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.
September 12, 2011
August 1, 2011
I Do Stuff.
I've had a busy few weeks but I have been able to sneak in a couple of rides and runs here and there. With surprisingly good results, even.
First was the Royal Riders Century. This was a last minute entry to benefit the Huntsman Cancer Institute and Roy High Athletics. Two great causes, and I prefer to register for events that give back to something I believe in. And I believe in cancer research. You might say with my life. Quite amazingly, this was my first organized century ever. Normally it's just me out there with only me to talk to and my face in the wind for a hundred miles or so. But considering my condition this year, which is poor, I thought the distance would be a challenge and if I got into any trouble I could draft behind Mike. Mike has been training to ride RAGBRAI (Registers Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa) with the Air Force team, and his wife said he could have a new bike if he rolled 4k on his odometer this year. He's been riding like a fiend, devouring miles like a madman. Plus he was bringing along Angie, another first time century rider. I thought it would be a good ride to do. And I was right.
Long story short, it started out as the three of us with Mike and I trading pulls and keeping Angie out of the wind and on our wheels. As the miles wore on, our trio swelled as riders started to struggle with the distance and found the pedestrian 16 mph speed I pulled the group along at to be mostly accommodating to their sense of survival. Mike looked out for Angie and I sat on the front, where I like it. We shepherded riders along. They left aid stations when we did. Other riders came and went out the back. Michael nearly choked out a guy for trying to ride two up with him on a busy road, and I nearly choked the same guy out for riding in front of me like he was trying to take a pull and help out, but riding at 18 mph. A pace the majority in the group couldn't hold. WTF? I helped out a lady who had been dropped by her husband after his ego pulled them past us and then left her in no woman's land. He attacked something and left her in limbo, behind him and in front of me struggling to catch up. I bridged up and asked her if she just wanted to ride in the group. He finally faded and came back to us under the relentless pressure of the crushing 14.5 mph I was dragging the group at. Anyway, 6:15 later I was in and glad of it because my butt was starting to get sore. I guess that is how centuries unfold. You ride with your group and people come and go. People irritate you. I doubt this will be my last organized century.
Next was the Morgan Marathon. A new event, work was a sponsor and I won a comp entry. So, current fitness aside, I decided that since it was free, I was going to get my no-moneys worth and signed up for the full 26.2 marathon miles. I had two months to parlay marginal fitness into becoming marathon-worthy. With huge projects at work, a late spring that delayed everything and a week driving cross country, getting ready was a true challenge. Which I failed. However, I was buoyed by the confidence from the century bike ride. I knew that, at a reasonable pace, I would be okay and finish in maybe 4:30 without problems. I'd be fine.
I totally PR'd this run. That's right, personal record. Now I have only run a pair of marathons, but considering I ran the downhill Ogden Marathon in 3:53 and the ribbon candy-profile Morgan Marathon in 3:52, I am extremely pleased. And I did it with no blisters, lost toenails or gut wrenching stomach issues I am normally plagued with. Other than sore legs and feet I am none the worse for wear.
I doubt I'll ever run Ogden again, but Morgan probably. And I might even train the next time. But the problem with run training is that it isn't on a bike. And I miss biking, almost so much I could stop running and swimming, sell my road and cross bikes and just ride and race my mountain bike. I won't, but being a jack of all trades ain't easy and I'll take a PR anytime.
First was the Royal Riders Century. This was a last minute entry to benefit the Huntsman Cancer Institute and Roy High Athletics. Two great causes, and I prefer to register for events that give back to something I believe in. And I believe in cancer research. You might say with my life. Quite amazingly, this was my first organized century ever. Normally it's just me out there with only me to talk to and my face in the wind for a hundred miles or so. But considering my condition this year, which is poor, I thought the distance would be a challenge and if I got into any trouble I could draft behind Mike. Mike has been training to ride RAGBRAI (Registers Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa) with the Air Force team, and his wife said he could have a new bike if he rolled 4k on his odometer this year. He's been riding like a fiend, devouring miles like a madman. Plus he was bringing along Angie, another first time century rider. I thought it would be a good ride to do. And I was right.
Long story short, it started out as the three of us with Mike and I trading pulls and keeping Angie out of the wind and on our wheels. As the miles wore on, our trio swelled as riders started to struggle with the distance and found the pedestrian 16 mph speed I pulled the group along at to be mostly accommodating to their sense of survival. Mike looked out for Angie and I sat on the front, where I like it. We shepherded riders along. They left aid stations when we did. Other riders came and went out the back. Michael nearly choked out a guy for trying to ride two up with him on a busy road, and I nearly choked the same guy out for riding in front of me like he was trying to take a pull and help out, but riding at 18 mph. A pace the majority in the group couldn't hold. WTF? I helped out a lady who had been dropped by her husband after his ego pulled them past us and then left her in no woman's land. He attacked something and left her in limbo, behind him and in front of me struggling to catch up. I bridged up and asked her if she just wanted to ride in the group. He finally faded and came back to us under the relentless pressure of the crushing 14.5 mph I was dragging the group at. Anyway, 6:15 later I was in and glad of it because my butt was starting to get sore. I guess that is how centuries unfold. You ride with your group and people come and go. People irritate you. I doubt this will be my last organized century.
Next was the Morgan Marathon. A new event, work was a sponsor and I won a comp entry. So, current fitness aside, I decided that since it was free, I was going to get my no-moneys worth and signed up for the full 26.2 marathon miles. I had two months to parlay marginal fitness into becoming marathon-worthy. With huge projects at work, a late spring that delayed everything and a week driving cross country, getting ready was a true challenge. Which I failed. However, I was buoyed by the confidence from the century bike ride. I knew that, at a reasonable pace, I would be okay and finish in maybe 4:30 without problems. I'd be fine.
I totally PR'd this run. That's right, personal record. Now I have only run a pair of marathons, but considering I ran the downhill Ogden Marathon in 3:53 and the ribbon candy-profile Morgan Marathon in 3:52, I am extremely pleased. And I did it with no blisters, lost toenails or gut wrenching stomach issues I am normally plagued with. Other than sore legs and feet I am none the worse for wear.
I doubt I'll ever run Ogden again, but Morgan probably. And I might even train the next time. But the problem with run training is that it isn't on a bike. And I miss biking, almost so much I could stop running and swimming, sell my road and cross bikes and just ride and race my mountain bike. I won't, but being a jack of all trades ain't easy and I'll take a PR anytime.
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.
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