saddle woes

So, yes, I did watch Paris-Roubaix on Sunday. Yes I saw FabCan dominate the last 45km and be all like PEACE OUT, BITCHES!!!!, and yes I saw Boonen come in a measly fifth. And yes, there is now a dope t-shirt about the events of last Sunday.
And yes, I finally got back on my bike yesterday.

While I would love to say that I dominated my Dover ride with the ease of FabCan, it was a lot more like Boonen’s attempt at a sprint. I thought things were going okay, picked up the pace a little with what power I thought I had in my legs, and then realized that three days off the bike is about two too many. The leg that usually doesn’t hurt that much started to hurt on the way back. Now my IT band is ever so slightly bothering me. Ugh.
Oh yeah, and if you didn’t catch it on Twitter, I had an awesome saddle sore to keep me company, too.

Did you think I was going to post a picture of it? YOU DID, DIDN’T YOU? I’ll spare you. Mostly because I’m sure you’ve all seen one before on your own respective asses. I usually get mine in the most uncomfortable places [although I guess any saddle sore is uncomfortable], and I’ve learned in my two years of cycling that there really isn’t much of a cure. I mean, you’re always given the choice of tolerating it or trying to lance [Armstrong] it, but the end result is the same kind of disgusting.
But here are a few things I’ve learned from trolling the Internet in desperation the first few times I’ve gotten one. Some of it specifically for the ladies, of course:
1. Laser Hair Removal > Trimming > Waxing > Shaving. Some people say waxing solves their problems while others say that it makes things better but requires a lot of regular exfoliation. Pick your poison, just don’t shave.
2. Wear proper shorts. Not doing so is the number one reason I get these things on the regular.

3. Try to keep things clean and dry once you do get one and don’t irritate it. Saddle sores = the only reason I might sleep without underwear on.
4. Neosporin is your friend. I’ve heard acne medicine works to reduce it too; basically anything that’ll dry it out and suck all the bad stuff out at the same time [has anyone tried baking soda?]. Some people swear by using those corn pads if it’s really bothering you [I’ve never tried it]. Epsom salt baths help to an extent...but who wants to take baths in the summer?
5. If you do lance it, disinfect religiously. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if you don’t.
6. If it’s huge, go see a doctor. There’s a reason I’m in law school: because I was too stupid to get into medical school. So remember that this isn’t proper, professional medical advice. I’ve heard of saddle sores as big as golf balls and if that’s what you’ve got...sorry, dude. I can’t help you.
Oh, and don’t be shy about asking around. Everyone who has ever put in decent miles on a bike has gotten one of these at some point in their lives, and I’m sure someone out there has some kind of cure-all for this that I don’t know about. Case in point: Mike bought Bag Balm when he got one. It’s for cow udders and is made in part from sheep bladder.
He claims it worked. To each his own [saddle sore cure]...right?

coffee and the city

I had it all planned out. A day off Friday, an easy ride Saturday, another rest day Sunday while I traveled back to Boston, and then back on the bike for real on Monday.
Funny how things never turn out like you plan ‘em.
Saturday was bordering on cold but sunny enough and Mike suggested a quick 25 miler to Cloisters. I’ve never been so I happily agreed...that is, until my uterus was like oh, hello, it’s that time of month! Which wouldn’t have been much of an issue if it hadn’t driven home that point by making my lower back so stiff it felt uncomfortable to even sit.

Yes, I am fully aware that I will probably end up being the bitchiest pregnant person alive if or when that happens.
Anyway, so I spent the morning arguing with my lower back and my reproductive organs while Mike did the ride. After a handful or so of chocolate chips, I was feeling a little better [funny how chocolate has that effect, huh?], so we meandered through the city on a lazy afternoon mission.
But of course, first there had to be coffee. We stopped by the first NYC location of Cafe La Colombe. A simple yet open space with clean decor and bike-friendly baristas, Mike got his Ira Ryan hat photographed while we waited for our Americanos. The atmosphere is hip and cool without being overly pretentious, and while the espresso lacked the punch of Cafe Fixe’s Americanos, it was the perfect accompaniment to a lazier, more laid back afternoon jaunt.

A few blocks further into Tribeca and we were at our destination: Adeline Adeline. A few weeks ago, I had heard a rumor or two about this shop; a specialty bike store that caters to the urban leisure cyclist. On the floor were bikes by Pashley, Abici, Linus, and a Batavus with Sram on it. Wicker baskets of varying sizes, pannier bags catered with the more stylish cyclist in mind, and the obligatory Brooks saddles were smartly displayed in a bike shop that managed to set itself apart.

It’s a cool space, and one that I would patronize for a smart, sturdy city bike with all the bells and whistles. The accessories alone are worth a visit, especially if you have a thing for baskets and pretty bells.
Only time will tell if I’ll ever be able to afford a city bike in New York City, but when I’m ready to get one, it’s good to know where I’d go.

rest day redux

Sooooo...not sure if this is a good thing or not, but my legs haven't stopped hurting since...oh...last month?
I promised myself I'd ride today, and take only 1 day off a week. I promised myself that when I heard that it was going to be sunny and warm in NYC.

It's rainy and gross out. Which means I'm wussing out and taking yet another rest day! My legs are happy about that, but as usual I'm feeling the guilt.
But with 200+ miles under my belt in the past 7 days [a first for me!], I'm kind of okay with that. And, there's always tomorrow.

riding is my pcp

After riding every day for at least 2 hours since last Thursday, I was starting to feel it on Monday. Tuesday, I told myself I was going to enjoy my rest day. Instead I predictably paced around my apartment and was generally restless.
So yesterday, even with only 6 hours of sleep, I was going to ride. Besides, it was going to be something like 85F and gorgeous. Not too much wind, either. Perfect cycling weather!
Because I’m generally a wuss, I like to make up my flexible goals as I head out the door. Yesterday, I tentatively decided trying for that negative split [I’ve only managed an even split the past few days]. You know, as soon as my entire lower body stopped complaining.

That decision solidified as the ride progressed and all the kinks worked themselves out of my legs. I didn’t do so badly climbing some of the bigger hills, and I was cruising along at a nice clip once I hit South Street. Half zoned out in that happy place that cycling can take me, I kept thinking back to that Bicycling article, “Riding is My Ritalin.” Cool article, but as applied to me, riding’s more like my Paxil.
At a light, I drew up next to three women. I assumed they were all together, although one looked clearly more inexperienced than the other two. I said hello, then as the light turned green, kicked off. The woman next to me was faster, and she sped away from the other two cyclists [who I presumed were her friends]. Caught between her and the other two, and assuming she wanted to give me space to pass, I balled up to catch a draft off her until I could be on my way. But with cars behind us on the narrow road, I was stuck on her wheel. I could see her cadence changing as she shifted gears on the uneven road. I pressed my body onto my thighs, in the drops and elbows nearly hitting my knees to maintain the pace.
We hit a hill and I knew I was going to pull an asshole move. I was hoping I wouldn’t though.

No such luck. Halfway up the hill she slowed down, and for me it was either pass or tip over. I hammered past her, out of the saddle, and floored it. Not out of any motivation to prove anything to her, but with my terrible pace line skills, the cars, and the narrow lane, I didn’t want to be some douche-y wheelsucker.
I made decent time the rest of the way and bumped into a guy in a Boston Road Club jersey on an IF with downtube shifters.
“Hello,” I said. Then, “nice bike.”
IF guy said thanks, then we parted ways. A few minutes later, I hit my 15 miles [in less than 1 hr, no less!] and was excited about maybe getting home even faster. Still feeling the effects of cycling Paxil, I was actually in a good mood, humming along to Eminem on my iPod and checked out of reality.
Then, a voice drew up beside me:
“Gotta get back to work?” It was IF guy.
“Um, no...you have to? Aw I’m sorry.”
And that was the start of cycling becoming my PCP.
Let me back up. The first thing you might notice about IF guy are his massive thighs that taper into chiseled calves. Salt and pepper hair stubble covers a strong jawline and square chin. He looks big for a cyclist, but apparently that just means there is a giant fucking engine in there. He looks fit, but not unlike your run-of-the-mill recreational rider. Yeah, um, wrong. As Velocb would later describe him: deceptively fast. He slipped in front of me and just for shits and giggles, I thought I’ll draft off him for the 5 seconds it took for him to drop me. Besides, a short sprint would be good for me.
He didn’t drop me. He wouldn’t drop me. He kept just far enough ahead that I couldn’t get into his slipstream but close enough to tempt. And out of some stupid sense of politeness or competitiveness or cycling induced crazy, I chased that rear wheel with everything I had. FOR THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES.

I’m sure if I had been capable of thought, I would have wondered if I was going to have a heart attack. Instead, I gulped air and made my legs hurt more, holding out a desperate hope that he was going to get tired of the slow pace and peace out. He actually tried to talk to me during this whole ordeal and all I could do was sputter. I felt like [a much less accomplished] Seabiscuit.
We finally parted ways at the rotary. I ended up shaving off a total of 5 minutes of my total ride time, making my average speed something like 16.4mph. I sat in front of my desk the rest of the day, while my legs wept.
At least Velocb would later say that I looked “super strong” on Twitter. I actually saw Mr. Mystery Pain Cave Guy on the IF later that day, on my way home from a lecture. He waved.
Yeah...Unfortunately, I think we’re meant to be friends.

getting in the zone

So obviously warmer weather = more riding.
The thing is, like I’ve mentioned earlier, I’m not ready for all this sun. The riding’s whipping my legs into shape, but there’s the other half of the equation: what I’m eating.
That cyclists are constantly famished is old news. But caught in a power-to-weight ratio sport, we’re still clearly obsessed with food, nutrition, health, and how that all translates to speed [or not]. So even if you’re bored of hearing about it, if Bicycling can do a full feature on food, well, SO CAN I.

Okay so we all know that calories in < calories out = weight loss. The thing is, when you don’t really qualify as an endurance athlete but do more with your body than lie on the couch and eat chips all day, what the hell are you supposed to eat? A good ride might make you want to inhale your refrigerator once you get home, but the simple truth is that you can’t out-exercise a bad diet. On the other hand, if you’re constantly hungry, you’re not going to want to ride or ride well.
I’ve been watching what I eat [I’ve mostly succeeded in banning processed food from my kitchen], but a lot of the time, I’m famished an hour or two after meals. I would predictably lurk near my kitchen, nibbling on this and that; small wonder I haven’t lost a pound since I got my wisdom teeth pulled in, oh....2007.

Enter Mike’s mom, who is a legitimately awesome lady, as well as an unrivaled resource when it comes to health and nutrition. She suggested trying the Zone to get rid of the crazy cravings.
I was skeptical. Just like Atkins, it seemed like there were too many celebrities involved for it to actually work for real people. But Mike’s mom swears by it, so out of curiosity, I checked out their website. The basic premise is that depending on your gender, height, and weight, you’re allocated a certain number of “protein blocks.” For each block of protein, you’re supposed to eat a block each of fat and carbs. This is supposed to balance out your meals and keep you from getting hungry within 3-4 hours after a meal. Oh, and you’re not limited to one block of protein, carbs, and fat per meal; it depends on what you’re allocated [for me, it’s 11 blocks], but you’re supposed to divide the blocks up into 3 meals and 2 snacks [that would be 3 blocks per meal for me and 1 block each for my snacks]. A chart converting measurements of proteins, carbs, and fats into block is available here.

Okay so this is where it gets slightly complicated. 1 block of protein is about 1oz. But the serving size for 1 block of carbs or fat depends; 1 block of carbs can be either ½ a slice of bread or 4 cups of raw spinach. See where this is going? It essentially encourages you to eat more vegetables and fruits with your protein, as opposed to bread or super simple carbs that will send your blood sugar crashing. For example, in the above picture, for lunch I had a giant bed of lettuce, half a tomato [carbs], plus 2oz of sardines [2 blocks of protein], ¼ of an avocado [fat], and ½ a grapefruit [more carbs].
Still with me? No?
I didn’t think so. Which is why I’ve been playing guinea pig for you all since Sunday. Okay, not really, but I’m giving it a shot. It’s an interesting way to combine and eat food; and it’s a change that you can actually stick to for the rest of your life. I don’t have to eat massive quantities of meat all the time [3oz is about the size of your palm or a deck of cards] and lots of vegetables are involved. I am changing it up a bit, like eating 6 smaller meals a day as opposed to 5 [I like to eat, okay?], and I'm not following it to a T. But, I am documenting it all on flickr. No guarantees that there won’t be repetition [there already is abundant repetition], but if you’re interested, at the very least it’ll give you an idea on how to eat/GET IN THE ZOONNNEEEE.
And the best part? It’s keeping me full. As in not starving by 10am, even when I’m riding.
Now here’s to hoping I can shed some pounds while I’m at this...

more unexpected encounters

Even knowing that on Friday I had a mini-bonk, I was still disappointed in how hard the hills murdered my legs. I mentioned it to Mike, who gave me what has become the NYC Velo autoreply to most questions from yours truly:
“You need a road bike.”
Aw, cool, thanks! SUPER HELPFUL!
Apparently, I can churn out 18mph on the flats, though [which is a big deal for me]. That was a little more encouraging, so headed towards Dover on Sunday morning, I contemplated possibly throwing some sprints in there as well. You know, mix it up, keep it interesting.

It seemed like a good plan but I wanted to keep my options open; wuss out if need be, which all signs seemed to point to me doing. My decision was cemented when I realized that the inordinate number of roadies everywhere was due to the weekly Wells Ave Crit. No need for further embarrassment, I told myself, just get the miles in and go home quietly. But of course, this was the weekend of unexpected shit happening to me at every turn, and just when I was pretty sure that this was going to be an easy peasy ride, a blue/green/white kit with a lot of facial hair under the helmet blew past me.
Embrocation IF and full kit. Had to be James. I called out hi, which was an idea that bordered on the idiotic because then I felt obliged to crank it up a lot even if I’m sure James couldn’t care less if he had to go slow or slower to keep pace with me. I did manage to gasp out some conversation, though.
So much for not sprinting/going hard.
Tired and not really feeling it, I turned back after 45 minutes [lame, I know] and decided to just hammer it back home. 90 minutes hard = 2 hours easy, right...? I pushed it through the more flat areas, but still struggled in the climbs. And mid-huffing and puffing, I heard a voice over my left shoulder:
“A freewheel? Really?”

It was RMM [on yet another IF], who I haven’t seen in forever. Of course he caught me just as I was hitting that stretch of road where I was contemplating doing intervals or sprints or laps or whatever stupid idea was floating around in my head, and since he’s a Cat 3, I ended up doing exactly what I was trying to avoid. We ended up talking about the crit, and when he learned I’ve never been, he insisted I go check it out.
I was under the impression that this thing was sort of hilly. Wrong. It’s as flat as I am.

RMM took me around the course on the sidewalk as the B race was going on. It’s a short course consisting of a total of 15 laps, something like 12 miles for Ds and Cs. Navigating the course slowly, RMM pointed out which corners were what and where people usually crashed.
I watched the end of the B race, the start of the A race, got some blurry pictures, then headed home. It was a nice, unexpected twist to the usual ride and even if everyone who is anyone in the Boston cycling scene got to see me in my slightly retarded Lucky Charms jersey, I was feeling good. Even with my previous efforts, I was going at a decent clip, too.
Then I threw my chain.

Campy peanut butter wrench came out of the aforementioned jersey, chain got fixed, and I came home with black stuff all over my hands and arms. Ah, what a Sunday.
[Apparently, I missed a spectacular crash at the end of the A race. Hope everyone is okay!]