Put the Cookie Down and Back Away Slowly

So just not that good.

This might be a lame attempt at awesomeness, but, today, after my meeting in Ankeny, I went to Jimmy John's to get some lunch.  I ordered the #2 Big John Unwich--roast beef, tomato, mayo, all wrapped up in lettuce, and it was delicious and only 210 calories. 

I also have a little problem when it comes to cookies.  I adore them in all shapes and sizes.  So, I bought a cookie too (oatmeal raisin, but still).  Here's where the awesomeness comes in.  When I went to eat said cookie, it was stale and kind of gross. 

So, I stopped eating the cookie.  I drove it all the way to Newton, where I left it on the treat table.  I also left the cupcakes that were already there on the table as well. 

I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but my unawesome self would have proceeded to eat the cookie anyway, because, I can't be trusted with cookies, and eating it would have fulfilled some unspoken emotional need.  But today, I made the conscious decision that I didn't need that cookie. Only high quality cookies for this girl. 

In other news, I might do a gravel race in June, but, "wait, you don't have a gravel bike," you are thinking.  Or do I?  More details to follow.


Awesomeness points
Putting the cookie down: 7
Not eating a cupcake: 5.23

Does this count as awesome?

So, as a fat cyclist, I enjoy reading The Fat Cyclist blog.  Today, I read about an awesome win a bike/trip to Utah contest he is having to raise money for Livestrong: awesome.  So, I donated.  Yes, I support curing cancer, but I also support me having an Ibis Hakkaluggi.

And, though it will reduce my chances, I think you should donate too.  Then, you might win an Ibis, but you will definitely feel awesome. 

Awesomeness points: 3 (all I did was hand over cash).

Westward, Hoes!

[Dear Readers: this is a long one.  You might want to pee and get a drink before you get started, or read it in manageable chunks, or just click over to Amazon and do some shopping, whateves.  Sorry, but I am not going to serialize it.  Who do I look like?  Charles Dickens?]

When you are as extremely bike-core as I am, you don't just ride bikes, or dream about bikes, or annoy your charming bearded LBS mechanics by hanging around the shop.  Oh no.  You follow the bike racing!  And, every extremely-bike-core-race-fan has her favorite racers: Boonen, Voigt, Ranger.

Yes, this weekend, I did what any extremely bike-core race fan would do.  I made a pilgrimage to Boulder, Colorado to cheer on my favorite cat 4 35+ bike racer: Ranger Dave, who was competing in the Superior Morgul, which is vaguely related to the old Coors Classic and American Flyers. 

Here's the weekend in numbers. 
60 hours
22 driving hours
2 bike races
2 popped tubes
2 much sour cream on my salad
10 hours of sleep
4 of my favorite people, +1 favorite baby and +1 favorite dog


The Road Trip, in words.
Friday afternoon, Pete picked me up from the store and we headed west.  After a couple gas stops, a minor repair featuring pink duct tape, a discussion of the screenplay we are going to write, and Ole's Big Game Tavern and an epic thunderstorm, we arrived safely in Longmont.  We drank a few beers and then hit the sack in anticipation of an early race in the morning. 

The Road Trip, in images.

Maybe Pete's car wasn't such a good idea...

At Ole's you can see what you are eatin!

Worst picture of the coolest thunderstorm.

We stayed at this delightful bed and breakfast in Longmont (though, I have to say, the breakfast is lacking).

Tuque wanted to crash with Pete because it felt like camping.

Our innkeeper, Steven, would be joining us later, after the small one woke up.

Here's the top ten things that I learned.

1. The Only Thing More Hard-Core than Racing in the Rain is Cheerleading in the Rain

Saturday morning would have been a gorgeous morning in Portland, but it was dreadful in Colorado: rainy, windy, and cold.  Pete, the Mayor, and myself layered up and headed to Superior.

We found Ranger Dave shivering into his race kit.  Despite the fact that he had killed the time trial the night before, spirits were not high.  Finally, it was time to do a few hot laps before the criterium.

"You really want to document this?"

That's Ranger Dave to you, fool.

The silver foxes line up.  Go Cat 4 45+ and 35+!

Pete wandered off to buy hot chocolate and put on his rain pants, and the Mayor and I were 2 of about 5 spectators.  The other three lent us a cow bell.  First, we made sure that some guy's jersey didn't get peed on by a big dog.  Then, we yelled encouraging things.  The only thing we didn't do was hear our phones, so we were in a spot of trouble when Steven and the small one couldn't find us.

The Mayor assess the field.

Entertaining ourselves until they come around again.

Ranger Dave, being a bad ass, naturally.

Both Steven and Pete found us before the race was over.

The race went on for either 45 minutes or 30 laps.  No one was really sure.  But, I am pretty sure that Ranger Dave won.  In fact, I think he lapped the pace motorcycle.

Cold, tired, but don't want to pull a hammie.

Then, he shivered back into his clothes and we parted ways to shower and warm up before an afternoon of fun.  Thankfully, the La Quinta Inn upgraded Dave to a hot tub sweet.  After racing in the rain, he was going to need a little soak. 

Pre-Ranger/Post-race hangout time in the living room turned Chuckie Cheese.

Dave and Zeb

Yes, it takes a hearty soul to watch people ride their bikes in circles in the damp.

2. Weekends of Cheering on Your Favorite Cat 4 Racer Are Powered by Mexican-Fusion Food.
After everyone was toweled off, Pete and Ranger Dave and I headed to Boulder to meet up with some of Pete's cousins.  Steven and the Mayor couldn't join us because it was almost nap time (for both Steven and small one).  In Boulder, we had brunch at a place called Centro, excellent chicken enchiladas, and then wandered around in the rain.

Pete wore his wind shirt, despite the rain.

After buying camping margarita glasses on sale, we ended up in a beer hall called Mountain Sun for tasty brews and french fries.  The Smiths joined us and eventually the sun came out in a very Colorado fashion.

Dinner was Chipolte.  Usually, I get a burrito the size of my head at Chipolte, but I decided to leave some calories for beer and get a salad.  Unfortunately, no one could hear me at Chipolte, so the when I asked for corn salsa, the very sweet gal behind the counter poured on about a cup of hot salsa.  Then, when I made a face of disappointment, she put on corn salsa too.  Then Steven made a joke that she should compensate by putting on a lot of sour cream, and because she was so worried that she had ruined my salad, she poured on about a cup of sour cream.  Then, she asked if I wanted cheese, which I had, before the sour cream/salsa pool was added, so that was dumped on too.  The whole thing served for much hilarity for Steven, but I flipped the salad over and focused on the lettuce that was no overly sauced.

At a local liquor store we acquired more beer, then retired back to the house.  Dave hit the sack early, but the Mayor was coming off a beer drinking break, so he was ready to rock.  Pete, Steven, the Mayor and myself, stayed up way too late watching what had to have been the worst Russian Spiderman knock off in the world and getting silly on high alcohol content beer.

Dear Ranger Dave: I hope we weren't too loud.

I am sorry to say, that the Mayor lapped me in beer consumption.  I am going to have to refocus my training energies if I want to keep up this July.

3. The Best Cat 4 Racers Have Elaborate Morning Rituals
Ranger Dave's car is a laboratory of potions, mixes, pills, and drinks.  He is a mad scientist of fitness nutrition, and it is amazing to behold.  I usually just eat a whole wheat English muffin with some peanut butter, recovery with a malt spritzer, and call it a day, but that just might be the reason I am not as bad ass as Ranger Dave. 

The bike laboratory.

For Sunday morning, the plan was that I would get up early (because I love to get up early) and go with Dave to the race.  The boys would follow, and Steven would go on a run.  We'd all rendezvous for lunch.

I tried to be very un-annoying as possible as the RD mixed up his concoction of breakfast fuel.  When he was all ready, we loaded up the bike laboratory and headed toward Superior.

Want to know what pumps up a bad-ass ranger bike racer?  Bad (and by bad I mean good) pop music.  I was delighted to discover that the RD's pre-race mix is pretty much the same as my "dammit-I-have-to-run" music.  Yes, we're talking Ke$ha.

The beat box.

Driving, like a bad ass.

Then, we were there.


3.5. Heated leather seats are amazing.  I'm just saying.

4.  Don't Let Me Anywhere Near Your Bike.
I may be good for morale, but I am the worst person to have in your pit crew.  I am cursed when it comes to anything bike maintenancey.  Seriously.  I rode my B-bike a few weeks ago, and somehow, managed to blow out the tire.  Not the tube, the tire.  A Gatorskin no less.

When the Mayor and I did our first 75 miles of the Brewery 100, I killed my computer, even though it had just been fixed on RAGBRAI.  Then, we managed to destroy about 15 tubes before we got the Mayor's tire reinflated.

Though, I have to say, I appreciate Ranger Dave's mentorship.  He is one of my very first bike-boyfriends.  He was also the person who enlightened me to the fact that I should keep my tires filled up to the suggested PSI, rather than just never filling them, ever.  Huh?

So, I was terrified and honored when he allowed me to top off his tires before the race.  Despite my best intentions, I messed something up, because when we put the bike on the trainer, and we put the RD on the bike, the rear wheel popped.

Thankfully, the Mayor, a bonafide mechanic arrived on the scene and busted out his race-mechaniking skills to replace the tube.  Then, it popped again.

The RD being as meticulous as he is bad-ass, of course, had spares of everything.  We got the rear tire replaced and filled just moments before the start time.  

Their stoic expressions don't register the sheer chaos of moments before.

I was also entrusted with the race-number pinning, which was challenging.  I think I did a so-so job.  I didn't pin any skin and they remained intact, though they didn't look as pro as I would have liked.  I tried to remember what I had read in this column, though, more practice is clearly in order. 

5. It's Great to Spectate.
Sometimes you are being cheerleaded and sometimes you got to do the cheer leading.  The racers started in 2-minute intervals.  Rode neutral to the round about, and then, they were off.  Our little squad decided to hike to the "wall," the steep finish line, because we were told it would be "lined with spectators."

Men in spandex.

The informal start.

We walked about a mile before the finish line/wall came into view.  The race was 3 13 mile laps with four times up the "wall," a steep beast that followed two miles of climbing.  

Pete breaking away on our hike.

I'm not going to lie.  I was proud to have walked up that sucker.  I tried to convince the Mayor and Pete that this was just like a hike--there was a big hill, views of mountains, and we were walking.  The Mayor conceded it was an "urban hike."  And, it had the benefit of bike-race entertainment.

Whew, I won.

Looking down.  The bottom is so far away.

Then, we hung out at the top and cheered on the racers.

Pete threw in some stretching. 

Enjoying not racing.

Bikes make the Mayor super-smile.

6. Shrapnel are People Too.
We caught Ranger Dave's first lap about half-way up the hill, and I made sure to note some of the dudes that were riding hear him.  There was the enormous guy that looked like a super hero, the dad whose son ran along cheering him on, and the guy in the kit that was similar but not quite the same as the R.D.'s.

When we were closer to the top, we could catch snippets of the announcer, who is hoping to take over for Phil Liggett when he retires.  I had enjoyed his color commentary the day before when he described a racer as "applying pressure at the base."  It sounded like popping a pimple.

At one point, he was talking about the juniors winning a loaf of homemade bread and a bag of apples.  As Dave was coming through for his third trip up the wall, the announcer said something along the lines of, "and this is what we call shrapnel."

Ranger Dave, understandably, was pissed.  I mean that announcer is not on Versus, okay.  The racers can hear you!

7. Cycling Begets More Cycling, and "Biking."
So, Ranger Dave, is a total bad ass.

Here's him catching and releasing those jokers.

Here's him rocking the final climb.

Here's him generally looking bike-studly.

Here are all my boyfriends looking nonchalant.

And, his total bad-ass-ness inspired some additional attempts at bad-ass-itude and bike-core-osity.  First, while Pete and the RD and I were brunching, the Mayor went for a non-commuting bike ride.

Riding, though, still in need of a drinking buddy.

And, in the car on the way home, I convinced Pete that he should take up bike racing because Ranger Dave needs a team.  He agreed.  He's been resisting the bike scene here in the Big D, but I think we tipped the scales.  Though, he keeps calling it "biking."  Sigh.

And, finally, and most importantly, the RD's racing inspired me to give it a shot.  Unless I chicken out, I am going to attempt the Race Like a Girl in June.  And, if I am really going to do the cycling for the Hy-Vee triathlon, I probably should do the Elkhart Time Trial.  Note: I went back to practice last night and the Moffit Loop turned me into group ride shrapnel.
 

9. Sometimes Bad at Math Means Good at Running.
So, after the race, the Mayor and Pete and I had to get back to the bottom of the hill.  We gave RD his key so he could start filling his beakers and test tubes with recovery elixirs.  Pete was in desperate need of food and drink, so he sprinted to the bottom, while the Mayor and I enjoyed our leisurely "urban hike."

A shaker full of recovery potion.

We decided to meet up at Oskar Blues in Longmont for tasty-New Orleans-ish food and good beer before the long drives home.  

RD and I beat everyone, despite an unscheduled detour.  When I called Steven, she was still on her 9-mile training run.  Apparently, it wasn't going well.  She felt slower than she expected and it was frustrating.  Let's just say that anyone who even attempts to push a Burley trailer 9-miles over trail is a bad ass in my book.

She survived, and we ate, and then we walked back to the house.

Later, after we'd departed, I got a text from Steven stating that her run wasn't 9-miles at all.  In fact, it was more like 12.  She hadn't been slow, just bad at math.  Double extra bad-ass points for that one.

10. Beaver None, Beaver 1, Let's all Have Some Beaver Fun.
And, then, just as soon as it had started, our weekend of bike-racing fun was over.  It was great to reconnect with Team Beaver West and see Ranger Dave rock out with his proverbial you-know-what out.

Trips to Colorado also always seem to inspire greater aspirations for bad-ass-ness and adventure, so with 6 weeks until the Brewery 100 and 59 days till RAGBRAI, I am only I brought a little of that Rocky Mountain high home with me.  

Damn it feels good to be a beaver.

10.5. Best Quote of the Weekend
"I'll be stopping all the time.  Post-racing driving is like a preview of prostate cancer."--Ranger Dave.

Shrapnel Awesome

So, here's some awesomeness for you. I went back to Monday night practice. Tonight we did two laps of the Moffit/Browns Woods/Rassy loop. It's got a lot of names, and  it is a hilly mother. I wasn't the only gal off the back, but it was pretty lonely. Where does the awesomeness happen?

I did it! It's terrifying and humiliating, but it is also awesome. Go me. 56 Awesomeness points.

Shrapnel down.

I've been suffering from some bike team anxiety.  It takes a lot of moxie, at least for me, to ride with those girls.  Not that they aren't the nicest folks in the world, but they are faster than me, and it's a workout to keep up.  And, it's not easy on the old emotional state to be way off the back, but I realized I need to sack it up and get fearless.  Sucking at something is the only way to get better, right?

Awesomeness Challenge and First Awesomeness Points

Only 60 days until the most magical week of the year!

For the past two years, Steven over at SeeTeacherRun and I have competed in several challenges to get us ready for RAGBRAI.

We did the RAGBRAI Royalty Challenge, which I lost.
We did the Super Friends Challenge, which was plagued with complicated points.

Both challenges had the benefit of getting us moving, but neither challenge really survived to completion.  At one point, last summer, Steven and I were on the phone, bemoaning the complicated blog challenge we had gotten ourselves into, when an epiphany hit: we should just have an awesomeness challenge.

No point structure.  No rules.  No excuses.  Just do something awesome every day.  Blog about it.  Assign awesomeness points.

What is awesomeness you ask?  Awesomeness is anything that is above and beyond the normal.  It is activities, or work outs, or cup cakes avoided.  It is taking care of business, and it is not f*cking around, except when you are f*cking around, and you really f*ck around.  Awesomeness is anything that gets Steven and I to our preferred state of being, which is awesome.

Here's my first awesome-update.

Yesterday, I was walking through a neighborhood with Steven after lunch when all of a sudden I realized, I wasn't in pain.  Hips?  No pain. Knees?  No pain.  Lower back?  No pain.  I felt like a million bucks.  The reason?  Recovery.

I used my recent trip to Colorado to impose some serious recovery time in the hopes of healing my busted knee.  My get up/get down function is not at top speed.

And, it worked!  I hate taking recovery, so this was a big deal for me.  I am always terrified it will set me back or I will lose my mojo.  All I did was Friday, walked the dog and walked to work.  Saturday, nada.  Sunday, hiked to the top of the "wall" (more on this soon).  Monday, nothing until practice tonight.

Awesomeness points for recovery: 127.

Then, today, at the chiropractor, I was like "hey, this knee is bugging me."

Dr. Meylor, who is a delight, if you need some magic done, call him, replied, "yes, your knee is out of alignment, I can see it from the way your foot hangs."  Then, he did a spell.  Then, it felt better.  Whoo-hoo!

It's hard to take a flattering knee/bike short self-portrait.

Seeking medical attention: 18.5 awesomeness points. 

Now, we are going to take that knee to Velo Rosa practice and see how all this recovery and medical attention holds up.  More awesomeness points to follow.

Why Don't I Love to Hike?

(Sorry for the blog hiatus--I was having a little blog block).

I was just on the phone with Steven, discussing plans for our upcoming weekend of Beaver.  My friend Pete and I are driving out to Colorado for a blitzkrieg of fun in celebration of our friend Ranger Dave doing the Superior Morgul Bike Race (no one knows what a morgul is or how to pronounce it). 

Only you can prevent kickstands.

Steven, the Mayor, and Pete are all agitating for a hike during our free time on Saturday.  Pete being super ambitious wants to take a huge crew of everyone he knows in Colorado on a quick jaunt up Long's Peak.  The Mayor has some delightful 7-mile climb with only a half-mile of pure punishment at the end. 

Going hiking is fine by me, but (of course there's a but), I do have some concerns.  1) I want to see my pal Ranger Dave.  I only get to see him once, maybe, twice a year.  (The last time I saw him we got to hang out for about 2 hours, drinking homemade Irish car bombs in his hotel room.  Ranger Tip: try making your white Russians with vanilla vodka).  He has to race on Sunday, so he may not want to hike on Saturday.  If he doesn't, I just want to do something at his speed. 

2) Agenda juggling.  Pete involves creating plans that are overly complicated and overly ambitious.  Finding the perfect hike and/or activity to meet everyone's Colorado needs is going to be tricky.  Pete wants to see all his cousins, friends, and Ranger Dave, and go to the bike races and be home bright and early for work Monday morning.  I find that the proportion of people you try to hang out with/accommodate is directly related to a decrease in quality and satisfaction of time. 

3)  Pete is usually overly ambitious in the fitness department.  Pete once argued that we should "hike in" during a winter camping trip.  Which meant he wanted to take 500 pounds of gear about 50 yards, through the snow, in order to get away from an entirely empty campground.  When Pete schedules a hike he picks the hike that will be challenging, because he loves challenging himself, and that's awesome.  But, it is often more like the Bataan death march for everyone else. 

While I was voicing these concerns to Steven she said, "I know you are trying to avoid going on a hike during this trip." 

And, that got me thinking.  Do I hate hiking?  It seems so anti-me.  I certainly like the idea of hiking.  I love mountains.  I love fresh air, and the out of doors.  I love trail mix.  I am freaking nuts about back packing.  So, why am I so resistant to hiking?  After some deep contemplation (i.e. the drive home), I think I figured it out. 

On the Superior Hiking Trail, pointing back to where we came from that morning!

Firstly, and most importantly, I think, when I do locomotion-style activities, I like to being going somewhere.  I am like a barn broke horse.  My favorite bike rides are the ones where I ride to a destination (the high trestle bridge, or the Cumming Tap, or various breweries around Colorado), and when I reach that destination, I know I will be headed home (ah, home, with showers and food, yeah!).  I love, love, love backpacking because you are trying to get somewhere, your next campsite, and when you get there, you get to play gear. 

Yesterday, for example, I took a long bike ride.  I rode to Redfield and back.  There's not much in Redfield besides a bar and an ice cream shop, but I found a great coffee shop in Adel that has amazing cookies and cheap coffee.  I looked forward to that coffee stop the whole ride.  Then, once I was caffeinated, I looked forward to going home.

Another example: I don't mind walking the dog.  There is a purpose.  If you don't walk that little red-headed hell beast, she goes crazy and in turn drives me crazy.  But, just going for a walk?  I could take it or leave it. 

But hiking, just for the sake of hiking, doesn't seem to have that same quality.  It has always struck me as sort of wandering around.  You drive to a trail head.  Walk for a while, then, get back in the car.  What's my motivation?  Where am I going?  Are we exercising?  Are we socializing?   Are we site-seeing? 

Had lots of fun hiking around Ledges State Park with the Morefields.

Secondly, I'll be honest, I am not very good at hiking and I get embarrassed.  I don't want people whom I love and respect to see me huffing and puffing up a mountain.  I don't want to see those pitying looks as they wait for me to lug my fat rear end up the next switch back, only to have them take off as soon as I get there because they are all rested up.  I don't mind doing things that I am not good at, and I know that I need to do those things in order to get into better shape, but I don't have to do them in front of people. 

If I have to get to the top of a mountain, I will.  Just leave me on my own, in my little bubble of woe, and I will get there.  But, don't make me pretend to be enjoying myself, while trying to chit-chat (using only the shortest of words), when on the inside I am dieing.

Third, people who are behind you take horrible, disgraceful pictures of your ass while you are hiking.  There is a reason you can't really see your own ass!  If I could, I would just toss myself off a cliff. 

It's like my own personal boulder.

Anyway, whatever we do on this highly sought after Saturday afternoon, I am sure it will be amazing, because I am going to be surrounded by some of my favoritist people in the world.

And, I have to say, that probably I haven't given hiking enough of a chance.  And, if Steven and the Mayor love it so much there is probably something to it.  If we don't get to it this time, I am sure there will be time when the Tiger and I come out for the fourth of July/Brewery 100 trip. 

Now I say something about the destination is not the journey, the journey is the journey, blah, blah, whatever.  What it boils down to, is I don't hate hiking.  I just haven't fallen in love with it yet. 

Commute

Some people use their commute time to catch up on phone calls, or listen to great books on tape, or learn Flemish.

Me, I use it to catch up on recovery time. The commute to Newton is about the perfect length to soothe my aching knees, which is great because my "hard to kill" might just be killing me.