May 2006 in Review May 31, 2006
Posted by Amber D. Evans in : Assessments, Chico CA, Training Stats , add a commentWhat I’ve done between the 1st and the end of the month.
Data entered into, compiled, and exported from FitnessJournal.org.
Total Hours: 38.3; Calories Burned: 17,211
The calendar says, “Cycling.” I’m Thinking and Drinking. May 25, 2006
Posted by Amber D. Evans in : Reflections, Chico CA , 3 commentsRight-o. This is going to be one of those posts that has absolutely nothing to do with triathlon training whatsoever. It may be way more philosophical and rambling and not particularly insightful, either, just so you know. It’s just that whenever I’m “down” from training, I’m left with thinking and drinking; often one becomes obsessive and unfortunately it’s not the latter one! Ha, ha, I’m just kidding around. Truthfully, though, I have been doing a lot of thinking without the sisterly cycling component and I’m not sure it’s as productive.
Before I get into the rambling thoughts and the drinking part, let’s recap the injury-to-healing progress. The legs are healing. Hooray! At the insistent prompting of my two lady cyclists coupled with Mr. Peavy’s advice, I decided to ride with Berta and Jenn yesterday evening. We were going to do our 30 mile ride out Oro-Chico Hwy, back through Durham all the way to Ord Bend/River Rd. junction, but I just couldn’t quite cut it. I made it 12 miles before my knee started to give out. It was beginning to feel like the patella was going to pop like a ripe cherry right inside of my knee at any moment.
“Ladies,” I whined, “Can we slow the pace? My knee is killing me.” Geez, I can’t maintain 18 mph even in the draft, I thought, I certainly hope it doesn’t stay this way for long.
So we dropped down to 16 mph and while that was easier, the constant pedaling rotation was also beginning to wear on me. It hurt everytime I put any pressure on the downstroke, and it hurt during the upstroke as well, although both hurts were very different kinds of hurts. I guess you could just say it hurt all around. The good news is that my left leg was really starting to get a great workout as it was starting to do all the work. So should I ever find myself with only one leg to cycle with, I’d still be able to do it. Good to know.
I ended up cutting our ride short–to a total of 20 miles by said end. That’s not all that bad. And to be honest, while it hurt a lot at the time, the knee was feeling nearly fantastic by the day’s end. The evening was a good end to the day, too. I downed a beer with my neighbor, another with a friend, slept very well last night, and woke up surprisingly happy.
[–Emotional ramblings begin–]
Of course, I also had a blast cycling with my gals. I’m really going to miss them. I’ve got good friends and family here in Chico. The only one not here is the hubby, of course. I’m so glad that he’s holding down the fort for us on the east coast, but after nearly 8 months, it is such a big change for me to finally go over there. Blacksburg, Virginia suddenly feels so very, very far away.
Today is Thursday. I’ve less than 8 days before I leave Chico. In 10 days I’ll be on an airplane headed east. I’ll admit that I’m scared. There’s so much in flux, so many choices to make, so many already made. Have I made the right ones? *sigh* All I know is that I’m “going,” for three years I’ll be “doing,” which after I’ll be “being,” all-the-while hoping I’ll finally just “become” me.
I suppose there’s no sense in rushing these things. As a friend pointed out, even if I “got there” now, I’m not at the stage to readily recognize it. Being ignorant sucks. I guess knowing I’m ignorant gives me some bizarre sense of hope and something to look forward to. I will continue to learn and to grow. I have already done so with my education. I’ve done so again with my triathlons. And everyday this week I learn sometime new about cycling which in turn illustrates something new in me. But what am I? Who am I?
Have you ever experienced a “moment of clarity”? A point in which all other things fade away and all that is left is a sense of you and your surroundings and some Truth, but not in a cognitive or logical sense. It’s more of a feeling, I think akin to something Zen-like. For some, I know it’s when they’re “in the zone” of their sport. For me, I have those “moments of clarity” when cycling far more often than not. When I’m riding solo I’m doing something that is also working the gears of my mind. As I’m going up hills, my breathing is rhythmic with the pulsing vibration of the road; I feel my heart beating in concert with the sun’s rays beating down on my back. (Today I heard someone else essentially say the same thing. It was refreshing to hear I’m not alone.) The thing is, is that I’m not me on the bike; I am the bike. I am the bike and the curves. The curves and the road. The road travelling away. Travelling away into the unknown. The unknown of branching options. Leaving me so many options to ride. That is what I concluded not long ago. So, when I stop searching for that answer to whom I may be, will that be when I’ll know? I just hope that moment hits while I’m Amelia.
See? Jabbering, mental ramblings–I’m all over the place. Oh, geez, am I having my mid-life crisis? Maybe I did more than just hit my knee when I went down. Maybe I got a good thump in the head as well.
All I know is that I feel very strongly that today will be a good day even with all the voices in my head.
[–Emotional ramblings end–]
I ate pavement last night for dinner. May 24, 2006
Posted by Amber D. Evans in : Cycling, Reflections, Chico CA, Training Stats , 6 commentsOkay. First off, I want to make it clear that it was entirely my own fault for going down while on Amelia. I let my center of gravity leave the center and not even Mike Peavy from Cyclesport could save me (although he did try). Kudos to him for making up the difference anyway. And another Kudos to him for providing the (free!) stellar Paceline Clinic in the first place. EVERYONE should take this class; I learned so much despite being scared shitless the whole time I was there. So, I’m a Cyclesport patron from now on.
Okay, back to the crash. I got this hairbrained idea sometime back in March that I needed to start getting into cycling racing, not just cycling for triathlons. This crazy idea has further been bolstered by two things: 1) the VT Tri club’s strong recommendation that members also join the VT Cycling Team, and 2) acquiring Amelia.
Yesterday, I mustered up enough guts to post to the local cycling forms asking how do I learn to cycle in a group and/or race? Everybody more or less pointed me to the Paceline Clinic. I walked into Cyclesport (in Chico, CA) and signed-up to be the last participant of the evening. Immediately Mike Peavy, the owner, grilled me on my existing group riding knowledge (little to none) and then proceded to teach me the basics I would need to know before class that evening. In all, the poor guy spent 1.5 hours with me making sure I had the concepts down. I left feeling completely bewildered, scared, nervous, and exhilarated at what lay ahead!
Evening rolled around and for some reason I felt like I was back in high school, preparing for a school dance. What jersey to wear? Is the matching bandana clean? Which socks? Which shoes: the MTB ones or the Sidi? Ack! It’s a friggin’ clinic, not a gala. Just get dressed and go! I screamed inside myself the whole while.
I arrived only 5 short minutes later, nervous as a virgin. Shit, I am a cycling virgin practically. I was terrified. I entered the store. There were all kinds of road bikes everywhere and lots of skinny women cyclists, of course. I was both pleased and afraid. Yea! Women! Damn! Skinny women! Oh, I just wish I could be a skinny cyclist sometimes! But I wasn’t going to dwell on it. The clinic started shortly after.
Mike Peavy is very knowledgeable and a very good instructor/coach. One-on-one earlier that day during the tutorial session, I found him to be really intense, almost frighteningly so. In the group, he was truly incredible. We outlined all the paceline options. We role-played the positions with ourselves (sans bike) and everyone had to participate in the discussions/decision making. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid.
Then we hit the road. We grouped up, and off we went. Immediately, I began to see that I was a little bit in over my head. I’m not a huge fan of drafting. I know it’s function and purpose and that’s why I was there, but damn, I am uncomfortable. With only 4-6 inches between my wheel and the one in front of me moving along at a “slow” 16-18 mph, I was a nervous wreck.
My shoulders and arms were locked and tight. I kept forgetting to breathe. I think I kept hearing Mike’s voice telling me to get closer, to close up that gap. The world around me ceased to exist and all that I could focus upon was that skinny little tire directly in front of me. All I was doing was pedalling and praying we wouldn’t collide.
We didn’t collide. We actually became a group. After an hour of on-again-off again variations of paceline riding, I was really starting to have fun. I was really beginning to trust the others and my own abilities. I was even enjoying all the different pacelines. The rotating escelon is by far and large the coolest thing in the world. It’s fast, comfortable, and fun. The mirror-image double paceline is straight up out of Hades. If I never had to do that one again, I’d be happy.
Things were great until we started doing some sort of hand-on-shoulder-look-behind-you drills (for double paceline). That’s where I ate pavement for dinner. I was so mentally fatigued and I can still barely release the handlebars for a drink of water. The last thing I was willing to try that day was to release the handlebars and rest my hand upon another moving cyclist’s shoulder. Look, I know it can be done. I successfully did it once. I failed to do it the second time.
It went something like this: I put my hand on Mike’s shoulder. I looked. I swerved. He tried to counter me, but I pushed away from him and–Boom!–down I went on the right side, knee first. Clicking sounds all around. Metal scraping. The blue sky wide open in front of me. Grit and gravel in my sweaty palms. And blood all over my right leg.
Stunned, I lay there for too many seconds. All I could hear was silence. Then the world came rushing in a whirl of commotion: cleats clicking out of pedals, voices, arms reaching for me. No, I’ll pick myself up, thank you. I stood up and immediately wanted to sit back down, yet I couldn’t. I was hurt a bit, but my ego was by far the worst casualty. I hate the thought of endangering others. This time I didn’t, but now I may suffer the stigma of being “that one to avoid.” Shit.
I limped back to my bike. I cleaned out as much of the grit as possible, put Purell Hand Sanitizer on the bloody wound, and eventually got back on the bike. In all, it took too long and I was holding the entire group up. All I could feel was numbness from the hips down. And all I wanted to do was burst into tears and cry myself into a corner. Somehow, I didn’t do either until much later, after everyone was gone and a few beers were consumed.
Mike felt so horrible about it all, I could tell. He’s never had that happen in a class before. Just my luck. Poor guy. I had to come along and break his perfect record. *sigh*
How is it that in a class designed for cycling safety, I manage to somehow make it unsafe? Argh! It’s frustrating! Sometimes, I get so angry at this innate ability to muck things up. Sometimes I hate my body, and not in the “normal self-image” sense. I mean, sometimes I’m so pissed about how it doesn’t always listen to what I want it to do. I think one thing and visualize doing it perfectly. Yet, I keep injuring myself. I suck in water instead of air. I trip while running. I fall over when cycling. I’m a hazard to all others, it seems. I feel like sometimes I try so hard and it’s just so painfully obvious that I just wasn’t meant to do any of this. I’m some half-baked effort of athleticism.
I’m sure you all will say that I’m just being too hard on myself? We all make mistakes? We all fall and pick ourselves back up again?
I’m sure we do, I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much each time. I sure could use a hug–and a new knee, please.