Those who can't race....

- Jockstrap for their team at the State Team Time Trial championships, in the rain. My early morning assistance and meticulous split time recording still did nothing to help my team to:

- wake up to their alarm clock;
- make the Zipp valve stem understand that air needs to go inside the tubular, not out;
- remember when to be at the start with their 3 other teammates;
- take the left turn instead of a right turn.

Still, they ended up 3rd out of 5th, but easily could have taken silver if not for said events. Big congrats to the Byrne ladies for SMOKING the field by +5 mins to take the gold. Their time would have gotten them bronze in the 1-2-3s! It was also fun to see Juice out there in the red Ti train on their way to 1-2-3 silver. Stage races, time trials, Elite track Nats....girl's got it goin' on.

- Get up to their elbows in blue dye and green satin and and pink fuzz and all matter of things that make Burning Man the most festive and colorful destination ever. I've also bought an assortment of fake flowery things to make Katrina my dryad chariot for next week's adventure.

- Wake up to a fuzzy face that does not require a can of cat food and actually encourages you to stay in bed.

- Become fascinated by Myers-Brigg in our work communication "therapy" sessions and how my INFPness is systematically designed to drive my ENTJ boss completely insane (mission accomplished!). An even better revelation is that my personality is likened to Calvin from Calvin & Hobbes - I waiver back and forth between fantasy and reality and enjoy bringing my stuffed animals to life. Duh. I asked Penguin and he thinks you realists are totally lame.

- Start to feel their daily energy becoming better. I can commute to work 2x/week and not have to take a nap when I get home and can recover well the next day. My teammates have been the most amazing support during all of this. One has fibromyalgia and was so bad in 2000 that she had to leave her high-level marketing job because she couldn't even work, so she just slept all day at home for months in addition to being in a lot of pain. The next 5 years were a gradual test of getting out of bed, volunteering a few hours/day, to finally working part time then full time. Finally she was able to become active again and even race. "Two steps forward, one step back," was her motto and said that's the only way you can come back from chronic fatigue. It's a constant test of how high you can stack your pennies without them falling. Right now I'm only about 3 pennies high.

(btw, if you have a ridiculously annoying disease, our team is recruiting new members - girls and boys! Join us for lively discussions of bikes, gear, watts, heart rates, food, hoohoos, and enough medical mumbo jumbo to fulfill 5 college credits. Healthy people encouraged to join too.)

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.

That's Mr. Momo to you

I was brainstorming with Zack for new kitty names last night. The thought of something Johnny Cash-ish was going through my head since he wears all black, but there are 2 rules in pet names:

1) It has to be 2 syllables, and

2) It has to be cute enough to make other ridiculously cute names out of.

Johnny and Cashy just didn't meet those criteria. I noted that on the way back from Mud Bay Saturday picking up kitty's supplies I had walked by a Buddhist temple I never knew existed in that neighborhood. So onward went the brainstorming for Buddhist or Tibetan-derived names. That led me down memory lane thinking about our trip to India and how many momos Zack must have inhaled in Darjeeling (although we all did eat our share), and our trip to Santa Fe where his Tibetan friend, Tsering, also recalled how much Little Zack enjoyed momos when growing up at Project Tibet. It came to me that quickly. The tale of the delicious little dumplings filled with goodness continues...and so Mr. Kitty is hereby known as Momo!

Mr. Kitty

I've been promising myself that after a few episodes of travel I would get myself a fuzzy companion of the 4-legged kind (Zack is already the original fuzzy companion). I spent last weekend at PAWS and the Seattle Animal Shelter checking out new little friends. I wanted to adopt someone older since those kittens are so damn cute and are easily placed. I had my heart set on one girl, June, who had been brought in with her friend Benny, but someone took Benny without June even though the shelter suggested they be adopted as a pair. How sad! She was mostly white with a big splotch of black on her face like she'd dipped her face in chocolate sauce. However, I was off to San Diego this week for a conference so I couldn't take her and then ditch town for a week. If she was still there when I got back I'd adopt her. But she was gone.

Enter Mr. Kitty. This handsome fellow was the only one awake when I went to the shelter yesterday afternoon. He jumped out of his cage and into my arms and up my shoulder and was instantly purring and rubbing up against my head. I checked out his history. He was a stray hanging around a neighborhood and someone took him in so he'd be safe, but she had plenty of pets already so she brought him to the shelter. He's so affectionate and good with people he must have had a good home at one point, but perhaps got lost.

When jumping into the world of pet adoption, you never really know what you're getting yourself into so I said what the hell, he's as good as they get after a 10 minute interview so I signed his release papers and busted him out. His jailbird name is Martin, but that just not gonna work so I'm waiting for him to tell me his new name.

So far it's been a good affair. He's definitely the affection whore and follows me around like a puppy. I can click my tongue and he'll come over to me. He loves my balcony and all the plants. He enjoys sitting up on the railing 4 stories up and making me very nervous. He discovered my pot of catmint and has found kitty ecstasy. He hates his dry food, but devours the wet stuff. In his eyes I'm not allowed to eat, read, or type when I could be spending more quality time petting him. He kept me up most of the night crying for whatever reason. When I'd call him over he'd just land on my chest and cover my face in his talons so I'd push him away and we'd start the whole crying/feet-in-my-face cycle over again. Speaking of feet and talons, he doesn't mind his feet being handled so I nipped those talons off this morning. Wonder how he likes lavender baths?

Only divot in the new relationship so far is that his litter box is still dry. I don't let him out of my sight and I haven't detected any strange odors.....but they usually try to cover that kind of thing. Hopefully he'll jump into the world of proper litter box use soon or I'll have to see if Mud Bay sells diapers.

Update: I moved his box to the humans bathroom and he used it right away! It was like he was thinking "Damn mom, I've been holding it since yesterday, 'bout time you got a clue." My kitty is now perfect.

Time for an intervention

I really hope the mountain has the last word.

China plans highway on Mount Everest

BEIJING -- China will build a $20 million blacktop highway on Mount Everest as part of the route for the Olympic torch relay, state media reported Tuesday.

Xinhua News Agency said the construction would turn a rough, 67-mile road stretching from the foot of the mountain to a base camp at 17,060 feet, into a paved "highway fenced by undulating guardrails."

Mount Everest, the world's tallest mountain, is 29,035 feet tall.

It said construction would start next week and would take about four months and the new highway would become a major route for tourists and mountaineers.

In April, organizers for the Beijing 2008 Summer Olympics announced ambitious plans for the longest torch relay in Olympic history - an 85,000-mile, 130-day route that would cross five continents and scale Mount Everest.

Taking the Olympic torch to the top of the mountain, seen by some as a way for Beijing to underscore its claims to Tibet, is expected to be one of the relay's highlights.

China says it has ruled Tibet for centuries, although many Tibetans say their homeland was essentially an independent state for most of that time. Chinese communist troops occupied Tibet in 1951 and Beijing continues to rule the region with a heavy hand.

Breaching baby humpie and wind surfers

Finally, something totally not bike related. Some of the people I work with were involved with the injured mama and baby humpback whales who made their way up the Sacramento River last month (and finally made it safely back out to sea!). Alas, I was not called upon to map the whales' progress.

A good reminder that heaven is the lingering scent of salt water on your skin.

No really - DFL

Showed up for my second night of track racing yesterday. I thought I'd be far better off than when my head and lungs were under siege by the phlegm goblins 2 weeks ago. I had great energy, warmed up well, and most importantly I had the vision in my head of kicking some ass, until....

....the chicks in the pack took off like starving cheetahs after a baby gazelle on the very first lap of the night. Have you ever seen your life happen in slooooow motion....you see it happening right in front of you and it's kind of an out-of-body experience where you're looking at it like, "Hmmmmm...this can't really be happening, but I guess it is....and there's no way I can stop it....whoa....this really sucks". Yeah watching those skin suits take off and me and my bike basically standing in place was a lot like that. "They're 3 meters away....now they're 10 meters away....wow look there they go.....now they're 100 meters away....holy shit how did they get all the way over there?"

I ended up riding the rest of that 8-lap tempo by myself watching my heart rate beep those Zone 5 numbers out in a steady rhythm. As I cooled down it was very weird having to rationalize what just happened. I don't have a cold any more....I've been riding....I was beating these girls just 3 months ago....last year when I came back after being sick I clobbered everyone. WTF? The rational me said that tonight there are two Cat 2s, two Cat 3s, and the "elite 4s", all of whom have been racing non stop since March. They were all hellbent on getting their upgrade points and running everyone else into the ground. That could be why, but......I'm supposed to have super powers, dammit!!!

The next 2 races were much of the same. The pretty skinsuits took off in slow motion.....I dropped anchor and watched them from the other side of the track. In the last race, a 4x4, I finally pulled up track and just let them come underneath me so I could catch on the last few laps and not have to suffer the indignity of being alone. I was LAPPED. I've never been lapped. I'm the one who's supposed to be up front winning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Each time I came back to the infield I texted Jane, "DFL!", then "DFL again!". At least I could see a little humour in things. The other girls were really sweet and kept saying that I'd be back in condition in a few weeks and they've all been through it before, you just have to be patient. Hopefully this patience pulls through before I decide to sell all my gear and move to the mountains with my goats and green roof.

My lungs still hurt today. I rode to work and was pooped. I wisely decided not to do the stage race this weekend. I'll take any dosages of humiliation more locally, plus my "racing into shape" theory isn't the smartest thing I could do. I talked to Dr. Peter this morning and he said not to go all out with the racing now that I feel better, but to gradually get back into intervals and listen to my body and watch for signs of getting sick. Sounds like a good excuse to eat, ride, and drink a lot of wine this weekend. Antioxidants, you know.

Jumping back in

A bunch of us Starbuckies went down to the Ballard Crit yesterday to watch the races in the rain and revel in not racing by enjoying a few liters of wine. Some girls spent $$ in Portalis while I enjoyed my street-value wine in a pink nalgene bottle. Not only was it way cheaper than a fancy wine bar, but oh so portable.

Now that I'm supposedly clear to begin racing again, I joined a few others on a ride today through Redmond and the Carnation Valley to check out my fitness. They coaxed me into the ride by saying it would be a nice Zone 3 tempo ride, but evidently my teammates are LIARS because the only time I stayed in Zone 3 was while leaving the Marymoor parking lot. Overall it was a good reminder that I can't eat a full plate of pancakes an hour before an intense ride (yes I kept it all down, thank you), and that I've got to keep the gluten and wheat at bay less it trigger my asthma. My hill prowess is notably gone and the legs felt like lead, but it was a good shakedown before the Methow Valley races next weekend that I've talked myself into doing. Going to test this "racing yourself back into shape" theory and finally pop my criterium cherry (That's right, my first one. As if you didn't already know, Cat 4 racers with brakes TERRIFY me. If you see me there, pat me on the head and please stay a mimimum 10 ft away, for both my safety and yours). I haven't done a ride over 30 miles in 2 months, let alone with climbs or at race pace, but at least it's beautiful out there and I'll be able to chat with the cows at my leisure without worrying about taking down the pack.

So pos-i-tive!! But I find that when you go in with zero expectations you can only be surprised by what you can actually accomplish.

You handsome devil

My baby came back to the States for a few weeks and it was pure heaven to have him back. My parents came to town for a few days also and met him for the first time. My mom later wrote to me that he's "a fine young man, and cute too!!!" Yes, that's my mom using 3 exclamation points. I don't know whether to be flattered or grossed out.

He's on his way back to India now. Well, almost. A minor hiccup has ensued because everything related to India has to be difficult as all hell. But I'll have him back soon, in 2 months, when I'll be stuck to him like a seat post rusted into a seat tube over the winter.

DFL, baby!

I've had May 30th on my calendar for the past 2 months since this whole EBV came back to put a wrench in my life again. May 30 would be my return to racing and my first Wed night racing at the track as a Cat 3 (oooooh!!). However, whilst having a Zack-tacular time in Santa Fe doing some high altitude training and green chili tasting, I managed to come down with a nasty head cold/flu thing that beat me down quickly and rendered me a giant fleshy wasteland of phlegm. But being as stubborn as I am, I wouldn't let this bug keep me from showing up and fulfilling my goal. Plus my parents and Zack were in town and I had to show them that I really do know how to ride a bike fast-ish.

So between hacking and farmer snotting in the infield and along the banks, many friends welcomed me back to racing, which was a sweet sweet feeling. The girls that I race with are such a good group. Everyone supports each other and is happy to see you at the races. However, just throwing my leg over the bike I could tell that my energy just wasn't there. No zip to be had, but I figured I just needed to warm up. After a few dozen laps I could tell that this cold was having a bigger impact on my health than I thought. Lungs are generally a useful tool when it comes to breathing hard, but they were full of the goo that was previously up in my head and my energy was still tapped. Well I paid my $15 so what the hell. I figured I'd do as Tamara says and just learn one good thing each race.

There were 3 great races - an 8-lap scratch, a 2-lap scratch heat, and a 4x4 snowball. In each one I pretty much finished DFL, "mostly" on purpose. No use in throwing it all out there when I wasn't up to it. I learned a lot, including that hucking loogies and hacking up a lung is a great distraction on your competition.

My prince did want me to test out my high altitude training and talked me into giving it all just once to see what I could do. He has a great way of reminding me that I have more energy than I think I do (sucker!). So in the first bell lap on the 4x4 I saw that no one was surging forward, so I attacked on the bell and expected a squadron of girls behind me, but all of a sudden I was totally alone and no one was near me. I have no idea how that happened other than they let me go out of sheer pity. But even more, it absolutely crushed my system and I was a sad little puppy following them the remaining 12 laps. So this is what it's like to totally suck!!

It was a great pack of girls, including a few 2s, 3s, and 4s. I figure if I could hang with them while hacking disease all over the track I could be ok with them when I'm healthy. June 6 is on my calendar.

Adventures in Hooville

Not since seeing the Vagina Monologues have I ever become as well educated on the travesties of women's hoohoos as I have since being on a women's cycling team. Over the winter there was minor talk here and there about the discomfort that comes with endless miles, but that was all eclipsed by the eye openers at the Walla Walla stage race last month. After the first day of racing, one of our racers had such an injured hoohoo that she had to shove a bag of ice down her pants to relieve the pain and swelling of her precious jewels (oh if I only had a picture of that today!). She iced it again the next morning before the crit, but was only able to do a few laps of the race until her hoohoo cried uncle. All the teammates offered their advice and suggestions, but it was too late, no amount of lube or ice was going to make that hoohoo happy again.

The weird thing is these aren't novice bike riders here, each woman has tens of thousands of miles under her spandex, but they still experience the pain every female cyclist can relate to: the swelling, the numbness, the not-so-pleasurable sensation of pressure in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure the "anatomical" saddles provide relief for a small number of the population, but get real, sometimes they act more like a cheese slicer. Give me my Brooks any day.

What is it that causes such torture? My first guess would be bike fit. If your pelvis is at the wrong angle it can put too much pressure on your hoohoo (this is what we're thinking happened at Walla Walla, she'd had a new bike fit a few weeks before). Second would be the saddle type and position. Most women think the cushier the saddle, the better, but actually it's the opposite. A firmer saddle will support the seat bones properly (ever wonder why Brooks are so popular?). That's where the weight and pressure should be, not on the jewels. With a cushier saddle, your seat bones will melt into its gel or foam and put increased pressure on the exact place you're trying to protect. I recently bought the Specialized Women's Jett saddle and it was a revelation in new seat technology. It's a fancy carbon and ti saddle, but very solid and with 3 different widths to choose from to support those different ancestral-cursed seat bones. For the first time, I think someone actually designed an anatomical seat properly. It perfectly supported my seat bones only, and not the delicate tidbits in between.

Some racers will say the hoohoo issue just comes with the territory and it makes you tougher. One local chickee calls her "the leather labia." OUCH. In the movie "2 Seconds" you get an idea of how it feels to do a few hundred miles and be so numb that nothing your partner does in bed will bring the poor nubben back to life.

And so the adventure continues for women who love bikes a little too much. We ride, we race, we endure.

Your Mom is a Derailleur

That's my favorite team name so far in the Group Death Bike to Work Challenge. I only wish I had thought of something so crafty before typing in my rather unoriginal Solo team name. "An Inconvenient Commute" was in the running for my favorite team name also, but then I scrolled to the very bottom of the list and found the above gem.

We have a bunch of people at work participating in the contest this month, including about 4 in our office (and me!) who were too lazy to email each other to form a unified team. So we're doing the Solo category just to sound so much more hard core and most importantly, to keep better tabs on the competition down the hall. We have a rather cutthroat group when it comes to bragging rights. The Battle in Seattle is going down at Sandpoint, pansies!

Free Tibet 2008

Last week a daring group of American protesters from Students for a Free Tibet unfurled a banner at the Everest Base Camp in Tibet reading "One World, One Dream, Free Tibet 2008, " mocking China's 2008 Olympics slogan, "One World, One Dream". They timed their protest for when China was to announce the itinerary for the torch relay, which includes an attempt to take it up Mt. Everest and through Tibet. At the time of the protest, there were about 70 Chinese climbers at base camp organizing a recon to see if this kind of attempt is feasible. The protesters were detained about 30 minutes into the protest and taken into custody by Chinese officials. Their whereabouts were unknown until they were released 2 days later in Tibet. They eventually made their way to Kathmandu and their story has helped bring more exposure towards China's politicizing of the Olympics, their well documented human rights violations, as well as their occupation of Tibet.

When it was announced in 2001 that Beijing would host the 2008 Olympics, I was infuriated that a country with so little regard for human life or cultural freedom would be rewarded for their actions with the highest award in sports. To me and most of the world the Olympics symbolize honor, dedication, self-sacrifice, dreams, and love - characteristics not congruent with a country that has denied its oppression and occupation of Tibet for over 50 years, let alone a country that epitomizes "One World, One Dream".

But now, just more than a year away from the Games, I can see that the limelight China has invited upon itself could bring them unprecedented, unwanted publicity highlighting their environmental and political atrocities. Wheat anyone? How about some rice flour? Tested your salmon for Chinese PCBs lately? Genocide ok with you? It used to be that countries would exercise their right to boycott the Olympics to put political pressure on the host country or to make a bold statement, but they've been pretty inactive of late. One of the French presidential candidates has said if elected he will boycott the Olympics in protest of China's backing of Sudan's role in Dafur. Only pressure from a number of powerful countries, particularly those with strong economic ties, will begin to etch away at how this country is run. I know our country is at the bottom of a number of popularity contests, but our citizens have spoken - and are allowed to speak for that matter - and change is coming more swiftly than could happen in less free countries. I know our country has untold blemishes of its own as it became a leader in the world, but we've also learned from our wrongdoings and owe it to the future to prevent such crimes again.

This next year leading up to the Olympics and the fallout afterwards could mark a historical change in the world. Stay tuned.

Oh, and I want my damn Game Over, Free Tibet 2008 stickers! I ordered them months ago and although the tracking number says they were delivered, they never made it into my mailbox. I've never not gotten any mail. Freedom, right?

A little friskier today

Jane, Sharon, Jose and I went out to the track and played in the sun. I was feeling pretty good, but still can't push it so I worked on the more important aspects of track racing.

Me pics, Jose's way cooler pics

NY Times article

My dad, ever on the pulse of the fixie nation, sent me this article and slideshow about fixies and track bikes in NYC. It's a pretty fun, non-elitist representation of the culture that surrounds these bikes and how it encompasses messengers, track racers, and those who just want to get from point A to point B. I don't have a problem with anyone glomming onto the fixed gear wave if it makes them enjoy riding more and get into the habit of commuting. But if you're shallow enough to treat it like a shiny new toy and then quickly toss it aside in favor of another new shiny object, I'll thank you for your participation and see you on Ebay.

More laziness

Yesterday I saw my naturopath who is puzzled that I'm not bouncing back faster despite all the bells and whistles I'm taking. She poked my rump with my weekly vitamin cocktail with an added dose of Vitamin C, which made it sting a hell of a lot more. It took a good minute for her to stop and go and inject the syringe full of Vitamin B and C, zinc, and other goodness. When it was over I couldn't walk without limping and couldn't sit back in my car seat or chair at work. When I looked in the mirror last night I had a huge 3" welt that hurt like hell. Great, I probably have some infection from all the injections like Anna Nicole Smith did and they'll find me dead in the morning of some septic disease.

I woke up in one piece and the welt was gone and my bum not so sore.

The sun was out and Jane called to drag my ass out for an hour. It turned out to be some much needed Vitamin D time. We met at her house on Cappy Hill and drove - yes drove - down to Leschi where we unpacked the bikes and rode down to Seward and back. An hour of lazy Zone 1 that was plenty exertion for me and I was happy to have her taxi drive me back up the hill. Pitiful.

On the drive down to Leschi we followed behind 2 riders, the woman in back was wearing a spiffy black Ibex wool jersey. When it was time to pass them I noticed is was Lt. Sean in the lead on his red CoMotion, Kira, (update your blog, asshat!!) so I rolled down the window and told him to get his lazy ass moving. Sean is an old skool wool aficionado like me so it made sense that I was coveting his wife's sweet wool jersey. It was nice to see him out and Soo on her new bike. I hear she's doing STP this year, her longest bike ride ever. Good luck Soo!

An old friend from the Midwest territories got in touch with me yesterday. We started racing track around the same time and both discovered the astounding success in boob reduction as related to racing fast in small circles. She's looking forward to their spring migration as their region thaws out (no thanks!) and race season begins. May we all have a summer collection of smaller brassieres to air out in the warm sun!

Where the pros go

I just talked to Peter from Inewmed about how I've been doing on my magical tea and to set up an appointment for our next wave of strategy. He apologized for being so busy because he's been dealing with the guys who just finished the Tour of Georgia and they're whining that they aren't super human. I'm working with someone who is the doctor for Pros who race the Tour of Georgia. Someone pinch me. No, actually, just fix me. He said he actually expected me to feel more wiped out while on the tea and that I'd be feeling stronger 2 weeks afterwards as my body expels the virus and my body becomes itself again. Sounds exciting to me, something to look forward to!! Until then, more rest and recovery.

Fudge

One of my teammates was diagnosed with Epstein-Barr today (no I didn't give it to her). At least now she knows why she's been sleeping so much, can't muster the energy to make her kids pb&j, or drag herself to the gym. I'm so tired of this stupid effing virus mucking up people's lives!!! Go away you stupid virus!!!! We want to run and play and ride bikes, dammit!!!!

If only this was on par with erectile dysfunction then we'd have a bloody vaccination yesterday and I'd be hitting the track every pretty spring day to ride around in circles. But no, chronic fatigue just isn't as sexy as Bob Dole not being able to get it up. Pricks.

WallaWallaWalla

I spent 3 great days with the team over in Walla Walla for the big stage race. Still no racing for me so I signed on as the head cowbell ringer and chief jock strap (team supporter, fyi). What I thought would be a leisurely 3 days in wine country watching hot boys and girls race really fast turned into a jam-packed weekend of changing tires, fixing brakes, fetching bottles, clangclangclanging the cowbell, losing my voice from screaming, shopping for food, making dinner, and keeping a team of women strong and happy (not that they need much work there). It was a blast, but damn I was pooped. So much for hanging out on the beach like my doctor wanted me to. We rented a really plush house that came with a hot tub and I didn't get a soak until Sunday when everything was over! We did crack open a few bottles of the house wine, which was a plus. And the couch I claimed was exquisitely soft and comfy.

The caliber of racing was taken up a few notches and we all learned a lot, even from the sidelines. One of the best parts was watching our coach Kele spank the competition in the Pro-1-2-3 criterium. To watch a person you know with that much strength, speed, and endurance fly right by you is remarkable. And on top of that, she's able to goof off in the middle of the pack during the road race to wave to us jock straps as we clanged and screamed and waved like complete idiots along the side of the road in the middle of no where. Who said pros don't know how to have fun?

All pics here.

Steel is the new black

Lounging around the house in my wool knickers I discovered kindred spirits over at Belgian Knee Warmers with a new post about the virtues of steel frames and how they may be "discovered" by the masses as "the new black." Maybe then there will be one less carbon paper frame in the Cat 4 races. As one commenter posted, "The only thing you do like a Pro is piss." [snap!!]

And if one more ignorant aluminum/carbon paper squiddy jackass makes a comment about my Serotta I'll mention this:

"In the 1980s, when 7-Eleven first entered the Euro peloton, they rode frames made by Serotta. Later, team management signed Huffy as a sponsor, but Serotta continued to supply the frames, which was a lot like putting a Ford decal on a Ferrari. 7-Eleven was riding what was easily one of the best bikes available."

Hidden underneath that layer of filth that is the corporate bicycle marketing machine lies the true wonder of handcrafted artistry. Steel machines that have a soul, made with a framemaker's love, and born to transmit unimagined energy through you to the bike and to the road. I can't wait to get well again so my Serotta and I can go to the lineup and get ready to kick some more carbon paper ass.

Magical Dragon Poo Tea

I finally got my delivery of chinese herbal extracts that my new Inewmed doctor ordered from this pharmacy in New York City. However, no where does it explain exactly what it is that I'm drinking, so my friends and I have come up with some ideas about the contents:

1) These chinese herbal pharmacists have a stable of magical dragons and they make compost out of the dragon's poop and use the compost tea as an herbal remedy. The magical dragons are very strong, friendly and helpful, hence their poop compost is equally beneficial.

2) It's actually a mix of anabolic steroids, human growth hormone, and meth (only in trace amounts). Yum! I'll take some extra dragon poo, thanks!

Either way, I felt better today than I have in weeks. I'm hoping that my super powers are making their way back home. 2 days of Magical Dragon Poo Tea down, 12 to go.

Update: Cameron @ BikeSeattle.org did the Google search I was afraid to do and found an article on Kamwo on CNN.com. Lizards? Ewwwwww!!

Neener neener

I thumbed my nose at the world and rode my bike today. It was either get out and ride or stay in my pjs until tomorrow and become consumed by depression. I wasn't feeling particularly tired from the EBV and yesterday I rode (ah yeah, another thumbing) and felt fine (hey it was 79F and sunny, can you blame me?). So I pulled on the wool and pulled out the steel and made my way out to my pedicure appointment (pretty toes are also a prescription for lifting one's spirits). What would I have missed if I'd been stuck in a car?

- Feeling the humidity in the air and having to pull off my arm warmers
- The new fuschia colored cherry blossoms blooming in Fremont and Greenlake
- Seeing Lee on his bike and waving hello
- Hearing the dogs bark as they played with their owners
- Feeling the sun on my face as the skies cleared on the way home

Provided I have the energy, I'm finding that strictly staying in Zone 1 is doable. It completely goes against my nature to go fast until it hurts and then some, but I'm making a game of it. While Kele says, "I want old grandmothers to pass you", I find it more fun to imagine that I have a gizmo implanted in my chest like the Others did to Sawyer on Lost, and if I go above Zone 1 the gizmo will fire off and I'll be killed instantly. Makes for an interesting romp around town and a way to entertain my short attention span. Going up Stone Way tested the Zone 1 theory and the gizmo went off a few times (luckily no fatalities). I promise I won't go overboard with riding, but I have to move a little. After all, if I was laying on a beach in Maui like my doctor wishes I could be for the next 2 weeks, I'd still get up and walk the beach.

Sick....again

My Epstein-Barr is back. Hell if I didn't think I had it under control and was doing everything perfectly to avoid its return. But I guess the 2 weeks of chaos at work and poor sleep that resulted really tipped the scales and let the virus take hold again. I knew I was feeling tired last week and didn't ride or workout much, but I hoped it was just simple recovery from the stress at work. At the final Tour de Dung I could feel I was being taxed even more, and I didn't have the energy to fight onto that last breakaway and could barely hold on to the paceline I was in. I was shaking with chills after the race and the whole way home. I couldn't eat. Just collapsed and slept when I got home. Not a good sign.

The rest of this week has been more lethargy and sleep. I commuted to work one day all Zone 1, but by the end of the day I was wasted. Today I had to leave work early I was so useless. Seems like it's getting a little worse every day.

The small light on the horizon is that I saw a doctor at Inewmed yesterday. They specialize in sports medicine and Eastern medicine and have a bevy of well known athletes as their patients. The good news is that about 10% of their patients have EBV so they're pretty savvy on its treatment. In fact, George Hincapie is one of their success stories. So as Jane says, "If they're good enough for George, they're almost good enough for you." They ordered me some magic potions that I'll get next week and start a 2 week therapy session. Then it will be follow ups and more acupuncture. No timeline for full recovery though.

Added bummer is that I have to take it really easy the next 2-3 weeks (like I have a choice), which means that I'll miss Walla Walla. I was really looking forward to our team's first stage race of the season. Riding with this team has been so inspiring and has really shown me what the word "team work" is all about. Just when things were starting to click.....poof. So I'll join the team at Walla Walla for jock strap and cowbell duties and have the easy job of screaming for them to get their asses moving. I'm hoping by May that I'll have my own ass out there moving too.

All dogs go to heaven

My friend Mary had to put her sweet girl, Izzy, down this weekend. It might have been from complications from Cushings disease that she was diagnosed with last summer, although her health had otherwise been fine since then. But sadly her health deteriorated quickly last Thursday and by Friday night she couldn't hold down water and was losing a lot of blood. The emergency vets tried to stabilize her, but her organs were failing, ketoacidosis was poisoning her. Mary talked to Izzy's vet and made the hardest decision of her life. Izzy didn't show signs of wanting to give up. She lifted her paw, wagged her tail, and gave Mary kisses. She was the sweetest friend and companion anyone could have. She loved cheese and sauteed spinach, going on hikes and playing in the snow. She greeted Mary every day when she'd get home from work and bark and bark to tell her how the day was in the backyard and how many birds she scared off. They had each other for almost 12 years and were inseparable.

I hope little Izzy is taking endless hikes and eating endless nibbles of cheese. I hope she looks after her mom up in heaven because she's a very sad girl right now. I'll miss you too Izzy.

That was hard

I now have no more delusions about how silly hard road racing is. We finished the Tour de Dung series in Sequim today and all 36 miles were not just spent racing at ludicrous speed, but at fucking stupid ludicrous speed. 25...26...27...28 mph...sure who's counting? And this is Cat 4? What do they do in Cat 123? Whip out switchblades?

This morning's original neurosis about my brand new tubulars peeling off their rims in the first turn was quickly replaced by anxiety that I'd go into cardiac arrest. The previous 2 races had been rather enjoyable with a nice field sprint at the finish that I could handle. But today it was out of the gates fast and take no prisoners. At the start of the 3rd lap a breakaway group with the series leader and a few other contenders took off. Jane and Zana were in position to go with them, but I was a hair off in position and tried to bridge the gap up to them, but it wasn't in me. The last 2 weeks of stress and exhaustion had taken its toll. As I waved them goodbye up the first small hill, an angel dressed in orange and blue came up beside me and said, "Come on let's go get them!". She pulled me up and let me get my strength back. The lead group was quickly out of sight so it was just a matter of perseverance and not getting caught by the others behind us. We switched off and on the next 12 miles, along with another straggler we picked up. The headwinds were an added insult on top of my exhaustion, and if it weren't for these 2 others I would have layed down in a ditch and died. By the 1km mark, the other (obviously new) girl had been leading for a while with no sign of letting up. Fine by us. The angel and I sucked her wheel, and at the 200m mark, we went around her towards the finish. I let my angel take finish line before me, because it was her hard work and kind words that had helped me get there.

I finished 12th in the race and 5th overall in the series and won a pair of new gloves to boot. Unfortunately I can feel my EBV rearing its ugly head so I need to do some serious recovery and TLC before I can race again. An emergency shipment of Vitamin Z would do me even better.

My first pink bike

Sadly I've outgrown both the bike and the blue Smurf pajamas.

New wheelies

The mad scientist has come up from his secret laboratory with the first half of my new wheelset. So pretty!!! Velocity Escape tubular rims, Sapim Xray spokes, and Campy hubaliciousness.

The Cinderella transformation of my trusty steel bike is nearly complete. Mwuahahahahaaa........

Tender vittles

I literally have 2 seats to fill in my stable. Two of my bikes are without their own saddles and I'm tired of swapping out every time I want to take one of them out. They don't make two of my favorites anymore - the women's Avocet O2 titanium and the Selle Italia Women's Turbo (no not the newer gel one). I wear my titanium Brooks Finesse like a glass slipper and I might get another Brooks for the Fat Chance, but I'd like to get something less bulky for the track. So recently I've been looking into what designers have come up with in the world of women's racing saddles.

I've heard good reviews about the Fizik Vitesse so I went to the shop to check it out. Oooooooooooh it is sexy! And I'm Italian too! It must be a match made it bootilicious heaven! But my instinct said it was too narrow, yet my stubbornness and urge for instant gratification insisted it would be fine. So the shop taped up the rails and I took the fancy package home to try it out.

On the 2007 calendar today could be heralded as the first true day of spring. It smelled like spring. Like emerging green and fertile earth, vegetation moist from the winter reaching out for the new warmth, and trees plump with colorful blossoms. At home I put the new saddle on my bike and ran out to take advantage of the rest of the memorable day.

But it pretty much stopped at my parking lot. I sat down on the saddle and knew it wasn't going to work out. I rode around the lot, stopped 3 times to make saddle adjustments, but knew this was going to be a short ride. I made a loop around Magnolia and stopped 3 more times. The sexy Italian saddle felt like the cheapo seats they have on the rental bikes at the track. My seatbones felt like they were wrapping around a stale burrito, and without proper butt support my tender vittles were quite emphatic about the unpleasantness of being squished against a long hard log of salami. I couldn't move the seat forward anymore on the rails to perch my butt better on the widest part and even then its nose felt like it was 10 inches long and in the bloody way of my pedaling. This piece of machinery sucks. It's failed my simple test of riding around the block. Now I just wanted to make it home without scratching the stupid piece of expensive gear so I could return it this weekend.

In their ads, Fizik says, "The Vitesse is the women's saddle-choice of pro road, xc and triathletes." Well I guess it's a good thing I'm not giving up my day job.

Survive first road races - check

I participated in my first 2 road races this weekend. Granted, I did enter a few road races in college, but that was back in the dark ages when they lumped Cat 1-4 women all together. The gun would go off and I'd wave the pack goodbye as they took off across the horizon. This weekend was a much better experience, although I had to negotiate in and around some of those notorious early season Cat 4 crashes.

Saturday: Mason Lake #2
Up at 3:45 a.m. to catch the 6 a.m. ferry to Bremerton so we could get to ML in time to set up, sign up, and warm up for our 9:40 a.m. race. It was pouring rain. It was cold. It was western WA in March at its finest. My plan for popping my road racing cherry was just to bury myself in the pack and observe everything around me. I'd let my more experienced teammates hang out up front and hand out some attacks and reel in the others. Contrary to the horror stories I'd heard about pack riding, I was doing well keeping up with the pack and the surges and feeling pretty good sitting in.

Towards the end of the first lap, my confidence was growing and I moved up towards the front and the rest of my teammates. I was riding next to Jane going up a small rolling hill when suddenly the road bottomed out and swallowed up the 2 rows of girls in front of me. I tried to negotiate the carnage of carbon and aluminum and rubber sprawled all over the road, but I ended up hitting someone's tire and falling over like a wounded elephant. I remember thinking as I fell over and got up, "Aha! I have a steel bike! I'm invincible and can keep riding while these girls will probably have fatal carbon damage! I'm the smartest person ever! I rule!" With that piece of adrenaline I remounted my bike, looked down to see my bars at a 45 degree angle, got back off, straightened the bars, then got back on and took off as quickly as my shaking body would let me.

Now there's nothing like a little adversity to really get my ass in gear. I knew there were girls up ahead of me somewhere, I just didn't know who or how many. It didn't matter, I was all amped up and racing into battle. Slowly I made my way around the 2nd lap of the course and ticked off other riders one by one. The rain poured over the brim of my cap. My HRM rocketed into Zone 6 (if there was one). I saw my teammate Breanna up ahead with another rider and I yelled out her name. She looked back and was happy to see a comrade join her. The 3 of us rode in a rotating paceline for the next 8 miles, chasing down that lead pack we'd only heard rumours of. In my head I knew the chance of catching the lead pack was slim, but my extreme stubbornness and huge dosage of adrenaline wouldn't let me capitulate.

As the 3 of us rode together, I analyzed how the last 200 meters would pan out. The Winos girl was staying with us and was fairly strong, although she mentioned that leading on the rollers was getting to her. Aha! A sign of weakness. I knew Breanna was strong, too, and she's got youth and a flyweight body on her side too. We approached the 1 km mark that coincided with a large downhill dip in the course. I knew the only advantage I had on these 2 girls was that I weigh about twice as much as they do so I'd put my ballast to my advantage and rocket down the hill and use the inertia to take me to the finish. Or so I envisioned. I approached the dropoff and kicked the gears into 14...13...12... and I blasted down with everything I had.

But then.....the downhill turned into an uphill. Like 600 more meters of gradual uphill. YOU IDIOT!!! I scolded myself. Those girls are probably right on your ass and you just gave them a free ride home. Fuck, what a moron. I still churned it as hard as I could and looked back. No one was there. WHAAAA??? No one??? Holy shit where did they go??????!?! How did I screw this up? I couldn't believe that I left them in my dust, but it was true. I could see the white finish line tent just up ahead and I knew I could make it.....to what placing I had no idea, but I'd finish ahead of the other 2, fighting and strong as can be. I looked back a few more times and eventually saw the Winos girl coming up, but I had a solid lead and took it home. I crossed the finish line with an exhausting sense of accomplishment and teamwork. I couldn't have completed the race this well without the help of the other 2 girls. The Winos girl rode up beside me and we patted each other on the back. Good work! It was more a sense of enduring a hard battle together rather than competition. Breanna and I gave each other big hugs for helping each other during a very cold, wet, challenging last lap. THAT was teamwork.

In the results I was 13th out of 36 starters. Turns out that I was the first person from the crash to cross the finish line, too. Not a bad first road race. It's got to get easier, right?

Sunday: Tour de Dung #1
After the Mason Lake race, the team caravaned north to the bucolic town of Seqium, where we dried our soaking wet clothes over the hotel room heaters and invaded WalMart (I swear I was only there for bottled water). Luckily the rain shadow effect was working for us and the day stayed dry and even warm and sunny for a fantastic race along a mostly flat course with a few bumps thrown in for flavor.

I was pretty pooped after my aggressive ride the day before. Given my history with chronic fatigue, I was leery of pushing myself into unknown territory, especially for 36 miles with girls who were there to go FAST. If someone had given me a hall pass to not race and to kick back and get some sun, I would have taken it. Not having that out, I sucked it up and lined up with everyone else. As I told my teammates at our pre-race meeting, my plan for today was just to sit in the pack, learn some more skills, and conserve energy so I could last for 36 miles.

At 10:10 a.m. we left the start behind the lead car and the journey began. I felt fine at this nice leisurely pace, but of course after the first turn, someone who ate their Wheaties that morning had to go and attack. We were off, and I was buried in there keeping up. The road was still wet from some early morning rain. There were a few newbies in the pack (as in new-to-bikes newbies). There were some aggressive, more experienced racers. Hmmm...not a good combination, kids. At one point only a few miles into the race, we were going at a good clip when 2 newbies got spooked by others moving up beside them and they swerved hard on the wet pavement and took out themselves and 3 others. One of those included a very experienced rider from another team. I looked back and saw her face and left shoulder buried into the pavement with no movement at all. That...didn't...look...good. The sight of her immobilized and the other downed riders shooting across the wet pavement like ice cubes wigged me out a bit and I seriously questioned why the hell I was participating in this ridiculous activity risking serious injury when I could be home playing with my plants and being safe. (Turns out she suffered a broken collarbone, broken helmet, and lots and lots of road rash. WEAR YOUR HELMET, ASSHATS!!!)

The next 3 laps included a few pseudo-attacks, some slow social paced sections where I caught up with girls I hadn't seen since last year, and me basically sucking wheels at the back. My energy was feeling better, but I didn't think I had it in me to be up front and chasing down attacks or instigating lead outs. I'd let the more experienced, energized ladies handle that load. With about 8 miles to go, a Group Death girl made a solo attack, which no one responded to. With the Pineapple Express rolling in, it was a crazy windy day so no one thought she could hold that break solo for so long (WRONG!). At about mile 32 the pack was slowing down and I finally felt like speeding up. Why were we going so slow (Duh! Because they've been doing all the work!!)??? I was like a puppy going to the dog park, but my owners were too pooped to tag along. I rode up to the front of the pack and pulled it along for a while, but held back when it was obvious that no one was going to help me. Screw that shit! I'm not that stupid, it's going to be a sprint for the finish really soon.

We rounded the last corner and I positioned myself to the far right, slightly behind the first row. The 1 km passed (ha! I know better now!) and we held our line. The road started its slight dip towards the white finish line tent and I knew it was now or never. I threw the gears down and pulled in front of Jane so she could take my wheel. She was by far the best sprinter out there and if she had my wheel for a few hundred meters she'd be able to take it and then I could swoop in behind her. It worked mostly like that. Jane did catch my wheel, then zoomed past me, but a Winos girl was glued to her rear wheel like cement and I knew I'd have to settle in behind them. To my left another girl came up and I saw in the corner of my eye that it was my teammate, Katy. The 4 of us swept across the finish....Jane, the Wino, me, then Katy. It was a great finish and gave our team 5 of the top ten spots! The race was a very fun time out by Dungeness Spit with our team vying for the series win with the most team points. Tour de Dung #2 and #3 coming up the next few weeks. Stay tuned, wheelsuckers!!

Help Kenny Williams Lose His Hair!

This was passed on to me by friend Jane, whose coach is the rather accomplished track racer, Kenny Williams. Kenny is known locally as the guy with huge legs and a lot of medals around his neck, but he's also well known for his unruly mop of hair. This spring Kenny has decided to join the St. Baldrick's Foundation campaign to raise money for childhood cancer research. If he raises $8,000 before March 15 he will publicly shave his head at the Celtic Bayou in Redmond! Help us make cycling history! Any amount is welcome and if you work at a company who matches donations, you can double your contribution! By donating to the St. Baldrick's campaign you're helping out little kids with cancer, and the world cycling scene by getting Kenny on track (so to speak) with a new improved doo. Check out his Spaces page for more info and a link to donate. Thanks!

She's got game, baby!

Some of our teammates went to the first Mason Lake road race this weekend and Jane managed to outwit the whole pack with some cunning tactics and a killer sprint that launched her past the other contenders and across the finish line. This is her first road race of the year and her first road win, too! Jane's worked so hard to get here, even though it's just the beginning of the season. I'm so proud of her, she's an inspiration to us all. Way to go Jane!!

Redemption

On Sunday six of us fine ladies drove up to Everett for the Frostbite Time Trial. I originally had no plan to participate in something as mind numbing as a time trial. It's like riding your trainer. But with scenery. Yawn. But then I saw that the organizer was having a "Retro" division for those without delicate foo-foo aero bikes, sperm helmets, aero bars, or any other go-fast toys. "Hell yeah!" I said to no one but my fleet of steel bikes. This category was made just for me. I'd strut to the start with my steel Serotta, wool knickers, wool jersey, "your bike sucks" socks, and they'd practically have to hand over the first place winnings to me right there.

The morning was your typical cold, intermittent rainy February day. Our team put up the tent and we positioned our bikes on their trainers so we could have a place to congregate and warm up. One other teammate was in the Retro division with me, but the other girls were armed with their slick carbon fiber go-fast machines that looked like something out of Aeon Flux. One junior came over and was checking out my bike. "Wow, that's vintage. My dad has a bike like that from back in the 80s." If that little punk wasn't so adored by the local cycling scene I would have pounded his 10 year old ass into the ground. "It's only from 1996!" I yelled back. Then I realized, that little punk wasn't even born when Ben Serotta was crafting my frame. Fine. Let him gaze in wonderment. My steel frame and I were out to kick some carbon fiber butt today.

I threw my leg over my bike and started to warm up with a high spin. I plugged in the Ipod, put my head down, and cranked Rollins' Hard Volume at full volume. Nothing in the world gets me as pumped for kicking ass like listening to old Hank bellowing from my headphones. Search and Destroy.

The other girls quickly rolled out to the start one after the other. I was the last to go and had enough time before my start to get some beta from Jane after she got back. "There's a headwind on the way out, so go out like hell because that's where everyone else will relax. Then crank it with the tailwind on the way back." I wandered down to the start line and met another woman in stars in stripes who offered me the same advice. Our captain came over to offer encouragement and last minute advice. "Start in a power stance. Go like hell. Get something angry in your head. Turn your cap around so it doesn't catch the wind." We also learned that she had beaten Jane by 1 second. ONE SECOND. The egging over that 1 second will last until long after this day has ended. It also reinforced that in a time trial, there is no opportunity to slack or flake out. It's total concentration and 110%, lest a rival takes advantage of your weakness and takes 1 second from you.

Thirty seconds....fifteen seconds....five...four...three...two...one....GO! I charged out of the holder's hands and cranked it for as long as I could and then settled down into a steady groove. Jane was right, there was a headwind. I watched my speed gradually tick slower and slower. 17mph. Crap! No! I couldn't drop to 17. I tried shifting to spin more smoothly and get up to 18, but nothing worked to get it back up. The wind had to let me go. It finally did around a bend and I saw my speed increase by small increments. Cars whizzed by, I tried to keep my heavy breathing steady, I watched the mileage slip by. I felt strong, I was pushing myself, I had nothing to lose and it would be over soon enough so I'd better make myself suffer. Soon I was at the orange cone turnaround and I made it around without going off the road into a ditch. My spirits lifted and I cranked it back towards home knowing there would be a tailwind to carry me towards the finish.

I clicked my rear derailleur onto smaller and smaller cogs and I felt my legs take their power and transfer it into pure speed. I was deep in the drops watching my speed hold steady at 23mph and my HRM reaching further towards the top of Zone 4. Damn, I haven't done this kind of work since the last CX race. Good thing Kele's off in Manchester so she doesn't know! The half-miles ticked away and up ahead I saw the orange flags demarcating the final 200 meters. That's it! I cranked it, I pushed it, I gasped for more air. I kept thinking of that 1 second and knew there was no way I could let someone beat me by 1 second without giving everything I had. My upper body bobbed and swayed as I pushed my legs and bike forward, harder than they thought they could go the last weekend of February. I zipped over the finish line and looked at my speed: 25mph. My heart rate was waaaaaaaaaay into the hallowed ground of Zone 5. My brain was so anoxic I couldn't remember if I was on a track bike or road bike and if I could stop pedaling after the finish line. "Screw it," I thought, "I wanna stop pedaling and if I crash I really don't care...." Thankfully it turns out I was on a road bike and I didn't wipe out in an unglamorous, uncoordinated heap.

Back at the tent we all regaled our rides and laughed at how much we suffered and what inane thoughts crossed our minds while going so hard. We were covered in wet road slop from all the rain and our bikes looked like they'd been through a CX race. I was totally high from the speed and endorphins and said with wide eyes that I want to try a fasssssssst bike! The feeling of hurtling through space must be very similar. We compared times and it turned out that my winning Retro time was only a minute behind my teammates with their aero gear. This left all of us pretty impressed by my simple achievement on an 11 year old steel bike. I was so proud of my bike. It was fast, it was smooth, it was stealth, we made a great team. I knew this would be a good season to come, and on a vintage bike to boot.

Smells like fish poo

I often have dreams about my plants in which they bombard me for requests to be watered or to be moved around or to have their leaves trimmed, or more recently, for some yummy new fertilizer. I'd had it in the back of my mind to eventually get them some Alaskan liquid fish fertilizer that someone highly recommended to me a few years ago, but it was the middle of winter and they're supposed to be nice, quiet dormant plants. Easily guilt-ridden by all things phototrophic, I got on my bike for a trip to the Fred Meyer, where I found a huge container of the Alaskan goo.

At home I prepared lunch for all my plant friends. What a treat they had in store! Even though they ordinarily shouldn't be fertilized in the winter, I figured they were sending me a message while I slept that they were hungry and ready for spring as much as I was. I don't know what roses I was expecting to emanate from a bottle of fish shit, but I had to clear my head a few times as the fumes diffused into the air and quickly turned my kitchen something reminiscent of Nemo's outhouse. I stuck with the process and fed all my little friends knowing that they'd be happy and for that I would gladly put up with a little stench.

Only a day or two later I could instantly see a difference! Their green leaves glowed a little brighter and they puffed out with newly found strength. Best of all was Zack's amaryllis began to awake from dormancy and its little bulb shot a stem straight up towards the moon. Now a few weeks later, it's about to bloom and brighten the gray days with its brilliant red plumage.

How I really feel

After my dismal performance at our team's Mason Lake training ride yesterday, I had a weekend-long pity party that included 2 pints of Ben and Jerry's (no, not at once), a new pair of Ibex wool knickers that I've been eyeing for almost 2 years, and these socks, which I've been hunting for since last summer (but have been too lazy to order on line). When I line up at the first race at Mason Lake in 3 weeks I'll be tricked out with my new knickers, these socks, and the only 10-year old steel frame with a WSBA number on it. I don't need a carbon fiber frame to show what I can do. Once my coach let's go of my leash I'll start ramping up and kicking ass again on the same kind of frames they rode in the peloton just 20 years ago. Kiss my old skool ass, bitches!!

David Horsey for mayor

(Am I the only one who thinks of Jabba when I see Greg Nickels?)

First road race dream

Last night we had our monthly team meeting and this one focused on prepping and strategy for the upcoming Mason Lake race in March. Everyone talked about how when they were new they'd be "blown off the back" their first few races, and some talked about their goals of just "finishing with the pack." Ok that's setting up some confidence. I've done plenty of track and CX races around here, but no road races so I have no way to judge how fast it will be or how I'll measure up to the other girls in the pack. For now my goal is not to go home in an ambulance.

So last night I had a dream about the Mason Lake race. I lined up at the front with the huge pack of girls. Our squiddy friend, Stanglor, was also in the line-up. Turns out in my dreams he races with the Cat 4 women to challenge himself (although in real life he plays a Cat 1-2). The gun went off and I sprinted to the front and held a fast pace with the lead racers. After one lap (they were only about a mile around) I gunned it again and made a solo breakaway. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I somehow had the confidence that I could hold this breakaway and not get caught. My lead kept increasing and the crowd was going nuts. After 8 laps it was time to sprint for the finish. I looked back quickly and could see a few girls and Stanglor coming up from behind to try and out sprint me, but I made it to the finish line first.

As we were waiting for the results, Stanglor was bragging about winning the race. I went up to him and said, "Um, no babe, I won the race. You weren't about to lap me, I was in front of you the whole time." He was totally shocked that a newbie first time racergirl like me could kick his ass, but I did. My teammates congratulated me on my impressive win and even Phil hobbled over to pat me on the back.

Somehow I don't see myself making a solo breakaway and tromping the field my first race. But if any guys race with us Cat 4 women I'll make sure to put them in their place.

Rainbow!

After snapping a few photos of the pretty rainbow I took my bike out to do some errands over in Ballard. Alas, as quickly as I pedaled, I did not find a pot of gold on the Ballard Bridge. Only SUVs.

for a boy

i want to ride my bike with you!!

around the block would surely do,

we could stop and watch the moon

then ride home to kiss and spoon,

i know one day it will come true.

A miracle grows in Texas

Again, just when I thought humanity - let alone the state of Texas - had nothing left to offer me, I find this:

Texas governor orders vaccine for all girls

AUSTIN, Texas -- Bypassing the Legislature altogether, Republican Gov. Rick Perry issued an order Friday making Texas the first state to require that schoolgirls get vaccinated against the sexually transmitted virus that causes cervical cancer.

By employing an executive order, Perry sidestepped opposition in the Legislature from conservatives and parents' rights groups who fear such a requirement would condone premarital sex and interfere with the way Texans raise their children.

Beginning in September 2008, girls entering the sixth grade -- meaning, generally, girls ages 11 and 12 -- will have to receive Gardasil, Merck & Co.'s new vaccine against strains of the human papillomavirus, or HPV.

If this law makes it through the weekend I'll thank my lucky Lone Stars. The vaccination would be covered by insurance and even be free for low-income families or those without insurance. Having a right-wing conservative look past his convictions to protect women from a preventable form of cancer is unprecedented. Hopefully he'll have the integrity to use his ethical reasoning to influence other conservative legislators who could make this law across the land and show that science and saving lives comes before personal religious beliefs. And having the vaccination's owner, Merck, put some extra money in their pocket never hurt a politician.

The Kitty Washing Machine

This is for The Raz. And for all you other kitty aficionados out there. Please don't try this at home.

BRILLIANCE

Just when I thought humanity had nothing left to offer me, I find this:



The Ortlieb toilet paper dry bag. I so could have used this in India where I ported my own tp from the northern borders to the southern oceans and was always doting over my precious precious cargo. Sure I can use plastic or ziploc bags, but thanks to these geniuses it will forever have its very own PVC cocoon and it can hang from the nearest shrubbery.

The virtue of good pudding

I wrote to my coach, Kele, that I've returned from the other side of the world and that - not too surprisingly - I got my ass kicked on our team ride up Squak Mnt outside of Issaquah and around Lake Sammamish yesterday. Besides my ass not being on friendly terms with my Brooks, my legs had no muscle to push or pull the cranks around the hilly route. It took an enormous amount of fortitude to keep up with these chicks who have been training like mad the past 5 weeks. I finished with the team, but my body let me know how unhappy it was with me by relegating me to the couch for the rest of the day.

What Kele wrote back was music to my ears, "Yea, don't sweat the team ride...and don't push it too much....gradually build, my child, GRADUALLY!! I'm sounding the "Take it easy" alarm....REST and build..."

I was worried that I'd get a "Well what did you expect being gone for 5 weeks?" but she gave me the perfect mix of encouragement and humour. I know I'll get my legs back in a few weeks and will be able to rock that route with the other girls and then some.

But for now I took her words of rest to heart and celebrated with mass amounts of Belgian chocolate pudding that made the day even brighter. Hey it's only January....

Wiiiiiide awake

4:27 a.m., 4:43 a.m., 4:00 a.m. Those have been the bright green numbers I've woken up to the past 3 mornings since getting back from the other side of the world. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to wait 3 freakin' hours for the sun to come up or 2 hours for the newspaper to appear at my door. I remember waking up at a similar hour the first week or so in India, but there I had a better reason to go back to bed. Here, I make some coffee, read more of Shantaram, and wait for dawn to brighten the sky. I've been falling asleep around midnight so there's been an awful lot of darkness in my day, which I'm not particularly enjoying. I was hoping I'd be back to my normal routine by the end of the weekend, but that's looking doubtful. Rhi said it took her a week to get back to normal. Right now all I want is to wake up with the sun prying through my blinds and see my clock reading another hour other than 4 a.m.