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Sunday, November 15th, 2009
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3:30 pm - Singletrack mind
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Ah, the joy that is life: much going on, little I seem to be able to get it into words. The end of the year approacheth so quickly! I feel like I'm already getting ready for the impending calendar flip, the next year looks to be so jam-packed that reservations need to start happening now. And yet there are more immediate things like picking Ace up from the airport, Christmas gifts, and I suppose riding my bike a bit while the weather tries to figure out what to do.
Right now taking over my brain-processing is bike racing and Project Impending Sabbatical.
Racing is still a ton of fun. The single-speed is still retardedly difficult, yet I still insist on trying to be a badass despite my sometimes low placement. It's a pity my heart-rate monitor is busted... my first race averaged (averaged!) 179bpm for 30 minutes, and I've definitely been pushing myself harder since then. Of course, the other side of my brain is begging for a break: I've been hitting my theoretical edge for almost an entire year, and I've had some amazing gains and accomplishments... but after my body reacted rather violently post-race yesterday, I am starting to look forward to even a hint of an off-season. Then the next race approaches ("A mud pit? I am SO THERE!") and I get bouncy and nervous and excited again. I don't know if racing is always this fun, or if it's just a consequence of my particular breed. All I can think right now after a race is: man, I gotta get faster.
Then there's the other thing. I work at Genentech, and one of the perks that has been around is that after working here for six years, you earn a six-week paid sabbatical. Get outta town! I have been looking forward to this for so long, and yet when the time came to solidify the dates, it seemed unreal. If everything works as I want it to, I'm going to spend my spring cycling through the Andalucian region of Spain, hiking the coast of Italy around Cinque Terra, sailing down the Egyptian Nile in a felucca, and making my way around Jordan without offending too many people.
I can't stop daydreaming about it already. I'm trying to scheme how to build an Indiana Jones style map with the red flight-path.
      
Ace and I bottled our second batch of beer (two more weeks before drinking, wah!) just as he left for his own adventures around the globe until Thanksgiving. I didn't even plan for anything to do while he's gone. Except for a bike race with a mud pit. Hrm!
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| Wednesday, October 28th, 2009
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9:13 pm - 5 Elements of CX
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Homework from Coach: Think of five elements of CX. Brainstorm (whatever comes to mind), things that suck and things that make you go hmmmm, and things that you love!
- Off-roading
- I'm now decent at off-pavement stuff, at least way better than I used to be. A year of singletrack experience has done wonders for my handling skills. I now have the basics for balance, weight shifting, and utilizing momentum (tho I still need a TON of work on that last one). These things helped me tremendously when I started cyclocross, and I'm very grateful to have the background; it feels almost like having a minor in college. That being said, a cross bike handles differently than a mountain bike, and I'm still adjusting to these differences. Sans shocks, my I don't easily flow over bumps and my arms rattle. Skinnier tires sink into loose material instead of floating over the top of it. The brakes definitely are not as beefy, which sends my primal brain into a panic. I still am scared of crashing and will take turns slower than I need to. Of course, the singlespeed presents its own problems which I'm not accustomed to yet either. I am thinking that I just need practice, baby, practice.
- Whole-body Fitness
- I love this. I love that cyclocross racing involves running, picking up the bike, powerful accelerations every few seconds, sand, dirt, pavement, sand, mud, a sprint or 30. There is no drafting, no songs stuck in my head, no grocery lists being made, no loving glances at the heart-rate or average speed. Just living in the moment and utilizing strength, power, endurance, and sucking wind. I love the fact that sometimes I can run a section faster than people can bike it. I feel like a more complete and well-rounded athlete than just my all-day endurance cycling events. Instead of just adding more miles and elevation, I now feel the urge to get better at everything I can, from faster starts to trail running to how many pull-ups I can do. I wanna see my shoulders pop as much as my calves, I think that'd be pretty cool.
- Transitions
- I haven't dealt with this much yet (as I've been focused more on just finishing the races in one piece), but I can see where it will be extremely important later on. I'm great at getting off the bike at speed. I'm pretty good with shouldering the bike while running, even at setting it back down gently. What I haven't yet found the zen for is getting back on. I love the pictures of folks flying in mid-air, crunched above the saddle, like a superhero just taking off in flight. I haven't found that trust between me and the bike yet, not enough to run and know that the speed will help carry me through the motion. My choreography is stuttered, a pause, a calculated decision, an analysis of the terrain and my pedal position and the flexibility in my lower back, and I freeze. With slow deliberate repeated practice I can at least complete the motion, however when in isolation that I decide to just randomly give it a go, I darn-near kill myself. I feel like I'm missing something important in my brain, and I'm honestly jealous of those who pulled off the move within 2 minutes of learning it at the clinic. Argh.
- Other people
- The easier one to deal with: people on the sidelines. I don't even notice them. Honestly, my focus is razor sharp and tunnel visioned on the path ahead of me. I sometimes hear my name, but dammed if I haven't a clue where it's coming from. Sad will be the day that I miss my first beer hand-up because I don't notice it coming.
Now, other people on the race course. What drama! It's one thing to pass and be passed as if you were on a four-lane highway...but bike racing between the ribbons is an entirely different beast. For instance, I could hear someone huffing up behind me and I would purposely cut her off at a turn to squeeze her into a bad line; this is just the sort of assholesque move that would tick ME off if I were her, and nothing I would ever admit to doing in real life. At the same race, there were two of us scrambling up a hill and we cheered each other on while talking smack. Then someone cut me off at the singletrack entrance and I hung onto his wheel nearly bumping knobbies until it opened up again, at which point I turned myself inside out getting around him. These are clearly external motivations, which is kind of cool, but these feelings and accelerations are hard to practice outside a real race. There is also a different sensation between racing to WIN, racing to NOT BE LAST, and racing to beat THAT ONE PERSON. The competition light is starting to show a dim glow from my soul, and it's beginning to itch a bit. I'm not out for blood (yet), but it's fun to notice the drive hum a bit now. I'm desperately looking forward to each next race!
- Preparation
- Luckily, the last year of long endurance riding has enlightened me on things like: what I can eat that doesn't upset my stomach, what gives energy fast, how often to drink fluids, what are the signs that I'm bonking, how do I keep my knees happy, how tight should my shoes be, what to wear for the given weather, and so on. What I haven't yet pinpointed is how much to warm up before a race (and precisely *how* to do so), when to peak my sprint, what mistakes do I make when I get tired, how to earn a good starting position, what things to look for and remember when pre-riding a course, and where should I tape my mantra so I can actually remember it in the second grueling half of the session, who is in my category and worth passing, etc, etc. I need to get better at visualization, self-hype talk, and finding my real motivation (the "why the hell am I doing this again?" realization).
- Irreverence
- *Bonus thing!* I don't think I would have started racing had it not been for the sheer awesometastic attitude that is cyclocross culture. I love reading race reports and seeing pictures involving bacon handups, flowerprint skinsuits and fishnets on men, someone crashing and making mud-angels, beer holders on the top tube, and yet everyone still racing their guts out. This work-hard-play-hard thing sings my song. Want more!
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| Tuesday, October 27th, 2009
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8:56 pm - Seriously, I have to do a "dump of awesome" because my journal is dreadfully behind life
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- Took a Mountain Bike skills clinic with Marla Streb, learned how to bunnyhop on platform pedals
- Started a subQ hydration routine on MOSFET
- Crossfit until my shoulders and thighs screamed (different nights)
- Entered (but sadly didn't win) a homebrew contest -- beer is still awesome tho!
- Raced again, finished 18th out of 24, had a ton of fun
- Celebrated my 10 year anniversary of living in the San Francisco bay area
- Opened a bridge
More fun stuff in a bit here...
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| Friday, October 16th, 2009
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8:44 pm - The Game, revisted and revamped
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So my cycling game, I think, was a success.
There was a time years ago when I was caught in a horrible pattern: cycling wasn't always a pleasant experience, because I didn't have much fitness nor great equipment, and I didn't buy new stuff because I didn't think I rode enough to justify it. Then this happened:
Enter the Bike Game. I earned points for miles and hills and calories. After a certain number of points, I'd level up and treat myself to a new piece of equipment or clothing. For me, this quantification was perfect! I purposely went on longer and hillier rides to earn points faster, and I slowly built up my quiver of equipment. One time it was a few pairs of real cycling socks. Another was my Smartwool hat for under the helmet in cold weather. A really nice pair of shorts. And so on.
Here I am today, tried and true, a cyclist. What is interesting to me now is that my motivations have shifted, that I no longer need the extrinsic rewards. Now, I ride because it helps me towards my new goals of being a better climber or racer or just helps me relax and have fun. Similarly, when I need something now, instead of waiting to hit a milestone, I just buy it. And who doesn't NEED another pair of Sidi shoes, right?
Which brings me to my latest idea:
I have learned that me and diets don't get along very well. Not that the diets are bad, but they always have a laundry list of rules to adhere to. I try to be perfect, which lasts about a week until I forget my snack or eat a cookie or don't know how many calories are in a parmesan ham puff ball, and I go completely mental.
Thus, I'm turning my game from miles and elevation to Good Eating Habits. The habits include things like "no junk food" or "5+ fruits/veg". Each day has 8 habit goals, for a total possible 56 points in a week. To admit that I am never perfect and that's ok, I am calling a "level" to be 50 points (90% adherence). Each level, I can treat myself to one thing on my list of rewards: fancy bath soap, a pedicure, the new Black Eyed Peas album, and so on. It may take me a long time to get there, and that's really ok. When I reach my Big Goal, I treat myself to a new pair of designer jeans.
Will let you know what happens.
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| Wednesday, October 7th, 2009
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10:38 am - So I ran through a bike race...
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Arrived at the race, as things were still being set up. Filled out the form, paid my $30, got my number. One woman asked me how the one day racing license worked, and I said I didn't know 'cause I got the whole season license. Turns out neither of us needed it. Grr. Oh well, I still am proud that I am a CARD-CARRYING bike racer now, even if it was $60 wasted for this series.
It was pretty chilly, maybe mid-50s, when I took my first practice lap. I vowed to take it easy and just get a feel of the course. Red tape on my right, white on the left, navigating my skinny tires through:- Lumpy dirt
- Tree roots
- Pure gravy mud (hurrrr!)
- One sloppy steep run-up
- Dusty loose dirt
- Sand patches, with a turn in the middle
- Steep downhill pitches
- Gravel piles
- 180-degree turns
- Long extended climbs
- Two standard issue barriers
I arrived back at the loop start and whistled gravely. Talk about playing to my weaknesses! "This!" I declared proudly, "is going to suck!" Maybe two laps, I thought, but I am not going to back out now. Everyone else I thought was going to be here with me backed out. That just made me want to do it harder. I'm gunna do it, I'm here, I've seen it, it will hurt, I may come in dead-last, but I. Will. Finish.
Whistle. Go go go! The first several turns are a complete blur. I'm jockeying for position, up out of the saddle, seeing if I can't set some sort of starting gate record if there is such a thing. We hit the muddy section and everyone crawls to a halt - so much for practicing dismounts at speed. I throw the bike on my shoulder and start grappling up the hill, and I'm passing other women. I feel like yodeling from the mountaintops.
I hold my spot for the next several hundred meters. On the zig-zag downhill, I decided to dismount and run the bike around, proving to be much faster than those who timidly steered through the alley and rocks. "Hey, good idea!" I heard one say, as she unclipped. Back on the bike for a little singletrack, not too bad.
Then there was a steep upswoop, maybe two feet long, with a sharp left turn, followed by a long, long, uphill on pavement and then on rocky dirt: This was where I lost it. No matter what I tried, I could not get any momentum to ride this section, and I ended up running the entire freakin' thing. I was passed, passed, passed by women spinning in lower gears. I grumbled. Damn singlespeed. This was maybe a quarter of the course, this uphill, and I couldn't ride it. I quickly dropped to second-to-last place, in front of only one lone woman who looked like she had experienced technical issues in earlier sections. Huff huff huff.
Back on the bike, finally, for the downhill. Zippy, leaning into the turns, floating over the bumpy bits. Problem was: there was no chance to make up for the time and places I lost, so I accepted my fate and eventual placement. Ah well!
Additional laps revealed the following: I was unable to get up less and less as the race progressed. I did pass a few people on the uphills if we were both running, but if I was running and they were riding, they passed me with ease. At some point I couldn't clip in anymore, and precariously balanced my soles on the slippery pedals. I heard my name a couple times, but my vision was tunneled in front of me so hard that I had no idea who was cheering me on. I got lapped, of course, but I surprised myself to make three total laps.
The best part, and I mean the thing that inspired me to really hit the pedals hard, was hearing from the sidelines, about once or twice a lap: "Oooo! Singlespeed!" *vroom!*
And so it was not with a bang but with a sort of growling whimper that I crossed the final finish line, promptly wobbled off the course, coughed up a lung, started speaking in tongues, and chugged a chocolate milk.
That thing I was scared of, finishing last? Turns out it's not such a big deal. In fact, it's *awesome*. Dammit, I *finished*, and last place proves that I didn't quit before it was time to quit.
Now I can't wait to do it again.
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| Sunday, September 27th, 2009
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2:19 pm - Crossing boundaries
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Deathride was my bighuge(tm) athletic goal this year. I trained like hell, and I did it. Check. Ace dragged me to a week of mountain biking in unknown Oregonian wilderness, which took me deep into my soul and rewarded me with good beer and a few scabs. Check.
The next bike-related thing to scare the snot out of me? It's next weekend.
I have my racing license. I have my race bike, and I have gone mental trying to tweak the gearing on it. I took the clinic. I crashed rather comically trying to unclip at the last possible second on the high-speed approach to the run up (note to self: it's the second before that one).
And yes, I'm nervous as hell. Nervous about crashing, nervous about running out of energy half-way through, nervous about coming dead 'effing last. But, I'm trying to be smart about it. Lesse:
I've been crashing pretty well lately, as in "not as bad as I thought it'd be" and getting some decent scabs to accompany the stories. Sure, it'd be better if I didn't crash at all, but what it's telling me is that I'm *trying*. I'm one of those people that will tend to not try something unless I know I can do it perfectly right off the bat. Well, mountain biking is helping me push those boundaries, and I've promised myself to try at least one thing that I normally would have chickened out of. Sometimes I make it and surprise myself and woop and cheer; sometimes I don't. It's a momentary sensation of failure, until I realize that the reason I failed was because I attempted something that I thought was out of my league. That's not failure, in the grand scheme of things, you know? So I'm all proud of my scabs now, because it's visual (and, uh, tactile) proof that I'm going outside my comfort zone. As long as nothing too dangerous happens, I'm ok with this: I'm not going to suddenly jump off the roof or anything, my self-preservation instinct is too strong for that. No surgery, no stitches, no busted helmets. Road rash appears to be fair game.
Second, running out of energy. Well, I've not really trained at race pace, nor have I experienced the nervous energy/total-redline for 30 minutes. It will probably happen, and I will probably just limp my way to the finish line with a whimper. I suppose this isn't that bad, just will take practice once I actually start racing.
And finally, the DFL. Lots of women are apparently scared of this. "I don't care where I finish as long as I don't finish last." I'm trying really hard to overcome this instinct. There was a journal entry my coach made some time ago about crossing the line as a Lantern Rouge and how there was absolutely no shame in it; that helped. There's also the fact that I'm purposely making this race thing harder on myself by using a singlespeed bike - almost like a built-in excuse to point the finger at if I do happen to come in last. What it really is for me is an extension of the first fright: I'm scared to try a race if there is a chance that I will "lose". This sentiment was repeated by a few of my clinic-mates who swore to me that they were skipping the first local CX race because they "weren't ready", despite kicking my booty on the twisty accelerations of the practice course. It was with a big grin that I admitted that I didn't care. Oh sure, I needed to practice running mounts like crazy, but my only REAL goal for next weekend is to get past all those fears and roll up to the starting line. If I can do that, I've won; everything else is bonus experience.
Now I just gotta figure out what to wear. Genentech speedsuit? Badass socks? A dress?
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| Friday, September 18th, 2009
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11:22 am - I turned 33 at some point, too...
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I went back to Wisconsin for the Annual camping and family extravaganza. There were late nights around the smore-factory, enjoyable trail running through the horse paths, and catching up with friends and family. However, this year provided some unusual twists: several folks couldn't be there this year, and also we had to leave camp early in order to attend the wedding of my step-brother. The party was excellent, and I got a quick run through Taste of Madsion, which I'd never seen before. I tried Capitol Brewery's Island Wheat and Ale Asylum's Hopalicious. I had some deep fried cheese curds. Summer gave a triumphant ooh-rah of perfect weather to boot.
Then to mom's place, several days hyphenated with trips to breweries: Leinenkugel, Moosejaw, Capitol, Great Dane. Something I learned: I knew Wisconsin was big on German-style brewing and lots of lagers, but I didn't know that there was some sort of disease that wiped out most of the hops crops east of the Rockies. Hence why the "west coast IPA" style is, well, west coast. Hrm! Anyhoo, there were pilsners and bocks and wheats and I couldn't wait to get back to hoppy hoppy ales. I am a changed woman.
In fact, I was itching to make beer. Hell, I'm a chemist, I understand aseptic manufacturing, and I can follow instructions. Should it be my luck that work was hosting a homebrew contest and purchased all my equipment and first recipe (had to provide my own brewkettle and bottles) so long as I entered half of the five gallons into the contest. Well, what fun that was! Boiling and straining and mixing and timing and more boiling... We now have a plastic fermenter in the kitchen, happily belching every few minutes through the gas trap primed with scotch. Not even half-way done with the process, either!
And finally in Gnat Gnews, my new bike arrived! In a strange fit of crazy, I decided I wanted to try cyclocross racing, and then somehow my brain decided that the best way to do this was singlespeed. Why? Call it a problem of categories. If I wanted to race off road with gears, well that's what the mountain bike is for. This bike is for hardcore points and because I didn't want to go full-on fixie. So he's here, finally assembled (Ace even showed me how to do my own brakes), and thus dubbed: KRAFT (singlespeed, getit?)
That brings the cheese-bike harem to also include: Brie (roadbike), Chevre (mountain bike), Roquefort (aka 'Rocky' nee Stella, the classic project bike), and Gouda (the cruiser)
And now: I go for a run!
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| Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009
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11:55 pm - Happy worms ready to nom food scraps!
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| Thursday, August 27th, 2009
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11:39 pm - La la la
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The man is gone off to Europe and I am remain to tend the post-vacation doldrums. Laundry, scritch kitty behind the ears, take out the trash and recycling, feed kitty, pay bills, weed the garden, vacuum, wonder why kitty is yelling still.
Back to normal cycling, both road and mountain now, and I've started to actually enjoy running. I know, like, huh?
It is kind of nice for some solo time tho, as if I'm getting to try being a real girl again instead of the adventurous tomboy. Reading trashy books, rearranging the diet again (ok, so I'm waiting for Precision Nutrition to show up), taking stupidly long showers, not shaving the legs for a few days, shopping for frilly clothes, blasting early-90's techno, sleeping smack in the middle of the bed. It has its moments, sure!
But it's hard to even chat or catch up or scheme for the adventures for when he gets back, with internet black holes and strange inverted schedules. Ok, I miss that guy.
I'm also having a hard time planning for when I'm supposed to switch back to dayshift. The date still isn't set, so I'm looking at the month of possibilities ahead and am not sure how to request whether I'll need RSVPs and/or vacation time or not. I'll miss the Wednesday morning trails, empty of everything but spider webs, but being able to socialize in the evenings and hang out with people will be nice in the longer term.
Basically it's pretty boring in the Gnathouse right now. Me and kitty. Mrowl!
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| Monday, August 24th, 2009
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11:34 pm - Western Spirit Mt. Hood Singletrack + Some beer
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- Drive! Breweries: Lagunitas, Russian River, Bear Republic, Anderson Valley, Lost Coast.
- Enjoy Eureka at a little 3-room bed and breakfast.
- Drive farther up the coast. Fall in love with Rogue!
- Cut over to Hood River and find ourselves at a Best Western, drinking scotch out on the patio.
- Meet the guides! Fill the camelbaks, put the bike on the rack, drive up to the campsite. Set up camp.
- Ride! Hey, this isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Zippy! Green! Beautiful! Wow!
- Eat. Swat bugs. Drink. Chill by the fire. Sleep. Wake. Coffee. Breakfast.
- Ride! Ooof, way more technical. Crash twice, once on each side. Get frustrated at roots and sandy patches. Opt out of the longer ride.
- Eat. Swat bugs. Drink. Chill by the fire. Sleep. Wake. Coffee. Breakfast.
- Sketchy downhills. Crash again. Super grump attack. Lunch. Magically feel better. Kick all the boys' asses on the climb back up. Feel amazing.
- Eat. Swat bugs, etc. Have trouble sleeping, due to fist-sized bruise on left hip, a pulled right hamstring, various open wounds on legs and arms. Ow.
- More climbtastic. Finally feeling like I can conquer 90% of the obstacles. Switchbacks curl beneath me, rocks and roots are attacked, balance becomes a zen-like experience.
- Kill a bottle of Port, get retarded and giggly, sleep awesome.
- Ridiculous downhill on the final day. Splash through mud puddles with a grin. Deep breaths of crisp mountain air. Finish wanting MORE.
- Hopworks. Then accidentally back to Rogue. Stay at a B&B that's an old steamboat parked in the harbor.
- Superdrive. Wild River, Caldera, North Star, Sierra Nevada. Meet up with friends, finally get to see the premier issue of Women's Cycling magazine. I have an article in there.
- B&B where each room is in a train caboose. Ours was decorated as "Wild Wild West". We met some crazy wonderful people and we splash our feet in the lake.
- 21st Amendment. Zeitgeist, for ONE LAST BEER and a tamale.
Thumbs up! I can now declare myself a mountain biker and an IPA drinker.
Now Ace is gone for two weeks, and when he gets back, I'll be gone. Wah.
His pictures (are much better than) my pictures.
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| Friday, August 14th, 2009
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12:19 pm - Ok, can I be honest here? I'm terrified.
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Ace booked this mountain bike trip for us months ago, back when I was still starting the long build towards Death Ride. I said ok, because MTB is something that he loves, and I wanted to try it out and enjoy this Awesome Thing with him rather than being left home alone. The assumption was that I'd have plenty of time to get ready for it. Now it's here, we start the drive up tomorrow, and I am so utterly not feeling ready. I've taken the clinics, got the bike dialed in, rode with the coach, practiced as much as I think I could. And I still can't get over half the stuff I feel like I should be able to.
I don't know why I didn't say anything earlier. Well, ok, I did, but everybody assured me it'd be ok. Oh, you'll do great. It'll be awesome. Just go have fun.
Know what? It completely frustrates me. Fully half the rides I've done have ended in tears. Instead of being the tough badass chick with no fear and an all-in mentality, I'm the damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued from this hellish experience. The few things I do conquer are drowned out in a wave of failures, sequential obstacles that bring my bike to a halt, slam my shins into pedals, spouting a string of cussing. When presented with a challenge, I avoid it, and most things I don't even try as I can smell the doom. When trying to get started again, my tires spin out underneath me, causing more frustration, cussing.
The worst is the feedback loop. Bailing three things in row, my mind instantly goes to the dark side. Sheesh, I suck, it remarks, I totally should have been able to get at least one of those. The 'I can't do this' becomes the self-fulfilling prophecy, and the rut is impossible for me to crawl back out of.
"You're too hard on yourself" is the general theory that I've heard applied to me. This is possibly true, but as it's been my nature for as long as I can remember, I have no idea how to correct this. I set lofty goals, set up a plan to achieve them, and then go do it; this method has worked quite well for me in my life. But I feel this is not my goal, it did not originate from deep inside my core: I feel like I'm being "pushed" instead of "pulled".
Even with the disconnect of where-I-am vs. where-I-think-I-should-be, I can't seem to just, you know, have fun. The more people tell me it will be ok the more annoyed I get. I have no idea what it will be like. I recently read a description of each day's route and realized I didn't even know what half the terms meant. It might be fine, it might be gentle rollers through a flower-studded meadow. Or it might be the "easy" rock pile through which I resigned to carrying the bike over in frustration. The thought of doing that for 30 miles? Grr.
Poor Ace has no idea what to do with me. He suggested the idea of nixing the entire trip, but I feel like it's "too late" anyway. Not only for all the hotels I have tied up on my credit card, wrangling the vacation time from work, but all the stuff we were going to do that wasn't mountain biking, the stuff I was actually looking forward to. Like if I can just get through that punishment bit, the rest will be awesome.
I just wish that I saw the main attraction as fun and awesome instead of grueling. I wish I could look forward to it instead of dreading what *might* happen. If there was a way to trick my body into turning off the self-preservation instinct, the pride, the depreciation, the fussing, even for a few hours. Discard the scaredy cat, the whinging girlfriend, the poor-me attitude. Find that fun-loving adventurous princess that I aspire to; where do I buy that on such short notice?
Edit: Huh, well, I just found out I'm anemic again. That actually explains a lot.
"Most commonly, people with anemia report non-specific symptoms of a feeling of weakness, or fatigue, general malaise and sometimes poor concentration. They may also report shortness of breath, dyspnea, on exertion."
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| Wednesday, August 5th, 2009
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12:53 pm - Brie turns 2 years old!
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| Wednesday, July 29th, 2009
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12:08 am - Awesome. More Aweome. Too much Awesome for one paragraph.
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I rode with Google's San Francisco-to-Mountain View bike commute on their "relaxed pace" day, 42 miles. I got my ass handed to me. Mental note: must get faster. Stupid hill-legs!
Then I biked back to work, adding another 33 miles. That was just stupid, but kinda fun to brag about in retrospect.
My new hot pink mountain bike wheels showed up. Not only are they pink, but they are so light and nimble that I can't actually believe how truly awesome they are. Ace taught me how to move the rotors and cassette over from my old wheels. We converted them to tubeless. Then we hit the trails. The hub has so many points that when you coast, it doesn't do the CLICKITY CLICKITY CLICKITY CLICKITY thing, it just...hums. The engagement is so instantaneous that I was nearly popping wheelies when I tried to power over an obstacle. So. Freaking. Cool. Also: pink. This is just a win-win situation.
And just in time for our Mt. Hood mountain bike trip in August! I mapped out all the breweries between here and Portland, then I booked awesome bed-and-breakfasts (one on a steamship in a harbor, another in a train caboose, etc) strategically between them. I love this sort of planning! I'm eagerly looking forward to Rogue, Lost Coast, Full Sail, Anderson Valley, Bear Republic, and dozens more I've never heard of! Mmmm beer.
The garage got cleaned out, reorganized, and turned into one kickass bike hut. It's so awesome I just want to sit in the middle of it and continue to stare at the awesomeness.
The only thing not going so well is my running. I'm getting heel spurs, possibly due to crazy gecko shoes, but more likely just my technique combined with tight calf muscles. The websites recommend crosstraining or switching to something less load-bearing, such as bicycling, to prevent further injury. *sigh*
I've eaten my weight in cherries. My basil plant is exploding. It's still light out when I go for dinner. I love summer so very much!
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| Monday, July 20th, 2009
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5:34 pm - To the world's best tuxedo, with whom I had the honor of enjoying:
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Rest in peace, dear Simon.
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12:20 am - Goals, the part II
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Ok. I physically recovered a few days ago, but I've been taking it pretty easy this whole week. To be completely honest, I got a taste of that "post-ride depression": having spent all that time preparing, then succeeding, not really celebrating, and then, well... not having anything concrete on the other side of it.
I tried a cyclocross bike off-road, that was pretty fun (if a bit death-defying). And some mellow rides on the old Frenchie. Helping a friend buy her first brand new bike.
But the need for a goal is itching me. I kinda knew this would happen, so I mapped some stuff out before Deathride. Now that my week of congrats and rest is over, it seems to be a good time to put a new goal thermometer up.
GET TO RACE SHAPE
- get back to my fighting weight (120lb by xmas)
- go outside and play/cross-train (running, tennis, etc)
- 100 pushups (yes, trying again)
- be faster (sprint intervals, 6hr century, <25min OLH/San Bruno)
- get on the starting line (finishing is optional!)
This should be interesting, because I'm not really competitive in nature. I can push myself to be better, but that's different than being THE BEST and proving it out in the field. My instinct and emotions will take a real beating the first few times I actually race (not fair! wait up! hey, I did *you* a favor earlier, wtf?) as well as in training (need to get better about riding with faster groups and being okay with being dropped, or better, actually DO something about it).
Hence the phrasing of the goals: even if I suck at racing itself, at least I'll be in great shape. The mental aspect may take more work. Mostly, when I talk about bikes and someone says "oh, do you race?" I would like to have something better to respond with than a "no, but..." and a blubbering long-winded explanation of Deathride and Double centuries.
So, here we go. *clink!* Anyone got a good deal on a used 49cm cyclocross bike?
In other awesome news, I wanna holla at the fabulous Jim Stark who just completed his first metric century in rampaging blue-style (you've got a theme, go with it!), and my man, Ace, who is off battling Bobby Julich on Mount Ventoux for l'Etape du Tour. Well done, men!
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| Monday, July 13th, 2009
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6:33 pm - I found out what I was made of, and it's not soft and fluffy.
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Wake up at 4am, dress, shove food into mouth. Rolling at 5am, blinky lights on.
Pass #1: Zoom! Feeling great, singing along with somebody's radio! 1:40h total time (including stops), and 13mi in. First sticker. Cruise down, quick break.
Pass #2: Still zippy! Warming up quite a bit. 3:50h, 32 mi. Earned 2nd sticker. Slammed a Coke. Onward!
Pass #3: Wow, I do NOT remember these steep bits. *oof* plod plod plod *OOOOF* plod plod plod *HURRRR* plod plod. 6:13h, 53mi. Sticker. Downhill. Bagels and crackers and another Coke.
Pass #4: Ok, now I'm starting to hurt a bit. Right knee is beginning to complain due to low cadence. Shoulders feel tight, trying to relax. Just keep spinning. I'm slow, but still upright. Starting to get annoyed by all the people asking "isn't that hot?" after complimenting my hair. Hooray sticker! 7:50h, 63mi. Seriously zoomtastic downhill. Lunch!
So, at this point we've gone 80 miles and have clocked over 10,000ft of climbing. Keep going? Hell yes. I want that ice cream at the top of the last mountain, dammit.
Pass #5: Made the cutoff point with over an hour to spare. Drank another delicious Coke, doused the dreads with a garden hose, stocked up on Chomps. "Bullshit rollers" was what Ace called them: just a few extended ups and downs, but it's also headwindy. At about mile 93, I had a breakdown. The best way I can describe it is that my "mental toughness blew a fuse": all the stress of the last 6 months of training plus getting everything arranged and keeping track of the timing and getting passed by like 2000 people and keeping the feet turning over and all the hormones that were loose in my bloodstream hit me at once. When we hit Pickett's rest stop, I got off my bike and nearly fell over. Ace ran around refilling my bottles, massaging my legs, and getting some calories in me. Ok, I was settled finally. Let's go.
Climbing, very very slowly. Everyone is in a single-file paceline, about 5mi/hour, staying out of the wind. The clouds rolled in and it got really dark. It dropped about 30 degrees. And then it started to sprinkle. Then the steely cold downpour hit.
You have GOT to be kidding me...
The water is soaking through my armwarmers, blurring my glasses, making everything on the bike grind and squeak. My toes are cold and squishy, my thumbs are swollen and completely numb. It's two miles to the top now. Sure, I could turn around, give up, and descend through this crap, which is dangerous. Or I could keep going, however long it takes, get my sticker and pin, and then descend through this crap anyway. Neither option sounded appealing. My appetite for ice cream was gone. I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to make it. If I went any slower, I'd fall over. Breathing was difficult, my thighs ached with a drowning scream, I couldn't even reach my waterbottles for fear of crashing. I weaved around a guy pulled off to the shoulder, vomiting in crayola colors of sports drinks. Those last miles took an eternity and ripped my soul to shreds.
When we turned off the road into the final rest stop, I burst into tears.
Sticker! Pin! Sign the poster! Ice cream! Wait, it's FREEZING out, it's cold wet and windy, but we ate our fudge bars and shivered, huddled in the brief moments of sunshine poking through. Holy snot. HOLYSNOT I DID IT. 12:08h, 102mi. Ok, now let's get the #&@% out of here!
The descent. OMG that was amazing. Who needs brakes? Garmin says I topped out at 43.9mph. *zooom!*
Warmth returned to us at the bottom of the hill, moods perked in direct correlation, and we pulled over to the finish at 6:45pm. I devoured a Reese's Peanut Butter Big Cup like it was the only thing I had eaten all day. Wow.
But hey. DONE! CHECKMARK! COMPLETE! All 15000+ ft! Check this, the data says I spent 7 hours and 20 minutes *GOING UPHILL*. Hurrrr.
So: Now what in the hell do I do?
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| Thursday, July 9th, 2009
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8:15 pm - She's Got Legs
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Since Jan 1, I have summed: - Over 2800 miles on my bike
- 180,000ft+ of climbing
- 275 hours in the saddle
- $BIG_NUM spent on training, equipment, and gear
- Incredible self-confidence
- Some rockin' muscle definition (quads and abs are next)
- Amazing riding buddies
- Inspiration pulled from everywhere possible
- New skills and techniques
- Blood, sweat, tears, bellylaughs, headwinds, cramps, personal records, blisters, and a bunch of WHEEEEEEEE!
Heavy piles of gratitude go to Coach Lorri (Go VELOGIRLS!), for giving me the map on how to get here and talking me through those rough patches, and to Ace for putting up with weekends lost, gear fixing, and a sometimes-cranky-and-cussing ride partner. I could not have done this without either of your constant enthusiasm and incredible knowledge.
To all my friends and family, thank you for understanding, thank you for cheering, thank you for listening to me babble about bikes day and night.
I will have zilch for cell phone coverage until my return, so wish me luck, ride up a big hill on Saturday in my honor, and I'll be comin' 'round the mountain(s) when I come.
Now: Let's go ROCK THIS THING!
WOOOO!
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| Monday, July 6th, 2009
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7:36 pm - World, please meet Stella. She hasn't gotten a cheese name yet.
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Deathride is less than a week away. La la la!
I finally fixed Stella up enough to ride. The very last challenge was trying to find a 7mm wrench, which apparently doesn't exist in nature. I wrangled up something, tightened down the stem and handlebars, pumped up the tires, and rode off.
Well, she's... different. The geometry is so weird compared to what I'm used to; I have no stand-over and the brake levers are a million miles away (and: unfathomably nonadjustable). The shifting works ok at least, but the jump in rings feels funny.
So, I think I'm going to fixie her after all. That at least takes care of the gears and brakes problem. :)
I'm trying out those newfangled 'oval' chainrings on Brie, the real road bike. I'm not sure if it was the equipment or my own spaztastic mood or just my new mantra (Toughen up, Princess! No slack no slack no slack!), but I absolutely demolished my best time up King's Mountain. I tried a few visualization tricks: I shot bungee cords off my handlebars that would attach to trees in the distance and help pull me forward. I saw what numbers my garmin would show when I hit the LAP button at the top. I stepped outside my body and saw myself from the side: relaxed, spinning legs, not at all huffing and wheezing. And when I started to explode a mile from the top, the NO SLACK! angel screeched in my ear and got me out of the saddle for a few turns. And by golly, I couldn't even believe what I saw when I got to the top, and I almost didn't unclip in time to put my foot down in sheer wobbling disbelief. I used to not be able to even make it up the hill without stopping. On Feb 7th, I clocked it at 39:48. Last Saturday? 36:25. Ace thinks I can get it to a half-hour flat by end o' next year. But that's a separate post...
I took Ace on a date to see Spamalot! We had incredible seats and the show was awesomesauce and made my face hurt from laughing too much. At one point, the Knights formally who said Ni spontaneously sang (to the tune of Are You Sleeping): Sarah Palin, Sarah Palin
Please come back! Please come back!
Who will see the Russians, who will see the Russians
When they attack? When they attack? Then with a rousing "Now, everybody!" the entire audience sang it. This busted up the main cast so bad that they couldn't continue for a minute.
Both Saturday and Sunday featured lots of drinking fabulous things in the sunshine.
The life, it does not suck.
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| Friday, July 3rd, 2009
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4:32 pm - Test of FlickrTwitter
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| Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
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11:07 pm - FIGHT ME
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