Goals, and Some Complex Thoughts About Medical Stuff

I've been putzing around with my goals all year, and I don't think I've achieved any of them yet.  The fact that some of them can't be achieved until at least September, anyway, may have something to do with that -- but that doesn't mean that thinking about them a bit more doesn't make at least some sense.

Thus, here I am, thinking about my goals.

What it boils down to is this: I'm not actually all that good at setting goals.  My goals tend to be either too vague, too specific, too pessimistic, or too optimistic.

My non-racing goals, at least, make sense: going out on more sociable group rides is a great idea, and I've actually been following through on that one and enjoying it.  My racing goals, however, could use a little work.

Last year, I set exactly one goal for 'cross season: finish at least one race.  I achieved that goal.

This year, I started by setting the rather vague goal of 'finish better.'

The thing about that goal is that it doesn't give me anything really specific to go on.  Goals, in this context, are useful insofar as they help you design a program to achieve them.  'Finish better' isn't very helpful.

As such, I'm updating my 'cross season goal.  Here it is:

1. Finish Cat 4 races within time constraints (preferably less 5 minutes).

This seems like a feasible goal: I can look at my various races, say to myself, for example, 'Okay, at Applecross, I will need to complete my race in 40 minutes.  This means I will need to be able to ride hard for 40 minutes on varied terrain.'  I can build a training strategy to help me meet that goal.

 I thought about using 'Finish in the last 1/3 of the pack or better,' but to do so would present two problems:

1. It would require me to know how fast my group is likely to be.  In all honesty, I haven't the foggiest.
2. It's based on comparing myself to other racers, which isn't really the approach I want to take.

Likewise, I'm updating my road racing goals as follows:

1. Hang with the pack in the 5-Spot Crit Series (Cat 5) or some other Criterium series
2. Ride a sub-12 hour 200k.
3. Climb like a bad-- err, a like goat ;)

Again, these are pretty specific goals that I can break down into workable steps.

Road Racing Goal #1 only appears comparison-based on first analysis.  It actually breaks down into two more specific goals:

• Maintain 25 MPH average for 30+ minutes.
• Get really comfortable riding fast in a pack.

The only potential problem with the 5-Spot series is that it takes place in the summer, and I have pretty much decided summer shouldn't, ideally, be a racing season for me.

The second of my 5-Spot sub-goals, I've already made headway towards -- in a tight pack, I tend to fall into 'flocking mode.'  This startled the heck out of me on the first fast club ride I did this year.  I was afraid I would find myself boxed into a tight pack and freak out, but instead I just kind of relaxed and went with the flow.  Weird, eh?  Of course, we weren't descending at 45 MPH on a wet, curvy road, either.

The first ... well, we'll see in the next couple of weeks how much more work I need to achieve that sub-goal.

None of my goals, you might notice, are at all results-oriented -- which is to say, none of them has anything to do with where I finish in a given race.  I don't care if I finish DFL in 'cross; finishing at all is enough.  I did it once last year; if I can keep that up, and focus my training on improving my time a little each race, I'll be pretty happy.

Technically, riding a sub-12 hour 200k isn't a racing goal at all -- it's a randonneuring goal -- but it also supports my road-racing goals for next year by requiring improved endurance.  You know, just in case we should actually succeed in having an actual road race around here, let alone in the spring (or, really, any time between the End of the Ice and mid-June).  I was thinking about the Tour of Red River Gorge, but while the non-competitive ride went off this year, the races were cancelled due to insufficient sponsor support, so I 'm concerned that they may be cancelled next year as well.

The whole purpose behind the third goal is basically to not suck at climbing during the summer.  If I climb really, really well during the reasonable seasons (spring and fall), it follows that I should climb at least decently well in the summer, when my respiratory system goes on vacation without me.  This year, I was climbing decently well during the spring, and am now climbing abysmally.

I suppose I should also add one more goal:

1. Take a more organized approach to treating my medical issues.

I don't like say that I have 'medical issues.'  It sounds like a cop-out.

I'm trying to change how I think about my health -- to think of my asthma not as a barrier, but as a challenge that can be managed.  That said, it has officially crossed the line into 'poorly managed' as of the past week -- which is to say, I'm experiencing significant symptoms pretty much every day -- so I may need to see about getting back on a preventive medication like Advair or Singulair (only cheaper, I hope, because there's no way I can afford either of those) for the rest of the summer.  I would rather bite the bullet, take the meds now, and be able to wean back off them in the fall than try to avoid taking the meds, let the underlying inflammatory process get really out of hand, get really sick, and find myself off the bike for several months again.

Likewise, I have a condition that keeps my androgen levels well below normal, and I'm trying to determine whether or not I should pursue treatment for that. 

On one hand, I want to say it isn't hurting anything, but on the other hand, it is.  I was skeptical about hormone replacement therapy, but when I tried it for about a year, I did feel better, both physically and emotionally.  I have struggled with depression since high school, and I can count the one year that I consented to do something about my hormones as the least-depressed year I've ever had, pretty much.

I stopped hormone therapy for a number of reasons -- first, I wasn't convinced it was entirely necessary.  My feelings about that are much less definite right now: it does seem to help, and as my body has wandered back to its native state (which takes about six to seven months, from what I understand), I have begun to think it helped more than I realized, both physically and emotionally.

Second, my old doctor had prescribed way too high a dose, and even when I trimmed it back my levels tended to be higher-than-typical, which also isn't good.  I wanted to taper back to my own base level, then start over at a very low dose and see how it goes. 

Third, part of me feels really weird about taking testosterone (even though it's prescribed to me) and competing in bike races.  Technically, it's not doping if you have a valid medical reason to be doing so -- which I do, since low sex hormone levels can lead to osteoporosis, among other things -- but as I mentioned, my old doc seemed to have a hard time finding a dose that didn't shoot me above the typical range, and that seems potentially unfair.  Likewise, if HRT always bumps my testosterone level higher than the typical range, I don't know that I'd be able to view any potential success in racing as real.  I fear I'd feel like I cheated.

I'm also concerned about the possibility of testicular cancer, which is -- for someone like me, with atypical sex differentiation including undescended testicular tissue -- much higher when HRT is employed.

I feel a little weird discussing something this personal in this particular blog.  I haven't really discussed this topic here because it never seemed relevant or useful before.  Likewise, there's a part of me that A) would like, for once in my life, simply to be regarded as 'normal' and B) fears that people will be uncomfortable around me if they know I'm 'different' in such a fundamental way.  Also, I get tired of explaining myself: even if most of the population of the United States had any clue what I mean when I say "I have an intersex condition," intersex is such a broad category that it still wouldn't tell anyone anything useful about my anatomical and physiological nature, or why that nature has any meaning for me outside of the most private domains of life.

In light of racing and formal training, though, it does seem relevant and useful, especially because I can't possibly be the only person with an intersex condition who wants to race bikes.  We're simply not that rare (okay, my particular condition is extremely rare; but other types of intersexuality are surprisingly common).  The incidence of Klinefelter's syndrome, for example, is generally stated at around one in 500 males (I'm not sure if that figure counts people who have the 47XXY karyotype and ambiguous primary sex differentiation, or if that population is counted under the headings of their various atypicalities) and KS frequently involves hypogonadism -- that is, low sex hormone levels -- which might benefit from HRT.

It is probably true that in test of strength and power, like sprinting and (to an extent) criteriums and 'cross, my hormonal status, unaltered, could be a liability.  HRT would ameliorate that effect.

However, I'm more interested in endurance and long-distance speed, and I don't know how much of an impact low serum testosterone levels should have -- if any -- on endurance and speed over distance.  My testosterone level, for example, generally falls at the lower end of the window between the typical female range and the typical male range, and there are certainly women who hold their own with the men in road racing at levels much higher than I ever hope to attain.  Therefore, it stands to reason that I shouldn't need HRT to compete as a Cat 5 road racer.  Likewise, I am genetically predisposed to hypertrophy in my leg muscles -- people at work comment on the size of my legs all the time, but the truth is I could do absolutely nothing at all cycling-wise and they would stay the way they are.  My Mom's legs, in fact, look a lot like mine, and I don't think she's even sat on a bike in the past several years.  My Dad's family, meanwhile, is made up of strong people with long, sleek muscles -- so I have exactly no genetic predisposition to much in the way of upper-body development. HRT didn't really do much of anything for me, upper-body wise.

The real stumbling block, for me, is the emotional effect of my hormonal issues.  Everyone is subject to some degree of hormonal fluctuation; my fluctuations impact my mood profoundly.  I can tell when my testosterone level is at ebb tide because I generally feel emotionally cooked.  It's like I just 'bonk' emotionally.  My mood drops through the floor, my motivation goes to pieces, and I just want to crawl into a dark hole somewhere.  The depressions sometimes torpedo my training plans.  They definitely torpedo my ability to keep up with housework.

Right now -- that is, on this particular afternoon -- I would rate my depression level as roughly 7/10, if 0 is the best and 10 the worst I could possibly feel.  7/10 is pretty rough. 

This depression is definitely not situational -- my life is in pretty good shape right now, especially relative to previous years.  Yet still I have these episodes, and they really interfere with my life, and especially with my cycling life.  Yesterday, I had to push myself out the door; today, I have not succeeded in doing so.  I have accomplished exactly nothing today, and I really just want to go back to bed.

I have a lot more of these days right now than I let on.  Usually I manage them by main force -- I force myself to get outside and ride the bike; I force myself to put on a happy face (on the 'fake it 'til you make it' principal) -- but sometimes that method doesn't work.

When I was on HRT, I had far fewer of these days.

For some, the question of whether or not to pursue HRT is a simple one: a lot of people like me aren't comfortable with their own ambiguity.  Personally, I am comfortable being an androgynous pretty boy (the fact that I'm gay and that DD likes me the way I am probably makes that easier for me) -- so it becomes a complex analysis of risks versus benefits.

Right now, the benefits are winning, and thus part of me feels a bit like a traitor to the cause.

Basically, I want people like me to be able to be who and what we are, without feeling like we have to conform to some culturally-approved sense of what it means to be 'male' or 'female' or 'human.'  My reasons for considering HRT have nothing to do with that culturally-approved sense, but I still can't help but feel like I'm weakening my own argument -- that it's okay to be what I am -- if I pursue something that effectively makes me more 'normal.'

I intend to think this thing through very thoroughly.  DD and I have been talking about it: he tends to lean towards the non-interventionist side of things, because he worries A) that medical intervention might lead to unforeseen consequences and B) that I should be allowed to be who I am in all senses of the word, and that I might be more subject than I realize to the pressures of 'normalization.'

As for me, I would simply like to stop having these days on which I just want to crawl into a hole.  The lack of motivation is, in and of itself, destructive, since I tend to judge myself rather harshly when I don't get things done.

Today I have done nothing but write this blog, and I am pretty unhappy about that.

How to Work an Interval Workout Into a Busy Day

Downtown Louisville.

Broadway.

Rush hour traffic.

Why was it I thought I wasn't going to get my intervals in today?  ;)

Today's riding was the kind of solo riding I love -- intense, focused, fast.  I also like long solo cruises, but they need relaxed roads (and a relaxed mood).  Today, I was downtown at the shop (drooling over Hg's new bottom bracket), and needed to be in the Highlands stat.  Broadway was the quickest route, so Broadway it was.

I had kind of forgotten how amazing it feels to pilot a bike in those conditions.  Fast, intense riding in traffic rockets me into that beautiful zone where you really feel like one with the bike, and you forget that failing to trust the bike and your body is even a possibility.  You're alert but focused; the monkey mind turns off, and it's cycle-induced serenity all the way.  There is no room for anything else.  This, too, is why I ride.

It seems simultaneously like yesterday and like a really long time ago that the climb up Broadway into the Highlands used to kill me.  At some point, I started taking a different route -- Stoneware Alley to Mercy Way -- because even though the climb up Mercy Way is way, way punchier than the one on Broadway, traffic was rare, and I could take as long as I wanted spinning up it and not feel intimidated (it so happens that when I'm heading for destinations east on Bardstown road, that route is generally more efficient anyway).

I was thinking about this while I was cranking up Mercy Way today.  It was rush hour still, the sole time of day one is particularly likely to encounter traffic on that route at all, and I wanted to get out of the way -- so I got my butt up off the saddle and hammered, and it actually felt really good.  The funny thing is that a year ago, I probably couldn't have done that -- and almost certainly not on QS, whose smallest gear isn't really all that small.

On Sunday, Tim and I talked about riding rollers; I realized I like rollers in part because I can simply pound up them.  Right now, I'm less effective on long climbs than I'd like to be, but I like the way shorter climbs feel.  Likewise, I've realized that the term 'shorter climbs' is relative -- there are climbs that I now consider 'short' which felt really, really long a year ago.  I wonder what the climbs that feel long now will feel like a year from now?

I am grateful for today's ride -- grateful that I lingered in the shop far longer than I meant to, so I would have to really punch it getting up to the Highlands.

I'm grateful because it reminded me that it's good to appreciate the now.

Lately, I've been spending too much time thinking ahead -- thinking about 'cross season, or next spring, and whether I'm actually going to manage to take off some poundage or which water-stop's closed-circuit television security display was more accurate -- the one that makes me look like a lycra sausage, or the one where I just look kinda chunky, but not totally ridiculous?

It was nice to be reminded that I've come a long way since I started riding again, and that I'm actually riding pretty darned well right now (I 'climb well for my weight,' I guess ^-^).  Especially for a (still) overweight asthmatic in the Asthma Capital of the Universe, in the dead of summer.  Lately, I've really lost sight of that fact.

More importantly, it was really good to be reminded of the singular role that riding the bike plays in my life as a vehicle for meditation.

My mind has never been quiet during a session of sitting meditation.  I suspect I could sit for a solid week and my mind would still be busy chattering away like a deranged squirrel in an espresso factory (also, my face would be horribly, horribly itchy).  But somehow, on the bike, in those moments of fierce, fast grace, it happens as if by magic: I clip into my pedals, drop into high gear -- and my mind is silent.  It's just the bike, the wind, the world around me, and I am wholly in the moment.

The best moments of Sunday's ride were like that, too.  There was one point at the bottom of the last gravel descent where I let go of brake levers and trusted the C'dale to do its thing -- and, amazingly, we did not end up rubber-side up, nor did I crash out the entire group ... and for a beautiful, blissful moment, my mind was totally quiet.

In those moments, I can see why so many people seek Nirvana with such dedication.  That particular kind of being is bliss.

Anyway, Hg should have his new bottom bracket installed tomorrow (huzzah!).  I can't wait to try it out.  We sprung for the fancy ceramic one, since it should last a long time and I plan to ride the bejeezus out of that bike.  From what I've heard, it probably won't feel terribly different than the original, but it'll be nice to ride without fear of imminent crankarm ejection.

Harry Potter is a Straight-Up Dude, or, Best. Race. Evar!

Disclaimer: I realize that this post officially marks me as a big ol' sap, and I should point out that my 12-year-old self, who is still very much alive and well, is rolling his eyes and going, "OMG PLZZZZZ don't humiliate us, dude!" 

Today I learned many things -- or in some (maybe all) cases, was reminded of many important lessons that I've learned along the way and possibly forgotten.  I was reminded that 'The Secret,' corny though the book and the movie may be, really works.  I was reminded that Harry Potter is a straight-up dude (more on that later).  And, perhaps most importantly, I was reminded that winning isn't everything.

I should probably begin by mentioning the fact that I didn't race today, though it seems like Seiler and the other fellow (Jim?) who run the short-track series together probably would've let me, at least for fun (at one point, Seiler -- commenting on the variety of bikes at the race, said as I picked my QS up from his resting place in the grass, "...And there's a guy with a -- we'll call it a drop-bar mountain bike!"). 

However, I still don't quite have all my ducks in a row, and as such have not acquired my UCI/USAC license for this year (d'oh), on top of which I didn't bring any cash to pay the race fee, because I was figuring that since I didn't have a mountain bike, racing wasn't an option.  I basically showed up to pound some stakes, cheer on a couple of races, and ride home.

That, however, doesn't stop me from learning things at this race.

The race, in particular, that struck me as a learning opportunity was the very first one -- the "kids' race" (not to be confused with the Juniors group), which gives kids who aren't ready for prime time a chance to have a go at bike racing and win some prizes.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were all kinds of kids in the kids' race.  The youngest were a pair of three-year olds -- so small they were pretty much relegated to their own de facto single-speed division, since their bikes were so small that any associated derailleurs would have dragged the ground (plus, I don't think anyone makes a geared bike in a 12" wheel size).  One was a little boy, one was a little girl.

The little girl had fallen over during her warm-up lap, but gamely lined up for the start anyway.  About five meters from the finish line, she was ahead of the little boy by a few lengths, duking it out in what Seiler called 'The Battle of the Threes' -- and there, though she was, in essence, winning her (unofficial) group, she stopped.

She put on the brakes (that is, she put her feet on the ground) and simply stopped and stood stock still.  She wasn't going anywhere, period, and nobody was going to make her ride so much as one more meter, let alone five.  Her dad, who had been patiently trailing along making sure that she didn't topple over (the boy's dad was doing the same), finally kind of shrugged, picked her up, and wheeled her bike off the track.

The lesson?

Winning isn't everything.  Even when you're five meters from the line.

Sometimes there are more important things in life.  I have no idea what was going on in that little girl's mind, but obviously something was way, way more important to her than continuing her race -- even though she was, in a sense, winning her own group, even if that group wasn't officially recognized.

This was obviously a little girl of strong will and considerable character.  I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of her both this season and in years to come.

Second: about 'The Secret' ... it more or less has to do with the whole idea of mind-over-matter.  It's something I've really struggled with, the past few months, as I wrestled with an on-again, off-again depression (one that continues to challenge me).  I have been trying to overcome the obsessive-compulsive thoughts that roar into my brain -- kind of like badly-timed freight trains -- to tell me how fat* I am, or how hopeless my quest to become a competent (if mediocre) bike racer looks, and how closely I resemble the Michelin Man in my team kit.

Today I managed to convince myself that I look and feel and am awesome on the bike.  Thus, I did feel awesome on the bike.  I don't know that I was actually awesome, but that doesn't really matter.  Likewise, my shadow looked pretty awesome, and that made it possible for me to visualize myself as I hope to look in a few months, when 'cross season gets rolling.

The idea, as The Rocky Horror Picture Show's opening title track puts it, is this: "Don't dream it -- be it."  Inside this chunky chrysalis, a svelte bike racer is preparing to hatch.

All this 'feeling awesome' put me in a pretty good mood.  I've noticed that when I'm in a pretty good mood, drivers seem to drive better.  Whether this is a 'law of attraction' thing, or whether my attention system favors nice drivers over grumpy drivers when I'm in a good mood doesn't really matter.  It is what it is.

Thus, as I spun my way home, I happened to notice a nice driver who pulled up behind me at a four-way stop, made no effort to pass me at the stop sign or in the intersection, and waited politely for me to wave him around on the next segment of road.  As he passed I shot him a smile and noticed A) that the driver in question sat at the while of a white Galant (appropriate, eh?) and B) the driver in question was Harry Potter.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't really Harry Potter, but he looked at least as much like Harry Potter as I do when my hair is short (which it totally isn't, right now) -- and I look enough like Harry Potter that I will probably never have to buy another Hallowe'en costume as long as I live.  I look enough like Harry Potter that I have more than once, while riding through the city in a sweater, white shirt, and tie, been greeted with cries of, "Look!  It's Harry Potter!"  I look enough like Harry Potter that -- well, I think you see my point, here.

So, anyway, long story short, Harry Potter is a righteous bro, and stuff.  He was nice to me at a point in the ride where I was pretty much cooked.  I had been out on the bike more or less since noon, excepting a brief break to walk around pounding stakes into the ground on the hills of Seneca Park and then watch a couple of races -- and I had rather hammered it home, since DD's Aunt C is coming for a brief visit tonight, so the consideration was deeply appreciated.



Notes
*WRT my fatness, or lack thereof: in my purely rational mind, I realize this sentiment is somewhat ridiculous, and probably not really something people who are legitimately obese want to hear -- the thing is, my personal psychosis about my weight is precisely that: a psychological disorder, and it applies only to me.  I also recognize that as someone who has, from time to time, struggled with an actual eating disorder, participating in a sport that is occasionally called 'a very expensive eating disorder' might not be the best idea ever.  Still, I love bikes, and I love riding bikes, so I don't plan to stop.  I just plan to remain vigilant, carefully sorting the sane thoughts about my weight from the totally-out-of-touch-with-reality ones, and to set a reasonable, healthy weight goal -- 145 pounds, instead of 125 pounds (I would be happy, though, with 155).  I have seen how I look at 125 pounds.  It's not pretty, though at the time I didn't know that.

Fits and Starts

My 2-week stint as a courier is done, the Mayor's Hike, Bike, and Paddle is behind us (DD rode with me this year -- very different experience from hammering it out with the fast group!), and summer is unofficially officially here.  I guess it won't be officially officially here 'til somewhere around 21 June, but if you live in Louisville, you know it's summer already.

You know that because the streets are only a few degrees cooler than the surface of the sun and the trees and grass look all jungly, because only like one person in your 6,000+-bike group ride is wearing tights, and because you've already seen the first firefly of the year (woot!).  Also, you know it's summer because every time you set foot out of your front (or back) door, you are tortured by the delicious scent of BBQ (OMG BBQ!) or smoking meat wafting from somewhere nearby ... a scent that follows you as you roll through the city, eventually forcing you to buy teriyaki beef* jerky in the middle of your semi-epic-ride-of-the-moment in a meager effort to overcome THE CRAVING, which might otherwise cause you to tear open and chug the nearest bottle of BBQ sauce (OMG WTF BBQ!) ... or maybe that's just me.

In other news, the bikes are currently not very happy.  Hg is waiting for a new bottom bracket -- which should permanently correct the loose crank issue -- after I attempted to hammer it home ahead of the Doomsday Storm last Monday and managed to exacerbate its existing problems.  Fortunately, DD came and rescued me just in the nick of time (I love him for many reasons, among them, the fact that he bears a startling resemblance to a modern day fairy-tale hero, at least in terms of ability to show up just in time and rescue me from whatever danger currently threatens my bodily, psychological, or bike-o-logical well-being).

QS also really needs a BB overhaul as well, but Hg will probably be done first.  I haven't yet determined what kind of BB QS needs (OMG, WTF, BBQS?).  I think QS will hold out a little longer ... at least, I sincerely hope so, since it's....

Short Track Racing Time Again!

I, of course, will not be racing in the Short Track Series, because I continue to not own a mountain bike ... though I am fighting a mighty temptation to ask a friend of mine if I can borrow his and give it a go.  Ahem.  I do, however, plan to ride over to help set up and so forth tomorrow night.  That should be fun.  I am debating whether or not to wear my team kit.  I probably won't this week, since I'm absolutely, definitely NOT RACING this week, and also because I am back to thinking I look like good ol' Sta-Puft in said team kit (though I did wear it on Monday for the Hike&Bike, because I left home wearing that and the wind vest, and the wind vest got to be too ridiculously hot).  That said, though it should be no surprise at all, two weeks of couriering have done wonders for my fitness level, assuming I haven't blown it all over the weekend pigging out at an amazing BBQ (OMG BBQ!) thrown by our friends K (with whom Swift now resides) and J (her husband, owner of the mountain bike I'm itching to borrow for the short-track series).

The goal, of course, is to not look like Sta-Puft by September.  The problem being that I have become rather a decent cook, and am generally rather surrounded by tasty food, since I like to feed said tasty food to DD and our housemate, LT.  I hope that an almost-totally-blank summer schedule, which provides ridiculous amounts of time for doing nothing but Riding The Bike, will ameliorate the effect of said tasty food on my figure.  Because, really, that's pretty much what it's about for me: I am decently fast when I want or need to make an effort, and not expecting to get a whole lot faster by 'cross season, but I'd really, really like to look better in my team kit.

Sad?  Perhaps.

This concludes today's rambling and hyperactive update :)

Notes
*or soy, or turkey, or whatever

Why Do I Do This To Myself?

Last year, in May, I think I was still in my 'maybe I'll race someday but probably not' phase.  Then I decided to do some 'cross, decided to give King's Cross a whirl, and had a blast (can you say 'masochist,' kids?).

Over the winter, I beat around the bush.  I told DD I might not race this season.  He said, "Are you sure?"  I said, "Well, no."  Later, I said, "I'm thinking about racing," and he said, "Weren't you thinking about not racing?" and I said, "I was."  Then I wavered back to 'not racing.'

And then, perhaps stupidly, I decided to see what's going on cyclocross-wise in the immediate area this year, and realized a race that I missed last year because I was too chicken or under the weather or something is going off again this year -- Huber's 'Applecross' festival, which combines apple orchards and bikes, two of my very favorite things.

There is also rumor of excellent jam and probably other food of some sort to be found at Huber's.

So I pretty much can't not go.

There's also a race in Fisherman's Park, which opens OVCX this year, called 'FishStiCX.'  How could I not want to participate in something called 'FishStiCX?'

Besides, it's nearby and the course can't possibly be as murderous as King's Cross was, or at any rate probably doesn't involve anything that looks like this:

The Cyclocross Steps in Boulder, CO's Valmont Park

And assuming I don't entirely run out of money by then, I would love to do 'Bloomingcross' in Bloomington, IN (16 October) and of course Storm the Greens, right here in Louisvlile (30 October).

That's about all the racing I think I could possibly manage during fall semester, and I don't feel a great impetus to pursue anything else on the OVCX calendar.

Right now, our shop-team-in-the-making has run into the problem of not owning a single proper 'cross bike between the lot of us (though most of us are of a height that would allow us to share one, if we weren't all destined to ride in men's Cat 4 except Erica).  Given dry weather (and possibly a different wheelset -- I'm not sure I really want to bomb around offroad on the low-spoke Aksiums that are on there right now), I would be more than happy to run Hg in a 'cross race, but he has no mud clearance to speak of (likewise, if I have my way, QS will never see another spot of mud or slush for the rest of his years).  Thus, at least one of us needs to acquire something 'crossy.  If we don't manage to pull it off, though, I will be more than happy to ride with Rogue again this season (speaking of which, the Short Track Series is coming up -- w00t!).

I think I might buy one of the shop's CX200s after all -- I don't think I'll be able to afford the Jamis Nova Pro I was hoping for, nor the Specialized Crux that I lust after in my darkest of heart-of-hearts (I assume this is the same darkest-heart-of-hearts that makes me look forward to punishing myself on the 'cross course this fall, I assume).  Besides, they look like they have nice road manners, and DD seems to enjoy road bikes but finds mine a bit scary.  The longer wheelbase and slightly-more-upright ride might suit him well.  Also, a CX 200 could pull double-duty as a grocery bike, thus freeing QS from his unending torment.  I am currently attempting to come up with a plan that will allow me to pull off purchasing a CX 200, making a fairly major purchase for DD as a wedding present, and still having sufficient funds available for school.

As you might have guessed, I am also starting to feel more like a human being again.  I woke up this morning, hauled my butt out of bed at eight on a day that I don't have to be anywhere 'til 3:30 (though I'm going to try my darndest to get over to the Portland Clinic and finish up my paperwork), looked at the house and felt well enough to both think, "Man, this place has gotten out of hand," and "I can do something about this," and actually did something about ... well, some of it.  Then I played the organ for a while.

Oh.  I have probably failed to mention that DD bought me an organ.  Apparently, they're hard to sell.  This one had been on the market for a while, and the seller -- who very much wanted to see it in the hands of someone who would actually play it, and not strip it for parts and turn it into something else -- was offering it again for $50, so now we have an adorable little Baldwin Orgasonic.  Built in 1966, it's both very pretty (I'll post pix once I get some good ones) and sounds quite good, though there's a short in the speaker for the pedals, which drives DD's engineering side a little nuts, since it makes funny popping noises from time to time. 

Needless to say, I -- for one -- am absolutely delighted.  I never would've imagined I would have my very own organ this soon, and would happily have settled for something quite a bit less pleasing to my ear.  With the appropriate settings turned on, this one sounds about as close to a real pipe organ as one could hope from such a diminutive instrument -- and that's actually pretty close indeed.  It also has two manuals and a full octave in the pedals, so it's an invaluable practice instrument.

So, I played the organ.  Then I came in here and looked for races.  Now I'm going to go put some sunscreen on so in twenty minutes or so I can wheel on out into the sun and enjoy the day (and, I hope, keep the rubber side down).  That said, I am trying hard not to overdo it (the mistake I usually make), so I don't plan on riding too fast or too hard (note that I use the word 'plan' to excuse myself from responsibility when, inevitably, I do ride too fast and too hard, heh).

Wide World of Sports

Once upon a time, I told a friend of mine that I was training for a 200k.

He asked what that meant, and I said, "It means you ride your bike for 126 miles."

He said, "Oh. Why do you need to train for that? I mean, anyone can ride a bike."

While I wholeheartedly agree with the letter of the sentiment (they make handcycles for those of us without legs, after all!), at the time, I took a degree of exception to its spirit. I tried not to be a jerk about it, but it definitely bothered me at a certain level. I just wasn't sure why.

Today, thanks to some thoughtful comments on a fantastic article on Velominati.com, I finally got my head around it.

What bothers me isn't that people think anyone can ride I bike.  Indeed, I think everyone can and should!

Instead, what does bother me is the fact that people see basketball players, for example, as serious athletes, but have no concept whatsoever of how much commitment, sacrifice, and suffering goes into racing bikes -- or, indeed, even into long-distance non-competitive riding.  Basketball players, too, work hard to be good at what they do.  They have to be capable of explosive power and pinpoint accuracy -- and to develop that power and accuracy, they train their bodies and minds.


The general public understands that idea.  They see dedicated players devoting their time to perfect their skills and hone their bodies, and they see those players doing things they themselves can't do -- at least, not consistently.

Meanwhile, U.S. culture contributes by codifying sports -- ball sports, in particular, are understood as sports, as is running.  Sports that involve riding things -- horses or bikes -- seem to be considered almost apocyphal.  The U.S. sports canon lacks sufficient experience with either to understand the skill and  physical effort involved.

As a result, folks in America tend to forget that anyone can play basketball (some of us better than others) or swing a stick at a little ball (some of us better than others), as well.  It's harder to forget, I think, when there's an 'assistive device' involved.  Equestrian competition suffers from the same conundrum -- how do we convey to someone whose entire riding experience consists of slouching on a dude-ranch trail mount at a walk or a slow trot that the horse isn't doing all the work?  How do we convey to someone whose cycling experience is limited to short rides on the flat that the bike is just a tool, that we still have to turn the cranks and pull the levers and push machine and rider uphill against gravity at speed?  How can we convey to someone who has never shifted out of 34/26 that it's a totally different matter to push 53/12?



Likewise, part of me finds it a little ironic that fans of, for example, a sport that's played indoors, on polished, manicured, carefully-maintained courts in climate-controlled buildings can even begin to imagine that bike racing a 'wussy sport.'  Not that I'm knocking b-ball (indeed, doing so in Louisville, KY could be hazardous to your health!) -- it definitely requires dedication, and it's not a 'wussy sport.'  It would just be cool to see cycling get the respect it deserves.

In cycling, competitors must ride in whatever weather the heavens dish out (goes double in Flanders and Belgium), be it hundred-degree sun or thirty-degree sleet -- over whatever road conditions the local authorities dish out (goes double in Flanders and Belgium) -- up mountains, down valleys, and along decimating false flats.  They do so day after day, for hours a day, even when their bodies want to quit on them.  There's no 'one game a week,' no quarters or halves or half-time -- the race takes as long as it takes.  Moreover, most of them make less money than teachers, entry-level secretaries, or even full-time bike couriers (indeed, couriers in big cities like Chicago, New York, and SF can still make pretty good money).  Sure, some of them draw six-figure salaries, but a lot of them are scraping by on $18k - $25K a year (and, ironically, the ones who make the least money seem to have to invest the most in their own equipment!)

It seems difficult for a lot of folks to grasp the effort and endurance that takes.

What makes cycling really special in my mind, though, is the fact that amateurs -- racers and otherwise -- devote themselves to riding with the same fanatical intensity.  They train hard, they ride in all kinds of crazy weather (indeed, many of us seem to relish the crazy weather).  A lot of the racers do it knowing they might never win a race; like the non-racers, they're in it for the love of the sport, or because they love going fast on bikes, or both.  For love (okay, and for the 3,000-calorie-a-day training diet!) they endure the cost of bikes and equipment, strains, sprains, falls, aches, pains ... some of us have even been known to ride with broken bones.

Yes, anyone can ride a bike.  I even believe that almost anyone who wants to and is willing to make the sacrifices to put in the training hours is capable of real achievements on a bike -- riding a 1200k, for example, or taking a 3,000-mile tandem tour ... or carrying home eighty pounds of groceries in a backpack.

Oddly, many of the same people who don't regard cycling as a 'real' sport also don't think they can ride a bike ten miles.  They don't believe they're capable of walking ten miles, and that's the only comparison they can imagine.


I suspect that, ultimately, the cure for this ailment will come along on its own as gas prices rise -- simply put, more of us will dust off our trusty old steeds, hop on, and ride.  The more people ride, the more they appreciate what goes into riding -- and that's what it really takes, I think, for people to respect a given pastime.

Until then, you will find me riding around with my shaved legs and lycra and ridiculous fit-over sun-goggles and a couple of much-better-bikes-than-I-deserve, participating in a 'wussy sport' that asks everything I have and then some :)

Observed: Being Good At Riding in Groups != Being Good at Group Rides

I decided to give the Sunday 2:00 LBC ride from Heine Brother's at Breckenridge and Shelbyville a go. It was a beautiful afternoon, I made awesome time getting to the ride start from Dairy Kastle (where DD and I had lunch prior to the ride), and I was feeling good -- good about my bike, pretty good about myself, and good about the prospect of riding with a bunch of other crazy bike people (which always sounds good).

A good number of riders showed for the ride, and we all rolled out together around 2:20. I found myself a comfy spot in the middle of the pack -- just behind the fast group that broke away at a stoplight a few miles into the right (I didn't gun it quite hard enough to make the light; in retrospect, that was probably a good idea).

After the light, I led off a little break of maybe four riders, and we took turns swapping the lead in an informal paceline until I realized I had absolutely no idea what the route was supposed to look like -- so I turned into a wheelsucker for a while, swapping spots with another rider from time. Two members of the group dropped off due to a mechanical issue, leaving just the guy who was giving me directions and me until a third rider caught us at the turn onto River Road. I tried to be a good group member and take directions and my turns in the (considerable) wind.

Apparently, I didn't take directions quite well enough. My guide said, "We ride out River Road for what seems like forever, then turn into Glenview." I said, "Oh, okay, cool." At some point, though, I dropped off the pace a bit while fumbling with my front derailleur (I'm still making friends with it; it's a little finicky), then got hung up at a traffic light and lost my guide. No biggie, I thought -- I'll just ride an easy pace until another group catches up with me, and I'll hang out with them.

As I rolled rather casually down River Road, still quite a way from the Glenview turnoff, another group eventually found me. I jumped into their paceline -- and so began my extremely-enjoyable misadventure.

You see, I had made a classic group-ride mistake: I thought, "Oh, I know that jersey; I saw that person at the ride start." The problem is, on any lovely weekend day in Louisville, there's a very good likelihood that any interesting jersey will be worn by three or five completely disparate individuals -- who may, for all that, be involved in three or five different rides.

So I fell in behind a 'Ride to Conquer Cancer' jersey, and was soon enjoying the benefits of a good group ride -- camaraderie, companionship, the chance to get out of the wind.

I should've known something was wrong when we didn't turn off at Glenview. It's not like I don't know where Glenview is. I've ridden through it before. But instead of thinking , "Oh, hey, I think this is my corner, and maybe I'm with some other ride now; I'll wait here until someone from my ride comes along," I thought, "Huh, we must be going to Glenview by some other route." Another rider caught up with me and asked if I was on the LBC ride; I said, "Yes!" -- thus leading her astray, as well. (I know, I am a horrible person, leading my fellow cyclists astray.)

And off we went, not into Glenview at all, but past Juniper Beach and Guthrie Beach and on into Prospect. For a while, I found myself riding more or less alone, in front of the tail group (of whose existence I was not yet aware) but a ways back from the lead group, having once again fumbled my way off the pace. Nonetheless, I enjoyed myself, even in spite of the punishing wind and the bockety road (thank God for good wheels). Soon, I caught up with the group at our turnaround at the Java Brewing Company at the intersection of River Road and US 42.

While we paused, I chatted with my fellow riders (mostly about IUS -- two of us were IUS students and two were IUS grads!), thinking, "Hm, it's funny that we're such a small group. Maybe some others will show up." There were only about five or six of us, at that particular moment. I failed to see any significance, there. Likewise, part of me was a little surprised that so many people brought snacks for such a short ride; I failed to make any connection between the level of preparation and the fact that I was no longer on my little twenty-five-miler. Worst of all, I failed to think it odd that we also seemed to have our own ride coordinator (a fellow IUS student! Yay! Unfortunately, he won't be on my maybe-someday cycling team, since he's transferring to Spalding). I simply figured that he'd assumed RC duty for the group, so we didn't go astray.

Oops.

Eventually, another group of riders appeared and joined us. The rest of us chatted and took a brief break, sipping our water or slurping our gels (note to self: bring gels next time, really, even if you think you're only going out on a 25-mile ride). I commented at one point about how I hadn't bothered to install a second bottle cage on HG for this ride because, "Meh, it's just twenty-five miles." I got a strange look from a fellow rider. Perhaps this, too, should've been a clue*.

But I have never been known for my aptitude in picking up on subtle clues -- no, rather, in that department, I am quite as dense as dark matter. I don't do 'clues.' I am much more amenable to the hammer-over-the-head method than the whisper-in-the-ear method.

Our recently-arrived brethren took their brief break, and off we went again, rolling along in a nice little paceline. I contemplated what a joy it is to ride in a good paceline, and enjoyed the view of the river, if not the occasional gusts of wind coming off of it.

For a little while, we had the wind at our backs, which felt nice after the upwind slog of the past few miles. We were back at Zorn Ave -- our next turn-off -- in no time. While we waited for the last of our group, I stepped into a 'quickie mart' and bought some additional water, all the while considering how strange it was that I'd used up almost all my water on such a short ride. Then I checked the time and considered how strange it was that we'd been out for two hours, since we were riding a pretty good pace. Still, I was not visited by such a thing as a clue.

:::facepalm:::

We were still waiting for one of our number (and another who went back to fetch him) when we decided to switch out our return routes -- we would head back down River Road a bit, then up Mocking Bird Valley. That way, if we ran into our missing man, we could simply pick him up along the way. The ride along Mocking Bird Valley Road was delightful -- shady, cool, and quiet -- until I did something my FD didn't like right as we were approaching the bottom of a longish climb and Hg dropped his chain (this, btw, was entirely rider error: I know my FD is finicky on account of being a double crankset harnessed to a triple brifter; I still hose it up sometimes anyway). I didn't have to get off the bike to fix it -- I just played with my shift lever until it picked the chain back up -- but I'd already lost all my momentum, and I climbed the hill at a crawl. There were still two riders behind me, and when one of them caught me, we took turns in the wind -- and still, somehow, I failed to grasp that I was now on the wrong ride entirely. Le sigh.

Soon we were heading through Saint Matthew's. I was hungry, even though I'd had a hotdog and a milkshake right before I rode to the ride. I thought, "Oh, good, we're almost there. I'll grab some coffee before I head home." But then we crossed Breckenridge and kept going on towards the Highlands.

Did I, at this point, begin to suspect that I was on the wrong ride?

Ummm.

No.

Did you expect anything else?

Instead of drawing the probably-obvious conclusion, I thought, "Oh, we must be short a few miles." Yes, I realize that this assessment was patently ridiculous. No, that did not keep it from making sense at a the time. Patiently, I rolled along, enjoying the company of my peers. I even stopped and waited for a slower rider, and we pulled each-other up a little hill.

Coming into Cherokee Park (for the second time today), I found our RC again. I asked him, "How does the route go from here?" He said something about returning to Hogan's Fountain.

And then, quite suddenly, reality dawned.

"Oh ... which ride am I on?"

"We're the Bike to Beat Cancer ride from Hogan's Fountain. Were you on the LBC ride?"

Sheepishly, I replied, "Um, yes."

"So was the lady in the light blue. Do you know how to get back to where you started?"

"Yeah. Sorry I jumped in on your ride."

"That's okay. You should come ride with us again."

We chatted for a few minutes longer, and I learned that this group goes out on Sunday afternoons (sometimes Saturday mornings) from Hogan's Fountain -- much more convenient to church than the ride I started with.

We laughed about my mix-up, and then parted ways at the lane that leads out of the park to Lexington Road. There, in the process of missing my turn and almost causing a bike crash, I promptly pulled a muscle in my right thigh and decided to call it a day. I called DD, who came and picked me up, and as we headed home I called the ride coordinator for the original ride and let him know what had happened and that I was fine, so whoever was out riding sweep was not stuck looking for me for hours.

The moral of the story?

You can have all the group-riding skills in the world and still be terrible at group rides, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I met a few more really nice cyclists and had a fantastic time. I think I will take the RC up on his offer and join them again some time, maybe even next weekend -- and I think I may even do the 'Bike to Beat Cancer' ride. It sounds like it could be fun (and it requires a lot less fund-raising than its previous 'Ride to Conquer Cancer' iterations reqiured).

So basically the moral of the story is really that sometimes taking a wrong turn -- or following the wrong jersey -- can lead to the start of something good.

Not to mention boosting your mileage for the week!




*Turns out that the ride with which I 'hooked up' was Bike to Beat Cancer's 40-mile training ride for this weekend!

**This also stands as Hg's mid-distance road test. I must say, except for operator error involving the finicky FD, Hg passed with flying colors.

Ride Report: RCCS Coffee Ride, 2/20/2010

Sunday morning, I rolled out at 7:01 AM en route to a fantastic adventure.

It was a cool morning -- cool enough that I was glad I'd opted for my semi-famous FHPs, a long-sleeved jersey, and a jacket; cool enough that I wished I'd been organized enough to locate the full-fingered gloves that I'd pulled out of my backpack and (as I later discovered) stuffed into the couch beside one of the seat-cushions (Aside: Can anyone explain this madness?  I am not generally in the habit of stuffing things into the couch.  Maybe it was the cat.) -- but it was a lovely morning.  Traffic was light, and I sailed along, stuck in the big ring (still) for just over forty minutes.  With butterflies in my stomach, though once I hit my rhythm, I mostly forgot about them.

The truth is, I am terribly nervous about meeting other cyclists.  Having been 'the weird kid' in every single year of school, I'm mostly good at holding my own against the irrational judgments of others, but somehow I crave the respect of my fellow wheelmen and -women ... at least, those I respect.  Plus, one of my personal heroes was likely to show for this ride (ZOMG!), though I somehow managed to put that from my mind and thus not act like a ridiculous little squirrel.

It turned out, however, that the guys I would be riding with were what one might call 'just folks' -- really nice people with bikes in their blood and bones (maybe 'just spokes' would be a better moniker?).  Ward, the first to arrive after I pulled in, happened to have a tool I'd left behind, which allowed me to tighten my stem so my handlebars wouldn't rotate (which they had done, terrifyingly, on the way over -- a startling moment which would cause me to descend roughly as fast as a lazy snail for the duration of the ride). 

While we waited for our brethren, I fiddled with my front derailleur, finally coaxing it onto the small ring.  I would be glad of this later -- our ride-leader for the day, Tim, sniffed out a pretty hilly route.  Even in the small ring, I was pretty winded at the top of two of the climbs.  In the big ring, I would've been cooked by mile 20 -- well-done, in fact, given that my big ring is a 53 and my cluster ranges 12-23.  (As it was, I thought the 39x12-23 range worked pretty well for this ride.)

Soon our fellows arrived.  It was edifying to see such an array of beautiful bikes, among them Patrick's gorgeous A. Homer Hilsen with its double top tube and Tim's beautiful, brand-spanking new steed from Independent Fabrications (speaking of which: dear relatives, if you happen to have an extra $5,500 lying around and can't think of a way to spend it, a Corvid would make a really awesome wedding present next May ;D).  I would've been happy to have any one of them in my personal stable (though I would, of course, need a smaller Hilsen!).

We headed out right around 8:00, rolling up Breckenridge Lane a bit, then hanging a right.  There was no predetermined route map for this ride; there were no cue sheets.  We were following Tim's nose, and -- as it turns out -- he has a good one.  Our path led through the lovely, curving climbs of such venues as Glenview Hills, Glenview, Riverwood, and Indian Hills.  The wooded roads were quiet; the climbs were delightful, the descents ... well, beautiful and terrifying, but only because I was constantly worried about my bars randomly rotating.  (It would appear that I have become a bit paranoid.) 

At one point, a brace of whitetail does exploded across our path, resulting in jubilant shouts of 'Deer up!' and 'Oh, deer!'  Later, a hawk (probably a redtail, based on its build and flight profile, but I didn't get a great look) sailed over us.  Fortunately, she decided we did not look edible :)

Dave was riding his Bacchetta, and it was thrilling to hear the recumbent which had a few moments before been toodling its way up the climbs come roaring down the other side.  First, you would hear a sound like a train; then you'd glance over your shoulder, and there was Dave descending like a madman, or a falcon, in the drizzly rain, and then...

Swoooooosh!

...He was past you, and then he was past the rest of the guys, who were themselves sailing around a beautiful little switchback in a sort of relaxed paceline, or searing their way down a straight descent in a pack.

Suffice it to say that Sunday was one of those 'why I ride' kind of days.  It was reminiscent, in a way, of the long, rambling rides I used to take with a couple of my friends as a kid -- quiet, hilly roads, no real plan, just riders and bikes.  The major difference?  The bikes were generally nicer, and this ride was faster :)

I don't think I've had quite this much fun on a bike since ... well, possibly, quite possibly, ever.  I mostly ride solo, both at work and at play, and I enjoy it -- but there's nothing quite like a good group ride to keep you rolling.

When you're riding for fun with a good group, it's easy to forget you're climbing, and to stop obsessing about cadence and pedal stroke and intervals and all that fiddly stuff that sometimes makes you want to pull your hair out on a training ride (and people wonder why I always wear a helmet :D).  Talking, I'm convinced keeps the oxygen flowing in and out with aplomb.

We wound our way up Clifton Ave (a road I was once afraid to even try to climb!), sailed along part of one of my favorite weekend rides from my William Street days, and turned onto Bardstown Road.  Soon, we were sailing in to a stop at Quills Coffee.  It was a little after 10:00, and we were ready for some refreshment.  Coffee, savory scones, a cookie, and an espresso drink almost too beautiful to touch were consumed with relish amidst a conversation that rarely veered far from the thing that had brought us all together: bikes, and riding bikes.

Soon, we were headed back out into the drizzly morning. 

Dave was gracious enough to let me try his Bacchetta (shh!  Don't tell my co-workers!), which I rode for a few blocks and enjoyed immensely (note to self: disc brakes are, in fact, pretty awesome -- much better at stopping in the rain than QS's road calipers -- I fear I may find myself riding a 'cross brake with discs, some time soon).  We turned onto Cherokee and found our way into the park, where we sailed down the sweeping descent-side of Baringer Hill.  I then got so engrossed in talking to Dave about 'bents that I pretty much failed to notice the next climb 'til he peeled off with an, "I'm dropping back..."  We'd reached the steepish little bit at the top, and the Bacchetta had lost its momentum, so I muscled up to the fountain alone and found -- to my surprise -- that I wasn't even winded.  This is what happens when you forget about yourself and get out of your own way!

In a moment we were descending again, then winding through the little valley along Beargrass Creek -- and then, much too soon, it was time for me to peel off and head for church.  My route took me up Millvale Road, then onto Woodbourne Ave, where Saint Andrew's Episcopal makes its home.  The rest of the guys headed onward to, as Tim puts it in his ride report on the RCCS blog, 'Saint Matthew's and beyond.'

My first RCCS ride is definitely among my top-ten cycling experiences so far.  Dave, Patrick, Tim, and Ward make great ride partners.

I'll be keeping an eye on the RCCS blog in hopes of another go some time soon ... and maybe next time it'll occur to me to take more than one picture!



P.S. — I am happy to report that the fix for the bar-rotation problem seems to have done the trick.  That being said, I plan to devote the next week to re-learning how to trust my bike!

P.P.S — I forgot to mention: as far as I know, at no point did a race break out on this ride.

P.P.P.S — while I was out riding Quicksilver, Hg grew a set of bars. Also a shiny purple-anodized rear brake caliper. Woot!

Training Goals for 2011

Overall Goals:
Garner as much enjoyment as humanly possible from riding the bike.
Continue to improve my health.
Don't overdo it.

Long-Distance Goal:
Yes, I'm going to try again for a 200k, if I can find one that isn't, say, the 19th of this month.  I don't think I'm likely to be ready for a 200k by next Saturday! 

If I don't manage to find an organized 200k, then at least one or two organized centuries.

In 2012, I would like to do a Super-Randonneur series, but we'll see.

Racing Goal:
Try new things, have fun, and try to finish races -- but not at the expense of fun!

Work Goal:
Continue to improve at providing fast, efficient courier service throughout CBD's service area.

 O-O

February Goals:

-Week One-

Long ride: 20 miles

Total Distance: 100 miles

-Week Two-

Long ride: 25 miles

Total Distance: 110 miles

You Give Me Fever

One morning last week, our head mechanic came in with a cough.  By closing time, he was looking a bit cadaverous; the next day, he called in sick.  That same day -- Friday, in the morning, to be exact -- I developed a curious itchy sensation in my throat.

I worked all of Friday with an itchy throat and an ever-growing sinus-headachy, wheezy, puny feeling, but went home feeling optimistic about the lovely weekend forecasters were promising.  By bedtime on Friday, however, I was feeling pretty bad, though still not so bad that heading to the doc-in-the-box was a foregone conclusion.  Saturday morning, I woke up feeling just a little worse; by around 11:00, I had decided that I didn't feel up to riding even though it was absolutely beautiful out, and also that it was probably a good idea to head over to the nearby Take Care Clinic 'just to be safe.'

I arrived at the clinic with a temperature of 98.4  Since my normal temperature is rarely over 97.5, I was a little concerned, but not terribly so.  The nurse-practitioner on duty checked me out, diagnosed a sinus infection, noted that my lungs sounded a little rough as well, prescribed some doxycycline, and sent me on my way to the pharmacy, reminding me to call if things either got worse or if I wasn't starting to feel better within 48 hours.

By the time I got home, I was feeling rather bedraggled.  I went to bed with a temperature of 99.1, slept like the dead -- and awoke on Sunday feeling like the inside of a dry-rotted tire.  In the rain.  Or something like that.  By then I was running a fever of 100.3, and I felt like I was breathing through a straw.

Later that morning, my temperature was hovering close to 102 degrees Fahrenheit, and I felt thirsty enough to drink the Great Lakes dry.  Within the course of the day, I took a really long nap, then downed basically an entire half-gallon bottle of Gatorade, plus assorted glasses of water, iced tea, and lemonade.  Since my fever showed no sign of abating, and indeed seemed determined to keep on climbing, DD and I both began to worry.

After some debate (more in the vein of 'should we call, or just go straight to the ER?') DD and I started trying to call the Take Care Clinic, which actually proved to be rather a challenge.  When we finally managed to get through to them, it was around 4:00 in the afternoon.  The nurse-practitioner sounded pretty concerned, decided to prescribe a steroid, and debated switching my antibiotic prescription to Levaquin.  She was concerned that I might have pneumonia (again) and said that I should head to the ER if the initial steroid dose didn't start improving things in pretty short order.

DD went out and picked up the methylprednisolone dose-pack for me, which I greatly appreciated.  While he was out, my temperature peaked at just over 102, and I started sweating like crazy -- like, hard-sprint-in-July crazy.  I was extremely happy when DD came back, owing both to the simple comfort of having someone you love near when you're sick, and to past experience, which has dictated that in situations like this, steroids are extremely effective in getting my lungs to straighten up and fly right, so to speak.

After much sweating and a ridiculously-hot bath, my fever broke, dropping my temperature back to a more tolerable 99.6, though it climbed back up to 100.9 by bedtime.  I slept pretty well, though several coughing fits woke me up during the night.

This morning, I woke up with a temperature of 97.1, and it has been no higher than 98.4 all day, which is a vast improvement over yesterday.

So why am I writing about all this?  Partly, I suppose, to satisfy a kind of morbid interest in human disease modeling.  I was really surprised by how fast this thing came on -- though it's possible that it had some kind of 'incubation' period -- and even more surprised at how aggressively it progressed.  I'm curious how B, our head mechanic, is doing (I actually *GASP* called in sick to work!).

Partly, though, I'm writing about this because it's worth noting that, while I'm still more prone than most to respiratory infections, it does seem that cycling has done my immune system a world of good.  The last time I ran into an aggressive infection like this one, given almost exactly the same course of treatment, it took nearly a week before I felt semi-human again.

At the moment, I'm still subject to violent coughing fits -- though I also think that cycling has improved the function of my respiratory system in such a way that those coughing fits are doing their job, clearing stuff from my lungs, instead of just nearly breaking my ribs for no good reason -- and I still feel pretty puny (I almost washed a dish this afternoon, then realized I actually wasn't up to doing that much just yet, LOL).  However, I feel about 60% normal right now, which is really pretty surprising.  I'm hoping by tomorrow I'll make it up to around 80%, so I can get my butt back on the bike.  (Sidebar: If I continue at this projected rate of 20% gain, I can expect to feel about 160% normal by Saturday, whereupon I will find a nearby race and dominate the by-our-lady out of it.)  In reality, that might be asking a bit much, but we'll see.

Perhaps just as importantly, the fact that I'm now used to feeling pretty darned good, physically, made it pretty easy to tell when things had reached that 'better safe than sorry' break-point.  I've found riding provides handy little reference-points -- I knew on Friday that things weren't quite right when I was feeling a bit washed out and wheezy during the afternoon scheduled runs that I ride pretty much every day.  Moreover, the moment I realized that I didn't feel up to taking a ride with DD on a mind blowingly-beautiful day in late January was the same moment I realized I needed to go to the doctor.

I may be conflating correlation and causation, here, but I can say that both my health and my awareness of said health, not to mention my fitness, have improved dramatically over the course of the past year, during which time my bike-usage has also increased dramatically (as has the population of my bike-stable, LOL, which now consists of three bikes that I actually own -- though only one of them counts as a fully-operational road-worthy bike at the moment, while one is still an embryonic, wheel-less frameset -- and, by extension, DD's assorted machines).

I'm currently deciding whether to try to work tomorrow or to play it safe and stay home.  I guess that will ultimately depend on my ability to breathe at around 4:45 PM today, which is as late as I can safely call up JP at work and say, "Ohai, I can haz nuthor sick dai pleez?"  We shall see.

I guess the whole point is that, at least from my perspective, cycling is paying some very measurable dividends (beyond being tons of fun and a good way to spend all that extra money we all have lying around right now ;D).

I think I have now used up my coherent-thought quota for the day, so back to reading the internets...

How to Prevent a Rainstorm

A friend of DD's had an extra Mountain Hard Wear rainjacket lying around and gave it to me when we were in Chicago. As someone who has regularly found himself cursing the inventor of that lightweight plastic rain cape which goes by the name 'emergency poncho', I was extremely grateful, since nice rainjackets are a bit pricey and this way I can have a rain jacket and cyclocross tires.

Since that time, I've been meaning to try out my jacket -- but the weather has not precisely been cooperating. For the past few weeks, it's been sunny and dry, with the occasional rain shower after I'm already in bed.

Yesterday, however, I learned that rain was expected for today — so this morning I gleefully zipped up my awesome orange jacket before heading out the door.

There's a lot to love about this jacket. First of all, it's a sort of 'harvesty' orange, and I look good in harvesty orange.

Second, it's light and fits pretty closely which means I don't add an extraneous wind resistance component to my morning 'workout' (if you can call a 4.5-mile ride, mostly downhill, a 'workout').

Third, and perhaps most importantly, it has those amazing magical ventilation devices known as 'pit zips.' Yes, you heard me — zippers under the arms! At last, my armpits can breathe free, even when it's raining.

Also, did I mention that I look good in harvesty orange? I really must get a picture of this thing.

Anyway.

So I zipped up my snappy new rain jacket and headed out into the ...

um.

Not rain.

There were clouds in the sky. The scent of rain was on the wind. Surely, I thought, surely the sky will open up at any moment and allow me to write an eloquent post in praise of my jacket's finer qualities test my jacket's seaworthiness.

Surely.

I rolled out into the road: up Willow (where I saw, and inadvertently chased, an actual bunny!bunny!bunny!). Down Patterson. Through the little alley that I use to avoid several stoplights at the occasional cost of getting stuck at the Grinstead Road crossing.

Still no rain.

On Baxter Ave, I zipped along at a decent pace, unhindered by my new jacket, which seemed to slice through the air well enough — yet still no rain fell.

On Jefferson, I caught a couple of stoplights. I hoped that perhaps the Heavens would open up as I obediently waited for the green ... but no such luck. The Heavens remained stubbornly closed. Apparently, like the sandwich shop at which one inevitably arrives a few minutes early, they open when they open.

As I sailed around the 7th Street turn, I realized my hopes had been dashed. There would be no Product Testing today — just a reasonably-fast ride in a reasonably-comfortable jacket (to whit: I would have been quite chilly this morning, without the jacket, so it did work nicely as a windbreak).

Dejected, all my hopes for the morning shattered like a faulty R-Sys carbon wheel in the middle of a race, I dismounted as I pulled up to the rack, locked my bike, and unzipped my jacket.

And then I felt it: the first drop of rain hitting my suitably-waterproof sleeve.

The moral of the story?

It is impossible to road-test rain gear, because such demiurges as control the weather will only laugh at you.

I understand, however, that an automated carwash just might do the job.

My advice?

Wear goggles.

Cycling Tips!

Note: The faint of stomach and insect-phobic might want to skip this one. Fair warning!

Many authoritative books, blogs, and websites explain the important set of skills that one should master in order to become a competent group cyclist. However, I have noticed that many of them — maybe most — neglect a few key points.

As such, freshly back from a big group ride (in fact, the biggest group ride I have ever seen in person!!!), I believe I am in a good position to comment, if not-so-authoritatively, on them. Note that I'm just commenting here — not so much advising as just observing.

The first skill I'd like to address is an essential one — an unpleasant-but-important one that any cyclist who rides often enough will eventually have to employ, particularly during allergy season. It's the skill that allows us to clear our throats as well as our thoughts; to remove obstacles (from our tracheas); and to roll on even after aspirating the occasional mayfly. It's a skill that is also near and dear to the hearts of old-timey saloon patrons, runners, and thugs — yes, I'm talking about spitting.

Spitting

While nobody has performed a scientific analysis of the topic, I'm sure that we all agree that spitting, while totally gross, is sometimes necessary. It has taken me some time to become comfortable with the idea (and I still won't spit on the sidewalk, no matter how urgent the need), but there are simply times when one must, as they say, hawk a loogie, lest one drown in one's one sputum.

This is rarely a major issue for a cyclist — when riding solo, we may generally spit with abandon, and in a small group we can simply fall back or pull out of line just a bit.

In a large group, however, such as the main pack of a race, a charity ride, or a big municipal ride*, spitting without mishap requires a certain degree of grace and finesse.

This is especially true, I think, on non-competitive rides, wherein the riders come to have fun, not to suffer, possibly make it to within 43 spots of the podium, and earn another war story**. I suspect that I would be more willing to forgive the occasional ill-timed or ill-aimed goober in a race, assuming I even noticed it***. I tend to ride in a bit of a trance, anyway.

Among the first things I noticed (shortly after, Hey! I can actually keep up with these guys! Whaddaya know! and Crap, it's definitely time for a tuneup!) on my giant group ride yesterday morning is that I am the spittingest cyclist east of the Ohio River. West of the Ohio River, on the other hand, or east of the Eastern Continental divide, my allergies and asthma are much less bad, and thus I am less ... um ... productive.

But Louisville, she is a harsh mistress — and so I suffer through all the prime cycling months — you know, March through October — afloat on a sea of my own respiratory excreta. Or something like that.

This is especially true when one of my first orders of business during a ride is the aspiration of some kind of large insect (possibly a Mayfly?) during a climb. Normally, I can make it through a 20-ish mile ride without spitting 200 times, or even 20 times. Yesterday's ride, however, involved way, way more spitting than is usual for me, and probably doubled my annual loogies-per-mile average (an important cycling statistic).

I was concerned, at first, that it would be very difficult to, ahem, relieve myself of the bounty of my respiratory system's truly stupendous efforts without grossly (and I do mean 'grossly') offending some other poor soul. However, I quickly learned that a small set of steps can prevent catastrophe.

How to Spit in a Loose Group

1. Move to the edge of the group.
2. Check both your left and right sides — even if you plan to send your miniature missile sailing on the right, someone coming up behind you on the left might find it necessary to dart around you on the right. You might hear them coming, but if (like me) you are plagued with terrible allergies that also compromise your hearing, you might not.
3. If you're going less than 15 or 20 MPH, you can probably just turn your head to roughly 2:00ish and launch. Turn your head too far, and you're likely to wind up wearing it. Ask. Me. How. I. Know.
4. If you're moving fast, however, first check the immediate road for potholes and the like, then cock an elbow, tuck your head, and go for the hole shot.
5. Lastly: the idea is to spit down, not out. The faster you're going, the truer it is.

How to Spit in a Tight Group

1. Wait for the group to loosen up.
2. See above.

How to Spit in a Tight Group — Alternate Method

1. Pray.
2. Attempt 'hole shot' manoeuvre.
3. Apologize.

It may, of course, be that you're one of those lucky souls who never find themselves foaming at the mouth on a group ride. If so, please, share with me your secret.

Insects

I have noticed that group rides seem to attract pesky insects. On my first LBC ride, one of my fellow riders was stung by a wasp which flew into his shorts.

On my daily excursions, I have inhaled, eaten, been eaten by, and wiped from both glasses and bike any number of species of flying arthropods.

And, of course, yesterday, I managed to inhale one, thereby profoundly irritating my highly-irritable respiratory tract. I spent the rest of the bridge crossing wheezing and trying to cough up my lungs (not to mention my breakfast), but manfully succeeded in keeping all internal items in place and, indeed, in keeping my spot in the fast group, minus a couple of places.

Likewise, I did not die, though for a moment I was mildly concerned about that possible outcome, as the Second Street Bridge is riddled with joints and various large metal structural elements just waiting to exact their revenge on some poor, addle-pated cyclist, and it is hard to watch out for obstacles while hacking up a lung, as it were.

I have absolutely no suggestions whatsoever concerning how to handle insects, short of 'Insects: avoid them when possible.' However, that's really not very helpful, because it is impossible to avoid insects while hurtling down the road at 20 MPH or faster.

Additional Observations

I learned a couple other things on this ride.

First, I learned that I can maintain a reasonable pace — not blistering, but pretty good — while choking on insects. Also while fighting back the intense nausea that results from keeping up athletic effort while unable to properly breathe.

Second, I learned that there is at least one other guy who comes out on an old Allez for these things. I've seen another Allez of roughly Quicksilver's vintage once before; the one I saw yesterday makes three.

Third, I learned that I am extremely susceptible to the pack mentality. I headed out on this ride intending to pause along the way to shoot some pictures. All the pictures I took, however, are from the start and the end of the ride. This is because I rolled myself up to the back of the first starting group, the 'Competitive Cyclists' group, and once I found myself riding in the flock ... well, you know how it goes.

There was a lot of chasing, bridging, passing, and getting passed going on, considering that the announcer firmly admonished us: "THIS IS NOT A RACE. IT IS A RIDE." No organized efforts, perhaps, but I suspect many of us in the front group were, in our own minds at least, having the race of our lives.

I wonder how big a podium we'd need to fit all the winners? That's my kind of race. I grew up with Shel Silverstein, and while part of me is all about crushing the competition, another part of me is all about 'Hug-O-War'-style racing, where everyone**** wins (also known as 'randonneuring,' I guess?).

As for me, I didn't win, because in my fantasy race I was playing the role of 'star climber,' because apparently climbing is what I do well (when I'm not aspirating mayflies, and even then I'm not too bad at it). I'm confident that I led my (imaginary) team to victory, nobly sacrificing my own shot a the podium, and that's good enough for me. Besides, I'm pretty sure I finished in the top 50, which is pretty good out of a field of 6,000 (non-racers). Not that I care, or bothered to notice ;)

Lastly, I learned that The Jens Voigt Method works really well. If your lungs act up, you tell them, SHUT UP LUNGS! in your best German accent. If your legs start burning, you tell them, SHUT UP LEGS! in your best German accent. If your wrists ... well, you get the point.

Because Jens Voigt is The Man, and we should all try to be a little more like Jens Voigt, even when we're (AHEM) not racing.

Notes

*Do other cities have these? If not, they're really missing out. Monday's ride was awe-inspiring!

**This, by the way, is my racing plan for next road-racing season.

***I hope my fellow cyclobloggers who have actually raced in actual races where they give you an actual number, as opposed to the kind which begin with exchanges like, "Bet I can beat you up that hill!", will be able to confirm or deny this theory. Thus far, all of my races have been the less formal kind (and sometiems not all the participants knew they were racing — I should note that it's particularly humiliating to lose a match race with someone twice your age who doesn't know he's in a race at all).

****...who finishes...