This morning got off to a less than ideal start. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I had managed to get little more than six hours sleep, or whether the oppressive heat and humidity has been weighing me down. But while preparing for the morning’s ride, I happened to read a few emails that had arrived in my Inbox overnight. Without going into the details, suffice it to say that the messages really set me off in the worst way. Zdenek suggested that maybe I should skip cycling and get another hour of sleep (especially since I haven’t taken a break from running or riding in many days, and it’s still 30+ degrees here all day, every day), but I know that the only thing to keep me sane is the hour or two I have every day during which my heart is pumping fast and my legs are turning over as quickly as I can make them. So I wiped my tears and tired eyes, changed into my jersey, and headed out the door.
After a relatively hard first lap (during which I drafted for a few of the miles), Zdenek decided to go it alone on the second loop and ride as fast as he could. Meanwhile, I would ride solo, cut off the top mile of the Park, and meet him back at the start (as we’ve done successfully a few times in the past). Just before the East 72nd Street transverse, he waved goodbye and was off. But I, despite the poor start to my morning, was feeling pretty warmed up by this time, and so didn’t deliberately slow my pace simply because I was now sans husband. In fact, I picked it up. And before I knew it, I was back at the start in a truly record time, all by myself. I realized, looking at my split, that it might take Zdenek a bit longer than usual to catch up with me on the third loop, but I assumed that he was big and strong enough to lap me eventually. On my third loop, though, I was over halfway through before it became obvious that he was probably never going to catch me at all. No bother, I thought, I’ll just wait for him at the finish before riding home.
My solo cycling power would have probably been sufficient to turn my morning from bad to great, but the icing on the cake came during my climb up Harlem Hill. For the last few miles, I had been riding close to two other men on tri bikes -- sometimes I was ahead of them, sometimes they would get ahead of me, but mostly we were within 20 feet of one another at all times. Just as I began to huff and puff a little harder while spinning up the hill, one of the guys said to me, “Do you race?” No, I told him, I just ride for fun. “Well,” he replied, “you should race.” I told him that I was happy with marathons, to which he responded, “Your running ability has really translated into cycling. You should seriously consider racing, or at least triathlons.” It was as if he had been reading my mind! And then he rode with me a bit more -- we talked about his hamstring injury and where in the world my husband could be -- before I had to say goodbye and wait for Zdenek at the West 77th Street transverse. (Unfortunately, Zdenek turned up five minutes later than expected. Apparently he was so surprised to have not lapped me that he assumed he must have zoomed right past me at some point, so he stopped midway through the third loop and waited for several minutes midway, thinking I might “catch up.”)
Although everything in my day since that ride has been less than stellar, I keep coming back to that unexpected compliment. It’s wonderful to think that I actually pass for a cyclist to someone who isn't my husband or best friend, and that confirmation was worth any hour of lost sleep.
Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Early morning rush
This morning's ride was one for the record books -- well, for my personal record book, at least. To be honest, I am not sure how or from where I mustered the energy. Yesterday I rode for an hour in the morning, then did a full weight session plus a run after work. I was so tired this morning when the alarm went off that it seemed as though my eyelids had been permanently fused shut. But I absolutely cannot pass up an opportunity to cycle. The season is too short, and the Park too perfect at six o'clock in the morning to stay in bed. One cup of coffee later and I was able to clip in and ride off.
As we got going, Zdenek said that we probably had time for only two loops this morning. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my ride would be 20 minutes shorter than usual that motivated me to work hard for the remaining 40. I'm not sure. But about one mile in, we were pushing the pace and I was enjoying it. I climbed Harlem Hill -- unassisted -- with every ounce of determination and power I could find, and Zdenek congratulated me at the top for a job well done. We finished the first loop a good 45-60 seconds faster than our usually solid lap time, and Zdenek asked whether I wanted to push again on the second loop. I replied, "We can try, but if I can't keep up, I won't keep up." But I did keep up. The whole way. And we finished that second loop in the fastest time I have ever clocked (save maybe once last season when I was drafting at the back of an entire pack of cyclists). True, I drafted off Zdenek this morning, too (and had a stranger drafting off me), but I still worked to my maximum capacity. My heart rate monitor will back me up on that one!
We cooled down with an easy four mile ride (so much for having time for only two loops), during which Zdenek remarked that he thinks I missed my true calling: I should have been a cyclist. Had I started earlier, I would now have the technical and handling skills that can only be cultivated over many years of riding. Certainly my body type (short, with thick legs) seems better suited for athletic endeavors on two wheels than on two feet. A few weeks ago on a ride together, Caitlin also asked me whether I've considered bike racing, because she thinks my riding skills and ability are now strong enough to make me competitive in the (very) minor leagues. (Unfortunately my tire-changing skills still need some work, though I am proud to report that I did handle 75% of the job on my back wheel last week.)
I'm not sure how I feel about bike racing. The difference between a bike race and, say, a full or half marathon, is that competitors actually try to win bike races, while most running "races" consist of a handful of serious competitors leading thousands (if not tens of thousands) of recreational runners. But anyone who is daring and motivated enough to enter a bike race is not what one would call a "recreational" rider. No, three seasons of riding have shown me that cyclists are a serious bunch, and it takes a great deal of skill, technical equipment, and dedication to keep up with them. I'm also unsure how I feel about the prospect of crashing in a race -- the early stages of Le Tour have once again confirmed that cycling hard in a pack of riders is an invitation for an ambulance ride. (Perhaps I need to consider triathlons, in which I can ride solo and drafting is forbidden.)
In any case, it still amazes me on an almost daily basis how much I love this sport, and how I do wish I would have discovered it sooner. There are few activities more exhilarating than a hard, fast bike ride, and there are few things on television that I'd rather watch these days than a professional cycling race. Running may remain the purest, most accessible form of activity (and nothing beats training for and running a marathon for a sense of a triumph), but it can't compete with cycling for the adrenaline rush. And this is especially welcome when I can barely open my eyes in the morning.
As we got going, Zdenek said that we probably had time for only two loops this morning. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my ride would be 20 minutes shorter than usual that motivated me to work hard for the remaining 40. I'm not sure. But about one mile in, we were pushing the pace and I was enjoying it. I climbed Harlem Hill -- unassisted -- with every ounce of determination and power I could find, and Zdenek congratulated me at the top for a job well done. We finished the first loop a good 45-60 seconds faster than our usually solid lap time, and Zdenek asked whether I wanted to push again on the second loop. I replied, "We can try, but if I can't keep up, I won't keep up." But I did keep up. The whole way. And we finished that second loop in the fastest time I have ever clocked (save maybe once last season when I was drafting at the back of an entire pack of cyclists). True, I drafted off Zdenek this morning, too (and had a stranger drafting off me), but I still worked to my maximum capacity. My heart rate monitor will back me up on that one!
We cooled down with an easy four mile ride (so much for having time for only two loops), during which Zdenek remarked that he thinks I missed my true calling: I should have been a cyclist. Had I started earlier, I would now have the technical and handling skills that can only be cultivated over many years of riding. Certainly my body type (short, with thick legs) seems better suited for athletic endeavors on two wheels than on two feet. A few weeks ago on a ride together, Caitlin also asked me whether I've considered bike racing, because she thinks my riding skills and ability are now strong enough to make me competitive in the (very) minor leagues. (Unfortunately my tire-changing skills still need some work, though I am proud to report that I did handle 75% of the job on my back wheel last week.)
I'm not sure how I feel about bike racing. The difference between a bike race and, say, a full or half marathon, is that competitors actually try to win bike races, while most running "races" consist of a handful of serious competitors leading thousands (if not tens of thousands) of recreational runners. But anyone who is daring and motivated enough to enter a bike race is not what one would call a "recreational" rider. No, three seasons of riding have shown me that cyclists are a serious bunch, and it takes a great deal of skill, technical equipment, and dedication to keep up with them. I'm also unsure how I feel about the prospect of crashing in a race -- the early stages of Le Tour have once again confirmed that cycling hard in a pack of riders is an invitation for an ambulance ride. (Perhaps I need to consider triathlons, in which I can ride solo and drafting is forbidden.)
In any case, it still amazes me on an almost daily basis how much I love this sport, and how I do wish I would have discovered it sooner. There are few activities more exhilarating than a hard, fast bike ride, and there are few things on television that I'd rather watch these days than a professional cycling race. Running may remain the purest, most accessible form of activity (and nothing beats training for and running a marathon for a sense of a triumph), but it can't compete with cycling for the adrenaline rush. And this is especially welcome when I can barely open my eyes in the morning.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
If I can run here...
One morning last week, as I picked through the too-soft plums and under-ripe bananas in our fruit bowls at work, a colleague, who was also surveying the sub-standard fare, remarked, “I guess we’re not in California.” No, we are most certainly not in California. We are in the middle of an East Coast heat wave. New York is always a bit hot and sticky in the summer, but the weather over the last few days has been something altogether different. It is above 30 degrees Celsius when I wake up before 6 am, and it is above 30 when I go to bed at night. Today’s high is supposed to hit 38, and that’s before taking any humidity into account. I am trying very hard to leave my A/C off or set to no cooler than 76 degrees, lest I contribute to what might be an inevitable NYC blackout, but it’s tough being so kind to Mother Earth.
Miraculously, though, I’ve managed to cycle and/or run through every day of this heat wave. Zdenek and I rode over 30 miles on Saturday morning -- one for each degree, it seems. (On every other loop, I cut off a mile so that he could ride hard and we’d meet each other back at the start, which actually worked out pretty well for us.) On Sunday, despite having had very little sleep after attending a wedding the night prior, I rolled out of bed to run just over 7 miles in the searing heat. Yesterday I managed the same. Today, even though it was 32 degrees at 6:20 am, I actually opted for a third day of torturous running, after an email from Caitlin confirmed that she just couldn't stomach a ride with me in this weather.
Truthfully, though, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t love it, and I know that every run or ride in adverse conditions just makes me that much stronger. So long as I go slowly and make friends with every water fountain along the way, I usually manage just fine (of course, the humidity hasn’t been above 70% in the morning -- yet -- so this helps considerably). Indeed, there’s something about keeping active in the heat that actually makes it seem that much more tolerable. In fact, yesterday afternoon, having retreated inside my air conditioned apartment for several hours following my morning run, I headed to the gym for my second workout of the day; sitting outside on the patio was far too uncomfortable, but I refused to allow the heat to win. The boiling temperatures are forecast to stick around the next several days, so I hope I don't lose my fighting spirit by week's end.
So while we may not be in California, I’m going to do my best to avoid letting a little heat keep me grounded in New York City. As the song goes, if I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere. I am certain that applies to running, too.
Miraculously, though, I’ve managed to cycle and/or run through every day of this heat wave. Zdenek and I rode over 30 miles on Saturday morning -- one for each degree, it seems. (On every other loop, I cut off a mile so that he could ride hard and we’d meet each other back at the start, which actually worked out pretty well for us.) On Sunday, despite having had very little sleep after attending a wedding the night prior, I rolled out of bed to run just over 7 miles in the searing heat. Yesterday I managed the same. Today, even though it was 32 degrees at 6:20 am, I actually opted for a third day of torturous running, after an email from Caitlin confirmed that she just couldn't stomach a ride with me in this weather.
Truthfully, though, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t love it, and I know that every run or ride in adverse conditions just makes me that much stronger. So long as I go slowly and make friends with every water fountain along the way, I usually manage just fine (of course, the humidity hasn’t been above 70% in the morning -- yet -- so this helps considerably). Indeed, there’s something about keeping active in the heat that actually makes it seem that much more tolerable. In fact, yesterday afternoon, having retreated inside my air conditioned apartment for several hours following my morning run, I headed to the gym for my second workout of the day; sitting outside on the patio was far too uncomfortable, but I refused to allow the heat to win. The boiling temperatures are forecast to stick around the next several days, so I hope I don't lose my fighting spirit by week's end.
So while we may not be in California, I’m going to do my best to avoid letting a little heat keep me grounded in New York City. As the song goes, if I can make it here, I’ll make it anywhere. I am certain that applies to running, too.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Tests of endurance
Sunday marked the conclusion of the nine stage Tour of Switzerland. Zdenek and I should have two weeks of television freedom until Le Tour begins. (Sunday also represented my first rest day after two straight weeks of running and biking, culminating with a tough 13 miles in the Saturday morning heat. I rewarded myself on Sunday by going for a delicious brunch with Caitlin and then splurging on two new pairs of shoes. Well, technically the shoes didn’t really have anything to do all of the running and riding I’ve done, but it seems better if I can say that I “earned” them in some way.)
One of the things I’ve learned to appreciate about cycling races is that they really have a way of separating the pack and allowing the most deserving winner to emerge. It seems that, after days and days of time trials and sprints and mountain climbs, the best man (and hopefully not just the most EPO’ed one) really does win. (I contrast this with football/soccer, in which the one of the highest rank teams can go up against one of the lowest rank teams, and yet still barely eek out a winning goal. Something seems remarkably unfair with a scoring system like that.) In cycling, I can’t imagine a scenario in which the lowest ranked rider (in the case of the Tour of Switzlerand, Noe Gianetti, whoever that is) would stand a chance against any rider finishing in the top 10. Indeed, no offence to Mr. Gianetti, who could kick my ass any day, but he finished about 90 minutes behind the lead group.
While Zdenek and I seem to have some sort of cycling event recorded on our DVR almost every day of the year, this year’s Tour of Switzerland made fantastic viewing for many reasons:
(1) Fabian took center-stage, at least for the first couple of days that he wore the yellow jersey, and even after that given that he was riding in his home turf. The camera took many long shots of him riding, eating, smiling, waving, giving the thumbs-up, etc. This is how all cycling should be televised.
(2) The field was outstanding. All but three big names (Contador, Basso, and Evans) were in attendance, and performances in Switzerland gave a good glimpse of who will be the big contenders in Le Tour. In fact, there are so many good riders this year that, on our ride yesterday morning, Zdenek excitedly talked for three or four miles about the strength of each team and who might stand a shot at the podium in Paris. (On miles 15-18, Zdenek relayed the saga of LeMond and Fignon for me, which certainly helped take my mind off the burning pain in my legs while climbing Harlem Hill.)
(3) The Swiss countryside is positively breathtaking and makes for beautiful screen shots. Unfortunately, every time Paul Sherwen commented, “We hope you’re watching these pictures in high definition,” Zdenek said, “No, we’re not, we’re watching it on a 1998 Sony Trinitron.” It seems certain that our July 24 move (which happens to be the final weekend of Le Tour) will entail the purchase of a big screen television -- a just reward for what I know will have been three weeks of dedicated viewing.
One of the things I’ve learned to appreciate about cycling races is that they really have a way of separating the pack and allowing the most deserving winner to emerge. It seems that, after days and days of time trials and sprints and mountain climbs, the best man (and hopefully not just the most EPO’ed one) really does win. (I contrast this with football/soccer, in which the one of the highest rank teams can go up against one of the lowest rank teams, and yet still barely eek out a winning goal. Something seems remarkably unfair with a scoring system like that.) In cycling, I can’t imagine a scenario in which the lowest ranked rider (in the case of the Tour of Switzlerand, Noe Gianetti, whoever that is) would stand a chance against any rider finishing in the top 10. Indeed, no offence to Mr. Gianetti, who could kick my ass any day, but he finished about 90 minutes behind the lead group.
While Zdenek and I seem to have some sort of cycling event recorded on our DVR almost every day of the year, this year’s Tour of Switzerland made fantastic viewing for many reasons:
(1) Fabian took center-stage, at least for the first couple of days that he wore the yellow jersey, and even after that given that he was riding in his home turf. The camera took many long shots of him riding, eating, smiling, waving, giving the thumbs-up, etc. This is how all cycling should be televised.
(2) The field was outstanding. All but three big names (Contador, Basso, and Evans) were in attendance, and performances in Switzerland gave a good glimpse of who will be the big contenders in Le Tour. In fact, there are so many good riders this year that, on our ride yesterday morning, Zdenek excitedly talked for three or four miles about the strength of each team and who might stand a shot at the podium in Paris. (On miles 15-18, Zdenek relayed the saga of LeMond and Fignon for me, which certainly helped take my mind off the burning pain in my legs while climbing Harlem Hill.)
(3) The Swiss countryside is positively breathtaking and makes for beautiful screen shots. Unfortunately, every time Paul Sherwen commented, “We hope you’re watching these pictures in high definition,” Zdenek said, “No, we’re not, we’re watching it on a 1998 Sony Trinitron.” It seems certain that our July 24 move (which happens to be the final weekend of Le Tour) will entail the purchase of a big screen television -- a just reward for what I know will have been three weeks of dedicated viewing.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The price I pay
Yesterday in New York it rained long and hard. Though the drizzly weather tapered off sometime during the night, the roads were still wet and marked with puddles when Zdenek and I headed out for our ride this morning. We cycled our first two loops hard, making good time and then even better time. Zdenek took the lead for the majority, and the wet conditions caused his back wheel to kick up a lot of slimy dirt on my legs, arms, and face. No bother -- I kept my eyes glued to his tire and drafted as closely as I could to maintain the pace. On the third loop, we eased up a bit and rode side by side, and I mentioned to Zdenek that I had taken a lot of muck to the face on the previous two laps. He apologized -- as if there were something he could have done about it.
Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.
And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.
Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.
And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Three's a crowd
Zdenek and I have a pretty awesome marriage, or so we like to think. Sure, we have our usual fights and disagreements, but generally we are best friends day in and day out. We share everything from habits and likes and dislikes to a single bathroom. I’ve been flattered to have several friends tell me that they aspire to a marriage like Zdenek's and mine, and I know that a few of his colleagues have told him the same thing. Of course, I also know that our marital bliss isn’t all our own doing, and we’re fortunate that our lives are generally stress-free: we don’t typically have financial issues (unless you count the stress over apartment hunting); we’re both healthy and fit; and we lack children, which I’m told is the quickest and surest way to put any relationship under strain. I’m certain the future will bring its fair share of challenges. But for now we’re content to be coasting along pretty easily, including those times that we’re running or biking in tandem.
On Friday, however, our marital bliss was challenged at around mile 10 of our morning ride. After seven consecutive days of pretty tough running and biking workouts, my legs were feeling a bit worse for wear, and so early on in our ride I tucked in behind Zdenek to ease my workload. Zdenek is an excellent teammate -- he’s always looking around to see where I am, and he’s careful to ease the pace if he senses that I’m falling behind. I don’t typically ask him to do this, but I obviously appreciate his help and attention. Of course, if he does happen to drop me (which is most likely to occur on a hill climb), I’m usually not that bothered, either. The way I figure it, we both suffer: he will have to eventually slow down to wait for me to catch up, and I have to work that much harder without the benefit of his slipstream. And occasionally (as on Thursday's third loop), Zdenek will make it clear that he just wants to go for it and really work to his maximal effort; this is also fine by me, because I can fully appreciate his desire to test himself from time to time, and it’s fun to watch from behind as he races away.
All was going smoothly on Friday until just past 100th street. As I followed Zdenek into the descent, we passed an extremely fit woman on a very nice road bike. She looked great (though I’d say, dangerously exposed) in a tight, small cycling jersey. Her arms and legs rippled with just the perfect amount of toned muscle, and her long, blond ponytail waved behind her as she rode. She was definitely a triathlete and no doubt a very competitive one, too. But as I followed Zdenek down the hill, she caught up and overtook me, and then moved in between my bike and his. Because I generally try to avoid crowds when descending at 30 mph on a curvy road, I held back a bit and let her go. Unfortunately, this meant that by the time we reached the uphill portion, I had lost most of my momentum and was unable to make the climb at my usual pace. And by this point, Zdenek was already 10+ meters ahead of me and gaining by the second, so I decided to just spin my way up alone. Meanwhile, Miss Rippling Muscles latched on to my husband’s wheel and let him carry her halfway up the hill!
Upon realizing what was happening and seeing me struggling near the bottom of the hill, Zdenek slowed down to allow the blond bombshell pass and me to catch up. A few minutes later, when he and I were again riding side by side, I commented, “I bet you didn’t fail to notice the absolutely killer body on that woman.” And suddenly, Zdenek became upset! I, unclear as to what I had said wrong, erupted back. We then proceed to yell at one another over the next three miles as all the other runners and cyclists turned to see where the ruckus was coming from. It was both frustrating and unusual. Finally, somewhere in the middle of loop three, we identified the source of our misunderstanding. Zdenek assumed that I had deliberately slowed down to prove some sort of point -- no doubt something related to the fact that a fit, blond woman was competing with me for my husband’s back wheel. Alas, the truth was far less exciting: I simply wasn’t brave enough on the descent to maneuver my way between the two of them, nor was I powerful enough on the climb to keep up. (And my comment about her body really did come from a place of awe and envy.)
Once we sorted out our misunderstanding, it was smooth riding again. I figure if our biggest disagreements revolve around cycling and hill climbing, then we’re doing pretty well. In fact, I think that all of the running and cycling Zdenek and I do together has taught us a lot about mutual encouragement, respecting one another’s abilities and limitations, and that an important part of any happy marriage is alternating who has to get out of bed first for coffee brewing duties in the morning. Most importantly, cycling with Zdenek has reinforced that whenever I should fall behind, he can always be counted on to wait for me -- and it will take a lot more than toned muscles and a nice bike for someone to come between that.
On Friday, however, our marital bliss was challenged at around mile 10 of our morning ride. After seven consecutive days of pretty tough running and biking workouts, my legs were feeling a bit worse for wear, and so early on in our ride I tucked in behind Zdenek to ease my workload. Zdenek is an excellent teammate -- he’s always looking around to see where I am, and he’s careful to ease the pace if he senses that I’m falling behind. I don’t typically ask him to do this, but I obviously appreciate his help and attention. Of course, if he does happen to drop me (which is most likely to occur on a hill climb), I’m usually not that bothered, either. The way I figure it, we both suffer: he will have to eventually slow down to wait for me to catch up, and I have to work that much harder without the benefit of his slipstream. And occasionally (as on Thursday's third loop), Zdenek will make it clear that he just wants to go for it and really work to his maximal effort; this is also fine by me, because I can fully appreciate his desire to test himself from time to time, and it’s fun to watch from behind as he races away.
All was going smoothly on Friday until just past 100th street. As I followed Zdenek into the descent, we passed an extremely fit woman on a very nice road bike. She looked great (though I’d say, dangerously exposed) in a tight, small cycling jersey. Her arms and legs rippled with just the perfect amount of toned muscle, and her long, blond ponytail waved behind her as she rode. She was definitely a triathlete and no doubt a very competitive one, too. But as I followed Zdenek down the hill, she caught up and overtook me, and then moved in between my bike and his. Because I generally try to avoid crowds when descending at 30 mph on a curvy road, I held back a bit and let her go. Unfortunately, this meant that by the time we reached the uphill portion, I had lost most of my momentum and was unable to make the climb at my usual pace. And by this point, Zdenek was already 10+ meters ahead of me and gaining by the second, so I decided to just spin my way up alone. Meanwhile, Miss Rippling Muscles latched on to my husband’s wheel and let him carry her halfway up the hill!
Upon realizing what was happening and seeing me struggling near the bottom of the hill, Zdenek slowed down to allow the blond bombshell pass and me to catch up. A few minutes later, when he and I were again riding side by side, I commented, “I bet you didn’t fail to notice the absolutely killer body on that woman.” And suddenly, Zdenek became upset! I, unclear as to what I had said wrong, erupted back. We then proceed to yell at one another over the next three miles as all the other runners and cyclists turned to see where the ruckus was coming from. It was both frustrating and unusual. Finally, somewhere in the middle of loop three, we identified the source of our misunderstanding. Zdenek assumed that I had deliberately slowed down to prove some sort of point -- no doubt something related to the fact that a fit, blond woman was competing with me for my husband’s back wheel. Alas, the truth was far less exciting: I simply wasn’t brave enough on the descent to maneuver my way between the two of them, nor was I powerful enough on the climb to keep up. (And my comment about her body really did come from a place of awe and envy.)
Once we sorted out our misunderstanding, it was smooth riding again. I figure if our biggest disagreements revolve around cycling and hill climbing, then we’re doing pretty well. In fact, I think that all of the running and cycling Zdenek and I do together has taught us a lot about mutual encouragement, respecting one another’s abilities and limitations, and that an important part of any happy marriage is alternating who has to get out of bed first for coffee brewing duties in the morning. Most importantly, cycling with Zdenek has reinforced that whenever I should fall behind, he can always be counted on to wait for me -- and it will take a lot more than toned muscles and a nice bike for someone to come between that.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A place to move
Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve had the motivation to post anything here. The fact is, apartment hunting seems to have sapped every last bit of energy from me (and sadly, it’s still not over). Any free time I might have between traipsing around the UWS looking at too-small, too-run-down apartments seems to be better spent outdoors on my patio than indoors on a laptop. Indeed, it won’t be much longer before I have to give up that treasured little piece of Manhattan real estate forever, and I’m already mourning the inevitable loss.
And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.
But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.
Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.
So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.
And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.
But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.
Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.
So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Chin up, head down
It's been some time since I've had the energy or interest in putting anything new up here, mostly because lately I feel like I'm in a bit of a rut. My weekends are no longer occupied with long, challenging runs, and I'm not motivated by having a big race to work towards. The only goal I have right now is one that requires a different kind of stamina: Zdenek and I are on the hunt for a new apartment.
As any New Yorker knows, finding a decent, habitable space at a reasonable price in this city is not a trivial task. Zdenek and I seem to have spent every weekend for the past three months (and several nights each week) apartment-hunting on the UWS. If only we could pony up $8K in monthly rent, we'd have signed a new lease a long time ago. But we're a long way from that rent band and, indeed, even further from the "fantastic, gorgeous, spacious" apartment on Central Park West that one broker called us about yesterday. (The price tag: $15,000 per month.)
As nice as it will be to finally move out of our adequate but too-small space and into something slightly more "grown-up," I'm starting to tire of the constant internet searching, emailing to non-responsive brokers, and visiting places that look nothing like the photos (one place we saw last weekend was literally coming apart at the seams and, I think, hadn't been lived in since 1955). I just don't have the energy for this anymore. In fact, I don't seem to have the energy for much at all these days. My running has been sluggish and hard, and my biking is nowhere near the level it was at last year. Zdenek, too, is a bit frustrated by my exhaustion, and spends most of our running or biking time looking back over his shoulder, wondering if or when I'm going to catch up (this morning he just opted to bike without me).
But I need to remember that it's still early days and my biking legs might yet return. I have to relish the freedom from training plans and the option to run only four or five miles, whenever the mood strikes me. I must savor the opportunities to be outdoors and in the late springtime warmth before the oppressive summer humidity moves in to stay. And I need to enjoy the little rewards running gives me along the way: last week I found $1 on my run back from the Park, and yesterday morning I picked up a $20 bill. It may not help the apartment hunt, but it's good motivation to keep my head down and stay moving.
As any New Yorker knows, finding a decent, habitable space at a reasonable price in this city is not a trivial task. Zdenek and I seem to have spent every weekend for the past three months (and several nights each week) apartment-hunting on the UWS. If only we could pony up $8K in monthly rent, we'd have signed a new lease a long time ago. But we're a long way from that rent band and, indeed, even further from the "fantastic, gorgeous, spacious" apartment on Central Park West that one broker called us about yesterday. (The price tag: $15,000 per month.)
As nice as it will be to finally move out of our adequate but too-small space and into something slightly more "grown-up," I'm starting to tire of the constant internet searching, emailing to non-responsive brokers, and visiting places that look nothing like the photos (one place we saw last weekend was literally coming apart at the seams and, I think, hadn't been lived in since 1955). I just don't have the energy for this anymore. In fact, I don't seem to have the energy for much at all these days. My running has been sluggish and hard, and my biking is nowhere near the level it was at last year. Zdenek, too, is a bit frustrated by my exhaustion, and spends most of our running or biking time looking back over his shoulder, wondering if or when I'm going to catch up (this morning he just opted to bike without me).
But I need to remember that it's still early days and my biking legs might yet return. I have to relish the freedom from training plans and the option to run only four or five miles, whenever the mood strikes me. I must savor the opportunities to be outdoors and in the late springtime warmth before the oppressive summer humidity moves in to stay. And I need to enjoy the little rewards running gives me along the way: last week I found $1 on my run back from the Park, and yesterday morning I picked up a $20 bill. It may not help the apartment hunt, but it's good motivation to keep my head down and stay moving.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Back in the saddle
Although this marathon recovery has been pretty quick and painless (I was running a day later and have only an annoying blister to contend with), it has been most rewarding for one important reason. For the last couple of months, I’ve watched wistfully from the side of the roads as the Central Park cyclists spun past me, enjoying the early spring weather. Not wanting to risk injury in the few weeks before the race, I’ve kept my cross-training to the aquatic variety and left my little red Giant parked.
But with nothing left to fear, I was thrilled to get back on my bike twice so far this week (in fact, the first morning I was so excited that I actually dreamed about riding my bike and woke up well before 5:30 am, waiting for the alarm to go off). There is some part of me that knows, deep down, that if running were not so darn convenient and flexible, I might be training for centuries rather than marathons.
It feels good to be back in the saddle. (My head, at least, knows this; my butt remains to be convinced.)
But with nothing left to fear, I was thrilled to get back on my bike twice so far this week (in fact, the first morning I was so excited that I actually dreamed about riding my bike and woke up well before 5:30 am, waiting for the alarm to go off). There is some part of me that knows, deep down, that if running were not so darn convenient and flexible, I might be training for centuries rather than marathons.
It feels good to be back in the saddle. (My head, at least, knows this; my butt remains to be convinced.)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
A place to hang my shower cap
Recently I pondered what it would be like to hold a job in which I was required to be at work at 7 am and in which the typical week would consist of 60 to 70 hours at the office. Such routines are not at all unusual in New York; in fact, I am one of the lucky few to hold a Manhattan job that offers excellent work-life balance. A few weeks ago, though, I had an appointment that required me to be up at 6 am and on the M5 bus by 7 am, and I knew I wouldn't return home before 7 pm that evening. My day was spoken for before it even began.
As the bus rounded Columbus Circle and made its way along Central Park South, I caught a glimpse of several runners in the Park who were ticking off an early morning workout. Although I had been in the Park the day prior and knew I would be there again the next, I still felt a twinge of envy. Looking around the bus, it was apparent that at least three-quarters of my fellow riders were getting exercise of a different kind: strength training in the form of hauling files to and from the office; aerobic exercise in the form of furious BlackBerry typing; cross-training in the form of simultaneous cell phone text messaging. I couldn't help but think, Is the career and (assuming one is so lucky) the bonus worth it? Do these things compensate for the sardine-tin-sized apartments, the sticky subways, the crowds, and, for many, the need to work long hours (because if you don't want to, someone else is eager to take your place)?
Sometimes (frequently) Zdenek and I ponder these questions, typically during Sunday afternoon strolls along Central Park's bridle path, chai lattes in hand. While I don't have to put in hours at the office worthy of a banker or lawyer, there's some truth to Zdenek's lament that our New York lifestyles are barely one step up from our student days. Apparently, other people agree: an old friend who visited me a couple of years ago once commented that there is "no way" she could live "like this" (meaning, in my apartment). True, it would be nice to have a washing machine at home -- in ten years, I've had the luxury of a W/D (for the New York real estate crowd) for only one year, and that was in Toronto -- but Sunday evening laundromat trips provide an opportunity to fit in a weight lifting session at the gym around the corner while the wash cycle runs. Yes, it would sometimes be nice to have a car to escape the city, but then I think about the associated traffic, gas, and repair bills, and I suddenly don't miss it anymore. And I am the first to admit that our Upper West Side apartment leaves a bit to be desired:
Despite all of that, I rarely, if ever, find myself pining for a "real" house, a car, or the latest fashion accessory (or somewhere to store it). To me, these things offer only maintenance headaches and/or fleeting satisfaction. I think I learned long ago that, if I'm forced to choose, I am more about "experiences" than "things." (Zdenek almost had this figured out when, on our first Christmas as a married couple, he didn't buy me a gift but rather presented me with a book of coupons for monthly massages at "Spa Zdenek." I was thrilled! Unfortunately, every time I tried to redeem a coupon over the next twelve months, I found the spa to be closed or the masseur too tired. He's since gone back to taking me shopping.) I know that I will end up in a foul mood if I miss more than two days of running if it's due to no other reason than lack of time. I live half a mile from the greatest city playground in the world. I have a fantastic bike mechanic shop only two blocks from my front door, and an equally fantastic running store only one block further. I can walk to work. I spend next to no time commuting, which leaves me plenty of extra time for running, cycling, or sleeping. And a car ride has never once made me smile, but a bike ride is guaranteed to leave me grinning. (And to be honest, I laugh out loud every morning when the shower cap is put in place, and I remind myself daily that I am one of the luckiest people on earth, closet or no closet.)
Someday, I'll probably catch up with the Joneses and I will find myself driving my car into my garage and then walking into my house (and I'll be able to wear high heels doing it, too, because walking miles each day will be a distant memory). But I'm not certain it will make me any happier. Indeed, over the last ten years my disposable income has risen and I have been able to afford more "things," but I'd be hard pressed to tell you what they are or how they made me feel. I could, however, go on for hours about the feeling of pride I get from a good run or the sense of satisfaction I earn after a solid bike ride.
In fact, I could write a blog about it.
As the bus rounded Columbus Circle and made its way along Central Park South, I caught a glimpse of several runners in the Park who were ticking off an early morning workout. Although I had been in the Park the day prior and knew I would be there again the next, I still felt a twinge of envy. Looking around the bus, it was apparent that at least three-quarters of my fellow riders were getting exercise of a different kind: strength training in the form of hauling files to and from the office; aerobic exercise in the form of furious BlackBerry typing; cross-training in the form of simultaneous cell phone text messaging. I couldn't help but think, Is the career and (assuming one is so lucky) the bonus worth it? Do these things compensate for the sardine-tin-sized apartments, the sticky subways, the crowds, and, for many, the need to work long hours (because if you don't want to, someone else is eager to take your place)?
Sometimes (frequently) Zdenek and I ponder these questions, typically during Sunday afternoon strolls along Central Park's bridle path, chai lattes in hand. While I don't have to put in hours at the office worthy of a banker or lawyer, there's some truth to Zdenek's lament that our New York lifestyles are barely one step up from our student days. Apparently, other people agree: an old friend who visited me a couple of years ago once commented that there is "no way" she could live "like this" (meaning, in my apartment). True, it would be nice to have a washing machine at home -- in ten years, I've had the luxury of a W/D (for the New York real estate crowd) for only one year, and that was in Toronto -- but Sunday evening laundromat trips provide an opportunity to fit in a weight lifting session at the gym around the corner while the wash cycle runs. Yes, it would sometimes be nice to have a car to escape the city, but then I think about the associated traffic, gas, and repair bills, and I suddenly don't miss it anymore. And I am the first to admit that our Upper West Side apartment leaves a bit to be desired:
- I have no closet for my clothes and I actually have to dust off my blazers before I wear them;
- Our bedroom furniture is plastic (and marked up with packing tape to boot);
- I must discard old articles of clothing (or shoes or purses) before I have room to store new ones;
- Our "garage" consists of a set of golf clubs, a few tennis rackets, our bike helmets and other accessories, along with our bikes, and it's right next to our dining table (I would say "kitchen table" or "dining room table," but either would be an overstatement);
- The IKEA kitchen cart next to our front door holds everything from today's mail to cookbooks to umbrellas to pots and pans;
- Our bedroom boils every summer without a dedicated air conditioner (the room is actually too small for one to work effectively);
- Our living room freezes every winter as drafts rush in around that room's window A/C (we'd remove it for the winter, but then we'd have nowhere to put it);
- And every morning, Zdenek (I am too short) has to hang a green shower cap (it doesn't have to be green, but it happens to be) over our "hallway" (2'x1.5') smoke detector while we shower -- without the cap, the hot steam escaping from the bathroom will incessantly set off the alarm.
Despite all of that, I rarely, if ever, find myself pining for a "real" house, a car, or the latest fashion accessory (or somewhere to store it). To me, these things offer only maintenance headaches and/or fleeting satisfaction. I think I learned long ago that, if I'm forced to choose, I am more about "experiences" than "things." (Zdenek almost had this figured out when, on our first Christmas as a married couple, he didn't buy me a gift but rather presented me with a book of coupons for monthly massages at "Spa Zdenek." I was thrilled! Unfortunately, every time I tried to redeem a coupon over the next twelve months, I found the spa to be closed or the masseur too tired. He's since gone back to taking me shopping.) I know that I will end up in a foul mood if I miss more than two days of running if it's due to no other reason than lack of time. I live half a mile from the greatest city playground in the world. I have a fantastic bike mechanic shop only two blocks from my front door, and an equally fantastic running store only one block further. I can walk to work. I spend next to no time commuting, which leaves me plenty of extra time for running, cycling, or sleeping. And a car ride has never once made me smile, but a bike ride is guaranteed to leave me grinning. (And to be honest, I laugh out loud every morning when the shower cap is put in place, and I remind myself daily that I am one of the luckiest people on earth, closet or no closet.)
Someday, I'll probably catch up with the Joneses and I will find myself driving my car into my garage and then walking into my house (and I'll be able to wear high heels doing it, too, because walking miles each day will be a distant memory). But I'm not certain it will make me any happier. Indeed, over the last ten years my disposable income has risen and I have been able to afford more "things," but I'd be hard pressed to tell you what they are or how they made me feel. I could, however, go on for hours about the feeling of pride I get from a good run or the sense of satisfaction I earn after a solid bike ride.
In fact, I could write a blog about it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Perfect conditions
Tomorrow morning, I'll be without my training partner, under cloudy skies, and dealing with a packed calendar. I'm leaving Zdenek and New York behind for a business trip, and I won't return until late Friday. My days are scheduled with meetings and seminars from start to finish. And while the weather here is likely to be close to perfect, where I'm headed, they're expecting a solid week of clouds and rain. These represent less than ideal conditions all round.
The conditions this morning, however, were near perfect for our 10k: 12 degrees, sunny skies, beautiful colors. We ran fluidly and at a good clip, and I was surprised by our final time given my tired legs and sleepy state. Zdenek has definitely become "a runner," if that's defined as someone who enjoys getting out of bed before 6 am to fit in an extra few miles and is still raving several hours later about what a great a time he had. As for me, I've knocked 10 to 15 seconds off my per-mile pace for most runs, and my usual long runs are 15 to 30 seconds faster than this time last year.
I'm not sure whether it's having a (stronger, faster) partner with whom to run, the beneficial effects of all my cycling, or a bit of both that is responsible for the (modest) jump in my fitness. Perhaps it's the total lack of a schedule -- the unfocused spirit with which I've approached all of my running and cycling over the last six months -- that has allowed me to push myself in a different way. It seems that unexpected rewards are found when one deviates from the plan to try new things with an open mind. Having a best friend along for the ride (or the run, as appropriate) makes it all the sweeter. And sunny skies are always welcome.
The conditions this morning, however, were near perfect for our 10k: 12 degrees, sunny skies, beautiful colors. We ran fluidly and at a good clip, and I was surprised by our final time given my tired legs and sleepy state. Zdenek has definitely become "a runner," if that's defined as someone who enjoys getting out of bed before 6 am to fit in an extra few miles and is still raving several hours later about what a great a time he had. As for me, I've knocked 10 to 15 seconds off my per-mile pace for most runs, and my usual long runs are 15 to 30 seconds faster than this time last year.
I'm not sure whether it's having a (stronger, faster) partner with whom to run, the beneficial effects of all my cycling, or a bit of both that is responsible for the (modest) jump in my fitness. Perhaps it's the total lack of a schedule -- the unfocused spirit with which I've approached all of my running and cycling over the last six months -- that has allowed me to push myself in a different way. It seems that unexpected rewards are found when one deviates from the plan to try new things with an open mind. Having a best friend along for the ride (or the run, as appropriate) makes it all the sweeter. And sunny skies are always welcome.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
When in Rome
One stereotype that definitely holds true is that New Yorkers lack manners. Occasionally I see some story about an out-of-town visitor who had a heart attack in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk and five New Yorkers rushed to his aid, and the visitor later gushes about how kind and generous New Yorkers really are, and how the stereotype of a rude New Yorker is simply unfounded. I agree that one can find polite, mannered residents here -- indeed, in a city so dense, there have to be a few good eggs among the rotten ones. But by and large, New Yorkers have a well deserved reputation for being too forward, pushy, inconsiderate, and rude (though I'm not sure I can blame them -- life here demands a certain level of aggression to get by).There is one place, though, in which being forward and pushy seems not to matter: on a bike. I am constantly amazed at what constitutes acceptable behavior so long as one is dressed in spandex and wearing a team jersey, and I'll admit that I am pleased to be a part of it all. Zdenek and I have had several rides this year during which we've latched on to fellow Central Park or highway 9W cyclists, riding close enough to catch both their slipstream and their conversation. I recall one particularly good return ride from Nyack on which I spent a solid 15 minutes riding 12 inches behind a team of five men, working my butt off to keep up but going immeasurably faster than I could have ever managed alone (eventually, I was dropped). On another morning ride in the Park, one fellow cyclist rode for almost 45 minutes on my wheel (while I was, in turn, riding Zdenek's), never uttering a word, but ever present behind me. Unlike runners, cyclists don't nod to, smile at, or make conversation with one another. But they have no shame in joining -- or rather milking off of -- your workout, uninvited. With cyclists, such actions are considered neither creepy nor aggressive, but par for the course.
Or so I thought, until this morning. Zdenek and I crawled out of bed at 6 am, planning for a run, but when we checked weather.com to find that it was a balmy 14 degrees Celsius out, we opted to cycle instead (could be the last one of the season!). I was pleased to find that I required neither leg warmers nor bulky gloves this morning, and for once I felt light and aerodynamic on my bike (and as it turned out, we rode our fastest laps of the entire year this morning!). About 10 minutes in to our ride, Zdenek and I found ourselves behind a very fit 30- or 40-something woman and her very fit 30- or 40-something male training partner. They were moving at my top speed, and it was immediately obvious to both Zdenek and me that we had, perhaps, found our ride.
Strangely, though, after only a few minutes, the male portion of this duo moved to the side so that Zdenek was, instead, following only the woman (and I was following Zdenek). Then, without warning, the guy began darting in and out in front of Zdenek, in what appeared to be deliberate attempts to cut us off. From my vantage point behind, I could sense what was going on ahead, and this guy's actions reminded me of some kind of mad, stinging insect trying to defend its nest. He was signaling for us to back off or, better yet, get lost. Our tailgating was clearly unacceptable behavior in his books.
Later in our ride, we caught and passed this guy again (he was riding solo at this point). Though I ended up barely 10 feet in front of him, he simply refused to ride my wheel, instead choosing to ride a few feet off to the side. It was bizarre. I would have felt more at ease if he had ridden (even in silence) directly behind me, and benefited from my hard work and, in turn, that of my husband. Paradoxically, this guy's apparent show of good manners on the bike came off as strangely aggressive and far too competitive for a morning ride in Central Park. His proper behavior seemed entirely out of place -- for a bike, or New York, or both.
I can only surmise that he was from out of town.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Where I want to be
A surprising rise in temperatures in New York over the last week has given Zdenek and I occasion to keep riding with a bit more frequency than I would have predicted for this time of year. Although I feel a bit like a fat kid on a bike when I'm bundled up in my winter riding gear, it beats going to the gym any day. Eventually, the seasons will shift entirely and my little Red Giant will have to be put in hibernation until spring. Until then, every time we head out for a ride, I find myself saying, "This could be our last one of the season..." As it turns out, we haven't yet encountered the fated last ride. Every week has brought at least one day of double-digit high temperatures (in Celsius, of course), and though we're now into the second week of November, I'm not sure when autumn is supposed to end and winter begin. I will take what I can get.
My uncertainty about the long-term weather forecast seems to be only one of the multitude of precarious situations with which I'm faced these days. I've had countless days not knowing where I am or where I am going, let alone trying to figure out where I want to be. Perhaps that's why riding my bike in the comfort of the Park, or running laps in a semi-meditative state, is always such a mental retreat. The biggest decision I face is whether to add an extra loop or not; the only worry I have is that Central Park maintenance might decide to turn off the water fountains for the winter on a day that I'm particularly thirsty. In uncertain times, I treasure the hours, by foot or by bike, when I am exactly where I wish, moving in a direction dictated only by me.
My uncertainty about the long-term weather forecast seems to be only one of the multitude of precarious situations with which I'm faced these days. I've had countless days not knowing where I am or where I am going, let alone trying to figure out where I want to be. Perhaps that's why riding my bike in the comfort of the Park, or running laps in a semi-meditative state, is always such a mental retreat. The biggest decision I face is whether to add an extra loop or not; the only worry I have is that Central Park maintenance might decide to turn off the water fountains for the winter on a day that I'm particularly thirsty. In uncertain times, I treasure the hours, by foot or by bike, when I am exactly where I wish, moving in a direction dictated only by me.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Six good reasons
In spite of all the work I have to do, and even considering that I could have used more sleep this week than I have obtained thus far, I am in an extraordinarily good mood right now.
1. It appears that I may be close to tying out a major project (or, at the very least, the first iteration of it) that has been a long time in coming.
2. It is a beautiful, sunny, warm autumn day!
3. I had a super-duper fun time riding my bike today and yesterday, and an equally super-duper fun time running on Tuesday. In fact, Tuesday night's run in the unseasonably warm fall weather was smokin' fast (for me), and all of my troubles seemed to melt away in the first 1/2 mile. Our bike rides yesterday and this morning required only booties, and we're taking it a bit easier, enjoying the scents and sights of fall in Central Park.
4. There is only one more day until the weekend.
5. There is only one more weekend until the New York City marathon!
6. My salad at lunch was delicious, and the deli guy gave me a sixth topping for free (I chose asparagus).
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A cold reality
I can pinpoint the day I realized with certainty that Zdenek had fallen in love with me. It was a Sunday morning in Toronto, back in January of 2004. I was training for my first long-distance race, the 30km Around the Bay Road Race in Hamilton, Ontario (which, incidentally, is the oldest road race in North America). As part of my training program, I was participating in scheduled "race pace runs" with my local running group. These runs, meant to simulate race-day conditions and allow the opportunity to practice pacing, nutrition, and other race strategies, were staged in rain, shine, or (being Canada) the freezing cold. That particular Sunday, I was scheduled to run 16 miles. My running partner, Siobhan, was off visiting family in sunny Florida.
As Sunday drew closer and the mercury plunged lower, it became apparent that I was in for a miserable 16 miles. The temperature for that morning was predicted to hit a high of -31 degrees Celsius (which, for my American friends, translates to about -24 degrees Fahrenheit). I'm not sure if I asked or he offered, but somehow, in a stroke of both genius and true love, Zdenek and I decided that it would be a good idea for him to keep me company on this run. Since his maximum mileage in those days was about 11 short of what was called for that day, he agreed to ride his bicycle next to me along the route, carrying extra water (ice) or Power Gels (frozen goo) as needed.
While I remember being cold that day, once I began moving, my body warmed up and I was able to maintain a pretty steady temperature under my three layers of pants, four layers of shirts, balaclava, and touque (sorry, American friends, you'll have to figure that one out on your own). Running has a nice way of making and keeping you toasty, even under conditions that no human should ever endure. Zdenek, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Sitting pretty much motionless on a bicycle seat for two and a half hours in blizzard-like conditions almost cost my future hubby his toes. At the end of the run, I complained that I was tired; Zdenek stuck his frozen feet to the car heater and feared that he would face amputation. Thankfully, as it turned out, his feet and all ten toes remain attached to his body. In fact, about two years later during a winter trip to Calgary, he again agreed to ride a bike next to me while I did a long run in Arctic-like weather. The man is a trouper and, if I haven't said it enough before, he is my biggest supporter.
I was reminded of these stories on this morning's ride in the Park. The mercury today hit a balmy 5 degrees Celsius (about 42 degrees Farenheit), making for idyllic running conditions. We opted, however, in another flash of genius, to bundle up and ride. I worked as hard as I could for 60 minutes, but my legs remained stiff and cold, my feet soon lost feeling altogether (even with my booties), and the tears streaming down my face kept blurring my vision. My best efforts to get my core temperature up were thwarted by the cold wind; in cycling, it seems, the harder you work, the faster you go. And the faster you go, the colder you are.
As we coasted down the hill at the north end of the Park, Zdenek commented that he'd "never ridden like this before;" a few minutes later, he conceded that our cycling season was "almost over." Freezing my bum off (literally, it's the only place on my body that wasn't protected by a fleecy layer), I appreciated a fraction of what Zdenek must have endured "riding" his bike next to me in the Canadian winter. It's a good thing for him that, this winter, his recently acquired running endurance will allow him to keep warm, too.
Bundled up this morning
As Sunday drew closer and the mercury plunged lower, it became apparent that I was in for a miserable 16 miles. The temperature for that morning was predicted to hit a high of -31 degrees Celsius (which, for my American friends, translates to about -24 degrees Fahrenheit). I'm not sure if I asked or he offered, but somehow, in a stroke of both genius and true love, Zdenek and I decided that it would be a good idea for him to keep me company on this run. Since his maximum mileage in those days was about 11 short of what was called for that day, he agreed to ride his bicycle next to me along the route, carrying extra water (ice) or Power Gels (frozen goo) as needed.
While I remember being cold that day, once I began moving, my body warmed up and I was able to maintain a pretty steady temperature under my three layers of pants, four layers of shirts, balaclava, and touque (sorry, American friends, you'll have to figure that one out on your own). Running has a nice way of making and keeping you toasty, even under conditions that no human should ever endure. Zdenek, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Sitting pretty much motionless on a bicycle seat for two and a half hours in blizzard-like conditions almost cost my future hubby his toes. At the end of the run, I complained that I was tired; Zdenek stuck his frozen feet to the car heater and feared that he would face amputation. Thankfully, as it turned out, his feet and all ten toes remain attached to his body. In fact, about two years later during a winter trip to Calgary, he again agreed to ride a bike next to me while I did a long run in Arctic-like weather. The man is a trouper and, if I haven't said it enough before, he is my biggest supporter.
I was reminded of these stories on this morning's ride in the Park. The mercury today hit a balmy 5 degrees Celsius (about 42 degrees Farenheit), making for idyllic running conditions. We opted, however, in another flash of genius, to bundle up and ride. I worked as hard as I could for 60 minutes, but my legs remained stiff and cold, my feet soon lost feeling altogether (even with my booties), and the tears streaming down my face kept blurring my vision. My best efforts to get my core temperature up were thwarted by the cold wind; in cycling, it seems, the harder you work, the faster you go. And the faster you go, the colder you are.
As we coasted down the hill at the north end of the Park, Zdenek commented that he'd "never ridden like this before;" a few minutes later, he conceded that our cycling season was "almost over." Freezing my bum off (literally, it's the only place on my body that wasn't protected by a fleecy layer), I appreciated a fraction of what Zdenek must have endured "riding" his bike next to me in the Canadian winter. It's a good thing for him that, this winter, his recently acquired running endurance will allow him to keep warm, too.
Bundled up this morning
And yet this was taken less than two weeks ago!
Excuse me, but are those Jawbones you're wearing?
Proof that my brother-in-law (affectionately known as "Litespeed") really has joined us for a ride
Friday, October 9, 2009
When in Rome
One stereotype that definitely holds true is that New Yorkers lack manners. Occasionally I see some story about an out-of-town visitor who had a heart attack in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk and five New Yorkers rushed to his aid, and the visitor later gushes about how kind and generous New Yorkers really are, and how the stereotype of a rude New Yorker is simply unfounded. I agree that one can find polite, mannered residents here -- indeed, in a city so dense, there have to be a few good eggs among the rotten ones. But by and large, New Yorkers have a well deserved reputation for being too forward, pushy, inconsiderate, and rude (though I'm not sure I can blame them -- life here demands a certain level of aggression to get by).There is one place, though, in which being forward and pushy seems not to matter: on a bike. I am constantly amazed at what constitutes acceptable behavior so long as one is dressed in spandex and wearing a team jersey, and I'll admit that I am pleased to be a part of it all. Zdenek and I have had several rides this year during which we've latched on to fellow Central Park or highway 9W cyclists, riding close enough to catch both their slipstream and their conversation. I recall one particularly good return ride from Nyack, on which I spent a solid 15 minutes riding 12 inches behind a team of five men, working my butt off to keep up, but going immeasurably faster than I could have ever managed alone (eventually, I was dropped). On another morning ride in the Park, one fellow cyclist rode for almost 45 minutes on my wheel (while I was, in turn, riding Zdenek's), never uttering a word, but ever present behind me. Unlike runners, cyclists don't nod to, smile at, or make conversation with one another. But they have no shame in joining -- or rather milking off of -- your workout, uninvited. With cyclists, such actions are considered neither creepy nor aggressive, but par for the course.
Or so I thought, until this morning. Zdenek and I crawled out of bed at 6 am, planning for a run, but when we checked weather.com to find that is was a balmy 14 degrees Celsius out, we opted to cycle instead (could be the last one of the season!). I was pleased to find that I required neither leg warmers nor bulky gloves this morning, and for once I felt light and aerodynamic on my bike (and as it turned out, we rode our fastest laps of the entire year this morning!). About 10 minutes in to our ride, Zdenek and I found ourselves behind a very fit 30- or 40-something woman and her very fit 30- or 40-something male training partner. They were moving at my top speed, and it was immediately obvious to both Zdenek and me that we had, perhaps, found our ride.
Strangely, though, after following their wheels for only a few minutes, the male portion of this duo moved to the side so that Zdenek was, instead, following only the woman (and I was following Zdenek). Then, without warning, the guy began darting in and out in front of Zdenek in what appeared to be deliberate attempts to cut us off. From my vantage point behind, I could sense what was going on ahead, and this guy's actions reminded me of some kind of mad, stinging insect trying to defend its nest. He was signaling for us to back off or, better yet, get lost. Our tailgating was clearly unacceptable behavior in his books.
Later in our ride, we caught and passed the guy again (he was riding solo at this point). Though I ended up barely 10 feet in front of him, he simply refused to ride my wheel, and instead rode just a few feet off to the side. It was bizarre. I would have felt more at ease if he had ridden (even in silence) directly behind me, and benefited from my hard work and, in turn, that of my husband. Paradoxically, this guy's apparent show of good manners on the bike came off as strangely aggressive and far too competitive for a morning ride in Central Park. His proper behavior seemed entirely out of place -- for a bike, or New York, or both.
I can only surmise that he was from out of town.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A girl understands
This has been a tough week so far. I haven't dealt with any major crises, I'm not putting in particularly long hours at work, and, as far as I know, everyone that matters to me is happy and healthy and generally doing well. Nevertheless, my sleep has been severely lacking, and the hours that I do get are not quality ones. On Sunday and Monday of this week, a rather sudden pain spread through the entire right side of my face and neck, leading me to think that a full-blown illness was only hours away. Although the pain and swollen lymph nodes that accompanied it eventually abated, I still feel absolutely exhausted. Making matters worse, I've been feeling as though my quads and butt are, shall we say, ahem, "growing." I don't feel heavier, but I'm concerned that my pants are a wee bit tighter in the upper leg and seat region. As any woman knows, such observations are a sure way to turn a mildly frustrating week into one of full-out depression.
This morning, after a visit to the company pantry to collect our daily ration of fresh fruit and Kashi granola bars, Caitlin -- who shares my affinities for running, cycling, and sleep -- and I sat in my office, commiserating about our mutual feelings of exhaustion. We concluded that we are either (a) getting older and therefore in need of more rest, (b) affected by the change in seasons, or (c) barely fighting off a swine flu or other virus that is making the rounds. Having cleared that up, I then proceeded to tell Caitlin about my ill-fitting garments. She sympathized immediately. More importantly, she assured me that any growing quads or butts are most definitely the result of cycling; larger legs and glutes are the price one must pay for powering up hills on two wheels. She's absolutely right, I thought. I know that I can always count on Caitlin to make me feel better!
Several hours later, still feeling exhausted, and, by this time, with a low-grade headache and a craving for a chocolate chip cookie, I left my office in search of more coworkers with whom I could I blow off some steam. As usual, I ended up in Caitlin's office, which she shares with a few male coworkers. I plunked down on the office futon (don't ask). Immediately, Caitlin got up from her desk to plunk down next to me. I began to complain to everyone in the room, whether or not they were interested or listening, about my general state of malaise. One of the men suggested I take an Advil. Another offered me a cup of coffee. The third stared at me blankly. It was clear that the men in our office seemed incapable of properly appreciating my problems, and their quick solutions were of no help at all.
But Caitlin -- sweet Caitlin -- just reached with me into the box of Godivas from a nearby desk. Ignoring the men, we each grabbed a chocolate and popped it into our mouths. Side by side, chewing the sticky caramel and allowing the creamy praline to melt on our tongues, we pondered the possible causes of a girl's growing thighs.
This morning, after a visit to the company pantry to collect our daily ration of fresh fruit and Kashi granola bars, Caitlin -- who shares my affinities for running, cycling, and sleep -- and I sat in my office, commiserating about our mutual feelings of exhaustion. We concluded that we are either (a) getting older and therefore in need of more rest, (b) affected by the change in seasons, or (c) barely fighting off a swine flu or other virus that is making the rounds. Having cleared that up, I then proceeded to tell Caitlin about my ill-fitting garments. She sympathized immediately. More importantly, she assured me that any growing quads or butts are most definitely the result of cycling; larger legs and glutes are the price one must pay for powering up hills on two wheels. She's absolutely right, I thought. I know that I can always count on Caitlin to make me feel better!
Several hours later, still feeling exhausted, and, by this time, with a low-grade headache and a craving for a chocolate chip cookie, I left my office in search of more coworkers with whom I could I blow off some steam. As usual, I ended up in Caitlin's office, which she shares with a few male coworkers. I plunked down on the office futon (don't ask). Immediately, Caitlin got up from her desk to plunk down next to me. I began to complain to everyone in the room, whether or not they were interested or listening, about my general state of malaise. One of the men suggested I take an Advil. Another offered me a cup of coffee. The third stared at me blankly. It was clear that the men in our office seemed incapable of properly appreciating my problems, and their quick solutions were of no help at all.
But Caitlin -- sweet Caitlin -- just reached with me into the box of Godivas from a nearby desk. Ignoring the men, we each grabbed a chocolate and popped it into our mouths. Side by side, chewing the sticky caramel and allowing the creamy praline to melt on our tongues, we pondered the possible causes of a girl's growing thighs.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Training partners
Back when I was 10 or 15 years old, daytime track suits became all the rage for the couch potato elite. Moreover, it wasn't uncommon to see a husband and wife walking from the car to the store entrance wearing identical pants and jackets, as though they were only stopping off at Costco on their way to a 400 m relay race. I used to think to myself that I would never, ever wear the same clothing or accessories as my significant other. Unless, of course, they (both the significant other and the accessories) were really, really cool.
I've been in need of a new pair of sports sunglasses for some time. I lost my five year-old Cebe running sunglasses on my recent vacation (though they still might turn up in my travel bag at some point), and I needed to supplement my Bolle cycling sunglasses that are too dark and therefore hazardous on early mornings and/or cloudy days. In spite of the fact that my Cebes were scratched, had relatively poor clarity, and were terribly out of fashion, I'm still a bit sad to have lost them.
I recall the day I bought my Cebes; more accurately, I recall the day I purchased their predecessor. I had taken up running with some seriousness in the fall/winter of 2003 and, by the time April rolled around, I realized that my newly acquired running habit had morphed into a springtime one. Within weeks, I found myself in want of shorter sleeves, shorts, and shades. Zdenek and I had been dating for only a few months at the time and, freshly in love, we did everything as a unit (some things never change). When it came time to buy new sunglasses, he and I did it together by heading to Mountain Equipment Co-op, that Canadian one-stop-shop for all outdoor necessities. We decided on a pair of black framed Cebes that were, on his student and my post-doc salaries, a splurge.
It was only a few short months later that my previously referenced bicycle accident destroyed my new sunglasses. It was a good thing I was wearing them because the deep scratches across the lenses surely saved my eyes and face from the same fate. When I was barely mobile again, Zdenek and I headed back to MEC to purchase replacement glasses. And because Zdenek had developed a liking for my shades, we purchased two pairs that day. My replacement pair served me well during 5+ years of running, and, more significantly, represented the first in a long line of items for which Zdenek and I have purchased a his and hers set. Since then, our wardrobe has expanded to include identical running hats, Lulu jackets, Lulu pants, cycling shoes, and cycling socks, to name but a few.
In keeping with our motto that "if one is good, one for each of us must be better," this past weekend Zdenek and I headed to SoHo, that New York one-stop-shop for all things fashionable. We visited the Oakley store to purchase two pairs of Jawbones (popularized by Lance in this year's Tour). Zdenek took the white pair, I choose the black. Within 24 hours, however, buyers remorse set in, and I deemed the glasses too big and bulky for my face. Another trip to SoHo earlier this week replaced mine with this gorgeous pair of XLJ Flak Jackets (colour: "root beer"). For the first time in five years, Zdenek and I will be sporting different shades.Last weekend, during our ride to Piermont, Caitlin apparently (I didn't hear it) commented to Zdenek that, to an outsider, it's obvious that he and I train together. I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I assumed at the time that it had something to do with the comfort with which I follow his wheel or the ease with which we ride beside one another. Thinking about it more, however, it occurs to me that there might have been an alternate explanation. At least we're now distinguishable from the neck up.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
A significant climb
I feel as though lately I've come across a disproportionate number of articles telling me that, despite all of the opportunities and choices before us, women in our society are still having a tough time. An OpEd piece in this weekend's NYTimes summarized a few (rather depressing) studies suggesting that, while men get happier with age, women actually become unhappier. Clearly this piece resonated with a lot of readers, because it wound up as the most emailed story on the NYTimes website within 48 hours. Another piece in this morning's Globe and Mail, which I read over my morning cup of coffee, reminded me that women still face systemic discrimination in the workplace, and many women who climb the corporate ladder will eventually opt to get off it altogether. I barely had time to digest the possible reasons for or implications of this before an email arrived in my inbox, alerting me that one successful woman whom I know is, indeed, exercising that option. Is it really true, as these newspaper articles would have us believe, that "the further up a woman climbs, the lonelier she's going to be"?
I'm no sociologist or other expert on these matters, and I'm not in any position to opine on whether these statistics reveal a depressing truth about whether today's woman can really "have it all." I'm not even sure that I, personally, have sufficient life experiences to definitively say whether I currently, or will eventually, count myself among the growing cohort of unhappy and disillusioned women. I did, however, have an interesting experience this morning that, even independently of these news pieces, got me thinking about the differences between the sexes, and how I react to them.
Zdenek and I got one loop in together this morning before he was forced to head home with a punctured tire. We'd only been out for 20 minutes, and since it seemed a waste to get out of bed that early for such a short workout, I stayed in the Park to do another loop or two on my own. I wasn't feeling particularly energetic this morning; indeed, on the first loop, Zdenek and I agreed to just take it easy today. But once I was on my own, my mindset shifted slightly. I realized, as I often do, that I was one of the few women cyclists in the Park (on this weekend's ride to and from Piermont, Caitlin and I saw only one other woman on the whole trip). Obviously there are plenty of recreational and professional women cyclists out there, but I think it's fair to say that they are in the minority. I am not sure why cycling is more attractive or accessible to men. I have a few pet theories, but will leave those for another post.
But I digress. This morning, a few minutes into my first solo loop, I had the urge to push the pace on my own. It was partly a test of my abilities -- physical and mental -- without Zdenek by my side or leading the way. Once I began going hard, though, it seemed like a failure to allow my speed to drop, and so I forced myself to keep at it. Just before the north end of the Park, a group of 10 or 12 men in matching team jerseys flew past me, and about a half-mile later, I caught up to them near the bottom of Harlem Hill. I stuck to my pace, thinking I might get an assisted ride up the hill by staying behind them. Within seconds, though, I had to go around them, lest I slow my pace. Before I knew it, I was charging up the hill, putting more sweat and pain into the ascent than I have ever done, with or without Zdenek. My legs were burning, my breathing heavy. I focused on my cadence. I forced myself to maintain my speed.
Do not let them see you slow down. Keep going. You passed them; do not let them pass you. Do not be "just a girl."
I can say with pride that I emerged victorious on that climb. I made it up in record time with maximum effort, and the work was mine and mine alone. But as I crested the top, I realized that passing a group of men had brought out a competitive, yet defensive, side of me. I can't say for certain, but if it had been a team of women cyclists, I think I would have been more content to stay near the back. If Zdenek had been with me at all, I would have had a good excuse to ignore the other riders -- as I often do -- because I would have had a partner to focus on.
But when I realized that it was just me versus the boys, and that I had even a small chance of passing -- and beating -- them, I was forced to seize it. While I know that they probably weren't trying very hard and that they could have easily put the hammer down if they so desired, the fact is, they didn't. I did. And once I made my move, I wasn't going to let them pass me, because that would make me "just a girl." There may be some truth to the notion that the further up a woman goes, the lonelier she's going to be. But sometimes, the climb is worth it.
I'm no sociologist or other expert on these matters, and I'm not in any position to opine on whether these statistics reveal a depressing truth about whether today's woman can really "have it all." I'm not even sure that I, personally, have sufficient life experiences to definitively say whether I currently, or will eventually, count myself among the growing cohort of unhappy and disillusioned women. I did, however, have an interesting experience this morning that, even independently of these news pieces, got me thinking about the differences between the sexes, and how I react to them.
Zdenek and I got one loop in together this morning before he was forced to head home with a punctured tire. We'd only been out for 20 minutes, and since it seemed a waste to get out of bed that early for such a short workout, I stayed in the Park to do another loop or two on my own. I wasn't feeling particularly energetic this morning; indeed, on the first loop, Zdenek and I agreed to just take it easy today. But once I was on my own, my mindset shifted slightly. I realized, as I often do, that I was one of the few women cyclists in the Park (on this weekend's ride to and from Piermont, Caitlin and I saw only one other woman on the whole trip). Obviously there are plenty of recreational and professional women cyclists out there, but I think it's fair to say that they are in the minority. I am not sure why cycling is more attractive or accessible to men. I have a few pet theories, but will leave those for another post.
But I digress. This morning, a few minutes into my first solo loop, I had the urge to push the pace on my own. It was partly a test of my abilities -- physical and mental -- without Zdenek by my side or leading the way. Once I began going hard, though, it seemed like a failure to allow my speed to drop, and so I forced myself to keep at it. Just before the north end of the Park, a group of 10 or 12 men in matching team jerseys flew past me, and about a half-mile later, I caught up to them near the bottom of Harlem Hill. I stuck to my pace, thinking I might get an assisted ride up the hill by staying behind them. Within seconds, though, I had to go around them, lest I slow my pace. Before I knew it, I was charging up the hill, putting more sweat and pain into the ascent than I have ever done, with or without Zdenek. My legs were burning, my breathing heavy. I focused on my cadence. I forced myself to maintain my speed.
Do not let them see you slow down. Keep going. You passed them; do not let them pass you. Do not be "just a girl."
I can say with pride that I emerged victorious on that climb. I made it up in record time with maximum effort, and the work was mine and mine alone. But as I crested the top, I realized that passing a group of men had brought out a competitive, yet defensive, side of me. I can't say for certain, but if it had been a team of women cyclists, I think I would have been more content to stay near the back. If Zdenek had been with me at all, I would have had a good excuse to ignore the other riders -- as I often do -- because I would have had a partner to focus on.
But when I realized that it was just me versus the boys, and that I had even a small chance of passing -- and beating -- them, I was forced to seize it. While I know that they probably weren't trying very hard and that they could have easily put the hammer down if they so desired, the fact is, they didn't. I did. And once I made my move, I wasn't going to let them pass me, because that would make me "just a girl." There may be some truth to the notion that the further up a woman goes, the lonelier she's going to be. But sometimes, the climb is worth it.
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