A couple days after the last post - maybe a day after - the NY Times had an article on how hard it is to "listen to your body" in training; about the difficulty in interpreting what it's saying, and when it's being serious. The article opened with a few paragraphs on motivation that are a nice bridge between last post and this. The article is worth a read, though its major heft is not what I'm discussing today. It kicks of thusly:
A COLLEAGUE of mine at The Times who is a triathlete had a question: Everyone tells you to listen to your body, but what are you supposed to listen to?
Turns out it’s not so obvious.
Deena Kastor, the American record holder for the marathon, interprets the advice selectively.
“Running isn’t always comfortable,” she said. “I remember running through a lot of discomfort and pain.”
And, Ms. Kastor added, she also runs when she does not feel like it.
“So many times the alarm goes off in the morning and you tell yourself you are too tired,” she said. “There are times when you are unmotivated, you don’t feel your best and most accomplished.”
But if you ignore those messages from your body and just go out and run or do your sport, she said, “those are the days when we have the most pride.”
-Gina Kolata, NYTimes, June 24, 2009
(Can you believe I don't even know how to properly attribute that AND I'm not even gonna look it up? Web...hubris....webris? Catching on? Ahhhh wah.)
If you have come to this post in deliberation over whether to donate money, please look away. Try this post. I think you'll like it.
If you've come for the RAW TRUTH: I fucked up this weekend. I took some me time to deal with my overactive heart and brain, and indulged in not really doing anything. Three weekends left before tapering for two weeks and then doing a motherloving Ironman, and I essentially took the weekend off. Not a second of non-exercise went by without knowing I would feel 400% better for persevering, and I still stood at the edge of the cliff looking. Struck out staring. Leaning back and polishing my nails, even. In the novel or score of my life, this is the repeating theme. Backing off.
I still got on my bike both days, and I still rode both days - about 45 miles total, the happy end goal of training weekends long past. I didn't run 17 miles. I watched my teammates post status updates about doing these things, the victories we absorb every few days, and did not join them. I don't think it was my personal crises that kept me lethargic and complacent. I think I gratefully accepted the crises' being then. I think it was the pattern - how I have to push myself to panic to perform. I'm not sure I've ever done it on this scale before. I'm stunned to find I'll do it on this scale.
**INTERRUPTED - to be finished **
No, it won't be finished. The day after I wrote this I got back on the wagon, and it's been great. I had a great two hour morning bike ride - left my house in Echo Park at 6, circled Silver Lake Reservoir, took Glendale to Griffith Park, rode along the river for five miles, and came back home through Chinatown while the morning fog was lifting off the skyscrapers downtown. I was using my Aerobars for the first time, and feeling how far I've come, how strong I'm still getting. I ran for an hour the next morning, swam with the team that night, took Friday off and kicked ass this weekend. I feel great, Ironwise. New post.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Snooze (Penance Post)
It's 7:32 am, sort of overcast, and I'm sitting in bed typing when I should be out biking. Take out typing and substitute "staring at the ceiling, berating myself but nonetheless not getting out of bed" and you've got, oh, 3 out of 5 mornings in household Kinskey. I still can't decide whether this guilt routine is massively Catholic or massively post-modern, acute self-awareness. Hedge my bets and blame both. Ah fuck it, it's just human. Right? There is a Durer-woodcut-peasant in a painting somewhere, lolling with his leg hanging out of the covers, moaning while he future self, one panel over, is out tilling the fields, right? There's no evolved thought pattern needed, it's just a thing we do because we can.
Instead of biking then, this morning let's explore motivation and procrastination. Procrastination is more my specialty, so I'll start there.
Here is a simple, 100% reparable issue from the get go: my perfectly good alarm clock sits on my desk across the room, gathering dust on its buttons, dark and unplugged for months now. I bet if I plugged it in, set it and had to get up and cross the room to turn it off, that 3 out of 5 might come down to 2.5 out of 5. Instead, I use my phone for my alarm clock, which is plugged in right next to my bed, and in fact lays mostly in the region of the pillow or mattress next to my head - phone boyfriend! What this translates to in my daily routine is hitting snooze somewhere between 2 and (this is not a joke, oh god, I wish it was a joke) 18 times before I get up. Yes, it goes off every 10 minutes, and there have been at least two mornings where it was optimistically set for 5:30 am, and I managed to blow all expectation out of the water, catching snippets of whatever low quality sleep I could in 18 10-minute intervals until 8:30 am. You have to really be a seasoned veteran to be able to have the mental mumbling soundtrack going "Just get up, you know you're going to feel bad later, you're already pretty much awake, you're doing an Ironman, you might have anxiety on Mile 110 and blame it on THIS very second of procrastination, etc etc" and still be able to lose consciousness 10+ times. A logical segue to thanking my parents for signing me up for morning swim practice from the age of 8.
So why, having signed myself up for Death Race, am I comfortable not getting out of bed and doing the damn thing? Because.....there's always.....AFTER work! Yeah, you heard me. Yeah, I know I didn't do the 40 minute run I was supposed to LAST night, so I was already planning on doing the run tonight and the 1.5 hour bike ride this morning. So what if I do them both tonight? TV's in re-runs, I don't have kids and....yeah, whatever, back off. That's how it is in the real event anyway. Pfffsshh.
Ugh, why did I say this: "let's explore motivation and procrastination"? Motivation now? I have to explicitly talk about that, too? Just go back and read between the lines of the procrastination stuff, they're inverses. I'd love to sit here and explore more deeply and out loud what it's all about, but...I think I just feel a little frustrated with myself. What's THAT about? Why willingly not do something, knowing the not doing will make you less effective for having to deal with mental garble? Why do we have a hard time getting to the end of the road unless we toss some speed bumps and pot holes out for ourselves? What's wrong with just cruising down a freshly paved street? The inclination is to say we're creatures of plot and need challenge even in our daily routines, but man, doesn't that sound like a lot of ex post facto justification? I want to sit here and tell you the silent bargaining and thumb twiddling gives me time to really think about whatever I'm putting off, explore it, know it more and then do it right, but there's not a lot of cognitive processing that's going to qualitatively change the experience of going out for a bike ride, or, say, paying the utility bill. It IS a nice counterpoint for those days when you just spring up and get going - then those days feel like Victory, you walk around punching the air, You Are Rocky - and all you did was the thing you had to do. I'm sure someone more eloquent than myself has thought this through previously and more thorougly, let's go quote hunting!
Oh god, the quick Google brings back grim stuff! I might just go cry in the shower now:
"Procrastination is suicide on the installment plan." - this one isn't even attributed! It's just an internet asshole nugget.
"How soon 'not now' becomes 'never'." - Martin Luther. I really wasn't expecting a procrastination quote from M.L.; all I can see is him nailing the Theses to the church doors, except sitting at home drinking coffee for awhile first - this great historical moment of passion being deferred by whatever domestic excuse he can find...I'm finding this thought exercise really freeing, and its not just the sketch-comedy enjoyment of seeing Martin Luther in a robe and slippers.
"Procrastination is, hands down, our favorite form of self-sabotage." - Alyce P. Cornyn-Selby. Word.
"Procrastination is the grave in which opportunity is buried." - not attributed! Everybody chill out with the death diction!
This one is vaguely helpful in its gentle admonishment, and quite literally true today as I tack on the run from Tuesday, so I'll end with it: "Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday." - Don Marquis
See you when I get out of work, workout schedule!
Instead of biking then, this morning let's explore motivation and procrastination. Procrastination is more my specialty, so I'll start there.
Here is a simple, 100% reparable issue from the get go: my perfectly good alarm clock sits on my desk across the room, gathering dust on its buttons, dark and unplugged for months now. I bet if I plugged it in, set it and had to get up and cross the room to turn it off, that 3 out of 5 might come down to 2.5 out of 5. Instead, I use my phone for my alarm clock, which is plugged in right next to my bed, and in fact lays mostly in the region of the pillow or mattress next to my head - phone boyfriend! What this translates to in my daily routine is hitting snooze somewhere between 2 and (this is not a joke, oh god, I wish it was a joke) 18 times before I get up. Yes, it goes off every 10 minutes, and there have been at least two mornings where it was optimistically set for 5:30 am, and I managed to blow all expectation out of the water, catching snippets of whatever low quality sleep I could in 18 10-minute intervals until 8:30 am. You have to really be a seasoned veteran to be able to have the mental mumbling soundtrack going "Just get up, you know you're going to feel bad later, you're already pretty much awake, you're doing an Ironman, you might have anxiety on Mile 110 and blame it on THIS very second of procrastination, etc etc" and still be able to lose consciousness 10+ times. A logical segue to thanking my parents for signing me up for morning swim practice from the age of 8.
So why, having signed myself up for Death Race, am I comfortable not getting out of bed and doing the damn thing? Because.....there's always.....AFTER work! Yeah, you heard me. Yeah, I know I didn't do the 40 minute run I was supposed to LAST night, so I was already planning on doing the run tonight and the 1.5 hour bike ride this morning. So what if I do them both tonight? TV's in re-runs, I don't have kids and....yeah, whatever, back off. That's how it is in the real event anyway. Pfffsshh.
Ugh, why did I say this: "let's explore motivation and procrastination"? Motivation now? I have to explicitly talk about that, too? Just go back and read between the lines of the procrastination stuff, they're inverses. I'd love to sit here and explore more deeply and out loud what it's all about, but...I think I just feel a little frustrated with myself. What's THAT about? Why willingly not do something, knowing the not doing will make you less effective for having to deal with mental garble? Why do we have a hard time getting to the end of the road unless we toss some speed bumps and pot holes out for ourselves? What's wrong with just cruising down a freshly paved street? The inclination is to say we're creatures of plot and need challenge even in our daily routines, but man, doesn't that sound like a lot of ex post facto justification? I want to sit here and tell you the silent bargaining and thumb twiddling gives me time to really think about whatever I'm putting off, explore it, know it more and then do it right, but there's not a lot of cognitive processing that's going to qualitatively change the experience of going out for a bike ride, or, say, paying the utility bill. It IS a nice counterpoint for those days when you just spring up and get going - then those days feel like Victory, you walk around punching the air, You Are Rocky - and all you did was the thing you had to do. I'm sure someone more eloquent than myself has thought this through previously and more thorougly, let's go quote hunting!
Oh god, the quick Google brings back grim stuff! I might just go cry in the shower now:
"Procrastination is suicide on the installment plan." - this one isn't even attributed! It's just an internet asshole nugget.
"How soon 'not now' becomes 'never'." - Martin Luther. I really wasn't expecting a procrastination quote from M.L.; all I can see is him nailing the Theses to the church doors, except sitting at home drinking coffee for awhile first - this great historical moment of passion being deferred by whatever domestic excuse he can find...I'm finding this thought exercise really freeing, and its not just the sketch-comedy enjoyment of seeing Martin Luther in a robe and slippers.
"Procrastination is, hands down, our favorite form of self-sabotage." - Alyce P. Cornyn-Selby. Word.
"Procrastination is the grave in which opportunity is buried." - not attributed! Everybody chill out with the death diction!
This one is vaguely helpful in its gentle admonishment, and quite literally true today as I tack on the run from Tuesday, so I'll end with it: "Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday." - Don Marquis
See you when I get out of work, workout schedule!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Fact Potpourri !
Oh yes, things I've been meaning to write down and not forget:
-it took extra detergent and a long soak to get my exercise clothes to NOT smell even after being washed.
-the pile of exercise clothes threatened to become as large as the pile of real clothes!
-I only have one pair of socks right now! I don't know where the others went. It's been like this for three weeks. I won't tell you what I do, but trust that it's not as gross as it sounds. Or maybe it is. Sock hygiene is as relative as it is personal.
-It's really hard to eat Powerbars quickly on the bike - chewing makes breathing harder, and breathing is incredibly precious. I can eat half a Powerbar in about three bites, so this is the routine: cut Powerbars in half, in the wrapper. Shove four halves in your jersey (right) pocket. This is enough food for four hours - until you can get to your special needs bag at Mile 56. Most importantly: when you take the half-bar and tear its wrapper off with your teeth while riding, take your bite and then stick the rest of it onto the top of your top tube. It just hangs out, stuck to your bike, until you have chewed and breathed. This is my favorite thing after peeing in my wet suit.
-our coach said when it's hot, wear a white hat on the run (I already do! Pro without knowing it, gosh), and "you can stick ice up there!" Have I become a boring jock or is that a super cute way to say that? Really amused.
-Jocks are boring. Empirically now, we know this. We suspected it, and now we know. I am boring.
-it took extra detergent and a long soak to get my exercise clothes to NOT smell even after being washed.
-the pile of exercise clothes threatened to become as large as the pile of real clothes!
-I only have one pair of socks right now! I don't know where the others went. It's been like this for three weeks. I won't tell you what I do, but trust that it's not as gross as it sounds. Or maybe it is. Sock hygiene is as relative as it is personal.
-It's really hard to eat Powerbars quickly on the bike - chewing makes breathing harder, and breathing is incredibly precious. I can eat half a Powerbar in about three bites, so this is the routine: cut Powerbars in half, in the wrapper. Shove four halves in your jersey (right) pocket. This is enough food for four hours - until you can get to your special needs bag at Mile 56. Most importantly: when you take the half-bar and tear its wrapper off with your teeth while riding, take your bite and then stick the rest of it onto the top of your top tube. It just hangs out, stuck to your bike, until you have chewed and breathed. This is my favorite thing after peeing in my wet suit.
-our coach said when it's hot, wear a white hat on the run (I already do! Pro without knowing it, gosh), and "you can stick ice up there!" Have I become a boring jock or is that a super cute way to say that? Really amused.
-Jocks are boring. Empirically now, we know this. We suspected it, and now we know. I am boring.
What Two Inches of Seat Post Feels Like (That's What She Said)
What do I possibly have to say? What is there? I'm so tiiiiiiired of training. I want my life back. Ah, that's not true. I do want my life back, but I'm not sure if I'm tired of training - I'm still making gains.
I'm still proud for having done the century ride last weekend. I swam just under 2 miles today. Yesterday - no new distances, but I rode with a bike that fit me properly for the first time and WOW! I can ride my bike, it turns out. Went fast, kids; I'd say I started to lose the line between a person on a machine and an organ-muscle machine riding an aluminum one, but the sweat, aches and occasional crankiness kept my wah-wah humanity front and center. My first impulse is to say it was exciting to feel my potential opening up, but I feel more like a basic frustration melted away - I wasn't fighting anything, and my bike was letting my legs do what they were really capable of. $200 well spent? Sigh. Probably. Ugh.
Getting really stressed about the fundraising, and opening myself up to the possibility that I'll be going out-of-pocket for what I can't raise between my current $4300 and the $6500 I need. I have 80% of a party planned, but a couple details just won't settle themselves...and the training schedule doesn't leave a whole lot of time for much besides work and tri. But! It's what I signed up for, so ahead I charge.
My brain feels flattened out.
I'm still proud for having done the century ride last weekend. I swam just under 2 miles today. Yesterday - no new distances, but I rode with a bike that fit me properly for the first time and WOW! I can ride my bike, it turns out. Went fast, kids; I'd say I started to lose the line between a person on a machine and an organ-muscle machine riding an aluminum one, but the sweat, aches and occasional crankiness kept my wah-wah humanity front and center. My first impulse is to say it was exciting to feel my potential opening up, but I feel more like a basic frustration melted away - I wasn't fighting anything, and my bike was letting my legs do what they were really capable of. $200 well spent? Sigh. Probably. Ugh.
Getting really stressed about the fundraising, and opening myself up to the possibility that I'll be going out-of-pocket for what I can't raise between my current $4300 and the $6500 I need. I have 80% of a party planned, but a couple details just won't settle themselves...and the training schedule doesn't leave a whole lot of time for much besides work and tri. But! It's what I signed up for, so ahead I charge.
My brain feels flattened out.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Bike Fit, Schedule Insanity & 100 Mile Ride
Dateline: Overwhelm City.
Okay, that's as conceptual as I'm getting. I don't have time for brain things. Today I will talk about:
-how busy I am with tri and with the things that I wanted to get motivated on, hiding from which and getting pumped for which were the reasons I signed up for tri
-getting a Not-New New Bike
-and oh yeah that century ride this weekend
So. How did I ever get signed up for Ironman? I was walking along, doing my desk job, minding my own post-collegiate beeswax, thinking about my dreams and goals and how I have a lump in my throat about how to start achieving them. I felt like I was cresting the hill of not being scared, but wasn't quite there, and I needed to prove something to myself. Creepily, Danielle Hinde IM'd me pretty much RIGHT as I had this realization, and told me I should do Ironman. And that folks, is how 9 months of body mutilation happens!
But. It worked!
I'd barely started training in December when I started pursuing the insurmountable dreams in the rest of my life. I met the kids I've been waiting and wanting to meet in my LA life, and wrangled a few of them into a directing / producing / whatever group - still finding its feet, but that door became more doors, and understanding what I'm good at and want to do out here in Hollywood. So now I find myself planning to make a pilot in the fall. That's interesting! That's real stuff!
What it brings us to is how full to the brim all my minutes are...work is 9-6, working out bookends my days, and when I can fit it I'm making plans for the big stuff after the finish line. And this week I am having to get my fundraising party together, to close that last $2000 gap. Even while I know I need to keep Ironman up top for just another month and a half, my mind is moving beyond it to the things I feel really ready to tackle after the experience it has given me. Again: it worked! Tah dah! The metaphor lives! The girl struggles to breathe!
PHEW!
Next thing: I got a new bike! Except I didn't! This is a very good time to acknowledge how much I have or haven't abandoned the "on a shoestring" premise I originally had for the training and the blog.
I've spent a lot more money than I wanted to on this. I've spent a lot less money than most people would have. I've spent money only when I couldn't justify not doing it any longer. All this adds up to my having spent a lot of money much later than I should have, and giving myself a lot of indecision headaches in the meantime. I still don't have a wet suit, because a teammate has leant me theirs for so long I've forgotten I still have another $160 to lose. I'm not going to Vineman training weekend, because I saw the course so intimately last year that I can't justify the cost of travel, hotel and a day off work one month before I do it for real - even though this will probably be an excuse for anxiety in one way or another. I run without a water bottle more than I should because I don't want to buy a jersey or a run belt that will let me carry it - I toss it in bushes along my route. Etc.
The most worrisome thing I've put off has been the bike fit. When I bought the bike in December, the shop roughly fit it to my body and expected I would be back for a fit quite soon, since the shop is run by people with enough experience that they are sensible and believe no one would put their own discomfort above shelling out $100 for a fit. I sure showed those jerks. And then they showed me back by actually charging $175. I don't know where I got $100 from, probably made it up.
As our mileage has crept up, the pain in my knees has gotten increasingly excruciating. Touch the back of your knee with your leg extended - feel those sinewy bits on each side? Those - on both knees - feel like they want to snap after about mile 70. It was scaring me, along with how bright red the fronts of my knees would get. I'd noticed that each time a teammate got a bike fitting, they seemed to really improve. All of this = Sunday found me at Cynergy cycles, biting my lip about the 200 bucks.
Usually in a fitting, there are a lot of pretty small adjustments that get made - the seat post goes up or down a couple centimeters, a new seat post or handle bar stem goes in that brings it forward or back a couple centimeters, etc. We ended up raising my seat two inches. Extraordinary. I've been told I'm effectively riding a new bike, and boy does it feel like it.
Full disclosure forces me to mention that I also traded out my half-platform pedals (for commuting in pedestrian shoes) for, uh, I don't know what they are called - here's a picture:
And of course you can't get Speedplay Light Action Pedals (looking for a picture necessitates actually figuring out what they are called, ironically) and plan to use them with your ancient mountain biking shoes that you have been using all season in the name of not spending money...especially when the last pair of Specialized BG Pro Road Shoes with Body Geometry Engineering and Lightweight FACT Carbon Soles are on "sale" for $190 and every time you touch them in the store a new employee or customer walks up and goes "OH! Those are AMAZING!" OF COURSE YOU CAN'T DO THAT! OF COURSE YOU MUST SPEND THIS MUCH MONEY! Your knees!!! NEED IT. Oh, did you want a picture?
I'm trying to remember if I've ever, in the style of a cartoon Rich Guy funding his Young Beautiful Mistress' every shopping whim, actually felt faint when receiving a total before. Oh wait, it was in December, when I paid $1,600 for a bike. You would think that would have toughened me up for Six Hundred Dollar Sunday. It's an investment in my future / continued ability to use my knees, right? That's what she said.
Geez blogging makes me tired! No, wait. Disorganizedly trying to jam three blog posts into one blog post makes me tired. No, wait. Planning my fundraising party while writing a horrible blog post makes me tired. No, wait. Planning my party while blogging while trying to get my work at work done so I can leave it time to make it to swim practice makes me tired. Yeah, that's it. No, wait. Planning my party while blogging ABOUT SPENDING ALL MY MONEY while working while swim practice looms makes me tired. Yeah. When do I get to be President? I'm ready!
In other news, I rode 100 miles on Saturday. Anaheim to San Diego. 6 hours, 26 minutes. Anything else I could say about it is going to have to be officially filed under "Fell Through the Cracks."
BYE!
Okay, that's as conceptual as I'm getting. I don't have time for brain things. Today I will talk about:
-how busy I am with tri and with the things that I wanted to get motivated on, hiding from which and getting pumped for which were the reasons I signed up for tri
-getting a Not-New New Bike
-and oh yeah that century ride this weekend
So. How did I ever get signed up for Ironman? I was walking along, doing my desk job, minding my own post-collegiate beeswax, thinking about my dreams and goals and how I have a lump in my throat about how to start achieving them. I felt like I was cresting the hill of not being scared, but wasn't quite there, and I needed to prove something to myself. Creepily, Danielle Hinde IM'd me pretty much RIGHT as I had this realization, and told me I should do Ironman. And that folks, is how 9 months of body mutilation happens!
But. It worked!
I'd barely started training in December when I started pursuing the insurmountable dreams in the rest of my life. I met the kids I've been waiting and wanting to meet in my LA life, and wrangled a few of them into a directing / producing / whatever group - still finding its feet, but that door became more doors, and understanding what I'm good at and want to do out here in Hollywood. So now I find myself planning to make a pilot in the fall. That's interesting! That's real stuff!
What it brings us to is how full to the brim all my minutes are...work is 9-6, working out bookends my days, and when I can fit it I'm making plans for the big stuff after the finish line. And this week I am having to get my fundraising party together, to close that last $2000 gap. Even while I know I need to keep Ironman up top for just another month and a half, my mind is moving beyond it to the things I feel really ready to tackle after the experience it has given me. Again: it worked! Tah dah! The metaphor lives! The girl struggles to breathe!
PHEW!
Next thing: I got a new bike! Except I didn't! This is a very good time to acknowledge how much I have or haven't abandoned the "on a shoestring" premise I originally had for the training and the blog.
I've spent a lot more money than I wanted to on this. I've spent a lot less money than most people would have. I've spent money only when I couldn't justify not doing it any longer. All this adds up to my having spent a lot of money much later than I should have, and giving myself a lot of indecision headaches in the meantime. I still don't have a wet suit, because a teammate has leant me theirs for so long I've forgotten I still have another $160 to lose. I'm not going to Vineman training weekend, because I saw the course so intimately last year that I can't justify the cost of travel, hotel and a day off work one month before I do it for real - even though this will probably be an excuse for anxiety in one way or another. I run without a water bottle more than I should because I don't want to buy a jersey or a run belt that will let me carry it - I toss it in bushes along my route. Etc.
The most worrisome thing I've put off has been the bike fit. When I bought the bike in December, the shop roughly fit it to my body and expected I would be back for a fit quite soon, since the shop is run by people with enough experience that they are sensible and believe no one would put their own discomfort above shelling out $100 for a fit. I sure showed those jerks. And then they showed me back by actually charging $175. I don't know where I got $100 from, probably made it up.
As our mileage has crept up, the pain in my knees has gotten increasingly excruciating. Touch the back of your knee with your leg extended - feel those sinewy bits on each side? Those - on both knees - feel like they want to snap after about mile 70. It was scaring me, along with how bright red the fronts of my knees would get. I'd noticed that each time a teammate got a bike fitting, they seemed to really improve. All of this = Sunday found me at Cynergy cycles, biting my lip about the 200 bucks.
Usually in a fitting, there are a lot of pretty small adjustments that get made - the seat post goes up or down a couple centimeters, a new seat post or handle bar stem goes in that brings it forward or back a couple centimeters, etc. We ended up raising my seat two inches. Extraordinary. I've been told I'm effectively riding a new bike, and boy does it feel like it.
Full disclosure forces me to mention that I also traded out my half-platform pedals (for commuting in pedestrian shoes) for, uh, I don't know what they are called - here's a picture:
And of course you can't get Speedplay Light Action Pedals (looking for a picture necessitates actually figuring out what they are called, ironically) and plan to use them with your ancient mountain biking shoes that you have been using all season in the name of not spending money...especially when the last pair of Specialized BG Pro Road Shoes with Body Geometry Engineering and Lightweight FACT Carbon Soles are on "sale" for $190 and every time you touch them in the store a new employee or customer walks up and goes "OH! Those are AMAZING!" OF COURSE YOU CAN'T DO THAT! OF COURSE YOU MUST SPEND THIS MUCH MONEY! Your knees!!! NEED IT. Oh, did you want a picture?
I'm trying to remember if I've ever, in the style of a cartoon Rich Guy funding his Young Beautiful Mistress' every shopping whim, actually felt faint when receiving a total before. Oh wait, it was in December, when I paid $1,600 for a bike. You would think that would have toughened me up for Six Hundred Dollar Sunday. It's an investment in my future / continued ability to use my knees, right? That's what she said.
Geez blogging makes me tired! No, wait. Disorganizedly trying to jam three blog posts into one blog post makes me tired. No, wait. Planning my fundraising party while writing a horrible blog post makes me tired. No, wait. Planning my party while blogging while trying to get my work at work done so I can leave it time to make it to swim practice makes me tired. Yeah, that's it. No, wait. Planning my party while blogging ABOUT SPENDING ALL MY MONEY while working while swim practice looms makes me tired. Yeah. When do I get to be President? I'm ready!
In other news, I rode 100 miles on Saturday. Anaheim to San Diego. 6 hours, 26 minutes. Anything else I could say about it is going to have to be officially filed under "Fell Through the Cracks."
BYE!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
My Body is a Wasteland
UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH is the sound of me NEVER BLOGGING! Hi! I don't have a life anymore! Just sports! What's up?
That's not true, really. I also eat a lot. And sleep. And do past life regression exercises to summon the cloudy memory of my former existence. On the other hand, here are some things I've done recently that are interestingly rad:
-I swam tonight for an hour and a half, never stopping for more than 20 seconds. It's pretty safe to just say it was a straight swim, but that would technically be LYING, and explaining the intricate set itself would be BORING. So. How about this? Total distance = just about 2 miles (lost count!).
-I ran just under 17 miles on Sunday. It was brutal. I have never been in more acute physical pain in my life. Pride swells.
-I biked 85 miles two weekends ago. This also resulted in acute pain. And daydreams of pulling over and texting my coach "Eat a dick." Exercise makes me angry!
On this weekend's agenda:
-Saturday: bike from Anaheim to San Diego. The route is currently shrouded in mystery, but this will be between 85 and 110 miles. Cutesy +/-, Coach!
Some friends have invited me over for pizza and whiskey after and I....might not be conscious.
-Sunday: run 20 miles. Do YOU think its ludicrous that this is the post-ride activity? I do, and I signed up for this!
Two weekends ago, as I forced my knees to keep moving on my 13 mile run, I quietly thought to myself: We've entered Terra Incredula. This is as surprising to me as anyone else that I can and regularly do achieve these things - it's only the monotony of being robbed of what I have heretofore called My Life on a daily basis that makes it digestible and prosaic, makes it the sort of activity I insist over and over aloud to others that they could also do (they could).
Now, however, I've entered some more ridiculous place. These are the borderlands of comprehension, or at least the fringes of meaningfulness. On mile 16 on Sunday, as I ran past people doing WHATEVER with their Sunday - family picnics, yard sales, late lunches, neighborhood errands - the mental negotiation was a trading floor of activity. I told myself I could stop at the next water fountain. I got there, and passed it. I told myself I could stop at the NEXT water fountain. I did, and getting running again was more painful than the pain that led to stopping. T-rex baby steps and floppy arms leading to a granpa-hunched back took me a bit further - I told myself I could stop running at the end of the park. I got there and it just didn't make sense. I can't explain it. Why stop when it hurts that bad? Yes, what? What is that sentence? I don't know. Why stop when it hurts that bad. I can remember it making sense.
I ran for another 45 seconds, to a corner 4 minutes' walk from my house. I had told myself I could stop running there. And I did. Nothing has hurt more in my life, without exaggeration, than the next 2 minutes of walking. Then I had to cross the street, and all four lanes of traffic on Sunset Boulevard decided to stop for me - how could I not run? I ran the last 200 yards home - was dumbfounded to find the movements a relief after the walking, like my legs could only do the thing they had been doing for the last 3 hours and 10 minutes.
As I walked in my front door and to my room, my mouth made involuntary baby squeals, and I felt suddenly desperate to try and figure out what I could do to make my legs stop wailing at me. The only analog I have is when you have a simple problem - really simple, like maybe a battery door on a remote control that you can't get open - and you know there is something, not even a SECRET, but something stupid you are NOT doing that will make all the frustration end immediately. That sort of panic was how I felt about my legs. I went swimming, by which I mean I floated for 30 minutes.
Watching Shotgun Freeway last night, towards the end Joan Didion says (I can't imagine anyone saying this in any documentary about a city but one about LA, and I mean that in a lovely way) how the experience of meaninglessness is one of the most religious, and I found my brain drifting. What do I think of that? What is the meaning and meaninglessness of what I went through on Sunday? Clearly, beyond the event itself, I'm heartened to know what I've achieved. And this feeling is only possible by actually having lived through this bullshit. But at the time what did it mean? Sheer existential perseverence manufacturing it's own meaning step by step? Each step a log pulled out from under the back of the huge limestone block and quickly hustled up to become the front log? It's like quitting smoking - each day of not smoking becomes the next day's reason to not smoke. Also a thing that hardly and totally makes sense.
They tell me that after 17 miles its all the same. I'll leave my one eyebrow cocked until I've seen it for myself. Sunday.
That's not true, really. I also eat a lot. And sleep. And do past life regression exercises to summon the cloudy memory of my former existence. On the other hand, here are some things I've done recently that are interestingly rad:
-I swam tonight for an hour and a half, never stopping for more than 20 seconds. It's pretty safe to just say it was a straight swim, but that would technically be LYING, and explaining the intricate set itself would be BORING. So. How about this? Total distance = just about 2 miles (lost count!).
-I ran just under 17 miles on Sunday. It was brutal. I have never been in more acute physical pain in my life. Pride swells.
-I biked 85 miles two weekends ago. This also resulted in acute pain. And daydreams of pulling over and texting my coach "Eat a dick." Exercise makes me angry!
On this weekend's agenda:
-Saturday: bike from Anaheim to San Diego. The route is currently shrouded in mystery, but this will be between 85 and 110 miles. Cutesy +/-, Coach!
Some friends have invited me over for pizza and whiskey after and I....might not be conscious.
-Sunday: run 20 miles. Do YOU think its ludicrous that this is the post-ride activity? I do, and I signed up for this!
Two weekends ago, as I forced my knees to keep moving on my 13 mile run, I quietly thought to myself: We've entered Terra Incredula. This is as surprising to me as anyone else that I can and regularly do achieve these things - it's only the monotony of being robbed of what I have heretofore called My Life on a daily basis that makes it digestible and prosaic, makes it the sort of activity I insist over and over aloud to others that they could also do (they could).
Now, however, I've entered some more ridiculous place. These are the borderlands of comprehension, or at least the fringes of meaningfulness. On mile 16 on Sunday, as I ran past people doing WHATEVER with their Sunday - family picnics, yard sales, late lunches, neighborhood errands - the mental negotiation was a trading floor of activity. I told myself I could stop at the next water fountain. I got there, and passed it. I told myself I could stop at the NEXT water fountain. I did, and getting running again was more painful than the pain that led to stopping. T-rex baby steps and floppy arms leading to a granpa-hunched back took me a bit further - I told myself I could stop running at the end of the park. I got there and it just didn't make sense. I can't explain it. Why stop when it hurts that bad? Yes, what? What is that sentence? I don't know. Why stop when it hurts that bad. I can remember it making sense.
I ran for another 45 seconds, to a corner 4 minutes' walk from my house. I had told myself I could stop running there. And I did. Nothing has hurt more in my life, without exaggeration, than the next 2 minutes of walking. Then I had to cross the street, and all four lanes of traffic on Sunset Boulevard decided to stop for me - how could I not run? I ran the last 200 yards home - was dumbfounded to find the movements a relief after the walking, like my legs could only do the thing they had been doing for the last 3 hours and 10 minutes.
As I walked in my front door and to my room, my mouth made involuntary baby squeals, and I felt suddenly desperate to try and figure out what I could do to make my legs stop wailing at me. The only analog I have is when you have a simple problem - really simple, like maybe a battery door on a remote control that you can't get open - and you know there is something, not even a SECRET, but something stupid you are NOT doing that will make all the frustration end immediately. That sort of panic was how I felt about my legs. I went swimming, by which I mean I floated for 30 minutes.
Watching Shotgun Freeway last night, towards the end Joan Didion says (I can't imagine anyone saying this in any documentary about a city but one about LA, and I mean that in a lovely way) how the experience of meaninglessness is one of the most religious, and I found my brain drifting. What do I think of that? What is the meaning and meaninglessness of what I went through on Sunday? Clearly, beyond the event itself, I'm heartened to know what I've achieved. And this feeling is only possible by actually having lived through this bullshit. But at the time what did it mean? Sheer existential perseverence manufacturing it's own meaning step by step? Each step a log pulled out from under the back of the huge limestone block and quickly hustled up to become the front log? It's like quitting smoking - each day of not smoking becomes the next day's reason to not smoke. Also a thing that hardly and totally makes sense.
They tell me that after 17 miles its all the same. I'll leave my one eyebrow cocked until I've seen it for myself. Sunday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
