So, there is this dude.

I see him commuting twice a day, every day. Morning. Night. Morning. Night. The first time I took note of this dude, I came up behind him on the LRT after work and needed to pass. I said "passing left!" He stayed in the middle of the lane and did nothing. Usually I get a look or a wave or a thank you or something when I alert other cyclists that I am barreling down on them, so I said it louder and more commanding to make sure he heard. "PASSING LEFT."

His response went something like this, though I'll go ahead and censor it for those out there with delicate sensibilities. "I effing heard you the first effing time but there is no way in h - e - double hocky sticks I am going to move over because there is effing gravel over here... bitch."

For the record there was no gravel. Ok, maybe a pebble or two. I was so shocked that I replied the only way I knew how. "Wow! That was amazing! I love yoooooou toooooooo." Then I blew a kiss at him, turned around and rode like I was being chased my bees. I may have set a land speed record. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I kept going. There was no way I could endure letting my super clever come back be negated by another encounter. I pulled off the main trail and took side streets. Got home. Saw my dog. And tried to forget the entire incident ever happened. Some people, huh?

But, because God is just soooo funny, I now see this same dude twice a day, every day. Morning. Night. Morning. Night. And yes, each time I still need to pass him. I don't say anything now. Just take a deep breath, eyes forward, legs pushing and pass when there is no traffic and I am tired of waiting around. No harm, no foul, right?

No. Not right. Because every day I hear the same damn noise behind me. Him switching gears. To chase and re-pass me.

Let me take a time out: Mom, don't worry. I am not an idiot. To date he has been harmless--just an old dude with a raging inferiority complex and no helmet and I really can't fathom him actually being dangerous. That said I am well aware that he could be one "passing left" away from snapping into a serious Nam flashback. So I am safe. I am careful. I am tough. It is Minneapolis and there are tons of witnesses. I love you and will call soon.

Anyway. Since I am not, oddly enough, in a place in my life where I have to prove self-worth by racing strange old angry dudes, I maintain a pace I am comfortable with and ride on. And every day he passes me by cruising through a red light that I am stopped and waiting at.

There is no moral at the end of this story, no lesson learned, nothing. I just really hate everything about this dude and am using it as an excuse to leave work, like, 15 minutes early.

Whoops... There Really Is No "I" in "Team"

Tonight was my first night with the team.

I signed up for a women’s bike team in the city. It is all inclusive, all you have to do is pay a hundred bucks and you get a jersey. But it is big enough so that racers find their place. Leisure riders find their place. Triathletes find their place. Crit racers find their place. Everyone has a place.

It seemed like my kind of place.

We met at a popular organic cafe in town that sponsors the team. People with fashionable glasses and fashionable plaid shirts and just-dirty-enough-to-be-fashionable jeans sat out front. I was in Lycra and I felt sorry for them.

There were maybe 30 people and everyone introduced each other but it didn’t matter. We were all wearing helmets and sunglasses and the exact same jersey. The only thing that differed were our bikes and the color of our pony tales. I tried my best to remember even those things but of course it didn’t really work.

The ride started a little after six and fairly slow through residential neighborhoods. I didn’t even pay attention to the route. I couldn’t take my eyes off the impressiveness of us. We were like a flock of birds gliding through the Minneapolis. Strong. Fast. All dressed in blue. People stopped and stared at us. But the pace remained pretty slow--maybe 19 mph. Maybe less.

We got to the High Bridge in St. Paul. I remembered the group leader--Annie-- a very petite, soft spoken, pixie-like person say that some tend to pull away on the bridge, but that everyone meets at the top to rest and see who wants to take the long route and who wants to take the shorter one.

This was my chance. I love hills. I’m good at hills. I’m unbelievably fast going up hills. I could finally show what I could do. My mouth started to water. I geared up and took off. Then I geared up again and started passing the others one by one. Then I geared up again and left everyone behind.

I waited at the top.

After about a mile Annie rode up to me. “Your power is amazing,” she said, “and... you would have no problem racing, actually. But you are a member of a team now. And it is rare someone just comes in and pulls away from the pack like that...”

I felt like an idiot. I nodded politely but wanted to die. I’ve never known a different way to ride. It’s always been about conquering. About impressing. About look at me look at me dear god show that you know I have worth. That you respect me. That you value me somehow, someway just communicate that to me that now, please, please, please.

But I never felt reciprocal appreciation. So through tears I kept going. Kept racing. Kept pulling away from the pack hoping this time it would work. This time the veil would be lifted and everyone would know I was somebody special. But now I didn’t feel special. I felt like a jackass. An embarrassed jackass.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “This is my first real group ride.”

She nodded.

“...and to be honest...” I hesitated, “I sort of just went through a break up... and... I just... I have a hard time stopping and controlling myself.”

Annie smiled. “That’s not a bad thing at all. You need to take whatever makes you angry and use it. I’m a terrible racer because I’m not a very...” she looked for the right word, “I’m not really a very angry person. I just don’t have that fire. You have that fire.”

I smiled.

“But,” she said, “you need to learn how to be a member of a team. How to ride close. How to be sneaky. How to work with your team members to gain speed and keep it. We can’t have you pulling away in the first 10 miles and not being able to finish. And most importantly, you need to learn to trust us.”

My shoulders drooped and I looked away. "After all that’s happened... after all I’ve fucking been through how the hell am I supposed to find a way to trust again? Trust anyone?"

She looked back at me calmly, “this is how. This is exactly how. Right here, right now.”

I took a deep breath.

She said, “and now you are about to learn how to sprint up a hill in a pack. Let’s go.”

30 Days of Biking Poem

30 days.

For some these were 30 days of discovery

The wind in their hair and the sun on their back

They saw this old city as new.

They tested the limits of their ability.

The limits of their strength.

The limits of their courage.

With 2 wheels below them,

They rode on.

For some these were 30 days of fun

Group rides and pub crawls

Late nights full of laughter and friends

They celebrated life and this lifestyle

With gusto and heart

And with 2 wheels below them,

They rode on.

Then there is my story.

My 30 days.

My slice of life.

It saw the passing of my Grandmother.

The passing of my 3 year relationship.

The passing of the house I called a home.

These 30 days...

My 30 days were a test.

Because when I felt I was losing everything

I had to decide if I could ride on.

And you know what?

I did.

With 2 wheels below me,

Hot weather, cold weather, car exhaust

Crying, laughing, drinking,

Living, feeling, loving

I rode on.

Yes, it is a sad story.

But it is also a rallying cry-- our rallying cry.

I am a cyclist.

We are cyclists

And we can now say with unflinching certainty

That it will not stop at 30 days.

We will ride on.

Through streets and alleys

Rain and snow

Good times and bad

With 2 wheels below us, we will ride on.

"When you get the blanket thing you can relax because everything you could ever want or be you already have and are. Now isn't that cool?"

-Bernard Jaffe, I Heart Huckabees

"Live today. Not yesterday. Not Tomorrow. Just today. Inhabit your moments. Don't rent them out to tomorrow."

-Jerry Spinelli, author

Maybe It's Gangrene? Hello?

Another trait of my delightfully obsessive personality is that I not only tend to (let's call it "focus") on the good things-- bicycles, barefoot running, proper nutrition, positive self talk, puppies, etc-- but when something goes wrong I also tend to "focus" on the bad things.

Case in point: last Friday I ran very sloppily for 7 miles and came out of it with some foot/ankle pain. No biggie! It happens! I popped two ibuprofens and expected a full recovery by morning.

When I put my foot on the ground the next morning and fell over from pain I knew there was a problem. A very big problem. If my foot was hurt it would not only affect my running, but my biking, my commuting, my time with the dog... the very essence of ME.

So I did what any self-respecting person would do in such a situation: I ate a whole thing of girlscout cookies and called my mom crying.

I told her how heart breaking it would be missing the half marathon and not be able to commute and gaining all sorts of weight from returning to a completely inactive lifestyle and how much it would hurt if they had to amputate and how I looked up all sorts of foot ailments on webmd and it took me to other links and it's pretty clear I have diabetes or typhoid fever and when I googled "healing time for metatarsal stress fracture" some guy's website with clouds as the background said "healing time for metatarsal stress fractures could be up to 7.5 weeks!"... never mind that I don't technically know that I have a metatarsal stress fracture, this shit is REAL.

...yeah...

I'm sort of like a woodpecker that gets off track but just continues to pound away at sheet metal.

My saving grace has been (I kid you not) Lindsey Vonn and the Olympics. On one of the last days of programming they ran a segment on spectacular crashes. There were snapped bones, ripped muscles, and even a guy who just about impaled himself on the blade of his own ice skates. After all the build up, the announcer said that not just in one case, or a few cases, but in a staggering amount of cases these hurt athletes come back stronger, faster, and more determined than before.

I scheduled a doctor appointment for tomorrow morning.

It continues to be very difficult not to get off track and be fatalistic about all of this. But with the continued support of my friends, my mom, and of course Lindsey Vonn's horrific gamut of injuries at the 2010 Olympics, I'm hoping to come back swingin.

February Running Totals

Not all of these miles have been pretty, or particularly fast. But here is the total number of miles I've managed to crank out this month.

83.36 miles

I was very excited heading into this weekend because if I pushed myself I could get to 100 miles in just one month. But there was a problem-- at running group I went too fast with a dog that pulled too much and now have a very angry right side. As in right ankle, right knee, and right hip. Apparently 7 miles in an hour and ten minutes is still out of my league.

So I've taken the weekend off. Because it's not that I run so much because I love pain, it's that I run so much to AVOID PAIN. In May I am going to run a half (13.3 miles). In October I am going to run a marathon (26.6 miles). I want to work hard enough between now and then so that (while not necessarily fast) these miles will come without too much strain.

The number one rule, of all the training guides I've read is to listen to your body. So while this weekend was the nicest Minneapolis has had since October, I'm going to just sit back and not hit the pavement. Hopefully March will hold more miles, better form, and less pain. Onward and upward!

Today's Onion - Just Too Good To Pass Up!

Sometimes the Onion really does make my day.

Click here to view the original!

The entertainment industry has taught me many valuable lessons over the years: All car crashes end with huge fireball explosions. Zombies don't run. And Zooey Deschanel always gets the guy no matter how flawed and hopelessly childish she acts.

The movie machine has also taught me that there can't be victory without a moment right in the middle of the story when the hero falters and can't possibly go on. No matter what the context, that moment suddenly puts everything into doubt-- all the hopes and dreams and good intentions that had been built up over the last hour and 12 minutes.

Right now, I'm in that moment and not feeling very optimistic about the outcome.

I've read all the books. Done the training exercises. Watched the ridiculously over-priced DVD's. And even scoured Youtube for the Pose/ Born to Run/ Barefoot running technique in action. And yet, I'm still not running pain-free.

The author of Born to Run had a similar hiccup. He spent months in Mexico following the elusive Tarahumara, learning their ways and watching their incredible skill first hand. He came home all jazzed to start running hundreds of miles and couldn't go farther than 3. His knee still hurt, his ankle skill hurt, his shins still hurt, blah blah blah.

The fact of the matter was, he thought he was practicing the new running methods he'd learned, but was really still plodding along like a 300 lbs bear. So he did what any successful writer who free-lances for Runner's World Magazine does. He hired the best trainer in the world, got all expenses covered, and was happy as a clam and running ultra-marathons in no time.

You may already see where this is headed.

I DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO THE BEST TRAINER IN THE WORLD.

In fact, I don't even have access to the internet. I had to pay off the teenage manager at the Caribou Coffee next to my work and that's the only reason I'm online right now.

So I feel like I've hit a brick wall. I found something I love to do. Something that keeps me active in the winter. Something that lets me spend time with my dog. Something that makes me feel great... and yet is hurting me and I don't know how to fix it.

If only Zooey Deschanel were here to tell me what to do...

Winter Update

I haven't disappeared. I am still here. Just not writing as much. I guess it goes in phases.

The good news is that things are still good.

Last year I was flabbergasted when I signed up for one silly duathlon at the end of September and somehow within 2 months I had already signed up for a triathlon and a century. It's not that I'm a super athlete or missing any (or all) rational thinking skills, it's just that these events present themselves and naturally, simply fall into place. This year, when the same snowballing effect happened it was comforting--almost as if I didn't find the races, but the races found me.

The first one on the schedule is the Lincoln Half Marathon, held in my home town of Lincoln, Nebraska. The irony here is that I didn't run a single mile outdoors the entirety of the time I lived there. In fact, that's sort of the point. I've been very active for 2 years now, but I still have pangs that it isn't real and it won't last. This Half Marathon is a perfect way to go back to the place I was the weakest and close the chapter on that portion of my life. Run through those streets I know so well and finally know for a fact: This is the new me and she is here to stay.

Part of the earlier training schedule has meant regularly running outside. I used to think winter running would be an absolute agony and frankly only something masochists found interesting. It has turned out to be nothing of the sort. It's quiet and serene, often shockingly beautiful and far from cold. Yak Tracks (sometimes called YakTrax) have helped immensely and I cannot speak highly enough of having them. Not only do I not slip on ice, but I don't really notice it at all. It's freed up every single running route I had thought was inaccessible.

I still have a long way to go and a lot of learning to do but I feel like I'm making head way.

Onward and upward!

"Let your boat of life be light, packed only with what you need; a homely home and simple pleasures. One or two friends worth the name. Someone to love and someone to love you. A cat, a dog, and a pipe or two. Enough to eat and enough to wear and a little more than enough to drink, for thirst is a dangerous thing... you will find the boat easier to pull then. And it will not be so liable to upset. And it will not matter so much if it does upset."

-Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat (Not to Mention the Dog)

"My suspicion is that the effects of running are no extraordinary at all, but quite ordinary. It is the other states, all other feelings, that are peculiar, for they are an abnegation of the way you and I are intended to feel. As runners, I think we reach directly back along the endless chain of history. We experience what we would have felt had we lived ten thousand years ago, eating fruits, nuts, and vegetables and keeping our hearts and lungs and muscles fit by constant movement."

-The Complete Book of Running by James Fixx

To-Do

I've officially begun composing my 2010 To-Do list. It is not, I repeat NOT a list of New Year's Resolutions. Resolutions are meant to be abandoned. To-Do lists are meant to be accomplished.

And this is quite a big year coming up.

In 2008 I learned to ride a bike. I learned about hand signals and helmets and how important it is to roll up your jeans so they don't get caught in your bike chain making you fall like an idiot.

In 2009 I learned to race. I learned about spandex and gel packs and after much trial and error, how to be competitive without losing all your friends. I rode my first Century Ride (100 miles) in May, my first Triathlon in July, and my first Duathlon in September.

In 2010 I want to refine. And believe me, there is plenty of room for that. I need to learn the proper way to run. A technique that both conserves energy and drastically reduces the chance for injury. I need to better understand nutrition-- which foods give energy and strength-- and devise some sort of realistic and satisfying meal plan. I want to not only become proficient at changing a flat bike tire, but also begin to understand the machine in its entirety and learn how to better take care of it.

But most importantly (and where much of the refinement comes in) I want to do all of this without losing sight of how much fun it is. The positive momentum, the building of strength, the accomplishment of goals... it's amazing. And awe-inspiring. But most importantly it is fun. More to come soon (including the list!)

2009 Totals

I apologize that this picture is ridiculously small but it's the best I could do!

These are my 2009 "Bike 2 Benefits" totals. It's a program through Minneapolis Metro Transit that encourages alternate ways of getting around such as ride sharing, public transportation, and last but definitely not least: commuting via bike.

From March (when the snow and ice melted enough for me to ride my bicycle) to December (when the snow came back) I logged my miles to and from work and to and from my Pilates classes. That's it. I didn't track my grocery runs. My pub runs. My training rides. My competitions. Nothing except work and pilates.

I logged 2,358 miles.

Saved an estimated 116 gallons of gas.

Reduced CO2 in the air by 2,302 lbs.

And reduced 97lbs of pollution from the air.

And the most amazing thing of all is that it really wasn't that hard. A few miles a day. That's all.

Whether through this program or Map My Ride I hope to log it all in 2010 and see how far I can get.

It's going to be a very good year!

It was sad to not be able to visit family this year...

But making this guy was pretty awesome anyway :)

Born to Run

Recently the book "Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen" by Christopher McDougall was recommended to me.

I started reading it not because I am particularly adept at running, but because I am incredibly awkward at running. After a mile or two my right knee and hip flexor start to hurt, leaving me with an adorable limping gate. I always go with Evey but when she pulls on the leash I have to hunch over to regain control and to be honest, she can pull a lot. I also never wanted to put much money into a sport I might not get all that into and usually wear mismatched sweats and curry stained t-shirts.

That's right. What I'm trying to tell you is that I am the Quasimodo of amateur jogging.

So I started in on this book right away. These lost tribes who could run incredible distances--sometimes sprinting hundreds of miles obviously knew something I do not. I couldn't wait to dig into this fantastical side of history and maybe even discover a few techniques that could improve my modern form.

But then it hit me a few pages in, as I'm sure it hits most readers. This Christopher McDougall guy wasn't writing about an ancient race of superathletes, he's writing about a modern one. That lives in Mexico. At this very moment.

It was jarring. For whatever reason, it's a lot easier to swallow the notion of weird Herculean cultures living thousands of years ago than it is to believe they could exist today... especially when most people get out of breath walking from their car to their booth at Applebee's.

But there it was in well researched black and white. The Tarahumara not only run enormous distances but do so in the treacherous Copper Canyon.

No matter how implausible you believe the story itself to be, please continue reading. The pages that follow contain something much more valuable than a social studies lesson on indigenous cultures or training tips. The pages inspire. And they don't just inspire one to run they inspire all activity weather it be hiking, biking, swimming, whatever. The Tarahumara's secrets are not rocket science. They have just retained the knowledge that humans are creatures meant to be active and activity is, at its very core, fun. It feels good. And depression, anger, hatred-- it all falls away with the miles.

How could that be a bad thing?

Suffice to say, it is a very good winter read and comes highly recommended.

"I always start these events with very lofty goals, like I'm doing something special. And after a point of body deterioration, the goals get evaluated down to basically where I am now-- where the best I can hope for is to avoid throwing up on my shoes."

-Nuclear engineer and ultrarunner, Ephraim Romesberg sixty-five miles into the Badwater Ultramarathon

Tortoise v. Hare

As the ill conceived tattoo on my leg was meant to suggest, the story of the tortoise and the hare is not only a reoccurring theme in my life but also one that is very important to me.

The tortoise is slow. And dull. And round. He not only has no business winning races, he has no business competing in the first place. The impossibility of the task in front of him is reason enough to quit. The mockery and laughter of his peers is reason enough to quit. The ridiculous lead the hare has from the get go is reason enough to quit. And yet he doesn't. Ever. He continues on with steady determination and quiet resolve. That to me is quite beautiful.

This weekend I was lucky enough to attend a "Friendsgiving" feast to celebrate all who are near and dear. I hadn't formally met one of the attendees but was looking forward to talking with her. She recently returned from Greece where she ran in her first marathon.

That's right. She ran her first marathon... in Greece. You know, where the actual town of 'Marathon' is located. Where Pheidippides made his fabled journey across the countryside to announce Greek victory over Persia. Yeah. That place.

She said what an amazing experience the trip was and that she was planning to go back next year as a tour guide if anyone was interested in going/ competing/ cheering. I must've lit up like a light. The entire idea reeks of impossibility. A marathon? Really? Even the thought of a half marathon... 13.1 miles... is... well... ridiculous. The farthest I've ever gone is just about 6 miles but really when it comes down to it, that was more of a quick walk. There is just no way someone like me could ever have the stamina, the perseverance, or the courage to travel half way around the world and run in the footsteps of Greek Heroes.

Which is exactly why I am going to do it.

I hold no allusions of grandeur. I know what my body can and cannot do. So my goal--my hare-- is simply to finish... half of it.

And I will do that. Just wait and see.

"The Turtle Always Wins"

(words scrawled in the hallway of a popular Duluth brew-pub)

Really?

November 25th 5:00pm in Minneapolis:

38 degrees, raining, and rush hour traffic at a stand still.

Funny. As you can see my roads were clear.

In fact I made it home in under 1/2 an hour.

And you call me crazy for riding my bike in "conditions like this"?

LOOK AT YOURSELVES