I keep catching myself referring to people slightly older than me as "middle-aged".
Then I stop for a moment and realize that indeed, I am a middle aged guy.
Genetically speaking. I am most likely on the downhill side of my life. My Father bucked the trend of my paternal line and made it to within a month of his 78th birthday. His Father died at 67. His Grandfather at 68.
In two months I will be 39. So IF I live to 78 I have fewer days remaining than past.
For some reason recent weeks have been full of reminders of the passage of time. My time specifically. Watched the Kurt Cobain documentary. I remember hearing he had killed himself from Chris Comer in Newspaper class my senior year of high school. That was 1994 kids. Bill Clinton hadn't even "not had sex with that woman" yet.
Each night recently I have been watching the final shows of David Letterman. I have been watching Letterman since 1990. I remember because I moved into a downstairs bedroom of my Mother's house and escaped an enforced bedtime. I felt like I had become an adult. That was 25 damn years ago.
I bore you with this because I am reaching for the reason that I am so utterly out of shape.
I have been riding since my last post. Not quite like I should. The man gear has been feeling better. Only occasional pain which doesn't seem as bad. But I am finally getting out. The SHIT weather we have had lately has not helped. Mountain biking has basically been backburnered until probably sometime in late August. It rains every, damn, day.
What I am finding when I ride is that I have gotten much worse than I had suspected. So slow. So off. This morning I rode to Timp Cave. It is a good metric for me. It is a quick little run I can do and not be late for work. If I am shooting for Strava glory and finish with my eyes bulging out of my head I am historically under ten minutes. This morning was not, that, way. While I finished with eyes bulging and bile in my throat I dare say my time was comfortably over ten minutes. My shame has not allowed me to upload my rides to see where I actually stand. I am banking them on my Garmin and hope to upload a bunch of them in a few weeks so I can see how far I've come.
The best part was coming home and jumping on the scale. I am now up 5 pounds since I started "training". When I decided it was time to get started again I was nervous because I had crept over the 190 mark. Two weeks ago, I was 193. This morning I was 198. Two pounds away from my all time highest weight. The freaking Deuce.
I am seriously beginning to doubt that I am capable of finishing the Crusher in July.
Which really would be hard to handle for me. I have never had any delusions of what I am in that race. Pack fodder at best. At worst I am a sad, doughy middle aged guy hoping to be capable of finishing. But I am such a fan of the race and have talked about it so much to people that not finishing due to fat and lazy would just be embarrassing.
Shit.
Monday, May 18, 2015
Mid Life Crisis
Monday, May 4, 2015
Starting....Now.
Well. It's springtime in Utah. Usually this time of year I am itching to ride every chance I get and working hard to get somewhat race ready.
Some years are more successful than others.
This year has been different. With the difficulties of 2014 behind me I was enjoying winter with a new toy. I jumped on the fat bike bandwagon and was getting a few rides in a week in the dead of winter. It was fun and I thought it was going to make for a killer headstart on summer. An extremely dry and warm winter put an early end to that season and there I was in spiritual limbo. Still enough snow on the trails to make them sloppy and unridable and not nearly enough snow to make fat biking fun.
Fair enough, I would wait for the normal season to start. No rush.
In February I had another rash of shit luck and found lots of excuses not to ride the road or take road trips to the sun and dirt.
Chief among those excuses has been what doctors have generically termed "Chronic Testicular Pain". Literally this spring has thus far been a pain in the balls. After a general practice physician, two surgeons and two urologists all took turns juggling my nuts. The final course of action was to do nothing. I have been told that this is a common malady and surgery frequently makes things worse not better. The prognosis is that the pain usually subsides after about a year.
A...YEAR.
I am now four months in and while I haven't seen a significant improvement I have seen changes that make me think things could improve. My genetic pessimism makes me think they won't, but only time will tell.
While the pain has not been debilitating it has kept me off the bike. Not because riding makes it worse or has any effect. It is like having a headache that only occasionally goes away and frequently plants my ass on a couch for a few days at a time. Not bad enough to miss work but enough to make me not want to do anything else beyond my workday.
As a result, I have about 100 miles in this year. No shit. 100 miles.
In good years that is my weekly minimum.
Today however, I have had enough. I am fast approaching critical mass. The dreaded "deuce" is in sight and if I don't start riding I will soon be fatter than I have ever been.
So tonight I went out and dusted off the road bike.
I intend to ride in the morning. And hopefully the next morning. And the one after that.
Although I am not quite as fat as I have been in the past, I am less fit than I have been in years. The only race I have signed up for this year is The Crusher. It is two months out. Time to get cracking or I won't even be able to finish it.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
I Lost A Year
Sitting here on Christmas Eve, now Christmas. Unable to sleep. Different than past years when I couldn't sleep because I was an excited child, or an excited parent, or putting together some ridiculous dollhouse. This year I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking about the last year.
Last time I wrote anything here was the end of 2013 and I was pleased with myself for being slightly better than mediocre in Cyclocross. Oh, those halcyon days.
This year went a little different.
In January I lost my religion. I suppose more accurately I should say I left my religion. It has been a pretty traumatic experience for my family and my marriage and it isn't something I have talked about much with people outside my inner circle but it happened, it is a work in progress, and that is all I care to say about it semi-publicly on a medium that hasn't been valid for 5 years.
Soon after things settled down from that, I began the process of losing my father. This process actually began several years ago but in May we began to measure time in weeks. Then days. Then hours. Until in June we lost my father.
I was blessed to have a chance to spend time saying the things that needed to be said, and hearing the things I needed to hear. We did not discuss the fact that I had left the church he raised me in. Frankly it never came up. I can't say that it was easy to say goodbye, but the idea of knowing that time was growing short added an urgency that I found comfort in. We buried him on Monday, June 30. My daughter's 7th birthday.
Later that week, on July 4th. My sister found out that her 8 year old daughter had a rare and terrible tumor growing on her brain stem. The original prognosis was very grim. After many second opinions, and a lot of research they came up with a treatment plan that has been difficult but so far successful. She still has a long road ahead. We spent the summer doing fundraisers and bake sales. It has had a strengthening effect on my family. It has had a positive effect on my view of the world. So many people, friends and strangers alike have helped us in ways we can never thank them enough for. My niece has proven to be an incredibly strong and resilient person. Far more than many adults.
It feels like I may be coopting my niece's struggles. I can't claim a relationship with her that is more special than anyone else's in my family. I am basically the "pull my finger" uncle. But the fact is the time immediately following the death of my father was spent on our heels collectively as a family.
The year has been a blur. Frankly it seems like it can't possibly have all happened, and yet here I am.
I have never spent much time in reflection at this time of year. But if any year warranted retrospect in the past 38 it is this one.
Lying in bed as Ma was adjusting her kerchief,as it were, I could hear the sound of the St Peter's Christmas Mass playing on the TV in the other room. I have always turned it on after the kids went to bed for the simple fact that it was what my father had always done. I thought about how that is how I heard it as a kid. My room was adjacent to my parents and the old man would go to sleep each night with the bedroom TV up surprisingly loud. The realization that I was once again listening to the English translation play-by-play of the pope from the other room on Christmas Eve soon had tears streaming onto the pillow. It was the impetus for this meandering entry.
It was the first time in a bit that I realized the loss of my Dad. It snuck up on me that I had also lost the entirety of 2014.
This isn't what I usually write about here. It doesn't have much to do with losing weight, or riding bikes. But I needed to say these things "out loud". It is cathartic for me to have them somewhere.
I won't be posting this link to Facebook, or begging for people to read this sad sack journal like I usually do. If you read this you stumbled onto it. Which is how I will leave it.
Merry Christmas. Here's to a brighter 2015.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Finally
Cyclocross season is in full swing. P-town kicked it off early and right now Wednesday nights are spent in Provo and Saturdays are spent with UTCX. That usually means driving to freaking Ogden. My results weren't much better than they had been. Mid pack.
The first race we lined up at Draper and by the end, I was eleventh. Which was good, but when you looked at the finishing order 11 of 27 was still...slightly ahead of mid pack. But still better than I have ever been in my life.
Down at P-town I had a passable excuse, or two. Ridiculous starts and big packs on a tiny course. By ridiculous starts I mean we usually start 30 feet from a turn into wooded singletrack. Last week, for example we started 10 feet before a barrier. Then thirty feet to the wooded singletrack. Ridiculous. Another tough thing is the black and red line across the front. While most of us are shooting the shit and whining about the dumb starts a certain team(dressed in red and black) is staking out prime real estate at the front. 5-6 dudes wide which is usually the width of the lane.
Then two weeks ago something changed. The start time got bumped up to 5:30 which I believe made it hard for "the team from up north" to get there on time. Coincidentally that night they had a normal start. Full width lane for a good 300 yards. I pushed my way up to the front. Much easier without our friends from Davis County.
At the start I got away with the front few guys. First lap had me in 2nd place. It was cool. Successive laps had me still towards the front. Despite a stupid mistake that had me on the ground and trying to straighten my bars and get my chain back on. Even with the troubles, I came in sixth. A pretty good finish.
At UTCX I had two 11th place finishes.
The cool thing that happens with finishing in the front half is that you get more points on the series. More points on the series means that 11th place two weeks in a row puts you in the top ten on the series. Which means...call-ups.
In six years racing cross I have never had a call-up. And then this Saturday it happened. There I was, number 6. Call up means that you get pulled from the crowd and allowed to start front row. As long as you don't screw it up, it means you don't have to fight your way through the pack. It turns out this is a huge advantage. On a flat, fast course with nothing to break it up besides on difficult barrier section, it was full tilt boogie for eight laps. I couldn't hold on to the leaders but I did come in 6th. Basically where I started. My best finish ever in a UTCX race. I am still only in the B's but I am pretty pleased with myself. Don't think I got slaughtered by the leaders, but there was some podium shame going on from the announcers booth and it looks like at least one big-dog in the category may be upgrading next week.
What will that mean for our hero? We will find out next week.
Weight wise I am holding steady. Pretty incredible since I have basically stopped training. Have you noticed it's dark in the morning? Also, cold. Had a pretty tough time dragging my ass out of bed lately. When I do I find I have lost the ability to tolerate the cold. I have been known to race cross in 16 degree temps and snow with bare legs. Not so much anymore. Temps in the 40's have me wearing many layers and shivering by the time I get home. I can do the dark, and I can do the cold. But the dark AND the cold has sucked the life out of me. If I am going to have a hope at the podium this year I have to figure something out. I hope it's not spin class.
Diet wise, I am not doing too bad. Weekends are terrible. Then I do pretty good most of the work week and maybe hit the Wing Shak once a week. Cause I'm naughty.
The first race we lined up at Draper and by the end, I was eleventh. Which was good, but when you looked at the finishing order 11 of 27 was still...slightly ahead of mid pack. But still better than I have ever been in my life.
Down at P-town I had a passable excuse, or two. Ridiculous starts and big packs on a tiny course. By ridiculous starts I mean we usually start 30 feet from a turn into wooded singletrack. Last week, for example we started 10 feet before a barrier. Then thirty feet to the wooded singletrack. Ridiculous. Another tough thing is the black and red line across the front. While most of us are shooting the shit and whining about the dumb starts a certain team(dressed in red and black) is staking out prime real estate at the front. 5-6 dudes wide which is usually the width of the lane.
Then two weeks ago something changed. The start time got bumped up to 5:30 which I believe made it hard for "the team from up north" to get there on time. Coincidentally that night they had a normal start. Full width lane for a good 300 yards. I pushed my way up to the front. Much easier without our friends from Davis County.
At the start I got away with the front few guys. First lap had me in 2nd place. It was cool. Successive laps had me still towards the front. Despite a stupid mistake that had me on the ground and trying to straighten my bars and get my chain back on. Even with the troubles, I came in sixth. A pretty good finish.
At UTCX I had two 11th place finishes.
The cool thing that happens with finishing in the front half is that you get more points on the series. More points on the series means that 11th place two weeks in a row puts you in the top ten on the series. Which means...call-ups.
In six years racing cross I have never had a call-up. And then this Saturday it happened. There I was, number 6. Call up means that you get pulled from the crowd and allowed to start front row. As long as you don't screw it up, it means you don't have to fight your way through the pack. It turns out this is a huge advantage. On a flat, fast course with nothing to break it up besides on difficult barrier section, it was full tilt boogie for eight laps. I couldn't hold on to the leaders but I did come in 6th. Basically where I started. My best finish ever in a UTCX race. I am still only in the B's but I am pretty pleased with myself. Don't think I got slaughtered by the leaders, but there was some podium shame going on from the announcers booth and it looks like at least one big-dog in the category may be upgrading next week.
What will that mean for our hero? We will find out next week.
Weight wise I am holding steady. Pretty incredible since I have basically stopped training. Have you noticed it's dark in the morning? Also, cold. Had a pretty tough time dragging my ass out of bed lately. When I do I find I have lost the ability to tolerate the cold. I have been known to race cross in 16 degree temps and snow with bare legs. Not so much anymore. Temps in the 40's have me wearing many layers and shivering by the time I get home. I can do the dark, and I can do the cold. But the dark AND the cold has sucked the life out of me. If I am going to have a hope at the podium this year I have to figure something out. I hope it's not spin class.
Diet wise, I am not doing too bad. Weekends are terrible. Then I do pretty good most of the work week and maybe hit the Wing Shak once a week. Cause I'm naughty.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Okay, Ten.
Almost two months ago I pointed at the center field fence and swung for another 20 pounds.
Swing and a miss.
I have lost another ten though. That's right, my tub now carries 30 pounds fewer guts than when this Greek tragedy started. Incidentally Greek yogurt is packed with protein and beneficial probiotics.
So, if I am measuring by the masthead on this sad little blog I look significantly better naked, but much to my chagrin I am not a significantly faster cyclist.
Last year I raced B's in cyclocross and consistently performed terribly. Back of the pack. Usually @1(that means I got lapped by the leaders for those of you who don't speak cyclocross). A few weeks after the Crusher I signed up for the Midsummer's Night Cyclocross race in Park City. This is one of the few sanctioned cyclocross races that happens in Utah. Weird. You know, categories with numbers instead of letters. Crazy. Anyway, I signed up Men's 3/4 because that was the lowest option. Then I got lapped. By kids. I was crushed. I dragged my sorry butt home and cried the tears of a homely teenage girl. I dug deep and tried to lose a few more. It didn't happen fast but eventually I was in the unfamiliar territory of the high 160's. People I don't see often were starting to notice that I had lost weight. I had the confidence of that guy in the Extenz commercials. I was hitting a lot of PR's on Strava. Disclaimer: Strava is lame but it is a pretty easy way to track your own performance. No better way to tell if you are actually getting faster or just riding with slow people. Anyhow, I was looking forward to the P-town Cross series that started last week because I thought maybe I would finally have a grand return to racing. Like returning to Junior year with your acne all cleared up. I had my bike pretty dialed, bibs didn't fit like sausage casings and I was optimistic. Then the race started.
I did...okay. Last year I would have been ECSTATIC with slightly ahead of mid-pack. It was simply not a possibility. This year I have lost THIRTY DAMN POUNDS. I am finally comfortably under ten minutes from the booth to the cave in AF canyon. I am back in 32" pants. Why am I not killing it? Why is Cobourn who has been on a bike precisely twice since Crusher only two spots behind me? (Mostly that was to point out that he WAS behind me)
I don't know.
It seems that I have moved on from gluttony to pride. Possibly greed. There are seven deadly sins gentlemen. As Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt will tell you none of them turn out well. If I was a badass I would say that at tomorrow night's P-town I am going to try WRATH! But big talk with no follow up makes for embarassing facebook mockery.
Taken as a whole I have made marked improvement. But now I want more. I don't just want to fit nicely into my Dad jeans, I want a freakin' six pack. I once thought if I hit 165 I would have one. 165 is in sight and guess what. That ain't happening.
So, I will just keep plugging away. I will eat small healthy breakfasts. I will pack my lunch. I will swill zero calorie energy drinks. I will ride my bike as much as possible. I haven't given up on the next ten but the last week has put things on a bit of a pause. Busy, lazy, etc.
I also gave up on the Crossfit thing. Okay, I actually never tried it.
Swing and a miss.
I have lost another ten though. That's right, my tub now carries 30 pounds fewer guts than when this Greek tragedy started. Incidentally Greek yogurt is packed with protein and beneficial probiotics.
So, if I am measuring by the masthead on this sad little blog I look significantly better naked, but much to my chagrin I am not a significantly faster cyclist.
Last year I raced B's in cyclocross and consistently performed terribly. Back of the pack. Usually @1(that means I got lapped by the leaders for those of you who don't speak cyclocross). A few weeks after the Crusher I signed up for the Midsummer's Night Cyclocross race in Park City. This is one of the few sanctioned cyclocross races that happens in Utah. Weird. You know, categories with numbers instead of letters. Crazy. Anyway, I signed up Men's 3/4 because that was the lowest option. Then I got lapped. By kids. I was crushed. I dragged my sorry butt home and cried the tears of a homely teenage girl. I dug deep and tried to lose a few more. It didn't happen fast but eventually I was in the unfamiliar territory of the high 160's. People I don't see often were starting to notice that I had lost weight. I had the confidence of that guy in the Extenz commercials. I was hitting a lot of PR's on Strava. Disclaimer: Strava is lame but it is a pretty easy way to track your own performance. No better way to tell if you are actually getting faster or just riding with slow people. Anyhow, I was looking forward to the P-town Cross series that started last week because I thought maybe I would finally have a grand return to racing. Like returning to Junior year with your acne all cleared up. I had my bike pretty dialed, bibs didn't fit like sausage casings and I was optimistic. Then the race started.
I did...okay. Last year I would have been ECSTATIC with slightly ahead of mid-pack. It was simply not a possibility. This year I have lost THIRTY DAMN POUNDS. I am finally comfortably under ten minutes from the booth to the cave in AF canyon. I am back in 32" pants. Why am I not killing it? Why is Cobourn who has been on a bike precisely twice since Crusher only two spots behind me? (Mostly that was to point out that he WAS behind me)
I don't know.
It seems that I have moved on from gluttony to pride. Possibly greed. There are seven deadly sins gentlemen. As Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt will tell you none of them turn out well. If I was a badass I would say that at tomorrow night's P-town I am going to try WRATH! But big talk with no follow up makes for embarassing facebook mockery.
Taken as a whole I have made marked improvement. But now I want more. I don't just want to fit nicely into my Dad jeans, I want a freakin' six pack. I once thought if I hit 165 I would have one. 165 is in sight and guess what. That ain't happening.
So, I will just keep plugging away. I will eat small healthy breakfasts. I will pack my lunch. I will swill zero calorie energy drinks. I will ride my bike as much as possible. I haven't given up on the next ten but the last week has put things on a bit of a pause. Busy, lazy, etc.
I also gave up on the Crossfit thing. Okay, I actually never tried it.
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Next Twenty
Every time I do the Crusher I swear off all bike races for the rest of the year. At least while I am actually racing the Crusher. This year was no different. I'm pretty sure I am done racing bikes til cross season.
At this point, for this go around, I have lost as much weight as I ever have I am down 20 pounds since the dreaded deuce.
I have become a faster cyclist. Faster than I was anyway. I am also looking pretty good naked if I do say so myself. I have to because no one else will say it.
But I am not done.
I look at all of the guys who are slaughtering these races and they are still at LEAST 20 pounds lighter than me. At the risk of sounding like an anorexic high school girl. I want to be skinnier. I still have a big wad of chewed bubble gum around my waist. I am not sure how much weight I need to lose to get rid of that. But I am ready to move into phase two which is to lean up. The improvement I showed this year at the Crusher starts the wheels turning that I might be able to improve that much again. I am certainly not predicting that next year I will be competing for a top ten spot in the age groupers at the Crusher but I now believe that it is as least plausible that I could improve that much. There is a whole winter between me and next year so let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.
With no event on the immediate horizon to shoot for I am going to have to find a new goal. I haven't quite sorted that out yet. I would like to lose another 20 pounds. I have at least that much in man-breasts and gut.
I am debating taking a drastic step. I may start doing something like Cross Fit. Cobourn asked me if that means I have to buy a pair of those stupid Vibram toe shoes. God, I hope not.
I don't really know anything about Cross Fit other than there are probably going to be kettle bells involved. I have used weights a little in the past and they seem to have helped a lot. Not totally committed on the Crossfit thing yet. I'll have to fast and pray about it. Heavy on the fast.
Short term, keep eating better and riding. Long term, try to make the changes permanent. Just say no to the breakfast burrito.
At this point, for this go around, I have lost as much weight as I ever have I am down 20 pounds since the dreaded deuce.
I have become a faster cyclist. Faster than I was anyway. I am also looking pretty good naked if I do say so myself. I have to because no one else will say it.
But I am not done.
I look at all of the guys who are slaughtering these races and they are still at LEAST 20 pounds lighter than me. At the risk of sounding like an anorexic high school girl. I want to be skinnier. I still have a big wad of chewed bubble gum around my waist. I am not sure how much weight I need to lose to get rid of that. But I am ready to move into phase two which is to lean up. The improvement I showed this year at the Crusher starts the wheels turning that I might be able to improve that much again. I am certainly not predicting that next year I will be competing for a top ten spot in the age groupers at the Crusher but I now believe that it is as least plausible that I could improve that much. There is a whole winter between me and next year so let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.
With no event on the immediate horizon to shoot for I am going to have to find a new goal. I haven't quite sorted that out yet. I would like to lose another 20 pounds. I have at least that much in man-breasts and gut.
I am debating taking a drastic step. I may start doing something like Cross Fit. Cobourn asked me if that means I have to buy a pair of those stupid Vibram toe shoes. God, I hope not.
I don't really know anything about Cross Fit other than there are probably going to be kettle bells involved. I have used weights a little in the past and they seem to have helped a lot. Not totally committed on the Crossfit thing yet. I'll have to fast and pray about it. Heavy on the fast.
Short term, keep eating better and riding. Long term, try to make the changes permanent. Just say no to the breakfast burrito.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Done Crushing.
Phew. Crusher number 3 is done.
Last week I was in the unusual position of trying to decide the best way to taper before a big event. In the past I have always joked that I was tapering when I didn't ride. Others were gradually doing smaller easier rides, riding less often, making a plan. Luckily, a busy schedule helped me make the decision to do one short ride in the week leading up to the Crusher. Probably not ideal.
I didn't ride much, but I didn't do anything nuts food wise. Maintaining my weight in the upper 170's. I was optimistic. I think it was that optimism that started to work against me. I became nervous about the race in the few days before it. Not sure why. I knew I could finish the race. I knew what to expect. But I was pretty nervous. Jeff pointed out that it was because I had let expectation creep into my mind. In previous years I either didn't know what I was getting into, or I was in such bad shape that simply finishing was going to be an acceptable outcome. I had done a lot of work(for me) and was beginning to worry that it was all going to be for naught.
So, stomach butterflies in check Cobourn and I headed for the Fillmore Beaver area. The weather was going to be perfect for me. Which is to say miserable for most. Heavy rains all day Friday. As we drove up to Eagle Point Ski Resort and our accomodations there was an active mudflow across the road. We checked in and began preparations for the next day.
The Crusher is a mechanically self supported race. Meaning that if you have a problem with your bike you better be able to take care of it on your own. There is mechanical help available, but if you accept it you do not receive a placement in the rankings. I have always fretted about this and so I loaded three pounds of spare tubes, tools, and CO2 onto my bike. With water bottles my 19# Beverly was now a chunky 25#.
Saturday morning we headed down to the start without breakfast. I hit a C-store and grabbed a bunch of high calorie stuff. Peanut rolls, Nutter Butters and a Monster Energy drink. Pro.
The larger field this year was noticeably less friendly. No wise-cracking, no laughter. All game face. Lighten up boys, you aren't going to win. At the gun we headed out of town fast. the group stayed together longer than it has in the past. We soon caught the big group of 30-34 racers that contained Cobourn. They hooked on and the group was now nearly twice as big. We held together until a couple miles before the pavement end. At which point I thought it wise to let the bad men go. Once onto the dirt the packs tear apart. This is where I settle into a pace. I was running a little on the ragged edge of where I was comfortable. It was possible that this would betray me later. As I neared the top of the first climb I found a second wind just as I got into the big meadow and the second aid station. Metallica's "Motorbreath" went on repeat in my brain. This was a good thing. Soon I was at the top of the big downhill. In the interest of having plenty of brakes I turned a barrel adjuster out to where my rear brake was actually dragging a little. It worked perfectly and I was comfortably heading down the steep, rutted, washboard road. Once you hit the pavement you get the only recovery in the entire race. A 35 mph coast into Junction. This leads into a paved climb and a headwind. I found myself alone. I usually try to tuck into a pack at this point but there wasn't one to catch. I found a lone dude on a mountain bike but I don't think he understood what "work together" means. Sitting behind me and when I would pull of, riding next to me. Silently. Luckily a swift pack came up behind us and I jumped in with them. Or at least I tried. I was hurting all of the sudden. We were doing 18-20 across the flat into Circleville and I just couldn't hang on. I was worried I was falling apart. We turned onto the dirt and into the Sarlac pit. This is officially the worst part of the race. Hot and sandy. Loose. Just a desert grind. At which point I remembered something. My rear brake was still adjusted to drag. DERP! Quickly spun it out and started feeling better. So much better that I made it up the KOM climb. For the first time. Ever. No stops. No walking. No cryi...nevermind.
I had been trying not to check the clock. I wanted to just ride my own race. I had a goal of 6h30m in mind. I thought this was attainable and was better than I had ever done. Pulling out of the last aid station I checked the clock and started thinking that I might actually come in around 6 hours. Maybe less. I wasn't exactly feeling like a rockstar but I was surviving. Soon I was on the white gravel of Gun Sight Meadow. Or as I like to call it "Angel Push Meadow". The road smooths and the wind is frequently at your back. The road rolls up and down and you are bolstered up by the knowledge that the worst is over. The last rough dirt descent takes you onto the pavement and the three mile to go mark. I was slightly under 6 hours. I pushed as hard as I was able. At this point that wasn't much. I was once again all by myself. I soon came to last sadistic mile. 500 feet of climbing in one mile. At the end of the hardest race I have ever done. I passed the one mile mark and my Garmin beeped it's hourly chime. That was six hours. Damnitt. I pushed through to the finish and came in at 6h10m. The disappointment of not coming in under six hours was soon overcome by the elation of being nearly an hour faster than my previous best time. A full hour and a half faster than last year. I am elated.
What a day. What an event.
Last week I was in the unusual position of trying to decide the best way to taper before a big event. In the past I have always joked that I was tapering when I didn't ride. Others were gradually doing smaller easier rides, riding less often, making a plan. Luckily, a busy schedule helped me make the decision to do one short ride in the week leading up to the Crusher. Probably not ideal.
I didn't ride much, but I didn't do anything nuts food wise. Maintaining my weight in the upper 170's. I was optimistic. I think it was that optimism that started to work against me. I became nervous about the race in the few days before it. Not sure why. I knew I could finish the race. I knew what to expect. But I was pretty nervous. Jeff pointed out that it was because I had let expectation creep into my mind. In previous years I either didn't know what I was getting into, or I was in such bad shape that simply finishing was going to be an acceptable outcome. I had done a lot of work(for me) and was beginning to worry that it was all going to be for naught.
So, stomach butterflies in check Cobourn and I headed for the Fillmore Beaver area. The weather was going to be perfect for me. Which is to say miserable for most. Heavy rains all day Friday. As we drove up to Eagle Point Ski Resort and our accomodations there was an active mudflow across the road. We checked in and began preparations for the next day.
The Crusher is a mechanically self supported race. Meaning that if you have a problem with your bike you better be able to take care of it on your own. There is mechanical help available, but if you accept it you do not receive a placement in the rankings. I have always fretted about this and so I loaded three pounds of spare tubes, tools, and CO2 onto my bike. With water bottles my 19# Beverly was now a chunky 25#.
Saturday morning we headed down to the start without breakfast. I hit a C-store and grabbed a bunch of high calorie stuff. Peanut rolls, Nutter Butters and a Monster Energy drink. Pro.
The larger field this year was noticeably less friendly. No wise-cracking, no laughter. All game face. Lighten up boys, you aren't going to win. At the gun we headed out of town fast. the group stayed together longer than it has in the past. We soon caught the big group of 30-34 racers that contained Cobourn. They hooked on and the group was now nearly twice as big. We held together until a couple miles before the pavement end. At which point I thought it wise to let the bad men go. Once onto the dirt the packs tear apart. This is where I settle into a pace. I was running a little on the ragged edge of where I was comfortable. It was possible that this would betray me later. As I neared the top of the first climb I found a second wind just as I got into the big meadow and the second aid station. Metallica's "Motorbreath" went on repeat in my brain. This was a good thing. Soon I was at the top of the big downhill. In the interest of having plenty of brakes I turned a barrel adjuster out to where my rear brake was actually dragging a little. It worked perfectly and I was comfortably heading down the steep, rutted, washboard road. Once you hit the pavement you get the only recovery in the entire race. A 35 mph coast into Junction. This leads into a paved climb and a headwind. I found myself alone. I usually try to tuck into a pack at this point but there wasn't one to catch. I found a lone dude on a mountain bike but I don't think he understood what "work together" means. Sitting behind me and when I would pull of, riding next to me. Silently. Luckily a swift pack came up behind us and I jumped in with them. Or at least I tried. I was hurting all of the sudden. We were doing 18-20 across the flat into Circleville and I just couldn't hang on. I was worried I was falling apart. We turned onto the dirt and into the Sarlac pit. This is officially the worst part of the race. Hot and sandy. Loose. Just a desert grind. At which point I remembered something. My rear brake was still adjusted to drag. DERP! Quickly spun it out and started feeling better. So much better that I made it up the KOM climb. For the first time. Ever. No stops. No walking. No cryi...nevermind.
I had been trying not to check the clock. I wanted to just ride my own race. I had a goal of 6h30m in mind. I thought this was attainable and was better than I had ever done. Pulling out of the last aid station I checked the clock and started thinking that I might actually come in around 6 hours. Maybe less. I wasn't exactly feeling like a rockstar but I was surviving. Soon I was on the white gravel of Gun Sight Meadow. Or as I like to call it "Angel Push Meadow". The road smooths and the wind is frequently at your back. The road rolls up and down and you are bolstered up by the knowledge that the worst is over. The last rough dirt descent takes you onto the pavement and the three mile to go mark. I was slightly under 6 hours. I pushed as hard as I was able. At this point that wasn't much. I was once again all by myself. I soon came to last sadistic mile. 500 feet of climbing in one mile. At the end of the hardest race I have ever done. I passed the one mile mark and my Garmin beeped it's hourly chime. That was six hours. Damnitt. I pushed through to the finish and came in at 6h10m. The disappointment of not coming in under six hours was soon overcome by the elation of being nearly an hour faster than my previous best time. A full hour and a half faster than last year. I am elated.
What a day. What an event.
The other day in the bike shop I was asked if I was "...ready for another participation ribbon at the Crusher." The point was understood. I am at best a civilian and at worst a hapless wannabe.
I have never been so proud of a participation ribbon. Or beer coozy as the case may be. . I came no where near the overall winner. I came in just ahead of mid pack in my category and I couldn't be happier.
Once a year I go to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and do the hardest thing I am ever likely to do. This year I did it faster than I have ever done it before. Next year I intend to do it faster.
God Bless Burke Swindlehurst and all those who help him put on the Crusher in the Tushar.
See you next year.
Once a year I go to one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and do the hardest thing I am ever likely to do. This year I did it faster than I have ever done it before. Next year I intend to do it faster.
God Bless Burke Swindlehurst and all those who help him put on the Crusher in the Tushar.
See you next year.
Monday, July 1, 2013
PMA
Things are coming together. I won't go as far as to say coming together nicely but they are coming together. Saturday I was supposed to ride the Bear Lake Monster Century but it was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, I made plans to ride with Joe and Tim in Park City. It was originally going to be a gravel grinder to work out the bugs for Crusher, but when a feasible route could not be figured Joe suggested the route for the DNA Empire Pass climb from last year on road bikes. I blindly agreed with the caveat that I needed to be back for a family commitment at noon.
We set out at 6:30am from the Canyons and headed for Oakley and points east. A BEAUTIFUL ride. Cool, gentle grades, smooth shoulders, beautiful. Soon after we started Joe's sciatic nerve started to bug him. And by bug him I mean, every pedal stroke shot pain down the back of his legs. He wasn't having fun. We pushed through the first thirty or so miles and when we looped back through Midway we were instructed to leave him if he fell off the back. He would head to his buddy's house in Midway and call his wife. When I checked the clock I realized I was going to have to go quicker than I thought I could to be back in Lehi at noon. As the climb into Wasatch Mountain State Park began, Tim had a chain come off. When I shouted back he said he was fine so I put my shoulder to the wheel and pushed along.
The Midway side of Empire Pass is a belligerent pig. It tips up immediately. From there it climbs 3K in 7 miles. The scenery, the lack of cars, the lack of other riders, the shade, are all mitigated by the sheer pitch of this monster. At one point a switchback got so steep that my front tire came off the ground. When I shifted my weight forward to keep it down, my rear wheel slipped. You are constantly fooled by what seem like horizons just around the next bend. Then the road takes a hard turn the opposite direction you want to go. I was dripping sweat. When I stood up on the pedals sweat would drip from my beard and hit my front hub with a splash. I went through a bottle and a half of water before reaching the top. Upon reaching the top I hesitated for a minute to see if Tim was coming. I had figured Joe couldn't possibly have made the climb with his leg/back pain. I decided my personal commitment was more pressing than Tim's safety so I dropped down into PC and hustled back to my car. It turns out that both Tim and Joe were together and not far behind me.
While not the biggest climb in Utah Empire is significant. For me it is significant because it is Crusher-esque and I was able to ride it non-stop. I have yet to clean the Col d' Crush. By my calculations Empire is longer but Col d' Crush is steeper. If I can make it without stopping I am going to buy myself ice cream.
My weight is going pretty well. I have dipped into the 170's, barely but I am hovering within the "need to empty my bowels" margin of error. The good news is when I eat fast food or garbage it now makes me sick. Don't worry I am still able to muscle through every once in a while, but for the most part I am eating better. I look sexy as hell. No kidding. I can't be left alone with myself. My pants fit, I need a new shorter belt. My moobs are down to A cups.
The truth is I don't know how all this is going to come together. Last year I didn't train at all, the year before that my training was sidelined a few weeks before due to illness.
I have never come into the Crusher "on top of my game" I wouldn't say I am there yet, but if Strava is to be believed I am as strong right now as I have ever been. Maybe more.
Also tonight I finally got Commander Beverly Crusher put together. The tire situation worked out, things adjusted. I think it will be the right bike.
Right bike. Slightly above average for me fitness. Positive Mental Attitude. Look out Tyler Wren. Here comes the fat kid from Utah County.
We set out at 6:30am from the Canyons and headed for Oakley and points east. A BEAUTIFUL ride. Cool, gentle grades, smooth shoulders, beautiful. Soon after we started Joe's sciatic nerve started to bug him. And by bug him I mean, every pedal stroke shot pain down the back of his legs. He wasn't having fun. We pushed through the first thirty or so miles and when we looped back through Midway we were instructed to leave him if he fell off the back. He would head to his buddy's house in Midway and call his wife. When I checked the clock I realized I was going to have to go quicker than I thought I could to be back in Lehi at noon. As the climb into Wasatch Mountain State Park began, Tim had a chain come off. When I shouted back he said he was fine so I put my shoulder to the wheel and pushed along.
The Midway side of Empire Pass is a belligerent pig. It tips up immediately. From there it climbs 3K in 7 miles. The scenery, the lack of cars, the lack of other riders, the shade, are all mitigated by the sheer pitch of this monster. At one point a switchback got so steep that my front tire came off the ground. When I shifted my weight forward to keep it down, my rear wheel slipped. You are constantly fooled by what seem like horizons just around the next bend. Then the road takes a hard turn the opposite direction you want to go. I was dripping sweat. When I stood up on the pedals sweat would drip from my beard and hit my front hub with a splash. I went through a bottle and a half of water before reaching the top. Upon reaching the top I hesitated for a minute to see if Tim was coming. I had figured Joe couldn't possibly have made the climb with his leg/back pain. I decided my personal commitment was more pressing than Tim's safety so I dropped down into PC and hustled back to my car. It turns out that both Tim and Joe were together and not far behind me.
While not the biggest climb in Utah Empire is significant. For me it is significant because it is Crusher-esque and I was able to ride it non-stop. I have yet to clean the Col d' Crush. By my calculations Empire is longer but Col d' Crush is steeper. If I can make it without stopping I am going to buy myself ice cream.
My weight is going pretty well. I have dipped into the 170's, barely but I am hovering within the "need to empty my bowels" margin of error. The good news is when I eat fast food or garbage it now makes me sick. Don't worry I am still able to muscle through every once in a while, but for the most part I am eating better. I look sexy as hell. No kidding. I can't be left alone with myself. My pants fit, I need a new shorter belt. My moobs are down to A cups.
The truth is I don't know how all this is going to come together. Last year I didn't train at all, the year before that my training was sidelined a few weeks before due to illness.
I have never come into the Crusher "on top of my game" I wouldn't say I am there yet, but if Strava is to be believed I am as strong right now as I have ever been. Maybe more.
Also tonight I finally got Commander Beverly Crusher put together. The tire situation worked out, things adjusted. I think it will be the right bike.
Right bike. Slightly above average for me fitness. Positive Mental Attitude. Look out Tyler Wren. Here comes the fat kid from Utah County.
Monday, June 24, 2013
DNDFL
So I did another race Saturday. Race #3 in the USCS Series at Round Valley. It was a pretty standard XC race. Shorter laps, no need for support, etc. I have only ever ridden at Round Valley once before. It was the 2012 edition of this same race.
Having recently revisited a blog I haven't read in a long time, I realized that it is self-absorbed and pretentious to drag out race reports with minutes at a time play by play. So I will keep the race report minimal. I will get self absorbed and pretentious about the circumstances that led up to the race, and the analysis of my performance.
Essentially, it went as expected.
After Cobourn posted his manifesto about categories and upgrading, I decided on principle to upgrade to expert. This means I am now in the same category as people like Brian Tolbert, Ryan Blaney and Stewart Goodwin. Same category on paper. Entirely different category as far as performance. It also means I am in the same category as Cobourn, and just about every race I do these days is basically a way for us to measure our penises against each other. That is to say, measure them without putting them against each other. These days he has about an inch on me judging by race results.
With the upgrade came an extra 8.8 mile lap. Bringing the race distance to around 26 miles. That is the second longest dirt ride I have done this year. The first being the WB50 from the previous post. I wasn't worried about the distance. I was a little worried about not being completely embarrassed.
Went out slow and then tried to go fast. Didn't quite work out that way. About 6 miles in I had a missed turn followed by a minor mechanical which gave Cobourn and Bobby Swenson the opportunity to get by me. I never saw Cobourn again. I did see Bobby again. Upside down at the end of the second lap and bleeding. I only wish the results would post the DNF's because then I could say I beat two people.(Bobby's fine BTW).
I finished the race "Damn Near DFL". I beat one guy. I came in about 15 minutes behind the winner of my category. Which feels better to say than it did at the finish line. I can't really compare myself to the Sport racers because they only did two laps. But I feel pretty good about it. Cobourn was the next racer ahead of me and I think he beat me by 2 minutes. I can live with that.
Training wise, I have slacked over the last week. But I think the recovery might have done me some good.
As far as the bathroom scale is concerned, when I got home from the race I weighed 181.3.
That is awesome. When this little battle begain I was crowding "The Deuce". If I keep this up I will be in the 170's soon. That's the least fluffy I have been in two years. I have lost ALMOST 20 pounds. I am to the point where I can stop focusing on losing weight, and start focusing on trying to be faster. I am setting a realistic goal for the Crusher of 6:30. My best time of the two previous years was 7:00. It will take some work. And some work ethic. My next biggish ride is this weekend at the Bear Lake Monster Cross. Hundred mile gravel grinder. 6K or so of climbing. It will also be the maiden voyage for Commander Beverly Crusher(My new bike). Something will probably go wrong.
Having recently revisited a blog I haven't read in a long time, I realized that it is self-absorbed and pretentious to drag out race reports with minutes at a time play by play. So I will keep the race report minimal. I will get self absorbed and pretentious about the circumstances that led up to the race, and the analysis of my performance.
Essentially, it went as expected.
After Cobourn posted his manifesto about categories and upgrading, I decided on principle to upgrade to expert. This means I am now in the same category as people like Brian Tolbert, Ryan Blaney and Stewart Goodwin. Same category on paper. Entirely different category as far as performance. It also means I am in the same category as Cobourn, and just about every race I do these days is basically a way for us to measure our penises against each other. That is to say, measure them without putting them against each other. These days he has about an inch on me judging by race results.
With the upgrade came an extra 8.8 mile lap. Bringing the race distance to around 26 miles. That is the second longest dirt ride I have done this year. The first being the WB50 from the previous post. I wasn't worried about the distance. I was a little worried about not being completely embarrassed.
Went out slow and then tried to go fast. Didn't quite work out that way. About 6 miles in I had a missed turn followed by a minor mechanical which gave Cobourn and Bobby Swenson the opportunity to get by me. I never saw Cobourn again. I did see Bobby again. Upside down at the end of the second lap and bleeding. I only wish the results would post the DNF's because then I could say I beat two people.(Bobby's fine BTW).
I finished the race "Damn Near DFL". I beat one guy. I came in about 15 minutes behind the winner of my category. Which feels better to say than it did at the finish line. I can't really compare myself to the Sport racers because they only did two laps. But I feel pretty good about it. Cobourn was the next racer ahead of me and I think he beat me by 2 minutes. I can live with that.
Training wise, I have slacked over the last week. But I think the recovery might have done me some good.
As far as the bathroom scale is concerned, when I got home from the race I weighed 181.3.
That is awesome. When this little battle begain I was crowding "The Deuce". If I keep this up I will be in the 170's soon. That's the least fluffy I have been in two years. I have lost ALMOST 20 pounds. I am to the point where I can stop focusing on losing weight, and start focusing on trying to be faster. I am setting a realistic goal for the Crusher of 6:30. My best time of the two previous years was 7:00. It will take some work. And some work ethic. My next biggish ride is this weekend at the Bear Lake Monster Cross. Hundred mile gravel grinder. 6K or so of climbing. It will also be the maiden voyage for Commander Beverly Crusher(My new bike). Something will probably go wrong.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
"Racing" Part 2. The WB50
What a difference a couple months makes. After waffling a little about whether or not I wanted to do the Wasatch Back 50 I ended up doing it. For those keeping track, I have been riding quite a bit lately. I have ridden a lot, but I haven't done a single ride, race or otherwise longer than a couple hours. I was concerned that I might not have the endurance for the race. I can always finish these longer distance rides but sometimes it is a miserable, painful experience.
When Bob Saffell asked me what category I was signing up for I told him whatever category Cobourn was doing. Now Cobourn had recently posted an epistle about the top half of the pack in the Sport Category hanging out where they were comfortable. He was going to upgrade to Expert on principle. When I checked, Bob signed me up for Sport. Which was fine. At best I would only be mid-pack anyway. Which was fine. It was to be a long, challenging ride. That was what I needed.
Secretly, I always hope that for some reason I am going to magically have the best day ever and smoke the competition. It never happens. And spoiler alert, it didn't happen today. I set out trying to maintain a comfortable pace that I thought I could maintain. With the help of a few friends I ran into out on the course I did that on the first lap. I didn't feel awesome, but that trail is great. and got better the further we went. Nice shady sections in the trees, a comfortable grade. It was nothing so much as a fun trail ride. The loop was basically a big climb, followed by a big descent. As all races should be. I came through the aid station near the top of the climb and topped off my bottle. Finished the climb and began the descent.
The descent was techy. newly cut and rough. I heard a lot of racers complaining it about "that damn downhill". It's a mountain bike race, get over it.
I have a bad habit of settling into a line when racing. I sit behind people I think I can get past. I did that a couple times on the climb but not bad. On the downhill, I got in behind a small pack of racers I thought I could get around. I made my way up to the Expert woman that was leading the pack. When she offered to let me by I took the chance. She was quick, but I thought I was quicker. I felt obligated to take off and get away from the pack. We had entered a section with long fast straightaways followed by 180 degree switchbacks. These were predictable because you could see them coming. Except for one. The trail started to bend behind a tree. What I couldn't see was that behind the tree the bend turned into another switchback. It caught me off guard and I slid out. Hard. Slid into a berm made mostly of cantaloupe sized rocks. When I looked back, the pack I had left was on their way. I tried to remount and get going quick, but that's when I noticed my rear shifter and brake lever dangling down by my front axle. Shit. Pulled off the trail to survey the damage. Had a mixed bag of emotions. I was pissed that maybe my race was over. Then I was happy that maybe my race was over. I realized I could hold the brake lever on the bar with my thumb and still use it mostly.
I limped down to the aid station and was able to round up some zip ties and electrical tape. This made the brake about 90% functional. The shifters though ranged from being clumsy at best, and a two-handed affair at worst. Rolled through and began the second lap. Once the adrenaline wore off I realized that my right thigh was in a lot of pain. Throughout the climb, it started to get a stabbing pain with each hard pedal stroke. It brang to mind the scene in the modern version of True Grit where Rooster Cogburn is running the girl back to the store after she is snakebit. When the horse began to falter he took his knife and stabbed it in the hind quarters. That image rolled through my mind over and over for the rest of the climb. Basically a rock had given me a dead-leg. A bad one.
But I was surviving. Second lap wasn't nearly as fast as the second, but I survived. Suffered through. The second downhill wasn't as fun as the part before I crashed. It had gotten hot and we chubby folk suffer in the heat. I made my way to the bottom and the finish section. I rolled in about 5h40m or so. I had ridden alone mostly. No idea where I had come in.
Cobourn had beaten me handily. Slightly less handily since he started ahead of me with the experts, but he still had me by about a half hour. Took a dip in the canal by the finish line which was at once the most terrible and fantastic thing I had ever experience. Rinsed the dust off and shocked my legs.
Once the results were posted I was amazed. 8th place. Sport 30-39. I was stoked. Much better than I thought. And considering my adverse conditions even better.
Due to Cobourn's tenet nailed to the forum wall, I will upgrade to Expert for the Round Valley in a few weeks.
I am pleased. The last week I have improved my diet a lot. Since I've been "training" the weight started to come off pretty quickly. I am down about 12 pounds since last week. I am not starving. I am just eating a little better.
Progress. Yippee.
A word about the WB50. This is going to become a popular race. An instant classic. The support was excellent. The course was fun. I never once felt like I was suffering. I was working, but not suffering. And I had fun at several different points. Next year I predict it will be hard to get in.
When Bob Saffell asked me what category I was signing up for I told him whatever category Cobourn was doing. Now Cobourn had recently posted an epistle about the top half of the pack in the Sport Category hanging out where they were comfortable. He was going to upgrade to Expert on principle. When I checked, Bob signed me up for Sport. Which was fine. At best I would only be mid-pack anyway. Which was fine. It was to be a long, challenging ride. That was what I needed.
Secretly, I always hope that for some reason I am going to magically have the best day ever and smoke the competition. It never happens. And spoiler alert, it didn't happen today. I set out trying to maintain a comfortable pace that I thought I could maintain. With the help of a few friends I ran into out on the course I did that on the first lap. I didn't feel awesome, but that trail is great. and got better the further we went. Nice shady sections in the trees, a comfortable grade. It was nothing so much as a fun trail ride. The loop was basically a big climb, followed by a big descent. As all races should be. I came through the aid station near the top of the climb and topped off my bottle. Finished the climb and began the descent.
The descent was techy. newly cut and rough. I heard a lot of racers complaining it about "that damn downhill". It's a mountain bike race, get over it.
I have a bad habit of settling into a line when racing. I sit behind people I think I can get past. I did that a couple times on the climb but not bad. On the downhill, I got in behind a small pack of racers I thought I could get around. I made my way up to the Expert woman that was leading the pack. When she offered to let me by I took the chance. She was quick, but I thought I was quicker. I felt obligated to take off and get away from the pack. We had entered a section with long fast straightaways followed by 180 degree switchbacks. These were predictable because you could see them coming. Except for one. The trail started to bend behind a tree. What I couldn't see was that behind the tree the bend turned into another switchback. It caught me off guard and I slid out. Hard. Slid into a berm made mostly of cantaloupe sized rocks. When I looked back, the pack I had left was on their way. I tried to remount and get going quick, but that's when I noticed my rear shifter and brake lever dangling down by my front axle. Shit. Pulled off the trail to survey the damage. Had a mixed bag of emotions. I was pissed that maybe my race was over. Then I was happy that maybe my race was over. I realized I could hold the brake lever on the bar with my thumb and still use it mostly.
I limped down to the aid station and was able to round up some zip ties and electrical tape. This made the brake about 90% functional. The shifters though ranged from being clumsy at best, and a two-handed affair at worst. Rolled through and began the second lap. Once the adrenaline wore off I realized that my right thigh was in a lot of pain. Throughout the climb, it started to get a stabbing pain with each hard pedal stroke. It brang to mind the scene in the modern version of True Grit where Rooster Cogburn is running the girl back to the store after she is snakebit. When the horse began to falter he took his knife and stabbed it in the hind quarters. That image rolled through my mind over and over for the rest of the climb. Basically a rock had given me a dead-leg. A bad one.
But I was surviving. Second lap wasn't nearly as fast as the second, but I survived. Suffered through. The second downhill wasn't as fun as the part before I crashed. It had gotten hot and we chubby folk suffer in the heat. I made my way to the bottom and the finish section. I rolled in about 5h40m or so. I had ridden alone mostly. No idea where I had come in.
Cobourn had beaten me handily. Slightly less handily since he started ahead of me with the experts, but he still had me by about a half hour. Took a dip in the canal by the finish line which was at once the most terrible and fantastic thing I had ever experience. Rinsed the dust off and shocked my legs.
Once the results were posted I was amazed. 8th place. Sport 30-39. I was stoked. Much better than I thought. And considering my adverse conditions even better.
Due to Cobourn's tenet nailed to the forum wall, I will upgrade to Expert for the Round Valley in a few weeks.
I am pleased. The last week I have improved my diet a lot. Since I've been "training" the weight started to come off pretty quickly. I am down about 12 pounds since last week. I am not starving. I am just eating a little better.
Progress. Yippee.
A word about the WB50. This is going to become a popular race. An instant classic. The support was excellent. The course was fun. I never once felt like I was suffering. I was working, but not suffering. And I had fun at several different points. Next year I predict it will be hard to get in.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Ride More, Bitch Less.
Not gonna lie. Training is going okay. I will not win any races. Hell, I can't even seem to get any Strava KOM's, but I am getting stronger. I am feeling better.
I'm even eating a little better. The past few weeks the "try meter" has been registering pretty high. Missing very few days due to laziness. Now that doesn't mean that I am logging huge miles. Most days all I am able to get in is an hour before work. That might be an hour climbing up American Fork Canyon, an hour redlining on Murdock Canal, or an hour shooting the shit with Jeff on our recovery loop through Lehi. Though I am not racking up huge elevation gains I am feeling better on the climbs.
Tonight I met Cobourn at the mouth of the canyon to make a quick run at the cave. With a 10 minute recovery waiting for him and a tailwind I felt really good heading up the canyon. It's nice to be pleasantly surprised at how quickly you reach landmarks. That damn Forest Service sign that says it's a 1/2 mile to the Timp cave visitors center has seemed grossly inaccurate the past few months. Now it seems about right. Maybe someday soon it will seem inaccurate the other direction.
The only place I am really lacking is distance. Maybe not distance but time. The races I have my sights on all require long hours in the saddle. Last Labor Day I spent 10 hours suffering through the Park City Point To Point. It was hard. It was hard but I never felt like I wasn't going to make it. I'm not sure I have that kind of endurance his year. The Crusher on the other hand. That was 7.5 hours of hoping I would die. It was earlier in the year, and I was slightly less than prepared. The only reason I finished that race was because I had paid $80 for a souvenir jersey and there was no way I would be able to wear it if I had thrown in the towel. There's motivation for you. Expensive souvenirs. That's very RAGNAR of me.
This weekend however, I am facing a bit of a challenge. The Wasatch Back 50. I may be unprepared. I have not logged more than a couple hours at a time in the saddle and sources tell me that I should plan on at LEAST 6 hours to finish. Yeesh. The other bonus is that the course for this race is about 50% new trail. New trail means it's going to be a rough bastard. If there is one thing that makes cardiovascular suffering tougher it's rough trail. The good thing is that I will be far enough back in the pack that I should benefit from the traffic ahead of me "riding in" the trail. The other good thing is that I haven't registered yet so I could always back out. No shame in quitting before you start. Or something.
Historically I have had good luck diving head long into things I was ill-prepared for. WB50 should be no different. Last year it took place one week after the Crusher and due to some last minute land disputes was a largely dirt road affair. It was also about 150 degrees. A 50 mile race the week after a 70 mile race seems like you'll be taking it easy. Like it is a step back. But your legs still hurt and you spend the week between rationalizing about how you don't need to ride because you just flogged yourself the Saturday before. This year the excuses are nowhere to be found. The non pre-registration back out is seeming like a more and more viable option. Kind of like the old adage about better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool. My version would be "Better to not race and be thought fat and slow than to show up and remove all doubt."
This post took a whiny turn. Which is weird because I set out to talk about how positive I was feeling after applying my wife's advice about "Just trying". The fact is I am back to enjoying riding my bike. That's why I do all this shit right? Because it's fun. In my heart of hearts I really do love to ride my bike. I love the endorphin rush of pushing a little harder than my body is willing. When I don't get wound up about KOM's and heart rates down in my nougatty center I am having a good time. No time spent straddling a bicycle seems to be time wasted. It helps when it is not ALL suffering. The awesome thing is that the more you do it, the better it feels. The less pointless it feels. There are days when you feel like you are firing on all cylinders. A machine. Like you were built for this purpose. Then the next day you feel like shit. But you keep chasing the dragon. And hey, it keeps me off the meth right?
So I will ride my bike in the morning. I will climb when I want to descend. I will push myself to improve. I will race the WB50 this weekend.
Unless I bail.
I'm even eating a little better. The past few weeks the "try meter" has been registering pretty high. Missing very few days due to laziness. Now that doesn't mean that I am logging huge miles. Most days all I am able to get in is an hour before work. That might be an hour climbing up American Fork Canyon, an hour redlining on Murdock Canal, or an hour shooting the shit with Jeff on our recovery loop through Lehi. Though I am not racking up huge elevation gains I am feeling better on the climbs.
Tonight I met Cobourn at the mouth of the canyon to make a quick run at the cave. With a 10 minute recovery waiting for him and a tailwind I felt really good heading up the canyon. It's nice to be pleasantly surprised at how quickly you reach landmarks. That damn Forest Service sign that says it's a 1/2 mile to the Timp cave visitors center has seemed grossly inaccurate the past few months. Now it seems about right. Maybe someday soon it will seem inaccurate the other direction.
The only place I am really lacking is distance. Maybe not distance but time. The races I have my sights on all require long hours in the saddle. Last Labor Day I spent 10 hours suffering through the Park City Point To Point. It was hard. It was hard but I never felt like I wasn't going to make it. I'm not sure I have that kind of endurance his year. The Crusher on the other hand. That was 7.5 hours of hoping I would die. It was earlier in the year, and I was slightly less than prepared. The only reason I finished that race was because I had paid $80 for a souvenir jersey and there was no way I would be able to wear it if I had thrown in the towel. There's motivation for you. Expensive souvenirs. That's very RAGNAR of me.
This weekend however, I am facing a bit of a challenge. The Wasatch Back 50. I may be unprepared. I have not logged more than a couple hours at a time in the saddle and sources tell me that I should plan on at LEAST 6 hours to finish. Yeesh. The other bonus is that the course for this race is about 50% new trail. New trail means it's going to be a rough bastard. If there is one thing that makes cardiovascular suffering tougher it's rough trail. The good thing is that I will be far enough back in the pack that I should benefit from the traffic ahead of me "riding in" the trail. The other good thing is that I haven't registered yet so I could always back out. No shame in quitting before you start. Or something.
Historically I have had good luck diving head long into things I was ill-prepared for. WB50 should be no different. Last year it took place one week after the Crusher and due to some last minute land disputes was a largely dirt road affair. It was also about 150 degrees. A 50 mile race the week after a 70 mile race seems like you'll be taking it easy. Like it is a step back. But your legs still hurt and you spend the week between rationalizing about how you don't need to ride because you just flogged yourself the Saturday before. This year the excuses are nowhere to be found. The non pre-registration back out is seeming like a more and more viable option. Kind of like the old adage about better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool. My version would be "Better to not race and be thought fat and slow than to show up and remove all doubt."
This post took a whiny turn. Which is weird because I set out to talk about how positive I was feeling after applying my wife's advice about "Just trying". The fact is I am back to enjoying riding my bike. That's why I do all this shit right? Because it's fun. In my heart of hearts I really do love to ride my bike. I love the endorphin rush of pushing a little harder than my body is willing. When I don't get wound up about KOM's and heart rates down in my nougatty center I am having a good time. No time spent straddling a bicycle seems to be time wasted. It helps when it is not ALL suffering. The awesome thing is that the more you do it, the better it feels. The less pointless it feels. There are days when you feel like you are firing on all cylinders. A machine. Like you were built for this purpose. Then the next day you feel like shit. But you keep chasing the dragon. And hey, it keeps me off the meth right?
So I will ride my bike in the morning. I will climb when I want to descend. I will push myself to improve. I will race the WB50 this weekend.
Unless I bail.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Bad Ride, Good Ride.
Today I learned that just because you receive a facebook invite to an event, it doesn't mean you should attend that event.
Take for example when Gabe Williams started the event "The Gauntlet". A big group ride around the Alpine Loop taking all the spurs and side canyons. I have done this ride before. Two years and about twenty pounds ago. To be historically accurate, I skipped Cascade Springs.
I had no business joining this group. Local heroes from Dialogue Marketing, 3B Yoga, lots of skinny dudes. I wasn't worried though. With the exception of Cascade Springs I could easily turn around and head downhill when things went pear shaped. The weird thing is the nightmare I had about the ride last night. Despite getting all my gear ready and actually cleaning up and tuning my bike for the ride, I dreamed I was late and unprepared. In the dream I missed the meet up at the beginning and then tried to get to a rendezvous point where I could rejoin. Lots of weird little obstacles kept popping up. Never made the ride.
I woke up about a half hour before my alarm relieved that I was going to be able to make the ride. Then I dicked around until I was about five minutes late. Charge out the door, load up the bike, head for the meet up place. Half way there I realized I had forgotten my helmet and sunglasses. I usually have at least one extra helmet rolling around in the back of my car so that turned out to not be major problem. Other than that it was a mountain helmet, splattered with mud from who knows when and a faulty ratchet/fit adjustment. Tore off the visor which helped me look really stupid and found a crappy pair of gas station sunglasses under my seat. Just made the meetup, only to look and feel really out of place. Lots of people who probably should have been at the Sugar House crit. I know a lot of people that ride bikes. Almost none of them were there. Got a friendly hello from Gabe and we rolled out. Easy pack ride on Murdock. Terrifying the dog walkers and joggers with the buzzing freewheels of thirty or so weekend warriors. As we entered the canyon one more person I knew showed up. Burke Swindlehurst, retired pro cyclist and owner/director of the Crusher in the Tushar. Nice to see a friendly face. The only glitch was when he complimented me on looking like I "had lost a few ell-bees." This stung a little because I am currently fatter than he has ever seen me. I feigned bashful and he said "No, you look thinner than you did back in 'cross season." Ouch. That's Burke's narrow ass on the left. And Gabe's slightly less narrow ass on the right.
We began climbing in earnest. Predictably I funneled to the back. I was riding with a small pack of guys that felt like they were on my level. We watched the big pack pull away slowly on the road up to Tibble. I was consciously trying to leave some in reserve and was feeling like the pace was just right. Just before we got to Granite Flats the big pack passed us going the other way. We weren't far behind. I thought I would take a strategic break to eat something and take some of the supplements I bring on long rides that likely do nothing. At this point I dropped the cap for the tube I keep the supplements in and stopped to pick it up. This was the beginning of the end. The small pack I was with began mocking me for pretending to have to stop to pick up the cap. Then before I could get my shit back together they turned around quick and headed back downhill. Trying to stuff things back into jersey pockets I soon had about a quarter mile gap to my small trailing pack. As we doubled back I realized we were indeed the VERY back of the pack. Dropping down off the dam I decided I needed to close the gap to the other slow guys. Grabbed the hoods and started stabbing at the pedals. I could still see them and then suddenly BAM! It was like I was the dog in the Foghorn Leghorn cartoons and had reached the end of my chain. What had actually happened, I think, was a 30 mph pothole. Both tires popped and my hands slipped off the front of the hoods. My reflex was to hug the handlebars with my wrists crossed underneath them. I managed to survive the impact but was now off the brakes and flying down the canyon on two flat tires. Luckily I was able to get back to the brakes and start slowing down. On three separate occasions which were probably milliseconds apart, I was sure I was going to be skipping down the road on my ass. That never happened but the ensuing adrenaline rush and shock stopped my brain and after gaining control I rode about 50 yards on the flat tires before pulling onto the soft shoulder.
Buh-bye everyone. I went about fixing the tires, I even had two tubes. Then I noticed my rims.
My plan was going to be, get the tires fixed and see how it rode. If they were ridable I would skip Cascade and try to rejoin the pack. If not, I would limp down the canyon to my home in American Fork.
I got everything fixed, remounted the wheels and the rear wheel was so bent it was hitting the frame. I banged on it and got it to roll, but it hit the brakes on every rotation. When I tried to ride it I hit the front brake and it sounded like a hammer drill. I wisely accepted a ride from a shuttling mountain biker who had come back to check on me after seeing me broken down. Thanks whoever you are. He gave me a ride all the way back to the Provo River Bottoms where my car was parked, which was far above and beyond the call of duty. I am not sure that any of Gauntleteers noticed I was gone, but don't worry guys I made it home.
I went directly to the bike shop to see what I could do about getting the roadie back on the road.
While there Riley Smith the world's greatest apprentice showed up. After regaling him with my adventure he suggested we go ride some dirt. We called Jeff, who joined us for a quick afternoon lap of South Fork Little Deer Creek. A blissful little slice of singletrack heaven. We rode it, and it was awesome. That was it. I was smiling and laughing at the end of it.
The take away is that rides with strangers on the road are stupid and don't end well. While rides with friends on singletrack are always awesome. Take this knowledge back to your people and teach them well.
I got everything fixed, remounted the wheels and the rear wheel was so bent it was hitting the frame. I banged on it and got it to roll, but it hit the brakes on every rotation. When I tried to ride it I hit the front brake and it sounded like a hammer drill. I wisely accepted a ride from a shuttling mountain biker who had come back to check on me after seeing me broken down. Thanks whoever you are. He gave me a ride all the way back to the Provo River Bottoms where my car was parked, which was far above and beyond the call of duty. I am not sure that any of Gauntleteers noticed I was gone, but don't worry guys I made it home.
I went directly to the bike shop to see what I could do about getting the roadie back on the road.
While there Riley Smith the world's greatest apprentice showed up. After regaling him with my adventure he suggested we go ride some dirt. We called Jeff, who joined us for a quick afternoon lap of South Fork Little Deer Creek. A blissful little slice of singletrack heaven. We rode it, and it was awesome. That was it. I was smiling and laughing at the end of it.
The take away is that rides with strangers on the road are stupid and don't end well. While rides with friends on singletrack are always awesome. Take this knowledge back to your people and teach them well.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Soggy Chamois
Ever since my wife inspired me to get off my ass, I have been doing better at getting off my ass. There have been very few days I don't at least get one ride in.
On Friday, I even woke up a little late for my morning ride with Jeff. Normally, I would have rolled over, sent him a text that I was out, and gone back to sleep. Instead, I sent a text that said I was running late. Jeff leads a life of leisure so he is always willing to wait.
This morning, Jeff bailed due to a rough night. I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. I usually would have smiled and rolled over. Amazingly I jumped up and started getting dressed. When I made it outside I realized it was pissing rain. Continuing to be amazing I said eff it and rolled out.
Important back story, I watched Chariots of Fire yesterday.
I decided to head up the canyon. I started to fantasize that I am more focused when I ride alone(Jeff and I are chatty). The theme from Chariots Of Fire started to repeat in my head. I am not lying. At the crescendo I would usually grab a gear. When I turned off 100 east onto the Timpanogos Highway the normal canyon winds that batter you on your way up were gone. While my chamois and every stitch of clothing I had on was wringing wet, there was actually a slight tailwind. (Imagine the kettle drum strikes in the COF theme). I kicked up the effort. Having skipped Sunday to be with Jesus I felt like my legs were ready for a hard push. I am also supposedly building up to a big climbing day Saturday. More on that later. Entering the canyon there were almost no cars and not a single other cyclist. This gave me another little boost thinking I was the only man hard enough to be out in the rain.
Too poor for a powertap and too lazy to put on a heart rate monitor, I measure output a lot by feel. Which is to say, inaccurately. I felt good. When I climb the canyon below the cave I try to keep speeds in the double digits. Once or twice I looked down and was just under ten. I would shift up and give it a good push to get things back in line. When I got to the "Visitor Center 1/2 mile" sign I went for it. Stood up, yanked on the bars. Red line. I was going to turn around at the cave so I put everything I had into it. Grunting, swearing, seeing stars. Once I made it to the parking lot I held on a little longer than usual trying to make sure I got past the Strava segment endpoint. This was definitely going to be one for the books. When I sat up I had to keep pedaling to keep from puking. I was smiling. I was proud. I felt like I had broken a barrier. I took things really easy coming down the canyon due to the wet roads. No sense in sliding out in an S-curve when I had just slaughtered the climb. Rolled home and peeled off all that wet lycra(drink in that mental image). Quickly uploaded my ride to see how I had done.
When all was said and done I had accomplished exactly jack shit.
I was two and a half minutes off my best climb from the booth to the cave. Not a single Strava achievement. Not one. Usually I cross some little obscure segment that a guy created from his driveway to the C-store or something and set a PR. But nothing. I was below my average time.
What is the take away from all this? Somehow I am not crushed. I am disappointed, but not devastated. The fact is, when faced with multiple excuses I got up and rode. I climbed instead of cruised. I pushed harder than I thought I could. But I am still slow. I can live with that. If I keep this up, things might change.
Still doing poorly in the diet column. But whatever. One battle at a time.
This weekend I am joining a big fast group for The Gauntlet. 90-ish miles and 10K-ish feet of climbing. It is basically the Alpine Loop with all the side-canyon spurs. I am not ready. But I am closer than I was a week ago. I am working towards it. Planning to climb early in the week and then taper down to a completely flat ride on Friday. I may not finish Saturday. Or, I may take all damn day to do it.
I am planning on trying though. A wise woman once told me I should.
On Friday, I even woke up a little late for my morning ride with Jeff. Normally, I would have rolled over, sent him a text that I was out, and gone back to sleep. Instead, I sent a text that said I was running late. Jeff leads a life of leisure so he is always willing to wait.
This morning, Jeff bailed due to a rough night. I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. I usually would have smiled and rolled over. Amazingly I jumped up and started getting dressed. When I made it outside I realized it was pissing rain. Continuing to be amazing I said eff it and rolled out.
Important back story, I watched Chariots of Fire yesterday.
I decided to head up the canyon. I started to fantasize that I am more focused when I ride alone(Jeff and I are chatty). The theme from Chariots Of Fire started to repeat in my head. I am not lying. At the crescendo I would usually grab a gear. When I turned off 100 east onto the Timpanogos Highway the normal canyon winds that batter you on your way up were gone. While my chamois and every stitch of clothing I had on was wringing wet, there was actually a slight tailwind. (Imagine the kettle drum strikes in the COF theme). I kicked up the effort. Having skipped Sunday to be with Jesus I felt like my legs were ready for a hard push. I am also supposedly building up to a big climbing day Saturday. More on that later. Entering the canyon there were almost no cars and not a single other cyclist. This gave me another little boost thinking I was the only man hard enough to be out in the rain.
Too poor for a powertap and too lazy to put on a heart rate monitor, I measure output a lot by feel. Which is to say, inaccurately. I felt good. When I climb the canyon below the cave I try to keep speeds in the double digits. Once or twice I looked down and was just under ten. I would shift up and give it a good push to get things back in line. When I got to the "Visitor Center 1/2 mile" sign I went for it. Stood up, yanked on the bars. Red line. I was going to turn around at the cave so I put everything I had into it. Grunting, swearing, seeing stars. Once I made it to the parking lot I held on a little longer than usual trying to make sure I got past the Strava segment endpoint. This was definitely going to be one for the books. When I sat up I had to keep pedaling to keep from puking. I was smiling. I was proud. I felt like I had broken a barrier. I took things really easy coming down the canyon due to the wet roads. No sense in sliding out in an S-curve when I had just slaughtered the climb. Rolled home and peeled off all that wet lycra(drink in that mental image). Quickly uploaded my ride to see how I had done.
When all was said and done I had accomplished exactly jack shit.
I was two and a half minutes off my best climb from the booth to the cave. Not a single Strava achievement. Not one. Usually I cross some little obscure segment that a guy created from his driveway to the C-store or something and set a PR. But nothing. I was below my average time.
What is the take away from all this? Somehow I am not crushed. I am disappointed, but not devastated. The fact is, when faced with multiple excuses I got up and rode. I climbed instead of cruised. I pushed harder than I thought I could. But I am still slow. I can live with that. If I keep this up, things might change.
Still doing poorly in the diet column. But whatever. One battle at a time.
This weekend I am joining a big fast group for The Gauntlet. 90-ish miles and 10K-ish feet of climbing. It is basically the Alpine Loop with all the side-canyon spurs. I am not ready. But I am closer than I was a week ago. I am working towards it. Planning to climb early in the week and then taper down to a completely flat ride on Friday. I may not finish Saturday. Or, I may take all damn day to do it.
I am planning on trying though. A wise woman once told me I should.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
If You'd Just Try...
About a week ago, I was laying in bed with the chick I sleep with. We were discussing me being a big fat bag of shit. The subjects varied from "Honey, I'm running out of pants that fit." to "Jeezus, I don't think I can pull off another Crusher from the couch this year."
At this point, the mother of my children looked at me with those please-stay-on-your-side-of-the-bed eyes and said, "You could probably do really well if you'd just try."
Why didn't I think of that?
In the 19 years we have been together, she has seen me go from a 145 pound stud in Levi's 560's and a mullet, to a fat dude with an ear hair problem. I am not sure what in our history together makes her think that I can do anything besides survive a race like the Crusher.
That fact is that all of the big races or rides I have done in my life I have suffered through. Often touting my blue collar work ethic, otherwise known as being too dumb to quit.
The original Depic, the first two Crushers, the Park City Point to Point, every damn 'cross race I have ever done. All of them finished on the verge of, or just beyond the verge of puking.
I have never successfully trained for an event, participated in the event, and had the desired result at the end of the event. I long ago gave up on the fantasy that I have any natural ability or strengths when it comes to sports. I was certifiably terrible at every team sport I ever played. Individual sports were no better. I was a terrible wrestler, a mediocre at best swimmer, and below average at just about everything else I ever tried.
The reason I bore you with my ridiculous sporting career is to illustrate the fact that my wife(and children, and parents, and friends, and strangers) have never seen me excel at anything. I am not a born champion. I came to terms with that a long time ago. My concept of trying remains in the realm of not quitting. Once I begin an event, I will finish, or die trying.
What I think she was talking about was trying BEFORE I begin the event. Not doing it off the couch.
I guess that could work.
Since "The Challenge" issued by my wife, I have had some renewed vigor. I have ridden every day since then. Sometimes twice a day. I mentioned to her that one of the training challenges I face is the guilt of being away from my family...okay not really, but my excessive absence has historically been frowned upon. While she is, for the most part, very supportive of my alternative cycling lifestyle I have, on occasion, found her limits.She didn't really SAY I could spend the next two months training but she didn't say I shouldn't.
In all reality what she did was give me a slight nose tweak and tell me to get off my ass. It may just be exactly what I needed. To know that somebody that cares about me thinks I can do well.
When I was a kid, the often overheard reason my father gave for not attending my various attempts at sports was that he couldn't bear watching his kids fail at something. As an adult, I have figured out that what he thought he was saying was that he cared too much about us to see us hurt, or sad. What he didn't take into account was that to his kids, it sounded dangerously close to "My kids are losers and I don't want to watch that."
My Dad had some interesting parenting techniques, but he is directly responsible for the blue collar work ethic that I spoke of earlier. The plan for now is to combine that work ethic with the confidence gained from being told I can do it.
That and a $200 fat man wager with Doug Kolan.
At this point, the mother of my children looked at me with those please-stay-on-your-side-of-the-bed eyes and said, "You could probably do really well if you'd just try."
Why didn't I think of that?
In the 19 years we have been together, she has seen me go from a 145 pound stud in Levi's 560's and a mullet, to a fat dude with an ear hair problem. I am not sure what in our history together makes her think that I can do anything besides survive a race like the Crusher.
That fact is that all of the big races or rides I have done in my life I have suffered through. Often touting my blue collar work ethic, otherwise known as being too dumb to quit.
The original Depic, the first two Crushers, the Park City Point to Point, every damn 'cross race I have ever done. All of them finished on the verge of, or just beyond the verge of puking.
I have never successfully trained for an event, participated in the event, and had the desired result at the end of the event. I long ago gave up on the fantasy that I have any natural ability or strengths when it comes to sports. I was certifiably terrible at every team sport I ever played. Individual sports were no better. I was a terrible wrestler, a mediocre at best swimmer, and below average at just about everything else I ever tried.
The reason I bore you with my ridiculous sporting career is to illustrate the fact that my wife(and children, and parents, and friends, and strangers) have never seen me excel at anything. I am not a born champion. I came to terms with that a long time ago. My concept of trying remains in the realm of not quitting. Once I begin an event, I will finish, or die trying.
What I think she was talking about was trying BEFORE I begin the event. Not doing it off the couch.
I guess that could work.
Since "The Challenge" issued by my wife, I have had some renewed vigor. I have ridden every day since then. Sometimes twice a day. I mentioned to her that one of the training challenges I face is the guilt of being away from my family...okay not really, but my excessive absence has historically been frowned upon. While she is, for the most part, very supportive of my alternative cycling lifestyle I have, on occasion, found her limits.She didn't really SAY I could spend the next two months training but she didn't say I shouldn't.
In all reality what she did was give me a slight nose tweak and tell me to get off my ass. It may just be exactly what I needed. To know that somebody that cares about me thinks I can do well.
When I was a kid, the often overheard reason my father gave for not attending my various attempts at sports was that he couldn't bear watching his kids fail at something. As an adult, I have figured out that what he thought he was saying was that he cared too much about us to see us hurt, or sad. What he didn't take into account was that to his kids, it sounded dangerously close to "My kids are losers and I don't want to watch that."
My Dad had some interesting parenting techniques, but he is directly responsible for the blue collar work ethic that I spoke of earlier. The plan for now is to combine that work ethic with the confidence gained from being told I can do it.
That and a $200 fat man wager with Doug Kolan.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
No seriously...startiiiiiing NOW.
Two months almost since I felt compelled to explain my lack of effort in diet and training. Not sure what my problem is. Well, I do. It's that I am unable to control myself when it comes to shit food. My other problem is that I am incredibly lazy.
Two things have happened recently that may help to change that. At least the lazy part. First, I got a new mountain bike. A Scott Spark. Another racy-ish 29er. Loving it so far. Going back to a double chainring takes a little getting used to. Recently I figured out that the new clutch rear derailleurs do not tolerate cross chaining. I also figured out that when you just spent a year on a 1x10 you cross chain a lot. No broken chains yet but a lot of swear words. No new swear words just the same ones. New bikes have a positive effect on motivation. The only thing that needs to happen now is for the high country to open up. I am burning out on trails below 6K.
The other positive is that the Murdock Canal trail has been finished. This has helped me rediscover the roadie. I live pretty close to the middle of the trail. The good news is I am remembering that I really like my road bike. A lot. I can head east or west for two distinctly different rides. Both free of cars with the exception of a bunch of intersections in Pleasant Grove. American Fork and Lehi dug tunnels for their intersections. What's your problem PG? East is a rolling but mostly flat run through Pleasant Grove and Lindon. Both times I've ridden it I have opted to push it. In my current state of fitness that isn't saying much but twenty steady miles trying to maintain 20mph is a killer way to start a day. Heading west takes you from the center of American Fork all the way out to Adobe at the north end of Lehi. Going out is generally downhill and fast. But again with smooth asphalt you can push as hard as you want. Right in the middle of that section is the Dry Creek gully. Basically a big pit behind the Smith's on Timpanogos Highway. Down one side then up the other. A firm little kick in the balls to keep you honest. Alternating those two morning rides with the standard loop up through Alpine and occasional climbs up AF Canyon may just get me back into the habit of being late for work. In a good way.
With summer coming I am starting to WANT to ride my bike again. Which is a welcome return to normal. The slow in coming spring for some reason just pushed me onto the couch. Plan is to ride every day. Twice when possible. Road in the morning and dirt in the evening is a great use of a day.
That just leaves diet. I may need an intervention. After a hard ride into a cold headwind that I was honestly pretty proud of this morning. I had a nice healthy breakfast of fruit and yogurt. Followed by two roller-taquitos. Wings and fries for lunch. Two doughnuts in the afternoon. And a sensible dinner. WTF?!?
It's like I want to be fat. Jeff made the astute observation that he could easily out-eat any exercise that he does. Ditto. Historically the only time I gain any ground on my obesity is when I manage to improve my diet. I have done it. I can do it. But I have yet to do it this go around. I improved briefly for a couple weeks a few months ago. Dropped the foamy fat by about 8 pounds. Held it there for a couple more weeks without much riding/training. Then slowly started to eat trash again until soon I was back to crowding the deuce(200#). I have ridden almost every day for the last week or so. Including at least one long dirt ride and several "hard" road rides, but the weight is like a bad one night stand that left me with a treatable but antibiotic-resistant STD. It's about suppression.
Ten weeks til Crusher. Shit.
Two things have happened recently that may help to change that. At least the lazy part. First, I got a new mountain bike. A Scott Spark. Another racy-ish 29er. Loving it so far. Going back to a double chainring takes a little getting used to. Recently I figured out that the new clutch rear derailleurs do not tolerate cross chaining. I also figured out that when you just spent a year on a 1x10 you cross chain a lot. No broken chains yet but a lot of swear words. No new swear words just the same ones. New bikes have a positive effect on motivation. The only thing that needs to happen now is for the high country to open up. I am burning out on trails below 6K.
The other positive is that the Murdock Canal trail has been finished. This has helped me rediscover the roadie. I live pretty close to the middle of the trail. The good news is I am remembering that I really like my road bike. A lot. I can head east or west for two distinctly different rides. Both free of cars with the exception of a bunch of intersections in Pleasant Grove. American Fork and Lehi dug tunnels for their intersections. What's your problem PG? East is a rolling but mostly flat run through Pleasant Grove and Lindon. Both times I've ridden it I have opted to push it. In my current state of fitness that isn't saying much but twenty steady miles trying to maintain 20mph is a killer way to start a day. Heading west takes you from the center of American Fork all the way out to Adobe at the north end of Lehi. Going out is generally downhill and fast. But again with smooth asphalt you can push as hard as you want. Right in the middle of that section is the Dry Creek gully. Basically a big pit behind the Smith's on Timpanogos Highway. Down one side then up the other. A firm little kick in the balls to keep you honest. Alternating those two morning rides with the standard loop up through Alpine and occasional climbs up AF Canyon may just get me back into the habit of being late for work. In a good way.
With summer coming I am starting to WANT to ride my bike again. Which is a welcome return to normal. The slow in coming spring for some reason just pushed me onto the couch. Plan is to ride every day. Twice when possible. Road in the morning and dirt in the evening is a great use of a day.
That just leaves diet. I may need an intervention. After a hard ride into a cold headwind that I was honestly pretty proud of this morning. I had a nice healthy breakfast of fruit and yogurt. Followed by two roller-taquitos. Wings and fries for lunch. Two doughnuts in the afternoon. And a sensible dinner. WTF?!?
It's like I want to be fat. Jeff made the astute observation that he could easily out-eat any exercise that he does. Ditto. Historically the only time I gain any ground on my obesity is when I manage to improve my diet. I have done it. I can do it. But I have yet to do it this go around. I improved briefly for a couple weeks a few months ago. Dropped the foamy fat by about 8 pounds. Held it there for a couple more weeks without much riding/training. Then slowly started to eat trash again until soon I was back to crowding the deuce(200#). I have ridden almost every day for the last week or so. Including at least one long dirt ride and several "hard" road rides, but the weight is like a bad one night stand that left me with a treatable but antibiotic-resistant STD. It's about suppression.
Ten weeks til Crusher. Shit.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Off Again
Crappy week so far. After the "race", I took a week or so to recover. 12 miles at significantly below race pace is pretty taxing afer all.
For some reason I just can NOT get into the groove of the diet. There is a magic point I have found where doing good feels good. It has been a while, but when I get into the training groove, there are days where I start to get a little charge out of eating right. In the past it is because when I compare notes with Jeff Orr, the diet becomes yet another way to measure penis size. When we are both going full steam, team meetings at the bike shop go like this...
"You know what I had for lunch today? A piece of turkey and a string cheese."
"Oh yeah, well I had a fistful of almonds and eight cups of raw spinach."
"I haven't had a carb for two and a half weeks."
"I'm on a juice cleanse."
I suspect that we are both lying usually. Jeff tends to follow up his descriptions of what he ate with "Nom, nom, nom.." sounds.
Despite the competitive glory, when I'm doing well, I get home from work and try to extend a day of good eating. If I get a little hungry I actually feel compelled to workout to kill the pangs. It doesn't always work, and I occasionally binge, but I am quick to correct.
Today was an excellent example of my lousy commitment level lately. I was called out to work late last night, got home at 1 am then had to be at a meeting in Salt Lake at 7am. Now I had been to spin class yesterday morning, and had packed a good lunch for two days in a row. Should have done well. I woke up a little late and had to scramble to be on time. Skipped my usual "good" breakfast of Greek yogurt and a protein shake. Then I get to the meeting and they had doughnuts. I should say, I had doughnuts. Three of them. They were damn good. Doughnut one seemed okay. I figure about 400 calories. That's okay, I can make that work. Protein shake and yogurt is only slightly less than that. The meeting drags on. Forever. Miserable soul crushing meeting. Walking out and passed the doughnuts again. Hell yes I'll have another. It's going to be a long day and I'm planning to ride tonight. Got stuck waiting for somebody at the office. Aww screw it, I'll just have another. Not sure why. It just looked so damn good.
Lunch came and I figured I'd just give up. Went to Wendy's. You can have a medium combo meal and not have it be terrible. When your lack of impulse control kicks in and you add a delicious Spicy Chicken Go Wrap you end up with regrets.
Got home and the weather was beautiful. Met Jeff for an easy spin. Base miles. That's a thing right? We did a little exploring of the Murdock canal trail. Which made me wonder, why the hell would they do that thing in half mile segments divided by one mile segments.? Start at one end and work your way to the other, how hard is that? As it was, we rode to the end of the pavement turned around. Made our way to the next section on surface streets. Half mile, pavement ends. Stupid. Ended up in Lehi and started riding around the north end of town where I grew up. Doug Kolan thinks Lehi sucks but who cares what he thinks. Rode northwesterly and soon dropped down into Christofferson Creek. Just as I did, I remembered what is on the other side of Christofferson Creek. Killer's Hill. Not long, but STEEP. I don't know how it is now, but in the 80's there were a lot of arms broken on that hill by stupid kids with skateboards and low intelligence. There was a time in my life that I was afraid to ride my Huffy BMX down Killer's and wouldn't consider trying to pedal up it.
We made it. Jeff beat me. He is sandbagging lately by doing Crossfit with a private coach several nights a week. I think he's lost twenty pounds. I think I found it.(That is one of my Dad's favorite jokes). Took about a five mile detour to avoid any other steep hills on the way home.
Came home and made at least one other stupid food decision. Doubled up on leftover Tater-Tot Casserole. It ends up that Franks's is a far superior condiment for casseroles than Cholula is. That's what these tests are for.
Hopefully offset the self-defeating choices I made earlier in the day by riding. Even slow.
Tomorrow it will be back to Spin class, maybe a ride in the evening, and then a sweaty throng of people Friday night. Flogging Molly's in town bitches!!!
For some reason I just can NOT get into the groove of the diet. There is a magic point I have found where doing good feels good. It has been a while, but when I get into the training groove, there are days where I start to get a little charge out of eating right. In the past it is because when I compare notes with Jeff Orr, the diet becomes yet another way to measure penis size. When we are both going full steam, team meetings at the bike shop go like this...
"You know what I had for lunch today? A piece of turkey and a string cheese."
"Oh yeah, well I had a fistful of almonds and eight cups of raw spinach."
"I haven't had a carb for two and a half weeks."
"I'm on a juice cleanse."
I suspect that we are both lying usually. Jeff tends to follow up his descriptions of what he ate with "Nom, nom, nom.." sounds.
Despite the competitive glory, when I'm doing well, I get home from work and try to extend a day of good eating. If I get a little hungry I actually feel compelled to workout to kill the pangs. It doesn't always work, and I occasionally binge, but I am quick to correct.
Today was an excellent example of my lousy commitment level lately. I was called out to work late last night, got home at 1 am then had to be at a meeting in Salt Lake at 7am. Now I had been to spin class yesterday morning, and had packed a good lunch for two days in a row. Should have done well. I woke up a little late and had to scramble to be on time. Skipped my usual "good" breakfast of Greek yogurt and a protein shake. Then I get to the meeting and they had doughnuts. I should say, I had doughnuts. Three of them. They were damn good. Doughnut one seemed okay. I figure about 400 calories. That's okay, I can make that work. Protein shake and yogurt is only slightly less than that. The meeting drags on. Forever. Miserable soul crushing meeting. Walking out and passed the doughnuts again. Hell yes I'll have another. It's going to be a long day and I'm planning to ride tonight. Got stuck waiting for somebody at the office. Aww screw it, I'll just have another. Not sure why. It just looked so damn good.
Lunch came and I figured I'd just give up. Went to Wendy's. You can have a medium combo meal and not have it be terrible. When your lack of impulse control kicks in and you add a delicious Spicy Chicken Go Wrap you end up with regrets.
Got home and the weather was beautiful. Met Jeff for an easy spin. Base miles. That's a thing right? We did a little exploring of the Murdock canal trail. Which made me wonder, why the hell would they do that thing in half mile segments divided by one mile segments.? Start at one end and work your way to the other, how hard is that? As it was, we rode to the end of the pavement turned around. Made our way to the next section on surface streets. Half mile, pavement ends. Stupid. Ended up in Lehi and started riding around the north end of town where I grew up. Doug Kolan thinks Lehi sucks but who cares what he thinks. Rode northwesterly and soon dropped down into Christofferson Creek. Just as I did, I remembered what is on the other side of Christofferson Creek. Killer's Hill. Not long, but STEEP. I don't know how it is now, but in the 80's there were a lot of arms broken on that hill by stupid kids with skateboards and low intelligence. There was a time in my life that I was afraid to ride my Huffy BMX down Killer's and wouldn't consider trying to pedal up it.
We made it. Jeff beat me. He is sandbagging lately by doing Crossfit with a private coach several nights a week. I think he's lost twenty pounds. I think I found it.(That is one of my Dad's favorite jokes). Took about a five mile detour to avoid any other steep hills on the way home.
Came home and made at least one other stupid food decision. Doubled up on leftover Tater-Tot Casserole. It ends up that Franks's is a far superior condiment for casseroles than Cholula is. That's what these tests are for.
Hopefully offset the self-defeating choices I made earlier in the day by riding. Even slow.
Tomorrow it will be back to Spin class, maybe a ride in the evening, and then a sweaty throng of people Friday night. Flogging Molly's in town bitches!!!
Monday, March 4, 2013
"Racing"
After much hemming and hawing I decided to travel to St George last weekend to attend the Red Rock Rampage mountain bike race. I originally had no intention of racing. My reasoning was that the point of racing was to see who was faster than you and that was a foregone conclusion.
The twist was that I was crashing at the infamous Team Revolution Flop House.
Though not a team member, I have imposed myself into Revolution's social circle on several occasions and dubbed myself an honorary member. Claiming honorary membership is like giving yourself a nickname. If you keep telling people they start to forget it was your idea.
USUALLY Revolution is really into racing. On the drive down I was expecting to be greeted by a houseful of people who were readying themselves for the season opener. As we rolled into town Friday night, Cobourn decided to head over to packet pickup before we went to the flop house. Like buying a house, having children, and getting married, I made a snap decision in the parking lot and registered for the race. Upon arrival at the flop house I found out that out of twenty some-odd people at the house about six were racing. Including me. I felt a little betrayed. Most of them offered reasons such as "It's March 1st, I'm not racing!" I quickly figured out that the race was secondary to the gathering at the flop house.
The Revo Flop House sounds like a dirtbag affair. On the contrary, it is a traveling circus, buffet, and broo-ha-ha. The group tracks down a vacation home to rent for the weekend and as near as I can tell the challenge is to upgrade from the previous year. I heard stories of the year they rented a former mortuary, then I was told that next year was going to be a mansion. This place was pretty close. Other than the odd floor plan the house was top notch. It included a theater room, covered patio with outdoor kitchen and firepit, saltwater pool with slide and enough beds for everyone with one fat guy on the couch.(Spoiler alert, I was the fat guy on the couch).
It sounds like a party, and it was slightly rowdy. But, when Doug Kolan heads upstairs because it's too loud and everybody else is in bed asleep by 10, party doesn't seem like an appropriate description.
On race day it was like a contest to see who could have the healthiest breakfast. This broke my cardinal rule of nothing new on race day. Between Bob's weird little potatoes and Lyna's powdery weird stuff sprinkled over fruit, everybody was off to a good start, even though most of them were not racing. The oddest part about this race is the 12 pm start time. I think the 24 hours of Moab is the only other race I have done that was a nooner. I spent the long morning procrastinating working on my bike but did manage to refresh the Stan's in the tires. Crossed my fingers that it would shift and brake all right and we headed to the race.
If you have never been to an Intermountain Cup Series race let me set the stage. A few hundred weekend warriors with some serious game faces. You would think that they were all racing to feed their children. The races are generally well done with good courses but I have never been able to get as wound up about them as most of the people there. It's not Cyclocross for God's sake. Calm down.
Lined up in the sport category with about a dozen other dudes. Since Cobourn finally got all his chin-whiskers we are now in the same age category. This makes it easier to crack wise about all the guys jumping up and down and doing stupid shit like pre-race stretches and getting "into the zone". A few familiar faces in the crowd. Most notably a dude who blocked me on facebook for publicly calling him out as a sandbagger lining up with the 40+ Sport crowd. He would go on to win by over two minutes. Douche.
Race starts, we roll out. The dirt road start to the course gave people a chance to sort. I quickly funneled to the back and then began to be caught by the leaders of categories that started behind us. I gave it a good effort on the first lap. Kept the pack in sight and even caught up to Cobourn who was fighting an undisclosed illness(syphillis) which had him hacking and coughing. Managed to keep up with him for rest of the first lap but when we came through the start/finish area and everybody else grabbed a gear and tried to pass people I looked up and shrugged my shoulders. I rolled through the second lap with even less resolve than the first and managed to get passed by at least two women. One of them could have been a man, but she was wearing a sports bra and reeked of a very feminine perfume so I will give her/him the benefit of the doubt.
I did manage to ward off the dreaded DFL in my category but just barely.
There was no surprise in this result. Rest assured if I am not updating this blog, I am not doing well in my quest to look good naked and become a faster cyclist. With a few hit or miss workouts and alternating days of doing well on the the diet with jumping off the wagon while it explodes and runs off a cliff I am merely breaking even. Hovering in the high 180's occasionally peeking back into the dread 190's. This weekend saw a slight dip in weight and perhaps sparked the fire to get riding more. Temperatures are warming and there is more daylight. Things could be worse.
Thanks to Team Revo for letting me crash their party this weekend. So far the best weekend of 2013. (it's been a slow year)
The twist was that I was crashing at the infamous Team Revolution Flop House.
Though not a team member, I have imposed myself into Revolution's social circle on several occasions and dubbed myself an honorary member. Claiming honorary membership is like giving yourself a nickname. If you keep telling people they start to forget it was your idea.
USUALLY Revolution is really into racing. On the drive down I was expecting to be greeted by a houseful of people who were readying themselves for the season opener. As we rolled into town Friday night, Cobourn decided to head over to packet pickup before we went to the flop house. Like buying a house, having children, and getting married, I made a snap decision in the parking lot and registered for the race. Upon arrival at the flop house I found out that out of twenty some-odd people at the house about six were racing. Including me. I felt a little betrayed. Most of them offered reasons such as "It's March 1st, I'm not racing!" I quickly figured out that the race was secondary to the gathering at the flop house.
The Revo Flop House sounds like a dirtbag affair. On the contrary, it is a traveling circus, buffet, and broo-ha-ha. The group tracks down a vacation home to rent for the weekend and as near as I can tell the challenge is to upgrade from the previous year. I heard stories of the year they rented a former mortuary, then I was told that next year was going to be a mansion. This place was pretty close. Other than the odd floor plan the house was top notch. It included a theater room, covered patio with outdoor kitchen and firepit, saltwater pool with slide and enough beds for everyone with one fat guy on the couch.(Spoiler alert, I was the fat guy on the couch).
It sounds like a party, and it was slightly rowdy. But, when Doug Kolan heads upstairs because it's too loud and everybody else is in bed asleep by 10, party doesn't seem like an appropriate description.
On race day it was like a contest to see who could have the healthiest breakfast. This broke my cardinal rule of nothing new on race day. Between Bob's weird little potatoes and Lyna's powdery weird stuff sprinkled over fruit, everybody was off to a good start, even though most of them were not racing. The oddest part about this race is the 12 pm start time. I think the 24 hours of Moab is the only other race I have done that was a nooner. I spent the long morning procrastinating working on my bike but did manage to refresh the Stan's in the tires. Crossed my fingers that it would shift and brake all right and we headed to the race.
If you have never been to an Intermountain Cup Series race let me set the stage. A few hundred weekend warriors with some serious game faces. You would think that they were all racing to feed their children. The races are generally well done with good courses but I have never been able to get as wound up about them as most of the people there. It's not Cyclocross for God's sake. Calm down.
Lined up in the sport category with about a dozen other dudes. Since Cobourn finally got all his chin-whiskers we are now in the same age category. This makes it easier to crack wise about all the guys jumping up and down and doing stupid shit like pre-race stretches and getting "into the zone". A few familiar faces in the crowd. Most notably a dude who blocked me on facebook for publicly calling him out as a sandbagger lining up with the 40+ Sport crowd. He would go on to win by over two minutes. Douche.
Race starts, we roll out. The dirt road start to the course gave people a chance to sort. I quickly funneled to the back and then began to be caught by the leaders of categories that started behind us. I gave it a good effort on the first lap. Kept the pack in sight and even caught up to Cobourn who was fighting an undisclosed illness(syphillis) which had him hacking and coughing. Managed to keep up with him for rest of the first lap but when we came through the start/finish area and everybody else grabbed a gear and tried to pass people I looked up and shrugged my shoulders. I rolled through the second lap with even less resolve than the first and managed to get passed by at least two women. One of them could have been a man, but she was wearing a sports bra and reeked of a very feminine perfume so I will give her/him the benefit of the doubt.
I did manage to ward off the dreaded DFL in my category but just barely.
There was no surprise in this result. Rest assured if I am not updating this blog, I am not doing well in my quest to look good naked and become a faster cyclist. With a few hit or miss workouts and alternating days of doing well on the the diet with jumping off the wagon while it explodes and runs off a cliff I am merely breaking even. Hovering in the high 180's occasionally peeking back into the dread 190's. This weekend saw a slight dip in weight and perhaps sparked the fire to get riding more. Temperatures are warming and there is more daylight. Things could be worse.
Thanks to Team Revo for letting me crash their party this weekend. So far the best weekend of 2013. (it's been a slow year)
Sunday, February 17, 2013
A New Thing
This weekend I tried a new and novel type of exercise. It involves propelling yourself with some velocity using a two-wheeled apparatus. I believe it was called Sykling, or some such thing.
That's right, I actually got on a bike this weekend. And not a stationary one. With the clear air and warmer temperatures it was hard to resist. I had originally planned to go by myself. Better to suffer in silence and exaggerate the results than to have any witnesses to the event. But Friday evening Cobourn started sending Facebook messages. The thing about Facebook messages is that people can tell if you've seen and then ignored them. Soon I was getting texts that said "I KNOW YOU SAW THAT MESSAGE!" I couldn't avoid it any longer.
Since I was on call for work I had to persuade Cobourn to take a shorter route with bailout options. It took some convincing but he finally caved in.(<----Sarcasm) Originally an 80 mile route, then a 50, by the time we were done we clocked in around 22 miles. It was so good to be out though. Our return route sent us around Dimple Dell Park which I had never done before. Not sure who the bastard is that put the 12% climb at the end of what would otherwise be a lovely scenic ride. As I was grunting up the last few hundred yards I heard somebody shout "Woo-hoo!" Looking back there were some kids sledding on the hill behind me. When I looked back one of the little girls shouted out "Keep going, you can do it!" Which at once embarrassed and motivated me. As Cobourn later said, if it wasn't so adorable it would have seemed patronizing.
I had been back on the wagon food wise. Several days of eating clean. Since I take the weekends off I find myself rationalizing a lot on Fridays. Friday morning is part of the weekend, right? I went into a Maverik just to get a drink and noticed something that caught my eye in the hot counter. The Maverik "Breakfast Beast". It looked interesting enough. Bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and cheese. It appeared to be on some kind of Ciabatta bread and looked delicious. I bought it and shuffled out to my van to eat it like some kind of pervert getting his porno. I opened up the plastic box it was in and took a big bite. The fancy bread was actually a freaking doughnut. Even I have my limits. That thing was disgusting. It had a squirt of some kind of Maple sauce on the bottom. I hate maple. I put peanut butter and jelly on pancakes and waffles. I was forced to chuck the bun/doughnut and scrape the maple jizz off the meat and my tongue. It felt like God was instantly punishing me for a bad food decision. I showed him, and went to Five Guys for dinner.
With the ride, and a slightly less depressed attitude toward training I would call the weekend a positive. We'll see how that carries into the next week.
That's right, I actually got on a bike this weekend. And not a stationary one. With the clear air and warmer temperatures it was hard to resist. I had originally planned to go by myself. Better to suffer in silence and exaggerate the results than to have any witnesses to the event. But Friday evening Cobourn started sending Facebook messages. The thing about Facebook messages is that people can tell if you've seen and then ignored them. Soon I was getting texts that said "I KNOW YOU SAW THAT MESSAGE!" I couldn't avoid it any longer.
Since I was on call for work I had to persuade Cobourn to take a shorter route with bailout options. It took some convincing but he finally caved in.(<----Sarcasm) Originally an 80 mile route, then a 50, by the time we were done we clocked in around 22 miles. It was so good to be out though. Our return route sent us around Dimple Dell Park which I had never done before. Not sure who the bastard is that put the 12% climb at the end of what would otherwise be a lovely scenic ride. As I was grunting up the last few hundred yards I heard somebody shout "Woo-hoo!" Looking back there were some kids sledding on the hill behind me. When I looked back one of the little girls shouted out "Keep going, you can do it!" Which at once embarrassed and motivated me. As Cobourn later said, if it wasn't so adorable it would have seemed patronizing.
I had been back on the wagon food wise. Several days of eating clean. Since I take the weekends off I find myself rationalizing a lot on Fridays. Friday morning is part of the weekend, right? I went into a Maverik just to get a drink and noticed something that caught my eye in the hot counter. The Maverik "Breakfast Beast". It looked interesting enough. Bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and cheese. It appeared to be on some kind of Ciabatta bread and looked delicious. I bought it and shuffled out to my van to eat it like some kind of pervert getting his porno. I opened up the plastic box it was in and took a big bite. The fancy bread was actually a freaking doughnut. Even I have my limits. That thing was disgusting. It had a squirt of some kind of Maple sauce on the bottom. I hate maple. I put peanut butter and jelly on pancakes and waffles. I was forced to chuck the bun/doughnut and scrape the maple jizz off the meat and my tongue. It felt like God was instantly punishing me for a bad food decision. I showed him, and went to Five Guys for dinner.
With the ride, and a slightly less depressed attitude toward training I would call the weekend a positive. We'll see how that carries into the next week.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Fat Tuesday
Overwhelming demand for an update on my chubby status today. Here's the thing. Totally off the wagon. Maybe not totally, but I have not exercised for a couple weeks. The flu thing, the Frozen Hog thing, that lazy as hell thing. I do have a minor excuse in that both my mountain bike and my road bike are currently going through a warranty replacement process. This means they are both sitting at the shop. I could ride my fixie, or either one of my cross bikes, or one of the several half assembled outdated P.O.S.'s in the shed but I have not.
I'm considering buying rollers. I'm not sure why I think that might help. I have two trainers and am loathe to ride either one of them. Maybe the added excitement of careening off into a wall due to a lapse in attention will do the trick.
Spent some time at the shop today listening "Big Rick" hand out training advice. That dude loves rollers. And he is apparently awesome at them. I am not sure that I will be awesome at them but Rick has lots of ideas for intervals and such. Intervals...yay!
I am missing exactly one major thing in this regimen. Motivation in the form of a goal. Two years ago I had yet to complete the Crusher in the Tushar. I was not sure I would be able to do it. So out of fear, I worked hard to up my chances of being able to finish. The race has a 9 hour cutoff. I didn't think I would be able to finish what was originally supposed to be an 80 mile race with 12K feet of climbing in that time. Once in century snowfall forced alteration of the course and it ended up slightly shorter with slightly less climbing. 70 miles, 10K of climbing. Still a bitch mind you, but shorter. The course has not been altered since it's inception. That year, I was in better shape than I had been since the 90's. Not threatening a podium position or anything but I had a goal, and worked toward that goal. Got a little sick a month before the race and backslid just a touch. Short story long I completed the race with a slightly below average time but I survived.
The following year I did not train. I signed up again because it was so fun the first time(<---sarcasm). I was a little scared about my ability to finish the race again but I wasn't much heavier than the year before and I had some more appropriate gearing. Did the race and was only 30 mins slower. It was cold and rainy and that weather favors the pudgey. That year I also signed up for the Park City Point to Point. A mostly singletrack race with more climbing. The ads for the race ask the question "Can You Do It?" The answer to that question ended up being "Yes." Out of sheer good fortune the weather was shitty for that one too. So shitty they cut 12 miles off the course. So, I was able to finish with the asterisk that it was a shortened course. Signed up again for the Crusher in the Tushar, probably take a pass on the P2P.
The takeaway from all this is that blue collar work ethic and determination are enough to drag my ass across just about any finish line I set out for. The downside is that it makes me feel like I don't really have to train. The only remaining motivation to lose weight is the look good naked thing. At this point I'm thinking of trying to get into chubby guy porn. They say there's an ass for every seat.
Still down about 10 pounds from where I started. I just need to find something to get my ass out of bed at 5 am. Anybody want to volunteer to be my wake up call?
Morning Weigh in:
I'm considering buying rollers. I'm not sure why I think that might help. I have two trainers and am loathe to ride either one of them. Maybe the added excitement of careening off into a wall due to a lapse in attention will do the trick.
Spent some time at the shop today listening "Big Rick" hand out training advice. That dude loves rollers. And he is apparently awesome at them. I am not sure that I will be awesome at them but Rick has lots of ideas for intervals and such. Intervals...yay!
I am missing exactly one major thing in this regimen. Motivation in the form of a goal. Two years ago I had yet to complete the Crusher in the Tushar. I was not sure I would be able to do it. So out of fear, I worked hard to up my chances of being able to finish. The race has a 9 hour cutoff. I didn't think I would be able to finish what was originally supposed to be an 80 mile race with 12K feet of climbing in that time. Once in century snowfall forced alteration of the course and it ended up slightly shorter with slightly less climbing. 70 miles, 10K of climbing. Still a bitch mind you, but shorter. The course has not been altered since it's inception. That year, I was in better shape than I had been since the 90's. Not threatening a podium position or anything but I had a goal, and worked toward that goal. Got a little sick a month before the race and backslid just a touch. Short story long I completed the race with a slightly below average time but I survived.
The following year I did not train. I signed up again because it was so fun the first time(<---sarcasm). I was a little scared about my ability to finish the race again but I wasn't much heavier than the year before and I had some more appropriate gearing. Did the race and was only 30 mins slower. It was cold and rainy and that weather favors the pudgey. That year I also signed up for the Park City Point to Point. A mostly singletrack race with more climbing. The ads for the race ask the question "Can You Do It?" The answer to that question ended up being "Yes." Out of sheer good fortune the weather was shitty for that one too. So shitty they cut 12 miles off the course. So, I was able to finish with the asterisk that it was a shortened course. Signed up again for the Crusher in the Tushar, probably take a pass on the P2P.
The takeaway from all this is that blue collar work ethic and determination are enough to drag my ass across just about any finish line I set out for. The downside is that it makes me feel like I don't really have to train. The only remaining motivation to lose weight is the look good naked thing. At this point I'm thinking of trying to get into chubby guy porn. They say there's an ass for every seat.
Still down about 10 pounds from where I started. I just need to find something to get my ass out of bed at 5 am. Anybody want to volunteer to be my wake up call?
Morning Weigh in:
- 190.5
- 25.6%
- Total weight loss 9.5 lbs.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Day...Whatever.
Off track. The flu thing followed IMMEDIATELY by the Frozen Hog made it pretty impossible to do anything consistently. Most of my cardio came in the form of panicked reactions to weather. As the race came closer I started to justify dietary indiscretions by telling myself I was offsetting them with stress and the occasional lap around the course.
It all culminated after the race. Took a celebratory trip to The Rocky Mountain Wing Shack. It's a little discouraging to be telling people you are in the midst of a training program and then walk into the "The Shack" and have the guy behind the counter know your order before you say it. (XX-Hot Lunch Special with Fries instead of Tots and two fry sauces instead of Blue Cheese for the record.)
Sunday morning I was comfortably back into the 190's.
Depression set in and then it was the Super Bowl. Now, for the record, I don't give two shits about the Super Bowl. I have a bad habit of telling people how much I don't give two shits about the Super Bowl. But it's true. I don't really care about commercials either. Which of course, leaves food. The best thing about the Super Bowl as far as I'm concerned is food served buffet style. Magically I am protected from the food poisoning that could come from cocktail shrimp left on the counter for three hours. Veggie trays whose sole purpose is to be a vehicle for Ranch dressing. Creative ways to combine candy and salty foods. In a fun twist there were three versions of multi-layer dips. Lots of guacamole/bean/sour cream/ type things. They were rad. What was cool was the "second half" meal. Pretty much just a cookie sheet with "Buffalo-Style Chicken Tenders" out of the freezer. It felt like I was cheating on the Wing Shack. Technically I was cheating on my diet with the Wing Shack. So I was basically cheating on my mistress. I was in deep.
When I went to bed Sunday night I was feeling pretty puffy. I should have resolved that I was going to jump back in and hit the workouts really hard on Monday. I didn't.
I managed to get back on the food wagon. Busy days at work helped. You'll notice I didn't weigh in on Monday. I couldn't bring myself to. But after what I felt like was a pretty good food day I did weigh in on Tuesday morning and was pleasantly surprised. Back in the 180's. So for those keeping track at home I am still down more than 10 pounds. Which AIN'T too shabby for pretty much taking a week off after the first week on. I haven't worked out at all this week. That might get better, but diet wise I almost don't have to punch things in anymore because I just know what I can and can't eat. It's like I'm a dietician.
Hopefully back on that pony tomorrow.
Morning Weigh-In:
It all culminated after the race. Took a celebratory trip to The Rocky Mountain Wing Shack. It's a little discouraging to be telling people you are in the midst of a training program and then walk into the "The Shack" and have the guy behind the counter know your order before you say it. (XX-Hot Lunch Special with Fries instead of Tots and two fry sauces instead of Blue Cheese for the record.)
Sunday morning I was comfortably back into the 190's.
Depression set in and then it was the Super Bowl. Now, for the record, I don't give two shits about the Super Bowl. I have a bad habit of telling people how much I don't give two shits about the Super Bowl. But it's true. I don't really care about commercials either. Which of course, leaves food. The best thing about the Super Bowl as far as I'm concerned is food served buffet style. Magically I am protected from the food poisoning that could come from cocktail shrimp left on the counter for three hours. Veggie trays whose sole purpose is to be a vehicle for Ranch dressing. Creative ways to combine candy and salty foods. In a fun twist there were three versions of multi-layer dips. Lots of guacamole/bean/sour cream/ type things. They were rad. What was cool was the "second half" meal. Pretty much just a cookie sheet with "Buffalo-Style Chicken Tenders" out of the freezer. It felt like I was cheating on the Wing Shack. Technically I was cheating on my diet with the Wing Shack. So I was basically cheating on my mistress. I was in deep.
When I went to bed Sunday night I was feeling pretty puffy. I should have resolved that I was going to jump back in and hit the workouts really hard on Monday. I didn't.
I managed to get back on the food wagon. Busy days at work helped. You'll notice I didn't weigh in on Monday. I couldn't bring myself to. But after what I felt like was a pretty good food day I did weigh in on Tuesday morning and was pleasantly surprised. Back in the 180's. So for those keeping track at home I am still down more than 10 pounds. Which AIN'T too shabby for pretty much taking a week off after the first week on. I haven't worked out at all this week. That might get better, but diet wise I almost don't have to punch things in anymore because I just know what I can and can't eat. It's like I'm a dietician.
Hopefully back on that pony tomorrow.
Morning Weigh-In:
- 189.2
- 24.3%
- Total Weight Loss: 10.8 lbs
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