I haven't posted since October. I could talk about why, believe me, I have excuses. But I won't trouble you. Here's to a new and improved me in 2012.
The first thing I am going to do is make a New Year's Resolution to get back to the old me. You know, the guy that doesn't jiggle when he runs and doesn't float in the water.
Now, the resolution is important because I don't believe in making resolutions. Maybe I haven't had the need in the past, or perhaps I just hate the idea of another failed promise to myself, but I despise the entire notion of New Year's resolutions. Which is why I am going to make one. I hope that the feeling of self loathing I get from doing it spurs me into action. Yes, it has come to this...
Don't try this at home, I am a trained professional. If you recall, a couple of years ago, I pledged to grow my hair until I competed in a half iron-distance race. I did it, did it, and my hair has been getting progressively shorter since courtesy of Wifey. New year, new pledge. Been there with the hair. What could I do as penance until I reach the goal of finding my lost fitness? Did the hair grow. Grow a beard? Too itchy and I look old. Denying myself of things just pisses me off. No coffee until I finish my workout? See how long that lasts. I'm weak. I couldn't think of anything to shave, grow, deny, treat, etc. that I thought would make me stick to a regimen. And I need one. NEED. Because I have really become an unmotivated sloth of a bitch-man this last year. Then it came to me, do some self-goading. It might work.
At the stroke of midnight on January 1, 2012, I am going to resolve to get into a shape that isn't round. Then I am going to have a drink, because that is what I do on New Year's. To help me with my cause I am making races my goals. Races cost money. I won't invest in entry fees and show up ill prepared. Getting my money's worth does not mean I stay out on the course longer because I suck. I've already entered the Moab spring half marathon. I sucked it last year. My first goal is to have 100% less suck this year.
But I am not sure what else to do. Maybe another marathon. Maybe LOTOJA. Maybe another half iron. I'm really considering the Moab XTERRA in June. It is a qualifier for the nationals at Snowbasin. And how I would love to qualify to race in the smaller field. So it is an evolution at this point. I'll have to see how work, funds and Wifey's training goals fit in also. But I already feel optimistic. I do know that it is going to be 50° in Ogden this weekend and I am going to go riding or running on New Year's Day.
Hell, I might even post here more regularly.
Showing posts with label What The?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label What The?. Show all posts
December 30, 2011
October 11, 2011
Originality
I came to grips with the fact, yes fact, that there are no more original ideas. No matter how outlandish the idea, it has been thought of. How crazy the idea, it has been wadded up and tossed llike a jumpshot into the wastebin of history.
Perfect example, preparing for a semi formal event last week someone asked if I was going to wear a tuxedo. I said no, but I might wear a Speedo. Nay, a tuxspeedo. I thought I was being clever. Yet a quick Google search proved, with nary a frightening doubt, that the tuxspeedo has been thought of, tested and hopefully perfected. Still, it was funny.
I know you'll Google it. But I don't recommend it.
September 12, 2011
I Got Nothin'
And I mean nothin'. The summer of 2011 will go down in my sporting annals as one of the worstest ever. Between summer not arriving until July, a stressful time at work and a limited exercise schedule anyway, the last few months have been difficult. I've known for a long time it was going to play out like it has, and I think mentally preparing for it has helped. Still, when I fell off the exercise wagon I fell under the wheels. And, since I like to chronicle mostly my fitness goals on this blog, I haven't had much to say.
But I think I will. I have one more week of travel coming up and then things should slow down some at work. It's also cooling off, much nicer for riding and running. Cyclocross season is almost here, but my schedule will be pretty light. Entry is almost $30 a race now, for a whole 45 minutes of pain. Too rich for me to run more than a couple of races, especially with my current level of fitness. Plus, there's always next year.
But I think I will. I have one more week of travel coming up and then things should slow down some at work. It's also cooling off, much nicer for riding and running. Cyclocross season is almost here, but my schedule will be pretty light. Entry is almost $30 a race now, for a whole 45 minutes of pain. Too rich for me to run more than a couple of races, especially with my current level of fitness. Plus, there's always next year.
July 15, 2011
I Hate Fashion
It's not easy being me, rather, finding clothes that fit my odd shape. See, I am about 5' 7" and weight about 155, but I am reasonably lean. I also have, for my height, a longish inseam at 31". I've never enjoyed shopping for clothes because I am between sizes on about everything. But with the current trends in fashion, I find shopping downright stupid now.
While wandering in and out of shops yesterday with Wifey, I found a t-shirt that I actually liked. I mean, how often do you find something with Hunter S. Thompson on it? I normally wear a medium, but they looked kinda small. I grabbed a large and a medium and went to the fitting room.
Okay, so the medium fit like a cycling jersey. The sleeves were tight on my biceps and it was tight through my back. It was even snug on my skeletal chest. Plus it only went to my belt line. So I put on the large. Which still didn't fit all that great, and is a bit long, but I went for it anyway. Again, HST!
I walked out and I mentioned to Wifey that I didn't know who in the hell they sized this stuff for, but it wasn't me. She replied that it was the style that clothes fit tighter now, it was the style. I know it is, but said it was ridiculously snug. She started to say something about my lack of fashion sense when we were addressed by one of the store employees. "Are you guys finding everything okay?"
It was a hipster guy in his early 20s, my height, with a scraggly little beard. He was wearing some sort of skinny jean capri-things that hugged his non-existent thighs and made his ass disappear like his cheeks had gotten frightened and crawled into his crack to hide. Underneath his little wool cardigan (mind you, it's 90°) he had a t-shirt on the was not stuck to his back, chest or arms.
I realized this was who clothing was designed to fit now. And I now understand why many women get frustrated shopping for clothes that are designed to fit a 6' tall, size 1 supermodel. Clothes for men are now made to fit someone other than me, because not only does brooding not build muscle, it must inhibit it.
I bought the large shirt. It's a little long, because of my shorty highpockets build; but at least I don't feel like I'm wearing a wetsuit. I guess I'm just not meant to be cool...
On a side note, tomorrow I am riding my first organized century. Like with other people. Hope it's fun!
While wandering in and out of shops yesterday with Wifey, I found a t-shirt that I actually liked. I mean, how often do you find something with Hunter S. Thompson on it? I normally wear a medium, but they looked kinda small. I grabbed a large and a medium and went to the fitting room.
Okay, so the medium fit like a cycling jersey. The sleeves were tight on my biceps and it was tight through my back. It was even snug on my skeletal chest. Plus it only went to my belt line. So I put on the large. Which still didn't fit all that great, and is a bit long, but I went for it anyway. Again, HST!
I walked out and I mentioned to Wifey that I didn't know who in the hell they sized this stuff for, but it wasn't me. She replied that it was the style that clothes fit tighter now, it was the style. I know it is, but said it was ridiculously snug. She started to say something about my lack of fashion sense when we were addressed by one of the store employees. "Are you guys finding everything okay?"
It was a hipster guy in his early 20s, my height, with a scraggly little beard. He was wearing some sort of skinny jean capri-things that hugged his non-existent thighs and made his ass disappear like his cheeks had gotten frightened and crawled into his crack to hide. Underneath his little wool cardigan (mind you, it's 90°) he had a t-shirt on the was not stuck to his back, chest or arms.
I realized this was who clothing was designed to fit now. And I now understand why many women get frustrated shopping for clothes that are designed to fit a 6' tall, size 1 supermodel. Clothes for men are now made to fit someone other than me, because not only does brooding not build muscle, it must inhibit it.
I bought the large shirt. It's a little long, because of my shorty highpockets build; but at least I don't feel like I'm wearing a wetsuit. I guess I'm just not meant to be cool...
On a side note, tomorrow I am riding my first organized century. Like with other people. Hope it's fun!
July 8, 2011
Boooooo!
I watch one single damn sporting event all year, the Tour de France, and this year it is being decided by crashes in the first week. Not time trials, not 7 hour mountain stages. Crashes. This is such a goddamn disappointment. My giveashitability to watch the Tour is now near zero for the next two weeks. Way to pick a race route ASO.
July 7, 2011
Another Birthday
Today, July 7, 2011 would have been my sister's 44th birthday had cancer not taken her from us on January 31, 2006. Fifth year anniversary.
So, happy birthday, sis!
She was given the official diagnosis on her birthday in 2005. Quite a gift. She called me while I was at work and told me. I went into my bosses office and cried. On October 22, Smarty Pants was born, my daughter that would never know her aunt. In December, I forget the day, she called as I was driving into work and told me she was going to die, and that the doctor wanted to see us so that he could explain. And now she is gone...
Look at the time, from diagnosis to death. Six and a half months. That is what liver cancer does to you. It kills you, quickly and terribly.
Heidi's birthday is the only day that I make an extra effort to take her flowers, and remember her life and short time here. I say extra effort because I remember her every day. I don't want to do anything on the day she died. Memorial Day has become like Valentine's Day, so I focus on her birthday. It was the day she was welcomed to the the world, and unlike her life, that can't be taken away. Plus, it's on her birthday that we did a great thing as siblings, we got each other cards that made fun of each other. Goddamn I miss those cards. I still give her one.
Every year I get up in the morning, go and buy flowers and pick out a card. I go to the cemetery and clean up the markers of Heidi and my grandparents (right next door). I cut, arrange and water flowers for both markers. I do this alone, with my memories — great, good and bad — that fade in and out as I go about my work. I don't want company. I want it that way.
It's a little thing, but it's all I have. Considering our age spread of seven years, she was gone and married and having kids by the time I was old enough to really start enjoying her company as an equal adult. As we grew older our relationship matured and she wasn't just my big sister anymore, she was my friend. One of my best friends. I talked to her about things I couldn't with my parents, or anyone else. It's a hole that has never been filled. If I need help or to vent about certain things, I just don't get it, and it stays with me. Probably good reason #76 to see a psychologist. Even though we were siblings for 32 years, I really only got to know her well for about 17 of those. And that just wasn't enough time. I wish I knew her better. I wish... But who knew? Of all the things that just, well, fucking suck about her death, two things stand out: she left behind two daughters that I don't get to spend enough time with, and a niece who she'll never be able to spoil.
This year, I had trouble picking out a card. And that troubles me. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe it shouldn't. But I barely had it in me. I settled on one, but it wasn't funny. It was respectful. And sort of funny. But not disparaging. I know that I am not getting any less comically ruthless as I get older. I think I am worse than ever, actually. I just carry it like a concealed weapon instead of on my hip like a gunslinger. I have no answer. Maybe it was just today. Maybe it will be worse next year.
I'll close by reminding you, gentle readers, to love your life. Appreciate and get to know those you love and who love you so that there are no regrets if they are taken unexpectedly. Take nothing for granted, appreciate your family and siblings, even though they may be a pain in the ass sometimes — or all the time. Trust me on this one, I know what I am talking about.
And give a little something to cancer research today. Livestrong, American Cancer Society, Cancer Sucks! or whatever. Find a marathon, century ride or something where the proceeds go to cancer research. DO SOMETHING! I know pink ribbons are all the rage right now and believe me, I like breasts probably a little more than the next person, but cancer is cancer and I don't believe in pigeon holing funds for one type of research. But if saving boobs are where you want your money and time to go, then do it. Cure breast cancer and then move on to the next type. The shit kills people more indiscriminately than al quaeda, and there's a great chance of it getting me someday. There's your PSA for the day. Take care of yourselves.
So, happy birthday, sis!
She was given the official diagnosis on her birthday in 2005. Quite a gift. She called me while I was at work and told me. I went into my bosses office and cried. On October 22, Smarty Pants was born, my daughter that would never know her aunt. In December, I forget the day, she called as I was driving into work and told me she was going to die, and that the doctor wanted to see us so that he could explain. And now she is gone...
Look at the time, from diagnosis to death. Six and a half months. That is what liver cancer does to you. It kills you, quickly and terribly.
Heidi's birthday is the only day that I make an extra effort to take her flowers, and remember her life and short time here. I say extra effort because I remember her every day. I don't want to do anything on the day she died. Memorial Day has become like Valentine's Day, so I focus on her birthday. It was the day she was welcomed to the the world, and unlike her life, that can't be taken away. Plus, it's on her birthday that we did a great thing as siblings, we got each other cards that made fun of each other. Goddamn I miss those cards. I still give her one.
Every year I get up in the morning, go and buy flowers and pick out a card. I go to the cemetery and clean up the markers of Heidi and my grandparents (right next door). I cut, arrange and water flowers for both markers. I do this alone, with my memories — great, good and bad — that fade in and out as I go about my work. I don't want company. I want it that way.
It's a little thing, but it's all I have. Considering our age spread of seven years, she was gone and married and having kids by the time I was old enough to really start enjoying her company as an equal adult. As we grew older our relationship matured and she wasn't just my big sister anymore, she was my friend. One of my best friends. I talked to her about things I couldn't with my parents, or anyone else. It's a hole that has never been filled. If I need help or to vent about certain things, I just don't get it, and it stays with me. Probably good reason #76 to see a psychologist. Even though we were siblings for 32 years, I really only got to know her well for about 17 of those. And that just wasn't enough time. I wish I knew her better. I wish... But who knew? Of all the things that just, well, fucking suck about her death, two things stand out: she left behind two daughters that I don't get to spend enough time with, and a niece who she'll never be able to spoil.
This year, I had trouble picking out a card. And that troubles me. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe it shouldn't. But I barely had it in me. I settled on one, but it wasn't funny. It was respectful. And sort of funny. But not disparaging. I know that I am not getting any less comically ruthless as I get older. I think I am worse than ever, actually. I just carry it like a concealed weapon instead of on my hip like a gunslinger. I have no answer. Maybe it was just today. Maybe it will be worse next year.
I'll close by reminding you, gentle readers, to love your life. Appreciate and get to know those you love and who love you so that there are no regrets if they are taken unexpectedly. Take nothing for granted, appreciate your family and siblings, even though they may be a pain in the ass sometimes — or all the time. Trust me on this one, I know what I am talking about.
And give a little something to cancer research today. Livestrong, American Cancer Society, Cancer Sucks! or whatever. Find a marathon, century ride or something where the proceeds go to cancer research. DO SOMETHING! I know pink ribbons are all the rage right now and believe me, I like breasts probably a little more than the next person, but cancer is cancer and I don't believe in pigeon holing funds for one type of research. But if saving boobs are where you want your money and time to go, then do it. Cure breast cancer and then move on to the next type. The shit kills people more indiscriminately than al quaeda, and there's a great chance of it getting me someday. There's your PSA for the day. Take care of yourselves.
July 1, 2011
Pain and a Few Words on Modesty
The last day of June was my first "real" mountain bike ride of the year. How f#@king sad is that?
I'll tell you it's pretty sad coming from a guy that used to live, and I stress live, to mountain bike. I rode, trained and raced. I ate, drank and slept to mountain bike. I even got sorta fast. Sorta.
But last night on the trails above Ogden was just brutal. Buhrootal. My bike is old. I'm too fat for my clothes. My fitness is lacking. Any riding skills I ever had have packed and left. I've been out on a couple of shorter rides this year and last night in the heat really confirmed the aforementioned woes.
Yet, in spite of the pain in my "quads" and back and pride, I still enjoyed myself immensely. Which got me thinking. When I started mountain biking 20 years ago (HOLY SHIT!), a mountain bike was all I had to ride and mountains were pretty much where I rode it. Then I started racing and bought a road bike to train on. Then I started riding more and more on the road, but still had time as a single man to get my mountain bike fix. If I rode five days a week, two or three would be in the dirt.
Then I started really enjoying the road bike. There is something great about mindlessly ticking off the miles, and it is easy to open the garage and just go out for a couple of hours. And I got a new bike I really like riding.
All of the sudden life got all serious with a kid and house and stuff, and I am lucky to ride twice a week. Then along came marathons. Try training for those and riding bikes. Then triathlons. Three sports to train for, four if you count mountain and road biking separately.
What's a guy to do? Day's aren't getting any longer. My life ain't either. I've been tempted to unload the road bike and get back to only riding a mountain bike. But then I lose the ability to grab and go on the road bike. And I do still enjoy the road bike. And why do I sign up for marathons? I need to swim, my back appreciates it, especially when riding.
I guess I need to just learn to embrace mediocrity. Even though my loss of mountain bike skills is a tough pill to swallow, I like the other stuff enough that I need to get used to it.
On a different subject, I hope that modesty comes back into fashion as Smarty Pants grows up. I've had a pair of incidents lately with attractive, long-legged ladies running/hiking in booty shorts with seriously, a one-inch inseam. Don't get me wrong, I'm far from a prude and certainly like looking, but save it for the swimming pools - where you expect to see it.
I hope fashion re-vovles into clothing that keeps ass cheeks covered by the time my daughter is a teenager. I can't follow her everywhere with a loaded assault rifle.
I'll tell you it's pretty sad coming from a guy that used to live, and I stress live, to mountain bike. I rode, trained and raced. I ate, drank and slept to mountain bike. I even got sorta fast. Sorta.
But last night on the trails above Ogden was just brutal. Buhrootal. My bike is old. I'm too fat for my clothes. My fitness is lacking. Any riding skills I ever had have packed and left. I've been out on a couple of shorter rides this year and last night in the heat really confirmed the aforementioned woes.
Yet, in spite of the pain in my "quads" and back and pride, I still enjoyed myself immensely. Which got me thinking. When I started mountain biking 20 years ago (HOLY SHIT!), a mountain bike was all I had to ride and mountains were pretty much where I rode it. Then I started racing and bought a road bike to train on. Then I started riding more and more on the road, but still had time as a single man to get my mountain bike fix. If I rode five days a week, two or three would be in the dirt.
Then I started really enjoying the road bike. There is something great about mindlessly ticking off the miles, and it is easy to open the garage and just go out for a couple of hours. And I got a new bike I really like riding.
All of the sudden life got all serious with a kid and house and stuff, and I am lucky to ride twice a week. Then along came marathons. Try training for those and riding bikes. Then triathlons. Three sports to train for, four if you count mountain and road biking separately.
What's a guy to do? Day's aren't getting any longer. My life ain't either. I've been tempted to unload the road bike and get back to only riding a mountain bike. But then I lose the ability to grab and go on the road bike. And I do still enjoy the road bike. And why do I sign up for marathons? I need to swim, my back appreciates it, especially when riding.
I guess I need to just learn to embrace mediocrity. Even though my loss of mountain bike skills is a tough pill to swallow, I like the other stuff enough that I need to get used to it.
On a different subject, I hope that modesty comes back into fashion as Smarty Pants grows up. I've had a pair of incidents lately with attractive, long-legged ladies running/hiking in booty shorts with seriously, a one-inch inseam. Don't get me wrong, I'm far from a prude and certainly like looking, but save it for the swimming pools - where you expect to see it.
I hope fashion re-vovles into clothing that keeps ass cheeks covered by the time my daughter is a teenager. I can't follow her everywhere with a loaded assault rifle.
June 30, 2011
Coexist
One of the few things the people I bought my house from blessed us with is a strawberry patch. Though not huge, it provides us with enough of the seedy little nibbles for about a month or so every year. We don't get enough to do anything like canning or jamming (metal kick), but I do end up eating more waffles and french toast this time of year.
The trouble is, something else likes my strawberries. I'll frequently wander out to the patch in my manties in the morning (neighbors be damned), clutching a cup of joe (double damned), to get a handful of strawberries for my breakfast. I end up tossing a fair number of berries because they are half devoured. I never knew what was assaulting my treats until yesterday. Sow bugs. Roly Polys. Potato bugs. These multi-legged throwbacks to the paleolithic period are burrowing into the fruit of my garden's loins. Them and their blobulous little sluggy buddies.
Bastards. I think Smarty Pants, lover of all things armored and segmented, said it best after inspecting the nibbly damage they had caused. " Darn roly polys. I just don't think I can ever forgive them."
Damn straight, kid. So what's a guy to do when his labor of love is getting overrun by living ooze and tiny armadillos? Not sure. I hate insect sprays on the garden because I like to just pick and eat. Napalm is out. And it isn't like I despise all bugs. Just the ones that eat my fruits and veggies.
Or I could just coexist. (Insert sudden thought of the Coexist bumper sticker spelled out with fruit, bugs and the "O" as a no sign with pesticide.) Ha. Funny shit. They don't do much damage I guess. Now if the little bastards start on my potatoes or carrots, that will be different. Or earwigs (hated, vile creatures they are) get into my corn again. I'm just going to keep that napalm option open...
The trouble is, something else likes my strawberries. I'll frequently wander out to the patch in my manties in the morning (neighbors be damned), clutching a cup of joe (double damned), to get a handful of strawberries for my breakfast. I end up tossing a fair number of berries because they are half devoured. I never knew what was assaulting my treats until yesterday. Sow bugs. Roly Polys. Potato bugs. These multi-legged throwbacks to the paleolithic period are burrowing into the fruit of my garden's loins. Them and their blobulous little sluggy buddies.
Bastards. I think Smarty Pants, lover of all things armored and segmented, said it best after inspecting the nibbly damage they had caused. " Darn roly polys. I just don't think I can ever forgive them."
Damn straight, kid. So what's a guy to do when his labor of love is getting overrun by living ooze and tiny armadillos? Not sure. I hate insect sprays on the garden because I like to just pick and eat. Napalm is out. And it isn't like I despise all bugs. Just the ones that eat my fruits and veggies.
Or I could just coexist. (Insert sudden thought of the Coexist bumper sticker spelled out with fruit, bugs and the "O" as a no sign with pesticide.) Ha. Funny shit. They don't do much damage I guess. Now if the little bastards start on my potatoes or carrots, that will be different. Or earwigs (hated, vile creatures they are) get into my corn again. I'm just going to keep that napalm option open...
November 10, 2010
What A Waste...
It's been a good year.
After finishing one of my best seasons of competition ever, it was time to turn my focus to cyclocross. It seemed natural, and I can usually do okay in the races. After all, I have a nice cyclocross bike. I have some technical skills that most roadies don't possess. I run more than most cyclists. But mostly, I was stoked to race cross because for the first time in a long time I knew I would have all of my fitness right at the end of the season with Vikingman the first of September and XTERRA the latter part. Most guys are getting pretty worn out by fall, and cross is something they can do for fun. I'd be doing it for fun also, but hopefully fresher than most.
The theory was coming together. And nicely.
My plan was to do all of the Ogden-area races and maybe slide down to SLC for one or two at Wheeler Farm. Total of maybe 6-7 races. Race Master 35 C since I am an old man. Have fun and mix it up.
The first Ogden race was at the Weber Fairgrounds. After a slow start my momentum built and I started passing lots of other guys until I found myself in the second group of five to bridge up to three leaders. They weren't really going anywhere very fast, so rather than keep losing time I took a flier in an attempt to either up the tempo in the chase group, bring out the stronger guys to help bridge or at least shed a couple of the weaker guys. Only one guy went with me, and he had just about enough to hang on to me, until he dropped off.
So I was in this limbo land. Stuck between the leading pair and the remnants of the chase group that was sort of reforming. I just kept drilling it to stay away and was gaining slowly on the leaders by bunnyhopping a couple of the log barriers and generally riding like a madman. By the last lap, however, I was paying for my efforts, but hanging on to my position.
With just a couple of turns to go until the finish, I hopped over the final barrier and saw one of the lead pair struggling with his chain. He'd put his bike down too hard and dropped his chain. I flew by and ended up crossing (sic) the line in second place, about five seconds off the winner.
It was pretty clear that my fitness plan had worked. I had the fitness to actually compete. Until... October.
Goddamn October is the toughest month of the year. It has surpassed even December. Work is insane. Eight birthdays including Wifey's, Smarty Pant's and Ma's. Plus a couple of bad weather days, encroaching darkness, and a rainy trip to Moab. It was a perfect storm of events that led to next to no riding, running or swimming for a month.
A month with only a handful of runs and rides. I don't know what I have left in the tank at this point. I'm going to try and get out to race this weekend. The weather is supposed to be cool and the rain should have the course in ideal shape. And it's in Ogden.
After finishing one of my best seasons of competition ever, it was time to turn my focus to cyclocross. It seemed natural, and I can usually do okay in the races. After all, I have a nice cyclocross bike. I have some technical skills that most roadies don't possess. I run more than most cyclists. But mostly, I was stoked to race cross because for the first time in a long time I knew I would have all of my fitness right at the end of the season with Vikingman the first of September and XTERRA the latter part. Most guys are getting pretty worn out by fall, and cross is something they can do for fun. I'd be doing it for fun also, but hopefully fresher than most.
The theory was coming together. And nicely.
My plan was to do all of the Ogden-area races and maybe slide down to SLC for one or two at Wheeler Farm. Total of maybe 6-7 races. Race Master 35 C since I am an old man. Have fun and mix it up.
The first Ogden race was at the Weber Fairgrounds. After a slow start my momentum built and I started passing lots of other guys until I found myself in the second group of five to bridge up to three leaders. They weren't really going anywhere very fast, so rather than keep losing time I took a flier in an attempt to either up the tempo in the chase group, bring out the stronger guys to help bridge or at least shed a couple of the weaker guys. Only one guy went with me, and he had just about enough to hang on to me, until he dropped off.
So I was in this limbo land. Stuck between the leading pair and the remnants of the chase group that was sort of reforming. I just kept drilling it to stay away and was gaining slowly on the leaders by bunnyhopping a couple of the log barriers and generally riding like a madman. By the last lap, however, I was paying for my efforts, but hanging on to my position.
With just a couple of turns to go until the finish, I hopped over the final barrier and saw one of the lead pair struggling with his chain. He'd put his bike down too hard and dropped his chain. I flew by and ended up crossing (sic) the line in second place, about five seconds off the winner.
It was pretty clear that my fitness plan had worked. I had the fitness to actually compete. Until... October.
Goddamn October is the toughest month of the year. It has surpassed even December. Work is insane. Eight birthdays including Wifey's, Smarty Pant's and Ma's. Plus a couple of bad weather days, encroaching darkness, and a rainy trip to Moab. It was a perfect storm of events that led to next to no riding, running or swimming for a month.
A month with only a handful of runs and rides. I don't know what I have left in the tank at this point. I'm going to try and get out to race this weekend. The weather is supposed to be cool and the rain should have the course in ideal shape. And it's in Ogden.
August 31, 2010
And We're Back
Sort of back.
Perhaps regular posts might incite the few of you who read this to check in more often and maybe even keep new readers interested. But... I get lazy. And forgetful.
My personal failings aside, I'm less than two weeks from my first (last?) half iron-distance triathlon. My preparation , as usual, has been less than ideal. The only constant in my training is my constantly spotty. Still, it mostly gets done. Mostly.
Mainly due to work, a bout with strep and the general lack of focus that pervades my brain. (I just lost focus and went for coffee.) Still, I feel pretty much ready to finish under six hours. I think I am capable of a 30 minute swim, three hour ride and a two hour run. Add-in transitions and I should be right around six. If I can go better, so much the awesomer.
(I just surfed over to a couple of websites. Lost focus again.)
My biggest race day fears are the swim, nutrition and gastrointestinal distress. But I think I have them all covered. I've been doing a fair bit of open water swimming as of late, with just a couple of panic issues. (I just checked water temp for the Snake River. Almost 66 degrees.) I know I can do it. Water temps could be a factor for me. If it gets too cold I could have a problem keeping my face in the water. But I think I can overcome that by getting into the water early and making sure the cooler water isn't a shock to me. Nutrition is going to be gels, water, electrolytes and whatever else my body wants. I think I'll be able to handle that because I'm not going to be hammering it. Which will also hopefully keep my GI system in check.
Fingers crossed.
I guess I have an additional thing I struggle with: Is it worth doing at all? I mean racing costs money and I often wonder if it is worth it with my approach to doing it, which is mostly half-assed. Here has been my "training" schedule pretty much all summer.
Monday: Nothing or a short run
Tuesday: Swim and a run if I didn't run on Monday
Wednesday: Run if I didn't on Tuesday
Thursday: Swim and ride
Friday: Run
Saturday: Nothing
Sunday: Long ride with a short run afterward. Sometimes.
Now if you ask me, that isn't exactly the path to victory. There is very little intensity in the workouts as I am pushing more for endurance. It just seems so haphazard. Yet, with my schedule, I don't want a set training plan because I end up missing workouts and then get pissed and down on myself for it. And it all comes back to the question: Is it worth it if I am not putting as much as I can into it? Or maybe this is all I can put into it without robbing from other areas of life. Like family time. Or work time. Or project time.
Is it worth it? I don't know. But on September 11 I'm doing it anyway.
Perhaps regular posts might incite the few of you who read this to check in more often and maybe even keep new readers interested. But... I get lazy. And forgetful.
My personal failings aside, I'm less than two weeks from my first (last?) half iron-distance triathlon. My preparation , as usual, has been less than ideal. The only constant in my training is my constantly spotty. Still, it mostly gets done. Mostly.
Mainly due to work, a bout with strep and the general lack of focus that pervades my brain. (I just lost focus and went for coffee.) Still, I feel pretty much ready to finish under six hours. I think I am capable of a 30 minute swim, three hour ride and a two hour run. Add-in transitions and I should be right around six. If I can go better, so much the awesomer.
(I just surfed over to a couple of websites. Lost focus again.)
My biggest race day fears are the swim, nutrition and gastrointestinal distress. But I think I have them all covered. I've been doing a fair bit of open water swimming as of late, with just a couple of panic issues. (I just checked water temp for the Snake River. Almost 66 degrees.) I know I can do it. Water temps could be a factor for me. If it gets too cold I could have a problem keeping my face in the water. But I think I can overcome that by getting into the water early and making sure the cooler water isn't a shock to me. Nutrition is going to be gels, water, electrolytes and whatever else my body wants. I think I'll be able to handle that because I'm not going to be hammering it. Which will also hopefully keep my GI system in check.
Fingers crossed.
I guess I have an additional thing I struggle with: Is it worth doing at all? I mean racing costs money and I often wonder if it is worth it with my approach to doing it, which is mostly half-assed. Here has been my "training" schedule pretty much all summer.
Monday: Nothing or a short run
Tuesday: Swim and a run if I didn't run on Monday
Wednesday: Run if I didn't on Tuesday
Thursday: Swim and ride
Friday: Run
Saturday: Nothing
Sunday: Long ride with a short run afterward. Sometimes.
Now if you ask me, that isn't exactly the path to victory. There is very little intensity in the workouts as I am pushing more for endurance. It just seems so haphazard. Yet, with my schedule, I don't want a set training plan because I end up missing workouts and then get pissed and down on myself for it. And it all comes back to the question: Is it worth it if I am not putting as much as I can into it? Or maybe this is all I can put into it without robbing from other areas of life. Like family time. Or work time. Or project time.
Is it worth it? I don't know. But on September 11 I'm doing it anyway.
June 16, 2010
Wasatch yer Back, Y'all!
I'm less than two days from running RAGNAR and I keep asking myself, "self, why aren't you riding your bike more?" When I say I have been running a lot, it has to be taken in context. I've been doing 3-4 miles a couple of times a day, every couple of days, for the past couple of weeks. So, not really a lot. But more than usual. I've also missed a couple of ride to go and run. Which simply must end.
Post RAGNAR, I am going to put in a good bike block. Perhaps get in a couple of races. And get off of my feet (mostly, because feel like I am running well by my standards) for a couple of weeks. But before then, I just gotta get through a day of RAGNAR and 15 miles.
Post RAGNAR, I am going to put in a good bike block. Perhaps get in a couple of races. And get off of my feet (mostly, because feel like I am running well by my standards) for a couple of weeks. But before then, I just gotta get through a day of RAGNAR and 15 miles.
April 28, 2010
Oh! The Depravity!
If you have read more than one entry on this blog then you will know just how I feel about swimming. Or not. Because many days I don't even know how I feel about dragging myself back and forth over the same 25 yards over and over and over and over and over....
Some days I feel good and other days I just can't mentally get going. Other days I can't even make myself roll out of bed to get to the pool. Which is, I guess, similar to every other workout I do. Some days on the bike are work and others are great. Running is the same. I think that my biggest problem, not just with swimming mind you, is consistency. It's just that I suck worse at swimming than running and cycling, making mediocre or bad days worse. If I would get in the pool three days a week I could end most of my woes. Except one, sensory deprivation.
Having spent more than a few hours in psychology classes, I learned a LOT about sensory deprivation and it's effects on the brain. You couldn't pay me enough to get into an SD chamber because A) I don't trust people and could see some fucker locking me in there as a joke and B) I am claustrophobic. After a while floating in that warm saline bath in complete darkness and silence, your brain simply gets bored and starts thinking up shit that is nuttier than squirrel poo.
Swimming is as close to sensory deprivation as I dare get. I wear earplugs for health reasons and that reduces sound to next to nothing. I used to wear dark goggles, but bought clear lenses before I beat someone with a kick board. No matter how good of a swimmer I have been on my very best days, my brain does some strange shit after a few minutes in the water, usually looking for sharks (yup!) or making out weird (really weird) patterns in the reflections on the bottom of the pool or thinking I am going to drown or pass out or some other calamity. It also doesn't help that I am swimming in the early morning and my brain isn't fully functional after a nights sleep either.
See what I used to think was self preservation (not able to adequately swim because of a fear of drowning) I think might, might just be more susceptible to SD than other people who genuinely enjoy the silence and peace of swimming. In addition to mental oddities, I just can't focus on anything. Any. Thing. Some days. I cannot keep count my laps. Seriously, any more than one and a half is a challenge.
Just the slight reduction in environmental sensory input I get when swimming, combined with "morning brain" is perhaps, just enough to send me into a mental tailspin. When this happens, I am getting better at recognizing that there is something wrong. I'll generally stop my workout and do drills with paddles and fins, or form drills. Stuff that forces me to focus on what I am doing. This way the morning isn't wasted. I am also going to try music more, once I figure out how to keep my earphones stuck in my head for more than a lap or two at a time.
I could also be full of shit about all of this.
Some days I feel good and other days I just can't mentally get going. Other days I can't even make myself roll out of bed to get to the pool. Which is, I guess, similar to every other workout I do. Some days on the bike are work and others are great. Running is the same. I think that my biggest problem, not just with swimming mind you, is consistency. It's just that I suck worse at swimming than running and cycling, making mediocre or bad days worse. If I would get in the pool three days a week I could end most of my woes. Except one, sensory deprivation.
Having spent more than a few hours in psychology classes, I learned a LOT about sensory deprivation and it's effects on the brain. You couldn't pay me enough to get into an SD chamber because A) I don't trust people and could see some fucker locking me in there as a joke and B) I am claustrophobic. After a while floating in that warm saline bath in complete darkness and silence, your brain simply gets bored and starts thinking up shit that is nuttier than squirrel poo.
Swimming is as close to sensory deprivation as I dare get. I wear earplugs for health reasons and that reduces sound to next to nothing. I used to wear dark goggles, but bought clear lenses before I beat someone with a kick board. No matter how good of a swimmer I have been on my very best days, my brain does some strange shit after a few minutes in the water, usually looking for sharks (yup!) or making out weird (really weird) patterns in the reflections on the bottom of the pool or thinking I am going to drown or pass out or some other calamity. It also doesn't help that I am swimming in the early morning and my brain isn't fully functional after a nights sleep either.
See what I used to think was self preservation (not able to adequately swim because of a fear of drowning) I think might, might just be more susceptible to SD than other people who genuinely enjoy the silence and peace of swimming. In addition to mental oddities, I just can't focus on anything. Any. Thing. Some days. I cannot keep count my laps. Seriously, any more than one and a half is a challenge.
Just the slight reduction in environmental sensory input I get when swimming, combined with "morning brain" is perhaps, just enough to send me into a mental tailspin. When this happens, I am getting better at recognizing that there is something wrong. I'll generally stop my workout and do drills with paddles and fins, or form drills. Stuff that forces me to focus on what I am doing. This way the morning isn't wasted. I am also going to try music more, once I figure out how to keep my earphones stuck in my head for more than a lap or two at a time.
I could also be full of shit about all of this.
April 5, 2010
I am such a wuss
Spring is in full fling in Utah, and dangerously close to becoming a repeat of last year. It went: winter 'til April, spring from April 'til June, effing hot until November.
I'm watching it snow right now. Honestly, two months ago I would have just gone running in it. Now, I've tasted 70s. I've run in shorts. And one of the last things I want to do is go out and attempt to ride or run in this foul weather. Instead I'll take a mental beating and ride the trainer. And maybe run on the treadmill. In succession.
Maybe.
I will be at the pool tomorrow. In that instance being wet is the right idea. It's coming along well too. I've suddenly acquired the ability to swim with a two-beat kick. Which is awesome. I also no longer feel like the slowest person in the water, save for the old ladies that use the pool for social hour on their kickboards. Doing such a small bit of effort isn't even worth smelling like chlorine for. Just take a walk girls, it would be much better for you.
Nothing profound. Or profaned to say this day. I'm in a funk.
I'm watching it snow right now. Honestly, two months ago I would have just gone running in it. Now, I've tasted 70s. I've run in shorts. And one of the last things I want to do is go out and attempt to ride or run in this foul weather. Instead I'll take a mental beating and ride the trainer. And maybe run on the treadmill. In succession.
Maybe.
I will be at the pool tomorrow. In that instance being wet is the right idea. It's coming along well too. I've suddenly acquired the ability to swim with a two-beat kick. Which is awesome. I also no longer feel like the slowest person in the water, save for the old ladies that use the pool for social hour on their kickboards. Doing such a small bit of effort isn't even worth smelling like chlorine for. Just take a walk girls, it would be much better for you.
Nothing profound. Or profaned to say this day. I'm in a funk.
March 29, 2010
Manager's Special Doughnuts
I like doughnuts.
So much so, I spell the word doughnuts, instead of donuts. Could also be that donuts reads like do-nuts. Which has this homoerotic quality to it that dosn't appeal to me. If it appeals to you, fine. Do nuts. Go nuts with yer do nuts.
One of my favoritest things is a doughnut and a great cup of coffee. There is virtually nothing, nothing, that can keep me from enjoying a fresh doughnut and a fresh, hot cup of joe on a cool morning. Outside with a great view if I am really lucky.
Thanks to vast amounts of self control, I look to the heavens and thank ? for giving me the willpower to resist this dreamy combination. Mostly.
That said, manager's special baked goods are what, like one or two days old and half price or whatever. There's a guy in the office and, bless him, has gotten into almost a habit of bringing in a box of the manager's specials every other day.
I am not complaining.
Honestly. It's a nice gesture and some of the folks here in the outlands do or don't seem to mind and gulp down one or two of the suckers. I'll admit, I partook once. Once. And it sucked. My. Ass.
Not only was the doughnut kinda firm and vurrry dry, it led to a great deal of disappointment in myself. Through the cellophane window the pastries were very appealing. Once in hand, they were less appealing as food and more as hockey pucks or weapons. So I have to convince my doughnut-wanting brain that these doughnuts will not do for me all of the wonderful, pleasurable things a a fresh doughnut will do. And it's a bitch convincing myself.
While I am not dieting per se, I watch what I eat, and that is more than just viewing my loaded hand as it leaves the plate and carries food to my gaping mouth. I no longer have the metabolism of a teenager, and it took too long to lose the 10 sympathy pounds I slapped on when Wifey was pregnant with Smarty Pants.
Mostly I try and do a couple of things:
- I eat when I am hungry. Which means a LOT of snacking on fruit, vegetables, nuts and protein shakes. It keeps the metabolism fire at least smoldering.
- I look at what I eat and determine if it is worth the calories. Let me explain. If there is a fresh, blueberry doughnut and some coffee in front of me, I'm not going to deny myself that. Unless it is every day then get a fucking hold of myself... Conversely, a store-bought chocolate cake can be avoided. Sure, it's good, but it doesn't pump my nads enough to feel good about eating it afterwards.
- Moderation. I love McDonalds fries. But that shit makes you want more and more. It's like sex. But makes you fat and then kills you. So maybe it's like sex with a black widow spider. I've just gotten into the habit of ratcheting back on the size of the fries and sodas. I don't deny, I moderate.
- I drink a LOT of water. Usually with a mineral supplement to keep my electrolytes up.
- And I guess I exercise. A little. Really. I don't kill myself training. But I probably do more than most people.
So what is the point of all this? Right now I weigh nearly what I did ten years ago. I feel good. Admittedly, I feel hungry often. It's just the small, healthy meals/fiery metabolism thing. But it's actually good because hunger is such a basic, consuming need that it keeps my mind on track. I focus better. Instead of going in a million different directions, I focus on hunger and a couple of other things. That's it.
Oh, I guess the real point here is this. Buy fresh doughnuts half as often as the manager's specials. It will cost you the same and I'd feel good about consuming one, just one of those circular little bastards.
March 22, 2010
Moab .5
Because I KNOW you are just shitting yourselves wanting to know how the Moab Half Marathon went for me last Saturday, here's a quick rundown.
I was 27 seconds slower than last year. So much for the magical, cumulative effects of training.
But Wifey was 14 minutes faster than last year. That is great.
Once again we stayed in style and unmatched comfort with great friends. We ate wonderful food and laughed out loud. I might have enjoyed a few too many gintonics, too. "Hey girlfriends! Moab Marathon! No boys! You'll do great sweetie!"
The start was cold, again, they all are. But this one was coldest, yet. Still, the skies were as blue as they get with nary a cloud to be found.
If there is a bright side to my time to be spotted, it's that I actually followed my pacing strategy of 145-150 bpm, with the option to go as high as 155 or longer on steeper climbs, until I got to the bridge and then would uncork and run as fast as I could, which was right at my threshold of about 170. My new feed plan worked well also. A banana and some pbh on wheat bread pre race, followed be gel as needed. I ate four gels. I needed them. I had zero stomach issues before or after. Could have been the slower pace, or it could have just been that I found something that will work for me.
Now, I'd planned on comparing the data compiled with my Garmin 305 to last years' race. However, the little piece of shit didn't do any mapping so all I have is time, pace, and average and max heart rate to go off of. I'm pissed. The ability to compare data is one of the reasons I bought the damn thing. Rather than chuck the thing against the wall, I'll compare what I have.
- avg. pace: 8:34 min/mile
- avg. speed: 7 mph
- max speed 2009: 14.1 mph
2010: 10.0 mph
- avg. heart rate 2009: 156 bpm
2010: 153 bpm
- max heart rate 2009: 177 bpm
2010: 171 bpm
Clearly I worked less this year. Had I ran at the frantic pace that I ran last year, I likely would have bettered my time. That is why I wanted the mapping data, I could have compared the heart rate graphs between years. I know this years' graph would not have resembled quite the sawtooth of 2009.
But enough of that. I also had a great ride up Amasa Back, which I hadn't ridden in years.
And now it is time to get after training again. The Ogden Half is coming up, as is the mtb race season and maybe a triathlon. Who knows?
I was 27 seconds slower than last year. So much for the magical, cumulative effects of training.
But Wifey was 14 minutes faster than last year. That is great.
Once again we stayed in style and unmatched comfort with great friends. We ate wonderful food and laughed out loud. I might have enjoyed a few too many gintonics, too. "Hey girlfriends! Moab Marathon! No boys! You'll do great sweetie!"
The start was cold, again, they all are. But this one was coldest, yet. Still, the skies were as blue as they get with nary a cloud to be found.
If there is a bright side to my time to be spotted, it's that I actually followed my pacing strategy of 145-150 bpm, with the option to go as high as 155 or longer on steeper climbs, until I got to the bridge and then would uncork and run as fast as I could, which was right at my threshold of about 170. My new feed plan worked well also. A banana and some pbh on wheat bread pre race, followed be gel as needed. I ate four gels. I needed them. I had zero stomach issues before or after. Could have been the slower pace, or it could have just been that I found something that will work for me.
Now, I'd planned on comparing the data compiled with my Garmin 305 to last years' race. However, the little piece of shit didn't do any mapping so all I have is time, pace, and average and max heart rate to go off of. I'm pissed. The ability to compare data is one of the reasons I bought the damn thing. Rather than chuck the thing against the wall, I'll compare what I have.
- avg. pace: 8:34 min/mile
- avg. speed: 7 mph
- max speed 2009: 14.1 mph
2010: 10.0 mph
- avg. heart rate 2009: 156 bpm
2010: 153 bpm
- max heart rate 2009: 177 bpm
2010: 171 bpm
Clearly I worked less this year. Had I ran at the frantic pace that I ran last year, I likely would have bettered my time. That is why I wanted the mapping data, I could have compared the heart rate graphs between years. I know this years' graph would not have resembled quite the sawtooth of 2009.
But enough of that. I also had a great ride up Amasa Back, which I hadn't ridden in years.
And now it is time to get after training again. The Ogden Half is coming up, as is the mtb race season and maybe a triathlon. Who knows?
February 19, 2010
Avoiding Temptation
I like blogging. It's like a conversation I am not forced to constantly have with myself. I mean, while I like myself in a non-narcissistic way, my mind is usually racing from one thought to the next to the point I'd like to escape from myself for a while. Blogging doesn't give me an escape, but it lets me choose when I have to talk to myself and control the subject matter rather than just trying to sandbag and divert the flood of thoughts I often can't control. Yes, I could have some form of ADD.
But writing here isn't as free and easy as you might believe. There are soooo many things I'd lurve to go on about, but can't. I read stories often about employers reading employees' blogs or Facebook pages and the content causing problems. I also know that potential employers will likely search the internet for applicants information and things just like this. And since I mostly like the job I have but never know when I may want or need to find another one, I need to avoid the temptation of really saying what is on my mind.
It isn't just work. Every day life punches me in the taint with another challenge to overcome. Another doughnut not to eat. Another bike not to buy. Another something. As cathartic as it may be to just vent, I can't. There are too many feelings and too much that might go wrong.
(I just deleted a shitload of stuff that was here. It was very cathartic to write it but you don't get to read it.)
More lighthearted humor and bike stuff in the next post. Pinky swear.
But writing here isn't as free and easy as you might believe. There are soooo many things I'd lurve to go on about, but can't. I read stories often about employers reading employees' blogs or Facebook pages and the content causing problems. I also know that potential employers will likely search the internet for applicants information and things just like this. And since I mostly like the job I have but never know when I may want or need to find another one, I need to avoid the temptation of really saying what is on my mind.
It isn't just work. Every day life punches me in the taint with another challenge to overcome. Another doughnut not to eat. Another bike not to buy. Another something. As cathartic as it may be to just vent, I can't. There are too many feelings and too much that might go wrong.
(I just deleted a shitload of stuff that was here. It was very cathartic to write it but you don't get to read it.)
More lighthearted humor and bike stuff in the next post. Pinky swear.
February 1, 2010
The Importance of Gear Inspection
Things wear out. When they do, you replace them. Socks to jeans, cars to microwaves. Mostly replacement is a nuisance because with most stuff there is no excitement. That is the beauty of bicycling, or any sport that gives you a visceral reaction. When a bike part wears out or breaks you get the opportunity to upgrade. There is no passion replacing the drain pump in the washer. You don't go looking for a washer pump with a titanium impeller to increase drainage infinitesimally. But a new handlebar... now, that's something.
But I digress. I should be discussing the importance of gear inspection. Yeah, you should check the oil in the car and air up the tires and stuff or risk calamity - as I mentioned previously. But this is about the neat shit, like bikes. Or, in this instance, swim trunks.
Looking for any way to improve the way I feel about swimming, if not actually improving my abilities, I took the plunge last year and bought the extended Speedo® for swim practice, frequently called Jammers. I figured why not. I rock lycra shorts - hell, bib shorts even - on the bike all summer. While I didn't notice any improvement, I pretend I did.
Which, at long last leads me to gear inspection.
The other day I pulled my jammers out of the washer and went to hang them up. While attaching them to the hanger I noticed some flaky white stuff on the shorts in the region that would be on the crack of my ass. On inspection I noticed the elastic has eroded, likely due to a combination of pool water and my ass cheeks rubbing on it, and I could almost see completely through the stretchy fabric. Which meant, that for an unknown length of time, I have been torturing the poor people at the Roy Complex with my butt crack.
!
After letting the shorts dry, I slid them on and bade Wifey to come hither and inspect the tox. Fortunately. Fortunately, though the fabric is thin the darkness of the chASSm hides any obvious signs. While this, and my muffin top, may keep me from being offered a spread in Playgirl®, I was overjoyed to learn I had not been flashing the cadre of over 70 ladies doing water aerobics. I am certain they are also.
Gear inspection people. Get in the habit.
But I digress. I should be discussing the importance of gear inspection. Yeah, you should check the oil in the car and air up the tires and stuff or risk calamity - as I mentioned previously. But this is about the neat shit, like bikes. Or, in this instance, swim trunks.
Looking for any way to improve the way I feel about swimming, if not actually improving my abilities, I took the plunge last year and bought the extended Speedo® for swim practice, frequently called Jammers. I figured why not. I rock lycra shorts - hell, bib shorts even - on the bike all summer. While I didn't notice any improvement, I pretend I did.
Which, at long last leads me to gear inspection.
The other day I pulled my jammers out of the washer and went to hang them up. While attaching them to the hanger I noticed some flaky white stuff on the shorts in the region that would be on the crack of my ass. On inspection I noticed the elastic has eroded, likely due to a combination of pool water and my ass cheeks rubbing on it, and I could almost see completely through the stretchy fabric. Which meant, that for an unknown length of time, I have been torturing the poor people at the Roy Complex with my butt crack.
!
After letting the shorts dry, I slid them on and bade Wifey to come hither and inspect the tox. Fortunately. Fortunately, though the fabric is thin the darkness of the chASSm hides any obvious signs. While this, and my muffin top, may keep me from being offered a spread in Playgirl®, I was overjoyed to learn I had not been flashing the cadre of over 70 ladies doing water aerobics. I am certain they are also.
Gear inspection people. Get in the habit.
January 29, 2010
Buying Shoes
Let me cut to the quick: I hate buying shoes.
Any shoes. But mostly running shoes. I am able to take this exciting (for runners anyway) experience and turn it into a sleep-losing and stressful ordeal. How? I have a knack for making things difficult. I don't mean it, it just comes naturally.
My feet fall between an 8.5 and a 9, with the 9 frequently being too large and the 8.5 being marginally too small. This is where my obsessive nature gets in the way. Which one do I choose? Too small and I risk losing toenails, too large and I risk blisters forming between my toes. Generally I end up buying a shoe and taking it home where I will obsessively try it on every 20 or so minutes, jam my thumb between the end of the shoe and my toe and try and convince myself that this is the one. Satisfied. I'll take them off and neatly return them to the box where I will carefully wrap them in the paper. Why do I put them in the box? Because even though I just decided THIS pair of shoes shall adorn my feet, uncertainty lingers like the few remaining hairs on my head.
Case in point. I recently ordered a new pair of Nike Pegasus 26 GTX. Lovely shoes. Suitable for both road and trail with a Gore-Tex® lining guaranteed to keep my feet warm and dry. Now, because I was ordering these I wouldn't be able to have the usual sleepover try on date. I wanted to avoid shipping them back. I had to do my homework beforehand. I went to the local big box store and promptly tried on a 9 and a 9.5.
Why not an 8.5 you ask? In my frantic need to get a shoe fix I overlooked this detail. Obviously the 9.5 was too big. The 9 was great. I pulled the trigger and ordered them.
When they arrived a slight squeal escaped my throat as I carefully removed them from the box and slid them onto my feet and checked the toe clearance. A little more than a thumb.
A little more. But it was just a little depending where and how I pressed in the top of the shoe. They were fine as I wore them for a few minutes, this is the size I needed I told myself.
They were too big.
Back to the big box at 8:00 pm to try on an 8.5. No Pegasus. So I tried on not one, but five other styles of Nike running shoes in size 8.5 and 9. The 9s all fit the same. The 8.5s all fit too tight. Most normal people would take this as an indicator of the 9 being the correct size. But I. Am. Not. Normal. I am tenaciously obnoxious and obsessive. About running shoes.
I went home and slid back into the 9s. This is good, these will be great. This is the size the guys at the running store would recommend. I stared at the shoes on my feet as I waited for the rationalization switch to flip. I'll take them to work with me tomorrow, and run in them. Carefully, they were wrapped and stowed inside that orange, swooshy box.
At work, again I tried them on and stared at them hopefully while jamming my thumbs first into one shoe and then the other (my right foot is slightly larger). I had tried on other 8.5s, but I would not be satisfied until I tried on the Pegasus in an 8.5. Again, back to the box.
Later that night, with a blessing from a very understanding Wifey (who is painfully aware of my nature), I drove to another big box with the hope of finding this elusive shoe. Which they did. And the 8.5 fit. Like. A. Glooooove.
A glove. Perfect in my estimation. Now that the 9s were dead to me, all I had to do was get them back. Then get my 8.5s. All of which should be done just about the time I no longer need the benefits of Gore-Tex®.
Next up? New cycling shoes. I don't like them too big either. I feel like my foot moves around inside and robs me of power. But too small, my toenails put holes in my socks and when my feet swell the shoes are too tight... Unfortunately, there is a huge price disparity between the shoes at the LBS and those at online retailers. Which means I'll likely order them. Maybe I'll just make it easy and order sizes 8-9.5. Then I can sit alone and really get crazy!
Any shoes. But mostly running shoes. I am able to take this exciting (for runners anyway) experience and turn it into a sleep-losing and stressful ordeal. How? I have a knack for making things difficult. I don't mean it, it just comes naturally.
My feet fall between an 8.5 and a 9, with the 9 frequently being too large and the 8.5 being marginally too small. This is where my obsessive nature gets in the way. Which one do I choose? Too small and I risk losing toenails, too large and I risk blisters forming between my toes. Generally I end up buying a shoe and taking it home where I will obsessively try it on every 20 or so minutes, jam my thumb between the end of the shoe and my toe and try and convince myself that this is the one. Satisfied. I'll take them off and neatly return them to the box where I will carefully wrap them in the paper. Why do I put them in the box? Because even though I just decided THIS pair of shoes shall adorn my feet, uncertainty lingers like the few remaining hairs on my head.
Case in point. I recently ordered a new pair of Nike Pegasus 26 GTX. Lovely shoes. Suitable for both road and trail with a Gore-Tex® lining guaranteed to keep my feet warm and dry. Now, because I was ordering these I wouldn't be able to have the usual sleepover try on date. I wanted to avoid shipping them back. I had to do my homework beforehand. I went to the local big box store and promptly tried on a 9 and a 9.5.
Why not an 8.5 you ask? In my frantic need to get a shoe fix I overlooked this detail. Obviously the 9.5 was too big. The 9 was great. I pulled the trigger and ordered them.
When they arrived a slight squeal escaped my throat as I carefully removed them from the box and slid them onto my feet and checked the toe clearance. A little more than a thumb.
A little more. But it was just a little depending where and how I pressed in the top of the shoe. They were fine as I wore them for a few minutes, this is the size I needed I told myself.
They were too big.
Back to the big box at 8:00 pm to try on an 8.5. No Pegasus. So I tried on not one, but five other styles of Nike running shoes in size 8.5 and 9. The 9s all fit the same. The 8.5s all fit too tight. Most normal people would take this as an indicator of the 9 being the correct size. But I. Am. Not. Normal. I am tenaciously obnoxious and obsessive. About running shoes.
I went home and slid back into the 9s. This is good, these will be great. This is the size the guys at the running store would recommend. I stared at the shoes on my feet as I waited for the rationalization switch to flip. I'll take them to work with me tomorrow, and run in them. Carefully, they were wrapped and stowed inside that orange, swooshy box.
At work, again I tried them on and stared at them hopefully while jamming my thumbs first into one shoe and then the other (my right foot is slightly larger). I had tried on other 8.5s, but I would not be satisfied until I tried on the Pegasus in an 8.5. Again, back to the box.
Later that night, with a blessing from a very understanding Wifey (who is painfully aware of my nature), I drove to another big box with the hope of finding this elusive shoe. Which they did. And the 8.5 fit. Like. A. Glooooove.
A glove. Perfect in my estimation. Now that the 9s were dead to me, all I had to do was get them back. Then get my 8.5s. All of which should be done just about the time I no longer need the benefits of Gore-Tex®.
Next up? New cycling shoes. I don't like them too big either. I feel like my foot moves around inside and robs me of power. But too small, my toenails put holes in my socks and when my feet swell the shoes are too tight... Unfortunately, there is a huge price disparity between the shoes at the LBS and those at online retailers. Which means I'll likely order them. Maybe I'll just make it easy and order sizes 8-9.5. Then I can sit alone and really get crazy!
January 18, 2010
A House of Fire!
2010 has been here for a couple of weeks and along with it additional motivation to accomplish the things I have been putting off. Sort of. Most of what I want to do involves being outdoors in the cold. So, not much of that has been getting done. Still, I have some motivation to get rolling once the weather warms up, and since we are on the downhill slope of the winter solstice days are getting longer!
I am still on the hunt for a half Iron distance race. I have found a couple and both times had the opportunities stolen by other commitments. Which is fricking irritating to say the least.
Training for said future race is going like a house of fire! My motivation is sustainable. I have been running, lifting, swimming some and biking on the trainer a little. I might be doing too much though. By Thursday the house has burned down and left me a blackened shell. My legs are sore and I just get tired. Might be the schedule that involves mostly two-a-day workouts...
I am still on the hunt for a half Iron distance race. I have found a couple and both times had the opportunities stolen by other commitments. Which is fricking irritating to say the least.
Training for said future race is going like a house of fire! My motivation is sustainable. I have been running, lifting, swimming some and biking on the trainer a little. I might be doing too much though. By Thursday the house has burned down and left me a blackened shell. My legs are sore and I just get tired. Might be the schedule that involves mostly two-a-day workouts...
October 14, 2009
'Cross Race #2
Two races. Two flats. Cyclocross race #2 was uneventful in the sense that my race lasted all of 5 minutes when I pulled out with yet another flat. Not sure how this happened. After fixing the first flat, not once, but twice, I put in a new tube. Problem solved, right? Wrong. The tire held air all week, until race day. Dig this.
I air up the tires to 50 psi in the back of the truck because, you know, I don't want to risk a flat. Next, I carry the bike across the parking lot to the course. Then, I set the bike down on the starting line and throw a leg over the top tube and the tire is almost flat.
WHAT THE FU@K?!
Now before you think I am a dumbass for not checking the tire for thorns, I did. Multiple times. The tube had a very small failure where the valve stem is glued to the tube. Just bad luck. Not the first or last bad luck I had on Saturday, either. In fact, Saturday pretty much was the shittiest day I've had in about the last 6 months. I digress...
So I rode most of a single lap before pulling out. Again. At least last week I got to do most of the race. And I now have a backyard tubeless setup in place that I am trying out.
- Stan's rim tape to seal the spoke holes
- 4 rubber rim strips to build up the rim bed, 26" size for a tighter fit
- UST valve stems
- Stan's tire sealant
I am hoping to get out to the fairgrounds race course soon to test the tubeless out. I need to make sure the tires don't roll off the rim unexpectedly causing me to die. But so far, so good! I am looking forward to a pinch flat free 45 psi and excellent protection from flats. Crossing fingers.
I air up the tires to 50 psi in the back of the truck because, you know, I don't want to risk a flat. Next, I carry the bike across the parking lot to the course. Then, I set the bike down on the starting line and throw a leg over the top tube and the tire is almost flat.
WHAT THE FU@K?!
Now before you think I am a dumbass for not checking the tire for thorns, I did. Multiple times. The tube had a very small failure where the valve stem is glued to the tube. Just bad luck. Not the first or last bad luck I had on Saturday, either. In fact, Saturday pretty much was the shittiest day I've had in about the last 6 months. I digress...
So I rode most of a single lap before pulling out. Again. At least last week I got to do most of the race. And I now have a backyard tubeless setup in place that I am trying out.
- Stan's rim tape to seal the spoke holes
- 4 rubber rim strips to build up the rim bed, 26" size for a tighter fit
- UST valve stems
- Stan's tire sealant
I am hoping to get out to the fairgrounds race course soon to test the tubeless out. I need to make sure the tires don't roll off the rim unexpectedly causing me to die. But so far, so good! I am looking forward to a pinch flat free 45 psi and excellent protection from flats. Crossing fingers.
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