Get Low, Get Low

So, here's an image of my booty, rendered in sweat, on the floor, thanks to another fun Beav X 90.

After the "new" warm up, which includes jumping rope, karaokes, suicides, step ups, two kinds of kettlebells, lunges, and man makers, we proceeded to do diminishing sets starting at 10, of my favorites, manmakers, or womanmakers, as I like to call them, and clean squat presses, a total of 55 of each.

These are my two least favorite exercises.

And we were joined by two very tall, young, mystery women.

Day 40
50 to go.

Beav-X-90: Half-Ish Way

This afternoon (while I was eating a piece of "Mounds Pie" from Perkins [someone explain to me why work-sponsored pie doesn't seem as bad for you as the pie you buy yourself???]) I received this dispatch from Beav-X-90 Headquarters.  

On 9/29/11 1:02 PM, "Ed Veak" <ed@tshirtgraphix.com> wrote:

> Ok, if memory serves, our 90 day challenge started on Monday, August 15th.

> That puts us on week 7, day 44 of the challenge, if my calculations

> are correct. Feel free to correct me if you think I am wrong. So that

> puts us half way home.

>

> Remember your goals, show up to workouts and stop making excuses for

> the missed workouts and bad food choices. I've definitely slipped a

> few times but looking forward to hammering it the last 45 days to

> reach my personal goals.

>

> For those who are counting, it's been 44 days without a soda of any kind.

> One vise down, now to the excess calories. I find I have a tendency to

> eat to little which causes me then to over eat when I get the chance.

> So I'm really trying to get those 6 little meals, throughout the day, dialed in.

>

> For those of you that endured the Tuesday workout, 120 kettlebell

> swings and

> 120 burpees, you can thank Molly and Tracy for finding that one. If

> you have any ideas for a workout, feel free to share. Firdays workout

> should be just as fun :)

>

> So, keep up the good work and see you in the morning.

>

>

> Ed

It's this kind of cheerleading that keeps me coming back for more.

Here's Ed, as the great cyclo-cross cheer leading tour de force, the Barrier Fairy.

As is my way, I had to be a smarty pants and point out that we didn't actually start on the 15th (I was still recovering from my birthday on the 15th of August).  We started our 90 day fitness challenge on the 22nd of August.  Which, technically, means tomorrow is day 40.  

What is my point, besides needing to be right and find fault in other people's counting?  

My point is a) I can't believe that I have survived this long getting up so early.  

And b) I can't believe how little I have accomplished.  

Yes, I am proud of my Beav-X-90 accomplishments.  I am much better at burpees, now.  Underneath all the sub-cutaneous fat, I can feel more muscle that I have ever really felt before.  I am rocking the 40-pound sandbag get-up. 

Yet, at the same time, I jogged up the stairs to a meeting yesterday and was a little huffy-and-puffy.  My weight is the same.  Beav-X-90 has become my only workout, which is actually less hours of working out than I worked out before Beav-X-90.  And, I am not "seeing" results.  

Alas, I know why.  And you do too, gentle reader.  It's that freaking pie.  And cupcakes.  And ice cream.  And beer.  Ugh.  

All I have to do is just "dial in" my eating, like Ed says.  Six small meals a day.  Low in starches and refined sugar, high in protein, low in fat.  Oh, and cut out some of the beer.  But, eating "right" has always been my Achilles Heel of weight loss.  

I don't give up in the gym.  I will burpee my little heart out.  I would work out six hours a day.  If only I could trade six hour workouts for bottomless IPAs and pomme frites! 

For one, I love food, all kinds of food, healthy food and unhealthy food.  

For two, I love what food represents, sharing a meal with friends and family, celebration, a little naughty "treat."  I love getting all hopped up on caffeine and relaxing with glass of wine.

For three, I hate the grocery store.  I am so much better at eating well when I have the food on hand, but I hate, loathe, drag my feet kicking and screaming when it is time to grocery shop.   

In the last 39 days, to varying degrees, all my other little Beav-X-90ers have given up something: 

Ed: pop and over eating.

Jen: processed food and over eating.

Tracy: Peace Tree IPA

Mollie: well, I can't remember what she gave up, but I am sure it was awesome.  

I said I would give up cupcakes and pastries from La Mie.  For those of you who have been to Newton Campus for any special event, or have had breakfast with me at La Mie, you know how well that resolution has gone.

My excuse was that Beav-X-90 started in the midst of a lot of chaos in my life: returning from vacation, starting school, family stuff, etc.  I hadn't been planning on doing a fitness challenge, let alone one that would rock my world (I am going to write a whole blog about the missing appendage that is my fitness buddy, Lexi) and put me to bed at 8:30pm.  And, that is why I couldn't get my biscuit on top of the eating right half of things.  

Well, it's time for those excuses to come to an end.  On Monday, the day I hope my Mayoral Race will begin, we have 13 weeks until the end of the year, or 89 days until I have to face my 2011 Yearly Reckoning, and I want to have something to show for it.  I'd like to look at this year as not another entry in the chronicle of failure that is my pursuit of weight loss.  

I would like to see that elusive "1" at the front of my weight.  I would like to have ridden 2000 miles in 2011.  I would like to see that glowing, healthy-eating skin on New Years Eve, and I would like to be totally ripped heading into 2012.  

Ever since I posted the rules for the Mayoral Race, I've been checking the blog, gmail, and Google+ like crazy to see if the Mayor has responded.  So far, nothing.  I would love to devastate him in this challenge, but if he is not up for it, I hope that I can challenge myself.  

I know I have made similar proclamations before.  Maybe the path to fitness is like quitting smoking.  The average smoker tries to quit a bunch of times before being successful.  I'll keep hammering away, as Ed says, for the next 45-50 days, and then the 41 days after that.

Hoping there will be many more devastating workouts like Wednesdays Burpee + Kettlebell Pain-strava-ganza that push my limits plus much, much more.  That's where I want to be, constantly pushing those limits.  

The only thing that is stopping me is me.

Touche Beav x 90, Touche

Day: 38
52 days to go.

Well, I just got my ass handed to me in Beav X 90.

I will admit I was getting complacent. Then Tracy decided to submit a workout from Men's Health. See above.

The best part is that when I am sweating and jumping up and down, my glasses don't stay on my face. In fact, Gwyn shoots for glasses-slippage when I workout with her. That's how she knows I am really working.

So, my glasses are falling off, but I am blind without them, so I get a little nauseated if I don't wear them. So glasses on for kettlebell swing. Glasses off for burpees (oh, and these are burpees with a full push up). There I lumbered, up and down, in my own, mole-like pile of woe.

Everyone finished when I was still on 6, but as I couldn't see them, it didn't really matter.

As much as I hate going to bed at 8:30 and waking up at 4:30 seems like some sort of sick joke, I will admit, I feel some sick muscles building.

The Mayoral Race 2011

 A few blogs ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I cast a call-out into the atmosphere in the general direction of Longmont, Colorado.  The universe heard my primal scream and responded, in kind.


Press Release -- From the Office of the Mayor -- Longmont, CO -- September 17, 2011

The mayor would like to formally respond to some challenges recently raised by his constituency. The Mayor recognizes his rising poundage and slowing pedal cadence and is ready to explore all options in order to benefit his waistline and the overall performance of Team Beaver. While he enjoyed this past year's RAGBRAI, he understands that the physical pain could have impeded his overall performance as the officially elected leader of the best ride in the world. He has gotten feedback from an independent review board that investigated the root causes of this physical pain, and they have recommended more exercise, a slight decrease in beer consumption, and have no substantial evidence evaluating the role of bacon in his current state of existence.

He would like to await more details on the Mayoral Race before announcing his endorsement of the challenge. He feels -- like his quads -- that it just needs more definition.

Last, the mayor would like to point out that his greatness is based on his ability to mock ceaselessly. He argues that the mayor only truly emerges when he has the chance to call out others and their lack of cajones...whether perceived as hypocritical or not.

I recently, kindly, suggested, that the Mayor, who is both the civic leader of the Greatest Bike Ride in the World, and a key leader in a little organization we like to call Team Beaver, might want to participate in a little challenge.  Both the Mayor and myself could stand for a little "improvement" on our nearly perfect selves and what better way to improve than a little friendly challenge?

Of course, this blog has seen no shortage of challenges.  It started with the Juice Fitness Challenge, it continued with the RAGBRAI Royalty Challenge, and the shameful despair of the Super Friends Challenge.  For the most part, all of these challenges have been me versus my friend Steven.  She is a great competitor.  Not only is she hilarious, hard-working, and sly, but she also has the uncanny ability to mock me into a competitive fury.  Her husband, The Mayor, possesses the same quality.  (In fact, it is my belief, that their ability to get under one another's equally thick dragon-like skin might just be the key to their marital happiness.)

And, indeed, as was alluded to in his press release, while the Mayor and I thoroughly enjoyed both RAGBRAI and the Brewery Tour Century, we commiserated over our separate, but perhaps equal, diminishment of fitness from the glory of RAGBRAI 2010. Being super fit is certainly not are requirement to win RAGBRAI, but it doesn't hurt. 

To that end, and seeking to employ our mutual competitive spirits in the pursuit of the greater good of ourselves, our partners, our Team (Go Beav), and the many cyclists whose hearts we touch on the Greatest Bike Ride in the World, I propose, now, in detail, a new challenge, a challenge to end all challenges, drum roll, please..............

The Mayoral Race 2011

A challenge style event that celebrates the majesty and style of the Mayor, while seeking to improve the quality of Mayoralness in both the Mayor himself and in his constituecy. 

Candidates

The Incumbent: The Mayor, Longmont, Colorado

 

The Challenger: Norman, Des Moines, IA

Primary Season: October 3rd-December 31st, or 13 weeks until the end of year. 


The end of the year, we all know, is one of the most neglected times in the cycle of fitness.  New Year's Resolutions are long gone, the Great Bike Ride is more than 297 days away, and lots and lots of goodies and excuses for laziness arrive with cold weather and the holidays.  The end result will be greater fitness going into the 2012 "season."

Challenge Criteria in Four Parts 

1. The Weight is Too Damn High--as the Mayor and I are starting in similar states of chubbitude, we will calculate weight lost on a simple pound-for-pound basis.  As it is a truth universally acknowledged that the skinnier you are, the happier you are on a bike, weight loss is a critical component.  Candidates are required to weigh in at the beginning and the end of the challenge, but are encouraged to weigh in on a weekly basis.  The candidate who loses the most pounds of weight will win the Weight is Too Damn High category.

2. Miles to Nowhere--As it is another truth universally acknowledged that people who ride more bicycles are happier while riding bicycles, the riding of bicycles is encouraged.  Miles can be ridden indoors on a trainer or outdoors and should be tracked by each contestant.  Candidates are encouraged to post their mileage each week.  The candidates who rides the most miles will win the Miles to Nowhere category.

 3. X Party Express--There is more than one way to skin a beaver; the Mayoral Race will also encourage contestants to partake in "cross-training" type activities.  Cross-training is defined as an exercise-esque activity that supports fitness, weight loss, or bicycle riding.  Potential cross-training activities might include Beav-X-90, Jillian Shred videos, weight lifting, jogging, etc. Candidates will decide whether their activity counts towards cross training.  Cross training will be calculated by the hour trained.  Candidates are encouraged, but not required, to post their hours of cross training on a weekly basis.  The candidate with the most hours of cross training will win the X Party Express Category. 


4. Weekly Mayoral "Debates"--The final category in the Mayoral Race will be week debates, or mini-challenges where candidates can earn Mayoral-Style Victories.  The proposing of weekly challenges will be posted each Monday and must be completed by the following Sunday.  Candidates will alternate in the proposing of weekly debate "topics."


Debates should exemplify the style of the Mayor and pay tribute to his Mayoral awesomeness.  (Beer drinking, biker dancing, ranting, taunting, and lesbian-tent smashing, etc.) An example "debate topic" challenge might be: drink as many beers and do as many sit-ups as you can in one hour.

Candidates should record their weekly mayoral debate contributions in a multi-media fashion (photo, Youtube video, etc.) and post it for the record.

Mayoral Style Points will be evaluated and victory will be awarded each week and an overall score at the end of the contest which will be evaluated and tallied by a completely partial panel of the electoral college. 
 
Electoral College--the candidate with the most points in each category wins that category.  The candidate who wins the most categories wins the Mayoral Challenge.  However, that's just the popular vote.

In addition to winning the popular vote, the Mayoral Challenge will be judged by the electoral college of Steven, the White Tiger, and a mystery judge.

Should there be a tie, or a closeness in point spreads of less than 10%, or should either of the candidates call for a re-count review, an completely partial panel of Supreme Court Justices will be called in to make a ruling.  Those Supreme Court Justices will be made up of Blog-o-Sphere Commentators on both Half the Rice and Grope the Chaos.  

The Spoils--the losing candidate buys and fetches all the beer for the winning candidate for 3 days of RAGBRAI 2012.  The winning candidate retains bragging rights up and through RAGBRAI 2012.  Further spoils may be added through the duration of the Mayoral Race.

Conditions of Race--rules and conditions of the race may be revised if and only if both candidates and the panel of the Electoral College agree.

Let the Mayoral Race begin!

Oh, good morning, Bicycling magazine.

Where is Colorado?

 What? An article about craft beer and bike rides. Funny you should mention that...seriously, those Newscorp reporters with the wire taps must have been hired to freelance for Rodale.

Let's Play Bicycle, Mayor

It's like the editors of Bicycling magazine have me bugged.  I've had two breakfasts with the current edition of Bicycling magazine, and, I swear, either I have had too many breakfasts with Bicycling or they are responding to the needs of their readers in an uncanny way.

Yes, They Do

On Sunday, I blogged about the cover story, "ride a hundred miles in a day" training program.  Today, as I flipped through, I stumbled on this ad.  "No one ever says, let's play triathlon."

Well, that might be true, because triathlons are the red-headed stepchild of the cycling, running, and swimming worlds.  But, my friend, "The Mayor," when he is ready to get going on RAGBRAI, because we've lingered too long for his liking, says "let's play bikes."

I love that phrase, "play bikes."  Unlike running or competitive swimming, little kids ride bikes because riding bikes is fun.  I never understand runners because running, just running, while it is good exercise, just doesn't seem like that much fun.  It's not play and exercise and transportation.

As I will allude to in future RAGBRAI-Recap Blogs, this year's RAGBRAI wasn't easy.  Though I started the ride at about the same weight I was at last year, and I had way more miles, I struggled.  Maybe I didn't have that base level fitness I developed in the Juice Fitness Challenge, I don't know, but I know I didn't like the way I felt.

I want to be strong enough and fast enough that the cycling part of RAGBRAI is the easy part.  The being-the-most-possible-fun-and-doing-ridiculous-things part should be the challenging part.

And, I think the Mayor felt the same way.  He rocked the 2010 RAGBRAI on the heels of the Triple By-Pass.  He was super fit.  This year, what with the demands of the Small One, not so much.  His complaints regarding his physique and fitness were many.

At the same time, the man knows how to lock it up.  He rode RAGBRAI 2011 with only 200-some miles under his biscuit.  He was the constant cheerleader of his harem of lady friends, and he never failed to "mayor it up" on the last stretch into town.  Boone will never forget you.

The same is true for the Brewery 100.  Though he hadn't ridden his bike since RAGBRAI, he sucked it up and rode 3/4s of the way with characteristic good cheer.

That joy is contagious.

Then, on Sunday, the whole family vegged out.  We went took Tuque for a walk (while Steven ran!), went to brunch at Oskar Blues, hung out in the back yard, and made burgers for dinner, perfectly relaxing Sunday.

Somehow, on Sunday, though, the Mayor got it into his head that we needed to get up at 5:30 in the morning and go for a hike.  I didn't want to go on such a hike.  For one, I had to leave fairly early in the morning to get the Malibu back it the stable in Iowa by dark.  For two, I had been huffing and puffing all weekend.  I had been huffing and puffing on our walk around the neighborhood.  I was tired of huffing and puffing.  For three, I get up at 4:30 every morning now thanks to the Beav-X-90.

Despite these protestations, I was mocked, ceaselessly.  My cajones were called into question and I was made to feel like a bum for turning down the pre-dawn slog.  Never mind the fact that the Mayor had already threatened to drag me up some merciless mountain on the bike ride.  Never mind the fact that he hadn't been for a hike in some time.  I was the one who was creating a situation of suck.

I felt bad.  I hate saying no to a challenge.

Thankfully, through some "creative" efforts on Steven's part, and some stubbornness on mine, the hike was avoided and we had eggs and bacon instead.  (Might I add that I had no idea that Steven is such a good cook.  Ya'll better get to this bed and breakfast before it gets on TripAdvisor and the prices go up.)

Everyone who is planning to attend RAGBRAI 2012: the Mayor, Steven, me, the Tiger, even little Easy E, Emily Rice: agree that we need to rock the ride in the fitness department.  In the past, to that end, I have competed in a number of challenges with Steven and sundry blog-associates.  Yet, one player remains conspicuously absent: the Mayor. 

So, Mayor, I am calling you out, the way you called me out for that  hike.  Let's see you put your money where your mouth is: boots on the ground, asses in the saddle.  I challenge you to some yet-to-be-determined fitness challenge.*

No more complaining.  No more dual wardrobes for the two sizes of Mayor.  We need a leader, someone to drag this constituency kicking and screaming over the fields of Iowa and the travails of Team Beaver.  And, if I have to drop the competitive bomb, then Boom.

You want my vote?  Bring it. 
 
*Now, I have no idea what sort of challenge this should be.  I am good at accepting challenges and losing (see here and here) at challenges, but not so good at designing them.  Steven, on the other hand, is good.  For that, I am going to call on the massive brainstorming power of the Smith household.  Name your terms, then, let's play bikes.

Boom. 

RAGBRAI 2011: Prologue

Before we parted ways on Saturday, July 30, the Mayor told me I had better get my RAGBRAI blog up quickly, unlike last year when I waited until September. But, what can you say about RAGBRAI? Folks around Des Moines keep asking, "How was RAGBRAI?" All I can think to say is "awesome." Of course, it was also hot, and hilly, and windy. It was tasty, and timeless, and kind of silly. So, here, without further adieu, is my RAGBRAI Re-Cap, stage by state, complete with tips.

Pre-RAGBRAI: Des MoinesGetting ready to go on RAGBRAI involves a lot of unique shopping, packing, and coordinating. Of course, RAGBRAI, which is the Christmas of cyclists, also involves a lot of visiting. The Boss, a.k.a. Steven, and the Small One came to town on Wednesday. On Thursday night, I went to Maggie's house to catch-up and found both the Boss and her mother involved in a serious homemade diaper project.




















She also had a lot to-do list for her RAGBRAI week on the home-front. Wednesday was my favorite day.

On Friday, I headed to Back Country for last minute supplies: Dr. Bronner's soap, a new pack-towel, and 100%, spine tingling-third eye growing DEET.















My sister, Emily, came over on Friday to drop off her bags. She was going to a cabin for the weekend, so she wouldn't be joining us until Sunday night in Atlantic. My job was to get her bags on to the charter to Glenwood and then onto the luggage bus.




















RAGBRAI Tip: I stand behind my belief that a dry bag is the best luggage for RAGBRAI. Should your bags end up waiting for you in the rain, the contents will stay dry. Alas, like everything made to be waterproof, it's only great under the condition that it rains. When it doesn't rain, these impermeable rubber bags serve as a great, steaming sauna for all the damp, stinky, never-quite dry clothing inside.

Emily's bags were also quite heavy. Emily, who has the metabolism, and let's face it, the personality, of a squirrel, brought a lot of snacks. Goldfish, almonds, Powerbars of all stripes were squirreled into her arm-stretchingly heavy luggage.















On Friday night, the White Tiger and I went to a Crawfish boil at my friend Troy's house. There's nothing like a belly full of salty seafood and daquiris to get a girl nice and dehydrated before a big ride.

Prologue Saturday July 23: Des Moines to Glenwood, IowaThe Saturday before RAGBRAI was hot and rainy. As I was loading up the cars, I remembered, the Heartbreaker was rocking a bike faux pas, two different tires. Steve-Oh, one of my many bike-boyfriends had given me a set of blue racing tires he bought for his friend, but his friend didn't like blue. (Steve-Oh works at Bike World). I'd burned through the rear tire on a long, hot ride to Martensdale, so I put my Gatorskin tire on the rear. I figured the front tire wasn't long for this world, so I left it on until RAGBRAI, more specifically, 24-hours before RAGBRAI.

Thankfully, I have a tiger in my life who sees me fumbling clumsily with a tire change and says, "do you want some help with that?" What the Tiger doesn't realize is that a tire change is a one-tiger job. Once the wheel was out of my hands, I scampered out of the room and let him finish the job.














Holiday didn't want me going on RAGBRAI too attached to my personal belongings, so she chewed up both the lid to a water bottle and the little fancy bike light I was planning on taking with me. Thanks girl!














Then, we loaded up my stuff, and Emily's stuff, and my bike into the Tiger's car for the journey west, to West Glen. We loaded everything into bus number 123 then went and got some coffee at the West Glen farmer's market. A lady gave me a hard sell on a do-rag so I had to get out of there.















Then, the Tiger and I said our tearful good-byes in the parking lot and got our Beaver and Cock photo taken and said good-bye until Altoona. I waited until 10 watching the Tour de France inside Bike World and enjoyed some with some free pastries. As I munched on my second tart, I thought to myself, "gee, it's really nice to only have to carry this one bag on the bus. One bag...one bag...oh, crap."

The Mayor had asked me to deliver a bag from the previous Mayor, Smitty. Smitty dropped the bag off on our porch, where he normally delivers our New York Times, and it. was in. Billy's. trunk. I frantically called Billy and begged him to come back. Then, he tried to come back, but got lost in the maze of West Glen. I sweated bullets until finally, he found Bike World, and I reclaimed the other bag.














The bus ride was uneventful, except for the part where I glanced up and noticed the rapid approach of the bus in front of us. It was, for all intents and purposes, stopped on the interstate. I attempted to engage the floor brakes under my seat, but I couldn't slow the bus down.

That quiet part of my brain started thinking through, calmly and peacefully, the potentiality of a bodily injury and chaos after a bus accident. Then, at the last minute, our driver made a death-defying swing into the left lane. Whew.

The rest of the bus ride was uneventful. I finished my book, and then played the "are we there yet?" game in my mind for the last twenty miles as we passed baggers headed into Glenwood. After much wrangling and backing up in awkwardly tight spots, our bus came to a stop. As I de-bussed, and threw Emily's massively heavy bags off the bus, I heard a distant "Normie!" And, there was the Mayor, running up to me to give me a hug. RAGBRAI had officially begun.

I quickly bribed some Bike World boys to haul my bags into camp, where we set up our tents, and then made arrangements with a Bike World boy to set up our tents for us (for a price). The Mayor hates setting up his tent, for some reason, so it would be nice to not have to worry about it. Then, we headed into the bike festival (smelly high school with air conditioning and charters) and into town.

While in town, the Mayor showed me where he had met the tractor that took him and his boxed bike to Bike World.  We also found what looked like a brewery:
 

Welcome Bikers and Beer Loves: that's us!

No beer was made on site, but we did have some nice Peace Tree beer from Knoxville and we met some Floridians who were a bit intimidated by the concept of RAGBRAI.  After our beer, we wandered into town, got cash, and then found some dinner: prime rib sandwiches. 

The Mayor met a fellow engineer he had gone to school with at ISBoo.  She asked if she could hang with us.  She was worried that her team was going to leave her behind.  We said sure, and we all made our way up to the party happening down town. 

We made it to the beer garden where a golf cart delivered us to a beer tent.  Then, we hung out as they made announcements and stuff.  All of a sudden, the crown on the southern dog leg of the square starts yelling and clapping, but we couldn't figure out why.  Then, we heard a gentle purr.  Then we looked up and saw a STEALTH BOMBER.  A.w.e.s.o.m.e. 

How I miss that Koozie.

Not long after the stealth bomber buzzed RAGBRAI, the townsfolk started to take down the tents.  Why, we wondered?  Oh, just a massive thunderstorm  barreling down on the town.  We said a little prayer for our bikes and tents and retreated to the VFW where we drank super cheap beer and charged my phone and chatted while the storm raged outside. 

When the storm clouds cleared, we went to a bar, got busted for climbing over an off limits barrier, lost then found the Mayor, and made our way back to camp.

With a Sunday that promised hills and heat, I got ready for bed.  The Mayor, in full Mayoring mode, made rounds around the camp, until he popped his head into my tent to say hello.  He appeared to have enjoyed himself that evening.  

The night sky was full of lightening, but no rain, and I wasn't used to the sounds of RAGBRAI: generators, chit-chatting, trains buzzing by, and snoring, but I did get some sleep. 

In the morning, as we were preparing to  head out of town, I got a call from Lexi, who directed us to where she and the Thunda were camping, near the faux dip spot.  The Thunda kept saying, "she told me we were going for a quiet, romantic bike ride by the Missouri Riva."  We said hello, but we were too eager to wait while they packed up the camp.  So, we said we'd see them in the next town.  Day One was about to begin. 

I met a Bruce in Glenwood, 6 foot four and full of muscles.

Beav-X-90: Figuring Things Out

Sunday, August 21, 2011: The White Tiger and I were preparing for bed.  We'd just completed a virtual marathon of celebration: our 3 year anniversary of dating, our vacation to Portland, my birthday, our return to Des Moines, a family wedding in Atlantic, then my family's celebration of my birthday at our house that very day.  We were bushed and wacked.  Then, I got a text.

Ed Veak: "90 day fitness challenge starts tomorrow. 5am at the gym. Fatty stats will be taken and review of workouts. Short workout and then yoga at 6:00 for anyone who wants to stay. Be there!"

Me: "Jen?"  (I had recently replaced my phone.  Anyone who I had met in the last two years wasn't saved in my contacts).

Ed Veak: "Nope, Ed. We decided to start a workout challenge at 5am.  You had expressed interest so I included you in the text.  Sorry for the short notice but you are welcome to come play. Bring friends, but let them know, no whiners allowed :)"

Me: "Ha ha, sounds fun/scary. I will try and make it." 

This is what I look like at 5 in the morning.  Notice the Tiger is just a blur.

 

And, that's how, with no mental or physical preparation, I got started on my current fitness odyssey.  Every morning, for the past 3 weeks, with just a few days off for my century ride, I have crawled out of bed at 4:30 in the morning, put on clothes, made coffee, and headed to Ed and Jen's gym, which is more like a dungeon that early in the morning.

Now, after 3 weeks, I have two contradictory emotions about what I have dubbed as "Beav-X-90."  (I thought it would be a play on P-90-X, but I thought it was P-X-90, but I've been using incorrectly, so now I am stuck with it.). 

First, the workouts are great.  Hard, dynamic, and with enough healthy competition that I push myself.  I actually feel like I have a core.

This morning, for example, we did the following workout:

Warm Up
60 seconds box steps alternating legs
60 second cross-leg step ups left side, then right side
60 second box jumps
60 second squats
60 second clean squat press
60 second lunges, alternating legs
5 "man-makers" (like a burpee with dumbbells, a push up, and two rows).

Workout--Dumbbell Complex (the weights are mine; everyone chooses their own weights)
10 dead lifts (I did 50 pounds today)
10 bent rows (40 pounds)
10 clean squat press (30 pounds)
10 weight squats (30 pounds)
10 push ups
10 push press (over head press with a little hop, 30 pounds)
10 back lunges with weights, alternating legs, with weights, arms over head (20 pounds)
1 full room sandbag drag down and back, alternating arms (imagine being in a downward dog.  Then, lift one arm and pull a 20 pound sandbag towards your legs, then shuffle legs back, scuttling across the room with your ass in the air.)

We made it through 1 warm up and 3 sets of the workout (though I wimped out on the last sandbag drag).

The workouts are all sort of like this.  Ed calls it "functional" fitness.  Whenever we run with a sandbag over our shoulders, we are reminded that now we can run with a child, like out of a burning building.  Functional.

These ladies (Jane, Tracy, and Mollie) are both hard-core fit and hard-core nice.

Second, getting up at 5am is ruining my life.  When you have to be somewhere at 5am, you have to get out of bed at 4:30am, which means, you need to be in bed by about 8:30pm.  Do you know what happens after 8:30pm?  Just about everything.  You have to give up any hope of seeing your friends, watching television, or having "downtime" in the evening.  I have to come home, exercise the dog, make dinner, then go to bed.  It also means that I have to stop drinking coffee at about 3 in the afternoon, I am chronically exhausted, and the Tiger and I get about 2 hours of seeing each other in the evening. 

On one hand, this is problematic because it all happened so quickly, and right before classes started, that I haven't felt able to get the rest of my sh!t together.  For example, I should probably be eating better, more protein, etc, but I haven't really had time to go to the grocery store to buy all the healthy food that I am eating.

I did lose a bit of weight the first week, but I am pretty sure my body was just flushing out all of the gallons of IPA I drank while on vacation in Portland.  

On the other hand, I get to take naps before I go to work. 

Also, I think I need more cardio?

Also, a week of Beav-X-90 helped me rock the Urban Assault.  

Also, I miss the Y, and Lexi time in the morning. 

Also, now that a few weeks have passed, I am getting a bit complacent.  I need to keep pushing myself.

All of this happened so quickly, I haven't had time to really process. 

Yesterday at brunch, I was talking to my friend Austin about working out.  He responded to an invite to attend Beav-X-90 with "I'm done exercising for the year.  I know that's not the healthiest approach, but that's how it's going to be."

I have to say, that idea was like the first time you hear about sex, or etsy, it just blew my mind.  Being done with working out for the year, not exercising anymore until January, or March, or whenever?  That idea hadn't even occurred to me.

Of course, Austin is the most gorgeous creature, slim as a fawn, with glowing skin and eyes.  Austin could give up working out for a few months.  I, on the other hand, didn't work out for a week while in Portland and felt like a massive, slow moving, river barge.

Then, I thought, "well, what would happen if I quit working out?  Or quit Beav-X-90?"  Even though it is ruining my life a little bit, and the week of Thanksgiving seems as distant as the stars, (which I never see because I have to go to bed when it is still light out,) I hadn't even thought of quitting.  Sure, I might skip a regular Y workout here or there, when I haven't had enough sleep, or need to go to work early.  Now that I have committed to Beav-X-90, I am so bull-headed that I have to finish.  I can't quit.  I couldn't live with myself if I did. 

Consider, poor Bob, who worked out for the first week or so, dropped out.  The Tiger is a sporadic presence, but he took last week "off" and "didn't hear" the alarm this morning.  I even fear for Ed, who misses occasionally for work commitments or Interbike, but then calls the rest of us "pussys" if we show any sign of weakness.  (Uh, listen, I feel like if a group of ladies are kicking your ass in the showing up department, we need to think of a different word for weakness, other than "pussy."). I just feel bad for this guys.  I don't even want to mock them.  I just feel the weight of their shame. 

So, I can't quit, but if I am going to really rock this challenge, and keep my friends, I am going to need to figure somethings out.  1) how do I get motivated to go the grocery store?  2) when do I see my fitness buddy, if she is too sensible to get up at 5am?  I really want to take advantage of this opportunity to kick my fitness up a notch and lose some weight before the holiday season.  

On the plus side, I just read an article about a fancy-pants gym for celebrities and special ops that sounds similar to Beav-X-90.  We must be really hip.

Look for more updates and figuring out in subsequent blogs.  If you will excuse me, I need a nap.  

Front Range 100 Mile Brewery Tour Report

Train Smarter?

On Saturday, my newest issue of Bicycling magazine arrived, and what should the cover story be?  "Train Smarter: Ride a 100 Miles in One Day."  First thought: wait, you are supposed to train to ride 100 miles in a day?

Last weekend, I rented a smooth white Chevy Malibu and drove to Colorado for the rescheduled Front Range 100 Mile Brewery Tour.  A 100 mile bike ride between craft breweries, duh.  I had intended to do the ride over the long 4th of July weekend, but love, and surgery, got in the way. 

I was confident I could hang for 100 fairly flat miles around Longmont.  For one, RAGBRAI proved to me that I can suffer through insufficient training, extreme heat, and hills.  For two, there would be beer, and lots of it.  And, that does wonders to motivate me. 

Driving by myself was a bit of a bummer.  I had hoped to bring the Tiger and Miss Holiday, but the Tiger couldn't get off of work, and I wasn't about to spend 10 hours in a car with a spastic puppy alone.  It didn't take long though, before I realized I was on the right course. 

Beaver Crossing, Somewhere, Nebraska

I was excited to see the new house and the new baby in his native habitat, and, of course, I couldn't wait to see my best friend Tuque, whom I believe is one of the smartest and most interesting creatures I have ever met.  Here's a photo of Tuque stalking the wild small one.  Maybe they should feed him more? 

Tuque: Call of the Wild

The Chateau de Smith is fabulous, with plenty of space for jumping dogs, rolling babies, and me.  I am also quite jealous of the park like splendor of the landscaping.  As a special treat, the Mayor had grown an amazing mustache, that just walked the line between sexy and creepy.  Nice.  We ate pizza and went to bed early. 

Lately my tough face just looks like I smelled something gross.

Five thirty am arrived, and it was chilly, windy and dark.  The Mayor and I ate some breakfast and mentally prepared ourselves for the chilly morning.  The sun was just coming up when we hit the road.  It was glorious.  Mountains, crisp air, flatten road kill snakes all over the place.  The few other cyclist that were out gave friendly waves, which the Mayor said was rare. 

After about twenty some miles of rolling pastoral wonderland, we got to a funny fork in the road.  After trying to convince some Boulder fitsters that they should abandon their ride to Carter Lake and join us on the ride to Fort Collins for the Tour de Fat, (I am pretty sure one of the gals thought that Tour de Fat was referring just to me), we headed back east and then north.  We stopped in a bank parking lot for a snack. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Steven was using my camera to do what any proud young mother of a cute baby will do...photograph and self-promote. 

I love that stunned look, like he's about to be abducted by aliens.

The ride up to Loveland was pleasant and by the time we stopped at a gas station for more coffee and snacks, it was time to remove the outer layer.  I had some ice cream and cheese.  We weren't too far through the sprawl of Loveland when disaster struck.  My computer, which has been sassy since RAGBRAI stopped working.  And a gal can't really ride her first century without an operating computer.  We pulled over and the Mayor flatted.  

Several walkers and runners stopped to see if we needed anything.  I guess people in Loveland carry spare tubes on their Saturday morning walks?

It took every tube that we had between us to find the teeny-tiny thorn that was causing the problem.  

Apparently, we were making up for never having a flat on RAGBRAI.

Nervous, and without the reinforcement of data, we made our way to Fort Collins, which was a bonafide sh!t show because the Tour de Fat was happening in New Beliguim's home town.  We rolled through town, then took a narrow, busy, and slightly uphill road out of town to add some mileage.  "If we don't have 60 miles by the time we get to O'dell's, we are going to have to ride in circles," the Mayor told me.

Instead, we got some gorgeous views of reservoirs and mountains and hobby farms before heading into the chaos of Tour de Fat. 

Fort Collins is where they keep RAGBRAI and Mardi Gras in the off-season.

Fort Collins was insane with bicycles, costumes, and, alas, lines.  The streets were over run with amazing bicycles and their bedazzled riders: bananas, hill-billies, cowboys, all on bicycles.  There was so much chaos, that they wouldn't let folks park their bikes on the millions of bike racks.  Instead, we had to wait for a beaver's year to get our bikes into the bike valet. 

Then, we had to get in lines to get a wrist band.  Then, we had to get in like to get tokens.  Then, we had to find the beer line.  Then, we had to get in line to get the beer.  Then, we had to get in the beer drinking line. Just kidding.  All the while, we look like a couple of jokers because we are literally the only people wearing Lycra. 

Beer, finally.

The only bummer was that the Mayor had actually schedule us a tour of the New Belgium brewery for this Saturday, but because of the Tour de Fat, they had to cancel.  For the record, I want to say, I was impressed with all of the planning the Mayor did to pull this ride off. 

We got our bikes out of bike hock, then rode over to O'dells, which was the highlight of my ride.  I love O'dell's IPA and I was excited to get a taste of some of their other brews.  The brewery had yet to be overrun by Tour de Fatists, so we got two sampler trays and proceeded to taste beer in a delicate and refined manner. 

So many beers to sample

Interesting, with a malty after bite.

 

Delicate, yet gutsy, like me.

 Needless to say, the beer made us very, very happy. 

Mustache super smile.

 Then, Steven arrived, looking like Betty-Crocker/Super Mom.  She brought a Peanut Butter Jam style kit and proceeded to make some amazing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us. 

What can't that girl do?

It's my belief that when one becomes a mom, one develops all sorts of super powers, like being able to pack a sandwich kit and not forget important stuff like paper towels. 

The Small One looks on, pleased. 

The best part of the sandwich: bacon.

Sandwich heaven.

 Panda's version of the PBJam included wheat bread, crunchy peanut butter, raspberry jam, Nutella, marshmallow fluff, pretzels and bacon.  They were amazing.  
 

The Mayor was so pleased, he had to do the biker dance.

 As we were eating and drinking, the Tour de Fatists started to filter into the brewery and the line for beer got really long.  I wanted more beer, but I was tired of lines.  The Mayor, though, found a magical way to cut the line: cash.  We had lots of beer, peanut butter sandwiches, and a line related victory.  A good time was had by all. 

Alas, we still had forty miles and two breweries to visit before my first century was done.  The Mayor and I got back on our bikes and reversed course back to Loveland where we would meet Steven for the hand-off. 

We met in a park in Loveland, near the site of the tube-a-magedon.  Steven wrestled into Lycra in the car, trying to avoid the prying eyes of happy families enjoying the playground, and the Mayor installed his bike on the rack.  I made sure to document the mileage so we could add it to Steven's.

 

Oh, the woes of a borrowed computer.

 The adorable couple shared a moment before Steven tagged in, and then we were off.  Me, noticeably slower. 

Sometimes when people are in love, their jerseys have similarly striped patterns.

The late afternoon ride was glorious.  We repeated much of the route the Mayor and I had taken before but the mountains had taken on the glorious warmth of sunset and clouds were rolling in.  At one point, a cyclist rode up and asked if we had lost a cell phone, "it hadn't been driven over yet."  No, it wasn't ours.  We rode the route the Mayor and I were supposed to take before, and Steven pointed out the spot where she had run into a ditch in the dark.  I was getting a bit tired, but Steven's enthusiasm kept me moving.  She kept telling me we were going 30 miles an hour.

I did have a moment when we had to climb this little hill.  In Iowa, it wouldn't have been a big deal, but all day I had been feeling out of breath and tired.  I guess it was the altitude.  Every time I tried to muscle up a hill, I would just get totally gassed before I reached the top.  I knew that I needed a moment, so we stopped and drank some water, and waved to motorcyclists.  At the top, Steven pointed out her re-group farm.

We saw a rattle snake on the side of the road.  Scary.  Steven had to pee, and we were hoping for a mid-ride beer, so we gunned it for this little gas station.  We arrived at 6:20.  The sign said they closed at 6-ish.  Damn!  It was a bummer because Steven was "off the chain," which is the phrase I use to describe my young parent friends who have handed off responsibility for their small ones to their partners.  Because they don't get to go out or have as much fun anymore, then tend to get a little crazy, like a dog "off the chain." 

Alas the town of Hygiene did not afford us a chance to indulge her freedom.  Then, we headed back to Longmont, where we yelled at drivers until we found our direction, and then headed to Left Hand Brewery. 

Now picture this for a moment: you are a young professional, fit, healthy, and living in the Longmont area.  You and your friends head to a local brewery to enjoy some pints in the late summer sunshine over the long Saturday of Labor Day weekend.  You are chatting about all things fit, urbane, and hip, when you look over the rim of your pint glass and in the door, lugging a baby in a car seat, is a young man.  He's your age, maybe a bit older.  He's dressed in cargo shorts and a holey tee-shirt.  He lugs the baby up to the bar, where he proceeds to order a beer.  He's alone.  Bumping the car seat off the calf of his leg and struggling to keep the beer from splashing the baby he proceeds to a table on the patio.  You watch him as he passes your table.  He has a mustache, thin, golden, and perhaps nefarious.  You scroll through your short term memory, hadn't you seen one of those white kidnapper vans in the parking lot?  Didn't you read that article in Harpers about trusting your gut in dubious social situations?  What should you do? 

That is the scene that unfolded before Steven and I arrived at Left Hand Brewery, when the Mayor arrived with the Small One in tow and resumed his drinking. 

Minutes later, Steven and I are washed up on the parking lot like a pair of sweaty, dusty pieces of driftwood, though Steven is considerably fresher than myself.  We order beer.  I am too tired to ask the bartender to not give me 400-pound Monkey.  We got water.  We sit with Brad.  I've ridden 100 miles in a day.

Sometimes when people are in love, their computers match.

I knew the Smiths wanted a little more out of me, but all I could muster was a loving look at my glass of beer.  Steven kept telling people I did my first century, "oh, which one?" they would ask.  Maybe we need to take this ride to the next level?

Ahh.

 So, that's the story of my first century ride and the motivational powers of beer. 

Beer-hundred.

 After Left Hand, we promised to meet the Mayor and Small One at home and pick a place for dinner.  Then, Steven, who still hadn't been completely off the chain, gave me a devilish look, "Oskar Blues is open until 8" she said, "we have 15 minutes."  So, I sought some inner strength and hammered it over to our last brewery. 

3:26 minutes to go.

 Then, the math got funny.  Steven had me convinced we only had 8 minutes to drink our beer.  I thought that was because the place was closing, but it sure didn't look like it was closing.  Instead, the 8 minute issue was about getting home in time to not seem suspicious, like we had been to another brewery.  I was drunk, and tired, and confused, but at least I was better off than the jokers who locked their bike + Burley + baby to the bike rack then lost the key. 

After bike ride and shower, we went to a barbeque joint.  The staff managed to up sell me into both the big ass beer and the blue berry cobbler.  To my shame, I couldn't finish the beer.  To my regret, I had to go inside and get the aforetomentioned cobbler myself.  
 

Mmmm?

So, many thanks to the Mayor, and Steven, and Small One for a fabulous ride.  I didn't get eaten by a rattle snake, nor did I DNF.  I was huffing and puffing a lot, and I had a few dark moments, but I proved to myself that you don't need a magazine's smart training techniques or acclimatization or much skill to ride a century.  You just need good friends and the motivational power of beer.