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.
Monday, June 24, 2013
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.
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