, and I’m pretty sure the women are getting restless.
Take a look at Competitive Cyclist [a site I frequent because I know they only carry quality products]. There are 7 jackets/vests listed for women, under 5 brands. Compare that to the 35 jackets/vests listed for men, under 10 brands. At 39 for men vs. 29 for women, the split for short-sleeved jerseys is marginally better; but the latter also includes 9 sleeve-less jerseys. Sure, tank tops are great for hot summer rides, but you can’t legally race without sleeves.
Yes, there are brands like Terry and Luna Gear who only cater to women, and that’s great. But just because I’m a girl, doesn’t mean I want to always look like one when I’m drenched in sweat and struggling. Besides, how am I supposed to be taken somewhat seriously with flowers festooned on my back, chest, and shoulders? It’s bad enough when the only [road] bike that comes in my size also includes some terrible vector graphics of hibiscuses...why do I have to be forced to wear the same print all over my body?

Given this dearth of women’s cycling gear without the pink, the too-bright colors, or the rounded standing collars that make me look like a linebacker, I’m prone to jumping up and down happily when any company decides to produce some stuff for the fairer sex. But when you compare the options available to men, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that the industry has consistently thrown us [women] a bone, with the mild expectation that we should be happy with whatever meager offerings we get.
And you know what? That’s insulting. It’s insulting that I’m expected to be happy with it, and it’s insulting that I’ve come to accept this as a given. I’m far from unique; there must be hundreds [if not thousands] of women out there who love to ride, who will eagerly open their wallets for gear that flatters but doesn’t simultaneously dumb down, that looks sharp but affords all the technical aspects the guys get in at least 10 different forms. And you are - for the most part - ignoring us.
That said, I’ll probably drop a pretty penny on some Castelli gear later this week, and resist the temptation to forcibly adopt running gear to work on the bike [but with Lululemon around, it’s hard to resist]. But, it did take me two weeks to find a jersey I think I might be happy with, and there’s no guarantee that other women aren’t just giving up. Or worse, settling for being content with something that should be expected of good cycling gear.
Female cyclists are a tough bunch. But being human [and female], we sell ourselves short in too many other areas of our lives; we shouldn’t have to do the same every time we get dressed for a bike ride.
Give us the credit we’re due. You may be surprised at what it might do for you, too.
Sincerely, Kaiko S.

spring fever

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...!

geared epiphany

You guys.
I had an amazing epiphany yesterday. I now understand why most bicycles have gears.
Wait, wait. I know you’re rolling your eyes, muttering “she’s realizing this NOW?”, shaking your head, clicking onto the next blog in your reader, or all of the above. But it takes a while for things to sink in, okay?
When everyone told me I “needed” a geared road bike, a part of me agreed because, hey, can you really have too many bikes? But there’s a learning curve with those things...I just didn’t get why there was so much shifting back and forth involved. When I said that I could mash up the hills just fine, people just said something like “well, you want to be able to walk when you’re 40, don’t you?” or “what about your knees?”

Okay, fine. Apparently you can go longer and faster, when you can shift up and down and all around. I understood the concept, but not really how it was going to change my life.
But then, yesterday. Out on the usual 2hr ride, I was hauling ass to get a negative split for the entire ride, not just part of it. When I wasn’t fighting wind, I got a really good pace going; my thighs were aching, but nothing unmanageable. And then, just when the wind died down for a bit, I hit a flat stretch of road. Hunkered down in the drops, neatly clipped in, I was spinning out.
My initial thought was to knock off a tooth in the back...and then I realized that I wouldn’t be able to climb all the hills if I did that. AND THEN BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT AND KNOW NOTHING BUT A SINGLE-SPEED, MY NEXT IDEA INVOLVED GETTING A SMALLER COG, PUTTING IT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MY REAR WHEEL, THEN FLIPPING MY WHEEL [TO THE FREEWHEEL SIDE] EVERY TIME I HIT A HILL.
Do you want to know my next thought? It was: ...but that would be such a pain in the ass...I wish there was an easier way to switch between the two---OHHHHHHHHH...!!!!
Cue light bulb turning on [finally] over my head.
Yes, I am a dumbass.

Hours later, my face in my third coffee of the day at [my favorite] Cafe Fixe [yes, I can drink my weight in coffee. Don’t judge.], I revealed my life-changing realization to Matt. He snorted, rolled his eyes, and laughed, saying:
“I like how you do everything in reverse.”
As if I would do it any other way.
[But for those of you who want to follow by example, for less than the cost of my saddle, Walmart is now selling a "fixed-speed" bike for $150.]

wind allergies

I admit it, I looked [read?] like a total idiot yesterday when several hours after my dramatic whine-fest, the weather turned out to be pretty frickin’ gorgeous.
Other than that whole giant gusts of wind that made it feel like I was running through water thing.
Yesterday was actually the first time I did that Dover ride in winds that strong. That’s saying a lot, given my wind allergy. But after more than two days off the bike, I was getting impatient, and worse, feeling really lazy and lethargic. Vitamin D was calling my name late yesterday morning, between a 8.30 class, a small pile of art law reading, and a blitzkrieg of cite checking. I also really wanted to start putting the DS plan into action. Never mind that the wind kept trying to tear the bike out from under me on the way to and from school. Headwind ain’t a thanggggg.

Or so I thought. Until my thighs started burning within the first 30 minutes into my ride and it really didn’t seem like I was moving forward. At all.
You know how when you’re riding with other people and you’re fighting a decent headwind and someone says, “well, at least we’ll get a good tailwind on the way back!”? I always want to slap those people. Mostly because that headwind consistently turns into another headwind as soon as I turn around. Wind and I do not have an amicable relationship.
And that’s exactly what happened. I felt like I was cheating a little bit, trying for a negative split on the way back, almost believing that the wind would be on my side. Not true. I mean, I did get a negative split [yay!], but I had to book it; and at a certain point, I’m pretty sure I was going about 8mph. I was trying really hard to maintain that speed, too.
One perk, though: I had nothing on my back this time, proper shoes, gloves, and a slightly windproof jacket. I felt so weightless...until, of course, that wind tried to push my bike over, smother me, make me actually pedal down the hills, and otherwise make me cry my ride slightly miserable.

The short ride done, I rewarded my legs with a new snack combo: Fig Newmans broken up into Fage nonfat greek yogurt. Sounds gross but was actually really delicious. It even kept me conscious through cite checking 214 footnotes later that night [okay, that Americano might have had something to do with it, too]. As usual, I was unjustifiably proud of myself. Happily exhausted, I came home late last night to find an email from the faux-ch with about 10 million links to possibly affordable frame sets [isn’t he nice?]. That made me even happier, even if most wouldn’t really fit.
And it’s made me more motivated, too, in a weird way. So I’m off again to make the faux-ch proud [or try]. Because it’s gorgeous out, again.
Go get you on a bicycle!
[Thanks for the jersey recommendations, guys! Keep them coming!]