90 posts tagged “cycling”

Well, that was short-lived....

I had an appointment with an orthopedist/physical therapist this morning.  She spent two hours poking and prodding every square inch of my right leg below the knee and I spent two hours wincing and grimacing and trying not to cry like a little girl.  Her diagnosis was that I have a high ankle sprain or a stress fracture, and probably a stress fracture because that's all she talked about for the last forty minutes.  There's really no way to know for sure without an MRI (stress fractures often don't show up on x-rays) but really it's moot at this point.  In either case, I'm not going to be able to run for at least four to six more weeks.  So no Marine Corps Marathon.

I'm pretty bummed.  Not only am I going to miss the Marine Corps, but I'll also have to give up on the Rock and Roll Half Marathon in Virginia Beach that I was going to run with Daby and CarrieNation and Emma and a few other people.  I joked a lot in the month leading up to the start of training about not following through, but this was something I really did want to do.  What gets me the most is the timing of my injury.  I was just starting to feel good about running again, and I was gaining confidence that I could actually run twenty-six point two miles every time I got out.  That - if anything - is the silver lining.  Signing up for the marathon was a means to an end: I wanted to start running again.  As much as I love being out on the bike - and I think it's fairly obvious that's something I enjoy quite a bit - there's nothing quite like running.  I remember now that I've missed it.  It had been a long time, but I missed it.

So now I'm weighing my options.  I can switch over to the next marathon season, which won't interfere with a cycle event.  The Walt Disney World Marathon is the first week of January.  The training will probably start in September, so - knock wood - I should be healthy.  But that's an additional $2,000 of fundraising, which doesn't bother me per se, but will mean I'll probably have to alter my plans for next year.  I want to do the Tahoe ride in the spring, and we're adding a ride in Solvang, California for the fall season.  My second century was in Solvang, and I've been dying to get back there for four years.  If I do a marathon in January, the fundraising - not to mention the constant training for over a year - will be a bit much.  Plus - and this is no small thing - I'd really been looking forward to a local event and having the support of my friends along the way and at the finish.  The Marine Corps Marathon will be there next year, but there's much to be said for following through before I lose too much momentum.  I just don't know.

Man, what a depressing post this turned out to be.  I sincerely apologize to both my readers.  I didn't mean for it to turn out this way.  I'll try to make it up to you starting now: Your taste in music is terrible!  Pie is the best and brownies suck!  I'm the best at Scrabble!  Daby and Jodi are stupid!  Hmmm, I think I might just feel a little better. 

I had a pretty great holiday yesterday.  I went for a forty mile ride in the morning, and got home in time to watch the end of the first stage of the Tour.  I puttered around for the rest of the afternoon, blogged a little, and then Dabysan and Carrie Nation picked me up around four-thirty to head to B-----e's for the quintessential Fourth of July celebration.  We hung out in a backyard in the suburbs.  The adults consumed adult beverages while a few children scampered around our legs.  Daby and I organized a game of touch football during one of the few moments when no one was jumping on the trampoline.  There was a big bowl of tortilla chips and various dipping options while meats and fake meats and vegetables were grilling on the grill.  There were desserts and good conversation.  And, of course, the naked pool party at the house next door.

Carrie Nation mentioned as we pulled into suburban Maryland's Flower Valley subdivision that B-----e's neighbors were nudists.  But I didn't realize that meant that they would be nude at that very moment.  Nor did I realize that they would have invited other nudists over for their holiday celebration.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  The party - complete with festive red, white, and blue bunting - was in full swing (so to speak) by the time we arrived.  Speculation about the goings-on next door didn't dominate the conversation, per se, but it was an underlying theme.  And I wish I could say I took the high road when B-----e asked if we wanted to visit the windows of the house from which we could see over the fence, but I didn't.  There's nothing quite like suburban naked people to turn a bunch of thirty-somethings into children.  Except, of course, the children weren't allowed to peek.

But for me, the most fascinating aspect of the soiree was the band.  The band showed up after we had been there about an hour, and they immediately prompted so many questions.  Were they naked too?  Where, exactly, does one find a band willing to play the nudist circuit?  Were they naked too?  Daby and I were tossing a football around when they launched into their first song - which was obviously selected to get the crowd fired up.  After catching a particularly wobbly pass, I paused and asked: "Is that 'Norwegian Wood'?"  That's when I decided I had to keep track of the set list for posterity.  I don't have a moleskine notebook, so I just used my phone.
 
Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown) / Margaritaville / Stand By Me / Lay Down Sally / It's Five O'Clock Somewhere / ??? (Bring Back My Something Something?) / Nowhere Man / Save Tonight / Brown Eyed Girl / Shaky Ground / --intermission-- / Happy Birthday / Can't Buy Me Love / Cheeseburger In Paradise / Crazy / Me and Bobby McGee / Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard / The Game of Love / Mustang Sally / All Along the Watchtower / All For You / Rocky Raccoon / The Joker
 
The lesson, I guess, is that baby-boomer nudists like their Beatles.  Sadly, it was time for us to leave during the  Steve Miller Band cover, so I can only speculate how the rest of the evening went.  The reports from the upstairs window, though, were not encouraging.  As the evening grew cooler, more and more of the guests were putting their clothes back on, with only a few brave men holding (and hanging) out.  And besides, by then the "neighborhood watch" had gotten out their golf cart and had begun making their drunken circuit of the subdivision, asking the children if they had pooped yet.  As entertainment goes, it's tough even for a naked pool party to compete with that.

I intended to run yesterday.  Really, I did.  But I hosted a happy hour fundraiser on Thursday, and my cycling friends who showed up conspired against me.  Even the runner.  They had been discussing the Lake Barcroft loop - a popular mid-week training ride, and decided on the spur of the moment to plan a ride for the next day because one (the runner) was a "Barcroft virgin."  I'd never done that ride either as it's virtually impossible to get to Arlington by six o'clock on a weekday.  And since it's a ride I can do literally from my door, it didn't take much convincing.  We weren't meeting until noon, and I briefly entertained the notion that I could get my run in early before the ride.  Then I stayed out until after midnight.  So that plan got all shot to hell.

Well, Barcroft lived up to its billing, with several nice rolling hills balancing out a somewhat convoluted cue sheet.  And I wasn't feeling especially guilty about skipping my run until I showed up this morning for the forty mile pie ride.  I had been planning on doing this ride for the last week, since we didn't have an official training run today.  But at least five people asked me "Aren't you supposed to be running?"
 
So on this day noted for bold proclamations of freedom and liberty, I hereby declare independence from my bike until October.  That's not to say I won't be riding at all.  (I've already been cleared by my running coaches to ride on Sundays for the next six weeks or so.)  What I mean is: yesterday was the last time that, when confronted with the choice to run or ride, I will opt to ride.  I will be free from my bike.  Sort of.  As I write this, the Tour de France is on in the background.  I still get to ride vicariously.

What is it too soon for?
Submitted by Design Shark.

I'll admit, Question of the Day, that this one threw me at first.  You see, most people complain about something they can't wait for, rather than something that has arrived prematurely.  In fact, about the only thing most people complain about coming too soon (other than, ahem, coming too soon) is the annual holiday creep.  And they're right.  Frankly, Christmas decorations could show up in stores on December 22 and that would still be too early.  But that's not very timely now, is it?  I do enough complaining about Christmas after Thanksgiving; I don't need to go there in June.

Ordinarily I might opine that it's too soon for the brutal DC summer, but the weather has been rather mild and tolerable lately.  So I guess it's too soon to start training for that marathon.  The month since I signed up has just flown by.  I didn't run much before the big ride in Tahoe, because I didn't want to risk jeopardizing that ride with an injury.  And I haven't run enough since the big ride because I tweaked something in my left foot during the ride and have been in some pain since.  It's felt better toward the end of this week, but it still seems too soon to run four miles on Sunday. 

And, of course, it's too soon for Christmas.  It's always too soon for Christmas.  I guess I don't have a problem going there this early after all.

Two days ago, I worked my ass off to climb the hills surrounding Emerald Bay on my bicycle.  The payoff was a glorious and screaming descent.  That - there - is a great analogy for all the riding I did this spring.  Despite some difficult training rides, I've been on an increasing cycling high since about mid-March.  And now it's over all too soon.

I got home from Nevada about an hour ago.  It's hard for me to believe that two years ago I was ambivalent about doing the ride the next year.  I'd sign up for 2010 tomorrow if I could.

At last night's pre-ride dinner, the final speaker was an Acute Myeloid Leukemia survivor from central Texas.  He opened his remarks with a phrase his chapter likes: Ride like it means something.  Because it does.  The 1650 Team In Training cyclists who rode around Lake Tahoe today collectively raised $6.8 million for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  The ride is almost incidental.  But that doesn't mean I'm not unbelievably proud to have done it again.

Here it is - the last map for a while.  It's a good one though.  I saved the best for last.

Today is a big day.  We turn three years old today.  We've come a long way since our humble beginnings, and have much to commemorate.  It's a less-than-ideal day for festivities, given our other plans, but birthdays are meant to be observed on the day the of.  We'll make no exceptions for ourselves.  So without further ado, here's the latest installment of our annual look back at the year that was:

• Our one and only (and ill-advised) reader poll led to a disastrous week of nothing but internet memes.
  
• There was a minor security breach when Jodi hacked our site and offerered her confessional.
• Our trip to the Outer Banks culminated with the awarding of the 2008 Beachies.
  
• We had a busy weekend.
  
• Cap'n Crunch failed in his attempt to make a mockery of Rocktober.
• We discussed wrasslin' scenarios, and other things lit'rary.
• We were part of this delicious breakfast.
• A cool Christmas present made us feel highly uncool.
  
• The Steelers won the Super Bowl....
• ....and we won Karaoke to the Death.
• M-----l posted about facial hair and an argument ensued.
• Hellooooooo, new bike!
• We spent a lot of time making maps and riding our new bike.
  

Which brings us full-circle to this morning....  Sorry to bail on our own party, but we really do have to go.  Next year, we will host a proper celebration.

Our bikes have been on a truck for the past week, and may have been jostled around a bit on the trip across the country.  So on the day before the big ride, we go for a short ride of ten miles or so to Zephyr Cove and back just to make sure everything is in working order.  That's also when and where the group photos - my least favorite part of the whole weekend - happen.  I just got back to the hotel, and I am pretty fucking miserable.

Last night's snow - thankfully - never materialized, and it's a little bit warmer than I expected it to be this morning.  But that rain....  My bike doesn't like to be out in the rain, and I tend to agree.  And now they're talking about wind for tomorrow, to boot.  I'm in such dire need of good weather ju-ju over the next eighteen hours that I am willing to extend to Jodi public and unsolicited happy birthday wishes.

So many happy returns, Jodi!  May your birthday brownies be just as dry and bland as you like them.  Now let's see some improvement in this shitty weather.

It's impossibly early, but I've got to catch a flight soon to one of the best places in the world.  In just over forty-eight hours, I'll be enjoying the view you see above, only it will be much cooler and possibly raining.  Yeah, you're jealous.

One of my most cherished cycling memories is the time my friend Will tried a new goo during our event.  This was out in Solvang, and the sponsor was a brand appetizingly called Spiz.  We were about seventy miles into our century, and even though we routinely tell new cyclists not to do anything different on ride day than they've done during the season, we also tell them that the coaches and mentors have made all the mistakes so that they don't have to.  This was one of those mistakes.  I could actually see the gag reflex kick in.

So Will is the adventurous type.  And when he posted recently on his Facebook wall a picture of a new snack that had appeared in the vending machine at his work - and when his sister all but dared him to try it - it was a foregone conclusion that he would do so.

As luck (I guess) would have it, he brought a bag to our post-ride picnic in Middleburg.  I, too, am the adventurous type.  I've knowingly eaten puffin, alligator, and Fruity Pebbles.  When I was in Shanghai, I'm pretty sure I accidentally ate dog.  So when Will held out his bag of Burger King French Toast Flavored Snacks, I couldn't not try one.  And let's just say if was stranded in the wilderness and a bag of french toast sticks was all that stood between certain death and me, well then I might starve.
 
I can barely descibe the horror that ensued.  There was an onslaught of of flavors that I think were supposed to be maple and cinnamon, but mostly just tasted like chemicals.  And they had the unpleasant air-puffed consistency of Pirate's Booty - which until recently held the distinction of worst snack imaginable.  I immediately wanted spit the vile substance from my mouth and gargle with....  I dunno....  Something strong.  Battery acid?  And it wasn't just me.  Everyone who tried them instantly developed a highly unpleasant expression that said - figuratively, if not literally: "What the fuck is that?"  I guess I should have been forewarned by the fact that never in the history of time has a human being ever uttered "You know, I'm a mite peckish.  I wish I had some french toast upon which to snack."  But still, Burger King French Toast Flavored Snacks are so disgusting that I wonder who might be their intended audience.  It's simply unfathomable to me that anybody could enjoy this abomination.
 
And so, I have a mission: I am determined to find one person - just one - who honestly enjoys this unholy snack food.  Just one - that's all I ask.  Somehow, I have a hunch the person for whom I am looking lives in Minnesota.