review: skratch labs exercise hydration mix

I’ve thinking, despite all the snow we got yesterday, about this past summer, when I cycled through sticky heat with bottles filled with slightly diluted Aquarius. I used the sports drink in powder form so I could water it down, but for a good three months, attempts at hydration usually resulted in uncomfortable, sugary yet acidic phlegm. The taste would eventually turn from manageable to cloying, in direct correlation to the duration of the ride and the rising temperature of the liquid in my bottles. It didn't matter what brand of sports drink I chose - Pocari Sweat, Aquarius, Aquarius Zero, whatever - they all tasted the same at mile 30 in 30+ C heat. I still drank the lukewarm stuff, but only because dehydration and heat stroke seemed like a less than optimal way to die.

The result was dietary exhaustion. If you've never had the misfortune to experience this, imagine a dysfunctional couple, arguing. In your mouth. Not in that way. "You need this in this heat, don't even think you don't," one half would screech. "I'll be fine," my taste buds would seethe back "Just fucking stop..." right before being drowned out in sugary salty water. My left hand would unconsciously lower the bottle and my mouth would weep.
But like significant others who settle into rock-like stoicism whenever the Hurricane Sandy of their better halves blow through, I got used to it. I accepted that this was part of the experience. Another thing I can love to hate about cycling.
My license to complain about the lack of tolerate sports drinks was, however, revoked on purchasing a few single serving packs of Skratch Labs Exercise Hydration Mix. I wasn’t expecting much, but the pixelated graphics and awesome logo appealed to my Japanese inability to resist attractive packaging. Besides, if Tim used it, it couldn’t taste like absolute ass, right?
A month or so ago, I ripped off the conveniently perforated top of a Lemon Lime flavored pack, shook up my bottle, and took a testy sip.

I get it. I get it now. I get why people call it “Crack Labs,” and why you’d never want to drink anything else if given a choice. Because if Dr. Allen Lim told me I could have a lifetime supply of the stuff if I gave up sushi, I would – at least briefly – consider taking him up on that offer. And I say that as someone who actively and often fantasizes about wading into an Alaskan river [along with any grizzlies] to catch and rip apart salmon with my teeth.
It’s refreshing [Skratch Labs…although I imagine the salmon would be, too]. Light; kind of like how you’d wish Crystal Light tasted after watching all those commercials with smiling, happy Caucasian women. It has none of the phlegm-creating sugary aftertaste, and you actually want to keep drinking it after the 4th or 40th gulp. You get a little sad when you drain the bottle. You look through your entire pantry about three times after you finish your last pack, on the slim hope that maybe you bought three of those things instead of two the last time you were in the States. You get a little scared thinking about not having the stuff in your bottles this coming summer.
I used up the last of my pathetic supply a few weeks ago, and kicked myself for not investing in a few kilos of the stuff. I felt like Frank Lucas in American Gangster, but without the cousin in Thailand to call up. How in the hell do they expect me to get a re-up of the stuff from the other side of the world?
I suppose that’s what friends – and the Internet – are for.

hello, 2013

It took a little mental arm-twisting, but it happened. My first outdoor ride of 2013. It took a while [a whole six days!], but colder temperatures and shorter days tend to reinforce my conviction that sometimes, it’s okay to never want to spend too much time outside the dimensions that enclose your bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and whatever room your bike and trainer might be parked in. Because it’s cold out, and that means layers. And layers make me look fat, and this time – or at least these past few weeks – that just hasn’t been okay.

My addiction to air popped popcorn and the resulting inordinate amount of time I spend in front of the microwave is most likely a contributing factor to my voluntarily letting go of reality/responsibilities/sanity. I do like spending time outside. Love it, in fact. Just not when sucking in exhaust fumes for hours has me coming back from rides sounding like Lauren Bacall after chain-smoking 40 cigarettes [“anybody have a match?”]. Compromising my lungs for the entirety of my winter vacation didn’t seem like it would be worth it. So I just moved all that shit inside.

I was also running away from the sometimes distracting nature of rides, where I’ll think up reams of ideas to write about, but also chide myself for all the things I’m supposed to do that day, what errands I have to run, how many hours are left before the inevitable resumption of office life. Spinning inside to Jeremy Renner’s lickable face in “The Hurt Locker” means there’s no room for muddled and unnecessary anxieties. It’s like Warren Buffet worrying about money: it’s just not possible.
As frustrating as it is to have my cardiovascular system spontaneously shut down at the mere sight of a 5% grade while my brain will mostly refuse to chill out, hitting the “less than 24 hours to go until I’m back in my cubicle” deadline kind of freaked me out. I put on a baselayer for the first time since early November, plus my first ever long-sleeve jersey.

It was everything I’d hoped and predicted. My legs were alright, I was cold until I started sweating, and there was a lot of stopping, then starting, then stopping, then slowing, then spinning back up to speed again. I didn’t feel like I was breathing in a lot of exhaust, but when I got home and called out to my dog, I sounded like Humphrey Bogart. There was the distraction, too. The seed of this blog post, and a few other ideas, some guilt trips for being so lazy the past ten days, and that anxiety about going back to work.
But there was also sunlight and a view that was familiar but far more engaging than the front of my microwave. It even made up for the last thing I wanted to see 20 minutes into a three hour spin:

…If only I’d stayed inside.