What on Earth?

I confess I don't really like Earth Day. The sad fact that we have to be reminded to take care of Mother Earth is one reason. Another reason would be that it has become a symbol of the growing divide between two types of people in this country; those that embrace or accept change, and those that desperately cling to a past that never really existed.

Bicycles have been in use for a period that exceeds the life span of anyone currently alive, and yet most people regard me (and my bike) with a sense of bewilderment...before they attempt to run me off the road. (OK, that doesn't really happen, much.)

So imagine my surprise when I had an actual conversation with a driver that wasn't an exchange of expletives at the top of our respective voices. A woman in a newer VW Beetle passed me on a multi-lane street, very much in my lane, and then proceeded to drift over as she completed the pass. This strikes me as dangerous and to be honest, a little disrespectful (cue the disrespected athlete montage). We were coming to a light that had turned red, so I pulled up next to her instead of dropping in behind. I stared in through the window with a look (I presume) a few degrees harder than my "let's have a frank and open exchange of ideas" face. Fortunately, I did not open my mouth. The driver then put down her window, and said "Hi!" Now it was my turn to be bewildered. Did I know her? Did she know me? What would I have said if she had not spoken first (yikes, 8 years in the Army means I know all the good words to use in tense situations)? Once I put my jaw back in its customary position, I said "Hi!" And I think the driver sensed my agitation because she launched into a "baby, I wouldn't hit you" and "don't worry sugar, I saw you" and "no, no, you go first when the light changes." Or maybe she was just a nice person who unknowingly made a mistake, and was doing all she could to make it right.

None of this changes the fact that I still might end up bleeding to death from a hit-and-run (it's happened twice to fellow cyclists on these roads since I've been paying attention) on these roads that I love. What it does change, incrementally, is my belief that most drivers are locked into a routine that prevents them from processing new information.

As a side note, here's a small testament to my love of cycling. Yesterday was a full day with no room for cycling though a recovery ride of 2-3 hours was on the schedule. I arrived home at 9:15 PM, and while my family went to sleep, I rode. Arriving home early the next day some three hours later I was happily weary.

I am a child

I have jokingly said this many thousands of times since being officially recognized as an adult. The joke is that it is absolutely true. I was planning a ride recently, and I cannot describe the pure joy I felt while contemplating "what will happen during the ride?" On second thought, I can describe it. It's exactly what I felt when, as a child, I thought about Christmas before I knew Santa was a big, fat fake.

I don't know if I've mentioned it before but this racing season the USCF classifies me as a 40-year-old. Almost twenty years ago now, I was a pretty good runner and cyclist, and I occasionally won. I had no notion of training except that I should ride as much as I possibly could. Fast forward to now and I have become more self-aware, more tuned to what my body is telling me. I can follow a training plan. I can hurt myself with intervals knowing with absolute certainty that I will be better for it. That seems a very adult perspective. At least it's a recognition of long-term goals superceding short-term desires. And yet, childlike wonder pervades all of it.

This past Sunday I participated in my 3rd race of the season, and the first after three weeks off. I wasn't sure what to expect as my first two results were less than stellar, my weight is still too high (242), and I've only got three weeks of intervals in my legs. I go into every race with butterflies. It's like I'm wondering if this is the week that everyone figures out what a fraud I am. So my first fear is not to get dropped on the first lap (RR of 6, 8-mile laps). The pace went through the roof and I did not get dropped. Physically, I wasn't capable of laughter at that point, but inside I was laughing; a big, belly laugh that might follow a sentence like "and I thought I'd seen it all..." And it got better...two laps later I attacked and got a gap of 30 seconds or so. Now, that isn't much, but as soon as my wheel was the first wheel I could have exploded from pure, unadulterated delight. Part of me knew I wasn't going to stay away, but the child laughed, and this time it was out loud. Picture PeeWee Hermann in his Big Adventure dreaming about winning the Tour deFrance and you'll have some idea of what was going on in my head.

If I keep at this I'll get better, and I may someday have a chance to win a race or two. Though if it means I have to trade in all of that wide-eyed wonder, well then I'll pass. There is no doubt about it. I am a child.

I am hungry! Does anyone else have difficulty balancing deprivation against necessity? I have determined over the last few years that I am basically a slave to my desires. My only defense against temptation has been to remove myself from the situation. I am slowly trying to move away from the animal, to the intelluctual. I admire those people who can be confronted with temptation, understand why they are tempted, and deny themselves that which some part of them wants. I understand those that live by primitive urges, but I do not want to be one of them. Maybe there is enlightenment in that. The self-awareness manifests itself in other ways as well. I am more aware of the people around me. For example, I don't shout profanities at drivers who cut me off (although I once did). A thirty-second window into their life certainly does not grant me the right to pass judgement on them. I have no idea what their life is like. As Plato said, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

Back to hunger and more generally, desire. I know that hunger is a base urge that does not understand the concept of Fourth Meal, high fructose corn syrup, or the Cheesecake Factory's desire to serve four portions to a single person. And when I'm riding none of this is a problem. I am pure. I cannot be tempted. The world is a much simpler place on a bike. I am the person who laments "things were better in the old days" unable to face the beautiful complexity of everyday life. Except I also know that life is not really lived if it is lived from behind a locked door. Talk about dichotomy! Perhaps that's why I love racing. Every racer fights a battle of patience versus ATTACK. The clash of intellectual versus animal creates an unpredictability that dominates most races, bowing only to the strongest of riders. Ultimately, that is what drives me on. I want to be the one who conquers the course, the riders, the race. It means I can be hungry and avoid the pizza/ice cream/double cheeseburger. It means I can wake up at 4:00 AM and train sore muscles.

As I finish this entry, it occurs to me that I would not have been capable of writing the previous two paragraphs as recently as last Thursday. The wonder of it all...

Who put that crab there?

Motivation is a funny thing. It survives all summer on nothing more than a ghost of a chance to place, to win. Then winter rolls around and motivation disappears...poof...gone. I eat. I play Everquest. I forget that I have a bike bolted to a trainer in the basement. And then last Friday happens.

In one instant I went from "I want a cheeseburger" to "I do NOT want a cheeseburger, and can I go ride NOW."

Friday morning I checked the racing calendar. Posted was the USCF Road Race Championships. It just so happens it is on the same course as last year, but it is four months earlier than last year. Last year I got dropped on the hill. And there were three laps, so I got dropped three times (yeah, I caught back on two of the three times). Later that day and the next day/week/month I mulled over my 15th place finish. I vowed to be lighter and more powerful.

I also noticed that the first race of the year was Saturday, the very next day. Good news comes in two's, I guess. You can quibble over a race being good news. It was cold, about 20 degrees with wind chill. It was a race though, and suddenly there it was.

Hello, Mo! Nice to see you again!

Can contradiction be a defining quality?

I intended to start this post off with the statement "woe is me" and then launch into an exploration of my ability to sabotage my own best efforts. But that seemed a little too self-serving, even for a blog. Instead I thought I might just describe where I've been and what gain could still be realized.

Going into the off-season I had grand plans for the subsequent 49 weeks. There would an excellent aerobic base laid down. Intervals would start in February and I would be ready to dominate the early season. That plan has been scrapped.

Today I am 255 pounds. I haven't been on the bike in two weeks. I have no reason to expect a sudden dedication to the upcoming racing season, and yet I woke up this morning thinking about racing. I write this down without knowing what will happen; without the hindsight I will have in October 2009. All I have is the threat of the shame of failing. The failure would be one that I had near-complete control over.

Finally, I take some solace in knowing that I didn't start serious training last year until late April. If I can get three months jump on what I did last year...well, that can only help me, right?

Weirdsville, Population: me

This is the first time I am dedicated to training through the off-season. Over the past twenty-two off-seasons, I've mothballed the bike. Sometimes I would maintain my fitness with running, more often I did nothing. Trying to maintain fitness with the bike will be a first for me.

Although the focus of this yearround approach is not really fitness, it's weight loss. Or at least weight maintenance. A quick review of the recent past for context: in May 2007 I weighed in at a career-best 283 pounds. By September of that year I was down to 242. In April of 2008 I weighed a shameful 276 pounds. The weekend of October 5th, last race of the season, my weight had dropped to 231 pounds, a nine-year low. Obviously, I want to avoid the yoyoing. I had set a goal of 200 pounds for March 1 of next year though I think it may be more optimistic to hold around 230, and attempt to lose the additional weight in the spring. The sad fact is that I have trouble saying no to food, especially in the winter. I know people will say that it's normal to gain weight through winter, but it's awfully hard to resign myself to that when I know the weight I need to lose if I want to be competitive in the spring road races. I know I need a goal but how do I challenge myself without giving myself an impossible task? This leads to a fundamental question: why can't I do the things I believe I want to do?

Over the years I tried to do a little introspection. I've found that I have two voices in my head, and in the past they've set expectations I can't meet. The primary voice is that of my father. No excuses are accepted; you either succeed or you fail. The other voice is one I don't really know. I guess it is probably my own voice; small, unsure, easily overridden. The upside is that this voice gains strength over time. Every time I experience something between success and failure that is acceptable, my voice gets a little stronger. It seems those voices mimic the relationship I have with my father. On some level, I'm still seeking his approval.

What I have realized thus far is that my voice needs to be stronger, but how strong? Should it balance my father's voice or do they need to integrate? One may say that I am overthinking this but I promise you if you spent a little time in my head you would agree it is a question that needs answering. The important thing is to keep experimenting.

Looking for a heartbeat...

With all due respect to Don Johnson, I hate looking for a heartbeat. Truth be told I hate listening to someone lament about looking for a heartbeat, but it can be equally frustrating to estimate my own heart rate in the middle of an interval workout. Enter the Heart Rate Monitor (HRM). I bought a Polar S510 years ago and the batteries finally died last month. After talking to a customer server rep at Polar I know that my T61-coded heart rate strap is useless. Begrudgingly I came to the realization that it was time to buy a new HRM.

At this point some of you may be screaming "SRM" or "POWERMETER" or something about measuring wattage. You would be barking up the wrong tree. There are many reasons why I have not, and will not use wattage to measure my performance. The most relevant right now is that I am a Category IV racer. Training with wattage is well down the "cost versus benefit" list. If you want a more complete list, I will return to this rant in future posts.

After a lot of research I went with the devil I knew versus the devil I did not. Yesterday I received my new Polar Heart Rate Monitor (HRM). It is a CS200. I've used it for one training ride so I'm still figuring out the details. With that caveat, I have to say I'm not all that impressed with the CS200. My main gripe is that I can't program workouts. My old Polar S510 allowed me to program 4 different interval workouts. The CS200 has some mysterious Timer function. It allows me to set two different time limits and they randomly beep at me during my workout. Also, the device only allows me to set up a single heart rate range whereas the S510 allowed three different heart rate ranges.

Now I should say that I'm slow to pick things up, so maybe it has all the functionality I'll need as soon as I figure out how to use it. Most importantly, I'm happy to have a working HRM for my off-season training. Look forward to my next post where I ruminate about a trainer that likes to eat tires.