Murphy's Law of Biking

So the biker's block has been broken (say THAT 10 times fast!). It happend on Saturday and, I have to say, it was a learning experience. It was quite cloudy, and a bit brisk (see: cold), so I knew that if I wanted to ride in clear, hot weather, I would be forced to tie my rain coat (really heavy, plastic one; one of those fancy, crumple up in your pocket one won't work), and wear a heavy jacket. About 100 yeards from my starting point, it had already heated up enough for me to take off my jacket and tie that around my waist.

What's that, you say? Why not just circle back to the car and put those things away? Well, I say, because I know that if I did not lug them with me, it would be pouring in about 15 minutes and the temp would drop about 15 degrees. How do I know this, you ask? Because I have experienced it, I answer. We all have. And thus, I always invoke the Murphy's Law of Biking:

1. If you do not want it to rain, make sure you take your rain coat.

2. If you want the temp to rise, overdress.

3. If you want the bike to run perfectly, don't waste your time going over it and cleaning it, ride it through mud puddles. The dirt will make sure to keep everything in its place.

4. If you don't want a flat tire, remember to bring your patch kit, extra tube, and several CO2 cartridges.

The list really is endless, and it becomes a game as the season progresses. Playing How Long Can I Ride Before I get Drenched or Hit By Lightening.....or a quick game of Ride Through Glass.....it is all good. But it always catches up to us.


Pedal, Pedal, Pedal!

Biker's Block

I've taken my bike down from it's hanger.

I've put on my bike clothes.

I've made plans on what I needed to do before I go out.

I've looked outside.

I've done everything I have needed to do, except get on my bike and ride out onto the trails.

It is almost like I am afraid of what will happen. I haven't been on my bike in weeks. WEEKS. That's right, WEEK-plural.

I need to get past this Biker's Block. I need someone to drag me out by my hair, put my on my bike and push me off onto the trails. It isn't even like I have to DRIVE ANYWHERE.

HOW LAZY CAN I BE?

I guess we will find out soon enough.

But IT'S HARD.....

While I appreciate that BikeHubby is only trying to look out for me, and that he knows that if I am laid up with a broken leg or some other injury I will be unable to keep him in the way that he has become accustomed, I'm afraid that my patience has run thin.

I want to do the Vermont 50 this year. Just a personal goal; A goal that I have had since I started mountain biking and loving it. I know that it is not easy. I know that it takes some training and dedication if one wants to do their best. I am not 5 years old. At least not physically. Emotionally? Well, that's probably another post.

But BikeHubby will stop people on the streets if he recognizes them as someone who has participated in the 50. "Look!" He says, pointing excitedly. "She's done the 50 before! " He will run over and engage them in conversation, pulling me with him. "She wants to do the 50 this year," he will say, pointing at me. "Tell her how hard the 50 is." Looking confused, the person will inevitably say "It's Hard. The 50 is really hard." BikeHubby will then look at me triumphantly and say "See?". The accosted will wander away at some point, while he is lecturing me on how hard the 50 is.

I finally had to sit him down and explain to him that I know the 50 is hard. I understand that there is a chance of my getting injured. (Probably more than a chance, if one goes back and reads some of my previous posts) But that this is a personal challenge that I wish to embark upon and that if he would like to help, then he can help most by KEEPING OUT OF MY WAY!!

I think that I am going to tell him that I am not going to ride the 50, go ahead and train for it, enter it, then sneak out of the house on the morning of and leave him a note. That might be my only hope.

First, the good news.

The good news is that I do not require surgery at this point, as I do have part of my ACL still left standing. Yay for no surgery. However, the good news would not be complete if it did not have some yang to its yin. Or yin to its yang. Whichever, I apparently have some issues with the tissues right around my kneecap. Tissue issues would be fine, but my tissues seem to have not just issues, but a full subscription. And so, my doctor has told me that my level of activity will coincide with my pain threshold. High Painthreshold = High Activity.

And so with my prescription Alleve, I am off to spinning, going back to skiing (such as it is), and trying to be happy that I do not have to have surgery. I know that this is good, but it is frustrating that there is no 'fix'. That pain is something that I have to learn to live with.

Ah, well, at least I have my bike. And I shall Pedal, pedal, pedal!

First Time

Do you remember your first time? Mine happened on a weeknight, when I was about 6 or 7. I remember using my brother's blue schwinn, with a white banana seat, which had a handle on the back for my father's steady hand. I had practiced in the driveway, but this would be my first time on the street. I remember being jealous of my brother as he rode his bicycle through the neighborhood. He would go so fast and so many places that walking could not take you. He was part of this elite group and, of course, being his little sister I wanted to belong, too. So that evening, I was determined to join the freedom league and really learn to ride a bike.

It seemed like forever before my dad got home from work. And when I met him in the driveway, with my brother's bike, he laughed and told me to wait until he changed his clothes. I was straddling the bike at the side of the street, when he came out of the house.

My dad's advice, before we took off on our adventure, was Ok. Now remember..... just pedal. Even if you aren't sure, just pedal.

As I sat on the bike, my dad held me steady with the handle on the seat. He asked if I was ready....And, concentrating on the road in front of me, I told him I was. He started to jog, pushing me in front of him, as he encouraged me to pedal. I remember my tongue sticking out between my lips, the wind rushing past me, and the sound of my dad's footsteps as we sped down the street. All of a sudden, I felt a little push and could hear my dad yelling PEDAL! PEDAL! And I realized that he had let go. And I was riding! I was pedaling! I was riding down the street, just like my brother. I still remember smiling and yelling at my dad that I was doing it! I was doing it!

And then I realized that I was heading right toward a manhole cover in the middle of the street, and being unsure of how to steer the bike, I stopped pedaling, hit the edge of the cover, and fell over. My epic ride of about 25 feet was over. As my dad ran to help me up, I saw that I had put a hole in my Roughrider jeans (darned near impossible, you know) skinned my knee and my hand and I remember thinking that maybe I would have a scar on my knee, just like my brother's. Dad picked me up, brushed me off and told me what a good job I did and that I needed to give it another try.

With his hand on the seat handle, he pushed me off and watched me as I wobbled down the street. Very soon after that, I got my own bike. With it's own banana seat. And I think that as of now, I have more scars from bike riding that my brother. And although I have to say that every bike ride I have been on has had a special moment, you never forget your first time.

Pedal, Pedal, Pedal

And it looks like....DECEMBER

So while recovering from my whining episode, it snowed. And a lot! Like about 11 inches. Light, fluffy, champagne powder. So here I was, focusing on mountain biking and it snows. And I start whining again, albeit to myself, as everyone else is rejoicing in the fact that there is finally snow on the ground at the end of February.

So now, I have started to think about biking and how it all began. And where it has left me. And I decided instead of whining, maybe I will start writing down things that were fun or interesting....and see where that takes me. Hopefully out of this abyss of self-pity into which I have fallen and can't get up.

So......Once Upon a Time, a long, long time ago.....

Winter Blues

It is almost the end of February and winter has finally arrived. There are 2 inches of fresh pow on the ground, the trails are covered, and the ground is frozen. It is perfect riding weather and here I am feeling sorry for myself. Whining the way all good whiners should. I tried to ride the other day, but apparently, a torn meniscus seems to wreak havoc with doing much of anything. Walking stairs? Painful. Walking? Painful. Sitting for any length of time? You guessed it: Painful. And you are talking to a girl who set her own broken finger and didn't think it hurt much. I have torn just about everything in my body at least once, broken a few things, fractures a couple, and this is the most miserable I have been in a long time. One big pity party with me as the guest of honor. Blah, blah, blah. Who knew I would be so good at this whining game?

I gotta get out more. And do what, I don't know, but I gotta get out more.

Defined

When I try to define myself, I find that I am defined by what I do outside of work. If I must put myself into that neat little box that people seem to want to see one in, work won't do it. What does do it, is placing myself as in the skier box in the winter and biker box year round.

So what happens when how you define yourself disappears. Gets placed on hold. Nothing catastrophic that is enough to remind you how lucky you are to be alive, but harsh enough to make you question the box you have placed yourself in. Mine is a torn meniscus and ACL. No skiing for the rest of the season and some biking, but stick to dirt roads. Spinning is ok.

BikeHubby is mortified, as it was an accident involving him that resulted in my downfall. And now he wonders when he will see me, as I work all week and he will want to spend time on the slopes with his weekend friends. Someone asked me why he wouldn't give up his weekend skiing so that he could spend time with me, but they don't understand. No one who knows what it is like to live a sport would ask someone to give it up because they couldn't do it. I could never ask anyone to sacrifice themselves like that.

Surgery. Rehab. No biking for about 6-8 weeks post surgery.

I guess it is time to get out the dictionary and look for a new definition.