SSCXWC

Damn. After I finish the Dragon Poo Tea in 2 weeks I'd have less than 3 months to make sure this kryptonite has left my body, lose 10#, and train enough to be able to withstand 45 minutes of deathly exertion on a singlespeed bike in the mud, rain, and cold of November.

Doable? Anything is doable if you're stubborn enough.

Do I have any base training to back me up? hahahahahahaaaaaaa......

Would my body forgive me? Not likely.

Do I tell Dr. Peter what I did when I have yet another relapse? Hell no.

Fabric lust!

Neil has totally turned me on to the Pacific Fabrics stores to hunt and gather fabric for our group's end-of-the-next-month adventure. I keep coming home with yards of new colorful, fuzzy, satiny, fun stuff, and I have no idea what to do with them. All I know is that in my head I'll come out looking awfully sexy and cute. In reality.....well we'll see what kind of emergency costume help I can get to fit that active imagination of mine.

But for now all I'll say is: pink fuzzballs and green satin. HEAVEN!!

A weekend at the races

I played hookie Friday and drove out to the coast for a brief trip into the surf. Brief because the waves were a lot bigger and faster than I anticipated and I found myself out farther than I'm comfortable. Imagining myself being swept out 15 miles offshore before the Coasties could find me, I meekly made my way back in and played in the white water, working on basics and regaining that muscle memory. Calling it a day, I made my way back into the jungle of traffic and to the city for the rest of the action-packed weekend.

The rest of Friday and Saturday I spent with the local homegirls who were racing at the FSA Grand Prix track races at Marymoor. The organizers did a great job bringing in scores of world and national talent to the event. I'm sure if all the medalists wore their bling around their necks that it could all be seen from space.



Nevertheless, our local girls signed on for a bevy of sprint and endurance races, such as the keirin and match sprints. Everyone pretty much knew they were in it for the experience, the kind you can't get riding with the same ladies every Wed night. Jane, Lara, and Gwen (fresh off the plane from Minneapolis!) came out of their keirin races Friday night with the most joyous and exuberant smiles I've seen in a long time. Jane declared this her new favorite event, esp when Tamara told her that it's totally legit to body-check and even head-butt others in the race. Later that night we watched Lara stick it out in the 5x8 Points race, going Mach 10 with all these national champions for 40 loooooong laps and staying in the pack the whole way.



Saturday morning was the qualifying events for the sprint match races. Out of 19 women, they were only letting 12 into the sprints. Jane was bummed that she didn't make the cut, but HELLO, she did a damn fine job nixing a full second off her times from last year, and this was after battling EBV for nearly 3 months earlier this summer. With a full month til Masters Nationals she'll have plenty of time to buff up for her next big competition. Gwen made it into the sprints and did a great job holding her own against the orange she-beast from Alpenrose, then in the repechage to play cat and mouse with other world champs.



Later in the day we hooked up with some other team members for dinner and margaritas at Agua Verde, then another last trip back to Marymoor for the women's Miss n' Out and more insane men's mass start races. I made it home completely exhausted from two full days and I didn't even ride! I think it was from answering "Why aren't you racing?" about a hundred times and trying to explain the nature of my illness. Next year, next year....

Two weeks

In 2 weeks I get this back:


No more dragging my chains around like a restless spirit caught between two worlds. I'm holding on and not letting go as we set off on the next stage of adventure.

Making it home

- 8:30ish a.m. The crosswalk sign dings at the intersection of 25th and the Burke. A nice old lady on her hybrid bike and yellow reflective vest starts to pedal through the CROSSWALK as a stupid co-ed driver proceeds to take her cherished right hand turn and plow through the intersection without regard for anyone in the crosswalk. Out of habit I don't enter any crosswalk until I'm sure that all cars have stopped and see the pedestrians or cyclists going through. The little old lady didn't have this instinct however and was about to get mowed down. I yell out to her, "Look out!!! Look out!!!". The little old lady finally stops just as the stupid coed realizes she is doing a very bad thing. I ride in front of the coed's car sternly informing the driver that she almost killed someone in a CROSSWALK. She mouths that she was sorry, like I am chastising her for bringing home the wrong kind of breakfast cereal.

- Ten minutes later. I stop at the intersection of 65th and the Burke. A nice woman driver stops in front of the crosswalk to let me proceed. Barreling down 65th behind her is some jackass in a run-down pizza delivery car. He finally sees that there is a stopped vehicle 30 feet in front of him and he slams on the brakes. A cloud of smoke, dust, and road debris shoot up from under his car. This is all as I'm riding in front of the nice lady driver through the crosswalk. If he hadn't woken up so quickly he would have plowed into the back of her car, then she would have gone right into me.

- The ride home. Crossing Blakeley and the Burke in front of TiCycles. A nice man in an SUV stops on the far side of the crosswalk to let me through. As I proceed, a jackass comes zooming up the small hill wailing his horn at me like I'm a total impediment to the rest of his day. He's not slowing down for me in the CROSSWALK, so I hurry it up and across, mumbling to myself that I had the right of way.

- Finally make it to the Ballard Bridge. I make the turn to get onto the pedestrian/bike sidewalk and a phreddy bike commuter riding a hybrid in yet another yellow reflective vest is standing there with his bike waving me to pass around him. "Go ahead," I say with a smile. He says nervously, "Well ok. I've had 2 beers..." like riding his bike across this bridge with a buzz was about to be the boldest thing he's done since he was 21. I tell him that I'll make sure he doesn't end up in the water. I watch from a safe distance behind as he wavers back and forth along the sidewalk. I think about all the times I've been a pinball on the side of this bridge with far more than 2 beers in me. The guy makes it across the bridge and down to Fisherman's Terminal. I look away for a second and look back to see him sprawled on the sidewalk, the bike relieved to be free. I stop to ask him if he's ok and he is, a little embarrassed. He still has to ride all the way to West Seattle. God speed, man. I hope you make it home ok.

Magical Dragon Poo Tea, take 2

I saw Dr. Peter today. I've been in denial the past month about having a relapse with my health. "I'll get better next week" has been my motto ever since trying those track races the beginning of June. But after being exhausted week after week and not having the energy to do more than sit at work or only an easy commute on the bike....here we go again. He asked if I felt the same as back in April when this fatigue came back and I had to admit that I did, which was pretty hard to say. It's not easy to admit that you're sick and can't make yourself better. As a doctor, Peter is frustrated too, but he said I have a really stubborn virus here and it was bound to happen with the "super numbers" that my antibodies have been recording.

So today we met for the plan. He'll bump up the prescription in the herbal extract tea and put me on it for 22 days to really nuke the virus once and for all. I'm all for nuking this thing regardless of the, well, unpleasant side effects he says may accompany this stronger formula. I've missed most of the fun of summer and don't want to miss all the fun of....winter. Gads no.

So next week I'll start my Super Magical Dragon Poo tea regimen with lots of doses of surfing and sleeping mixed in.

Bullseye

It's the hottest day of the year and Seattlites' ample, white bellies are melting along the banks of shorelines everywhere. No one in the great Northwest knows what to do when it hits 95F except sit on the couch with 10 fans blowing and watch "Danger Jim" Foreman fry an egg on the hood of a car while imploring citizens to drink plenty of water and take it easy. Thanks Jim.

I got a fine enough breeze riding my bike to work today. Even better, I had plans to meet Karah at Agua Verde after work for icy margaritas and yummy food. Cruising down the Burke in the hot afternoon sun en route to my destination I felt something pelt my helmet and knock my head back a bit. Suddenly there was white goop dripping from the front of my helmet and a foul stench (non-sweat related) emanating from above. I quickly stopped to assess and confirmed that I'd just been nailed by some bird during liftoff. The white crap hit the vents on my helmet, oozed over the edge of my sunglasses and onto my cheek, then splattered onto my shoulder and left leg. Of all the most DISGUSTING things to happen to me. Thank god it was the hottest day of the year and I had a water bottle with me that I could wash the shit off my face and most everything else. I managed to get to it before it solidified and washed away the stench too.

When I met Karah I told her of the incident and she excitedly told me that in Mexican cultures being shit upon by a bird is considered good luck so something good will be coming my way. Well I guess I can't argue with that.

Splat.

Surfing Point Grenville

My alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. and Momo was elated that I would choose to feed him so much earlier than normal. No, this wasn't a time to get a cat conditioned for earlier feedings, this was a time to get ready to go surfing! I packed up the salmon, cheese, and juice in the cooler, threw all the neoprene I owned into the plastic tub, and coaxed my big longboard into its cozy bag for the 3 hour trip out to the coast.

I pulled up to Perry's house at the anointed hour of 6 a.m., but after 15 minutes it was apparent no one in the house was stirring, except for a few hushed doggie "woofs" that quickly lost interest. I had sad thoughts of this trip not happening and my one chance to finally go to Pt. Grenville lost. I finally called Perry and he realized he'd slept through his alarm. The occupants of the house began to move and the ball finally started rolling. We threw our gear and two humongous longboards into the back of his Ford Excursion (ok maybe megaSUVs come in handy) and took off to see what the day would bring.

Turns out that Perry is quite the PNW outdoorsman. I know him from racing and training at the track, and a few people, including Zack and Jane, know him as their favorite dentist. Aside from those well known activities, he's also an avid hunter, fisherman, skier, budding triathlete, and father of 3 equally active adult daughters. Along the drive he narrated stories tied to local towns or rivers that we'd drive by: good fishing spots, the best local cheesemaker, where the cops always have speed traps, worthy restaurants, when this stand of trees had been cut down, etc. He's the real deal when it comes to Washington natives. In Hoquium we stopped at the local grocery store where he knew they make donuts fresh Sunday mornings. We got a few and yes, they were delicious. "NOW we can go surfing!" he exclaimed.

Up to the Quinault reservation we met his old friend, Cliff, who is a tribal elder. Perry and Cliff go hunting in Montana every year to bag elk, and fishing for steelhead and salmon in Washington rivers. They know each other's families and enjoyed catching up. Soon we were back in the big rig and down to the beach to see what the ocean would serve us. Cliff would follow behind and hang out at the beach watching us bob in the water.


It was low tide and was easy to drive the big rig out onto the beach and up to the northern edges where the waves would wrap around the Point and hopefully bring in some good waves. A survey with the binoculars showed there wasn't much swell (marine forecast of 3ft) and anything bigger coming in was totally closing out. Not letting an initial negative report deter us, we suited up and headed out. The wind had been coming from the NW the past few days, which brought in a lot of colder water from Alaska. Naive me never pays attention to such details and left her 5mm neoprene gloves and hat in the car. It only took a few minutes for my hands to be completely numb and without any sun to warm them up I finally went in for relief.

Back out, some decent medium-sized sets were coming in, but otherwise it was larger close-out sets followed by double-over-ankles sets. And with a gray sky the light was really flat and hard to judge what was coming in, so by the time you realized you should turn around and paddle, the waves were almost on top of you. I hadn't done a popup in ages so I took a few turns playing in the white water to get the muscle memory back. It helped a lot and later I managed to catch a few good waves. Perry had a great morning too and rode his wooden board in great style.

Even if the waves weren't epic and my years off the board weren't making me as sharp as before, just being in the water was an instant reprieve from all the other bullshit that's been preoccupying my life. Bobbing out in the water or ducking freezing waves, there is no Epstein-Barr, there is no heavy disappointment in not being able to race for a second season, there is no frustration in my body not bouncing back like it should, there is no overwhelming unfairness when I see all the other cyclists buff and tan and challenging themselves, there is no uncomfortable pause of lingering skepticism when I explain to others what's wrong we me and why I can't race or go play, there are no cars trying to kill me on my commute or drivers flipping me attitude, basically there is nothing in the water wanting anything from me. It's just me, my board, and the ocean....being.

After about 3 hours the salmon in the car started calling me so I went in for some lunch. Perry followed and we had a nice lunch on the beach with Cliff. Perry was concerned about all the holiday traffic going back to Seattle, so we wisely packed up and headed back to the city. It was a good time to end the session. We'd had good waves and as we drove off the tide continued out further and diminished any other swell trying to make its way in.

On the drive back home I endlessly daydreamed about how I need to get surfing back into my routine. It was something that I loved to do on a regular basis until I got detoured with this bike racing thing. Getting to know Perry more showed how possible it is to balance so many aspects of your life. That's a good goal to work on in one's life: balance.

That's a right break

Signs that I need to get out on my longboard this weekend:

- Surfing dreams every week since the last time I was out (oh..about 2 years ago)

- Someone who remains anonymous dropped off 6 copies of The Surfer's Journal at my door the other day. No name. No note. Nothing. Thank you whoever you are. I needed that.

- I saw one of my track friends last night and he mentioned something about surfing, which led to us planning a day trip out to his favorite spot on the coast. It's a spot only the locals know about, one I've only heard campfire tales of. And from what I hear it's the most delicious right break in Washington, if not the Northwest.