Cyclocross 2: Rice 1.5

Last night I went to my 3rd (count 'em) official cyclocross practice.  Not only did I not fall down, even once, but, I passed someone.  Two someones, actually.  Though, for fairness sake, I will have to mention that they were running the course, and they passed me back when I had to schlep the Cannonball up old mount heart attack.  So, point for me! 

Also, I made a friend.  In RAGBRAI 2010, the mayor and I were paling around with this gal he new from his time spent in the Gulag, also known as Ames.  Her name was Jessica.  We probably would have had a lot of fun, until a category 87 tornado blew through Glenwood.  The Mayor and I high tailed it to the VFW for $2 beers and Jessica took her bike back to camp. 

Anyhow, last night, as I was loading up, she came over and said hello.  She had to remind me who she was because a) I am terrible with remembering everything, especially faces.  b) it wouldn't have mattered if I had recognized her because she has lost 100 pounds and looks like a million bucks.  We chatted a bet, then walked across the field to partake in the keg that someone brought to practice (this is why I think cyclocross is the discipline for me).  She's a bit of a racist, in that I think she only thinks about racing and other racers, but she seemed cool.  We are now FB friends, and I am hoping some of that 100 pound mojo, or speed mojo will rub off on me.  Half point!

Cyclocross is still ahead with two crashes, but you will be happy to know both my arm (Witmer post-brunch practice) and my leg (steep little hill last week at Stone Park) are healing up nicely. 

What's even super-more-awesome are my students.  Well, one student in particular.  They noticed that I had turned my right forearm into hamburger and polietly asked what the hell happened.  Not wanting to waste too much class time, but also not wanting them to think I was a victim of domestic violence, I asked if anyone had heard of cyclocross.  The room responded with 20 blanks stares, and one raised hand. 

One student knows what cyclocross is!  More than that, he has done it.  In fact, he has a bad ass scar to prove it.  The next day, he brought me this book!

Thanks student!

Now, I can read about keeping the rubber side down.  And, at least one student doesn't think I am an alien from the planet Bike Dork.

Upcoming Plans: Cyclo-Brunch.  I want to get a crew together to practice at Witmer Park on Sunday, then retreat to the Library Cafe for recovering food and beverage after.  

Cyclo Thoughts

So, here I am on the verge of getting ready to try another cyclocross practice. Sunday brunch made me fearless, but less of a bike handler. I got this little number, plus the kind of chiropractic cracking one sees in Van Damme movies. Do I really think I can handle this?

$33.07 Poorer

And 9.7% more fearless.

Just got signed up. 

74 days to prepare.

Mittens, Surviving, and Life without a Camera

So, the camera on my camera phone is broken, and I have to say, it has rendered my phone about 70% less useful.  Combined with the fact that my Nikon camera won't hold a battery and I am near camera-less.  In many ways this has become a damper on my lifestyle so great that I am almost ready to call the insurance company, but the most significant damperage is the severe limitations on the visual media in this blog.

One of the things that I couldn't document, for example, was me, sacking up and going to the Renegade Cyclocross 101 Clinic last night.  And, I only needed the training wheels of no-less than three supportive friends in attendance, and a pre-clinic practice on Monday to get me over my fear.

I mean, I think they design this whole cyclo-cross thing, and cycling in general to be intimidating.  All the pros run around with grimaces the likes of which only appear in burn recovery units.  There is a ton of confusing terminology, a profusion of men having my-penis-is-bigger-than-your-penis-by-proxy contests, and all anyone can say about cyclo-cross and often cycling in general is that it is all about the exquisite joy of suffering.

The first :45 seconds of this video should illustrate my point.

Plus, there's my own insecurities, such as having an ass the size of a continent, and wearing tight pants.  Combine that with the fact that the cyclocross asks you to get on and off your bike at speed, run uphills with an unwiedly piece of equipment, and jump over stuff, all which risk catastrophic levels of crash induced embarrassment, and you have one scary Tuesday evening. 

But I went.  Mostly because the Tiger has been reminding me in subtle and not so subtle ways of my motto for the year, yes, it's "fearless." He even went so far as to give me this card for my birthday.

They dared Mittens to do it, and Mittens never turned down a dare.

The inside says, "Here's to living life on the edge!"  And, the Tiger wrote, "Happy Birthday Sweetie!  Here is to another year of fearless living!"  I guess I have been a bit of a chicken lately. 


(The Tiger is notorious for giving ridiculously cheesy, borderline-grandma-cards, but this one was exceptional).

So, I went, and it wasn't that bad.  I mostly hung with Jen V. from the gym.  She's a beginner too, but she knows everyone who rides a bicycle in Des Moines, so it went okay.  In fact, Kyle Sedore, the fastest man in the 515, who scares me, explained how to hop back on the bike in a way that I actually understood.  Then, I did a couple laps of the course, which was super fun.  Then, I had one (count em one) malty recovery drink with my bike boyfriends.  Pretty awesome.

Fearlessness, or at least, choking down my fear, worked yet again.

This morning, at H2K (the gym-like activity formerly known as BeavX90), Jen and I were debriefing about the night before.  She's really excited to do the Oakley Night Cap Cross at Mullet's in October.  I am focusing on something more grand (more on that to follow).  I was like, "oh, you can do it, you'll be fine."  And she responded that she didn't just want to "do it."  She wanted to do "fairly well, like middle of the pack."

I have somewhat lower expectations for myself.  I have totally embraced the whole Malcolm Gladwell Outliers 10,000 hours concept.

1.5 hours down.  9,997.5 to go!

Meaning, it's going to take some time to get better, let alone approaching good.  And, I am trying to be cool with that.  It's hard to do something that you suck at for one hour, let alone 10 hours, or 50 hours, but that doesn't give me an excuse to not do it.

So, sucky or not, scared or not, I am declaring before God and blogosphere, that I am going to keep at it, with the end of goal, of, duh, duh, dAH!

Survivor Cross.

Does the music make it seem just wacky and fun?

The cyclocross race that takes place the afternoon of the Living History Farms run--7 miles of mud, creeks, and pain, or so I've heard.  We're going to put that whole "harder to kill" promise to the test.  If I can figure out how to register, I am in.

I am working on a "training plan."  I've heard those help.  More details to come.

Wish me luck, hand me up a Hamm's, or better yet, come and join me.