wherever I go, this must be the place

david byrne wrote the lyrics to a song I love, a song I sing all the time, a song that has somehow penetrated my soul and taken up residence there:  this must be the place.

he also rides a bicycle.

and has this to say, which is all you're going to get from me today:

cycling can be lonely, but in a good way.

dog stars, bicycle stars

it's been a rough little while around our house, and I don't have a lot of oomph left over to come up with a brilliant post this week,
so I thought I'd search for someone else's fabulous quote about cycling to share with you.
well, I found one.
and it related perfectly to something that just entered my life and took up residence in my heart:  a book.
peter heller's the dog stars.
published in 2012, the book has been selected for book clubs, has become a bestseller, has been featured in plenty advertisements, but I've never felt drawn to it, didn't even know what it was about.  however, while picking up a requested book from the library a week or two ago, I saw a display of the dog stars, and thought, what the heck, I'll give it a shot.

I started reading it, then went to the back cover to see what in the world I was reading:  a post-apocolyptic novel set twenty years or so in the future.... not my typical fare.  but I liked it.  I liked it a lot.  so I kept reading it.
and soon I fell in love with it.
then I cried.
and kept reading.
there were no bicycles in it at all.
but a dog, an airplane, and a handful of crunchy characters.

I love this book.

the title is simply about a constellation, the possibility of naming your own constellations for those beings who matter in your life.

fast forward to today and my search for a meaningful cycling quote.  I'll put it below, and let you draw your own conclusions about why I chose it.  there are no hidden meanings, no puzzles to figure out, just a nice synchronicity between my thoughts and feelings, and the author's.  my quote is one of carl sagan's:

If constellations had been named in the 20th century, I suppose we would see bicycles. 

think of all those wheels we can draw up there in the night sky . . . and all the places they could go . . .

control of pain

one of our coaches likes to bring in tidbits of information about cycling, exercise, and nutrition.
he also likes to tell stories about his adventures, and we've heard all sorts of things from his riding a bike home---with numerous painkillers on board---from an emergency room visit, to assorted different crashes, to his bonking and occasional vomiting during cycling events.
he's got a great, self-deprecating sense of humor.
but last week he told us about an article he'd recently read that stated those of us who like high-intensity workouts like them because they provide for us a pain that we can control.

we humans experience a lot of pain in our lives.  physical pain, emotional pain.  although some of it may be in our control, most of it isn't.  a loved one dies, someone jumps and lands on our foot.  we slip and fall.  we break a bone, we break a heart.  we disappoint someone, we let our own self down.  we stub our toe or sprain an ankle.  pain happens.  and although we often have some warning, we often don't, and we have very little control over it all.

enter the hardass workout.
the workout where you can control just how much pain you suffer and for how long.

I'm not sure about the science behind this concept.  I'm not sure that we like our hardass workouts because they are situations where we can control our pain.

what I find more important through this process is that I learn that I can tolerate/manage/endure amounts of pain that I might not have thought possible.

I don't think I'm enduring the pain simply because it's under my control;  I think I'm enduring it to prove to myself that I'm stronger than I think.

because this is the gift I've received over the years.
this morning's workout was a tough one---named the "l'alpe d'huez climb" by our program's creator---and after it ended the coach came around, asking each person how it went.  my response was,
I just do what I'm asked to do.

and this is what I've learned through my years of cycling training:  I can do whatever I'm asked to do.
pain, tolerance, tedium, endurance, fatigue, everything, it's all manageable.
for me, it's not about controlling it, it's about learning that I can endure it.

but the greatest truth is probably best stated by arthur golden:

I don't think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it.

music world

every year one of our power camp coaches holds a music competition.  she invites everyone to submit a song, then she places them all on a playlist that she plays during class one day.  after listening to all the songs, everyone in class is asked to vote for their favorite song;   the top song wins a prize for the person who submitted it.
winning songs over the years have not always been the songs you'd expect.
one year the winner was barry white (my everything), and another year it was grace potter and the nocturnals singing paris (ooh la la) . . . one year it was jewel singing her morning song.
we as a group are completely unpredictable, and I've heard it's possible to bribe class members for their votes.  and remember, we start class weekday mornings at 5:10 am.  it's understood that we're all a little wacked.

this is submission week.  I have 5 more days to come up with a song and submit it.  and I'm stumped.
I don't listen to enough music, apparently.

so this morning I decided to cheat.  I sent an email to a friend who is a spin instructor in another state, asking her for her latest and greatest songs.  and she gave me a few ideas.  as did the internet, where I searched for popular spin and workout music.  hmmm.

I do love music.  I love the rhythms and harmonies, and I love both upbeat songs and those that are slow and heartfelt.    this morning in class the coach played ike and tina turner's "proud mary," the long version, a song I never loved and haven't heard in years and years . . . and it was great.  then came the phantom of the opera's theme song, and then some pop.  erasure was in there somewhere, and jack johnson, too.  it's all good, it's all wonderful, it's all terrific at distracting you from your discomfort.

and after it all, I've made my selection.  it's bright, fun, energetic, and has the best title in the world.
you can click on this link to hear my 5 am spin class song.  forget the love part, just sing the chorus.

again and again and again . . .
and then you'll know what it's like in our workout room every morning in the dark.

there's truly a song for everything, isn't there?

stories on the eve of a new year

every morning on my way to class I pass a cyclist on the road.
he wears a backpack, has a bright headlight and a flashing rear light, and is out there at 4:55 a.m.
snow, ice, cold, fair weather:  he's there.
after we pass I watch him, in my rear view mirror, turn up a road that leads to the university of utah medical school, so I've made up a story that he's a dedicated student, a starving student, a student too poor to handle the expenses of a car.
I may be completely wrong:  he could just be a conservationist, all about keeping a small carbon footprint.
or maybe he's recovering from a devastating illness and believes the cycling is an important part of his healing process.
or maybe he just loves fresh air, knowing he'll be trapped in a building for the next ten hours.

probably, his story is nowhere near anything I've just written.

people have stories.  and behind them are the motivations, desires, dreams, compulsions, inspirations, incentives, all the forces that determine behavior.
the fifteen of us sitting on spin bikes this morning at 5:15 all walked in for different reasons and approached our efforts in different ways.
I might say I ride hard so I can eat more, but it's also about self-esteem, self-belief, a physical connection with my body, self-empowerment, adrenaline.  and likely, other motivations I myself might not even recognize.  I can only guess at the motivations behind the actions of the others in that room.

I love people's stories.  there's a local man who rides a bike on many of the same roads I do ~ I've seen him numerous times over the past 18 months or so.  the first time, he was coming down Big Mountain, quickly, as I was laboriously pedaling up, slowly.  I gave a finger wave and he returned it, and as soon as he was past me the picture in my brain told me he only had one leg.
yeah, right.
it's difficult to see someone who's passing you at 38 mph, and easy to assume you saw something you didn't.
the next time I saw him I realized the picture in my brain was accurate:  he has but one leg.
I've seen him a few dozen times now, and each time I am both awed and empowered.  this man is large-as-life proof that we have within us what's needed to overcome anything.  anything.
I don't know him at all, but he is a man with a story.
I want to know his story; I want to write his story.
not the details, not the surface of it, but the guts, the innerworkings.  the things that made him get on a bike and teach himself to pedal with only half of the team most of us have working for us.  to learn to stop and dismount, to get back on and go.
to push up steep hills, to risk fast descents.
something within this man has helped him be stronger and tougher than most anyone I know.

I don't know his motivations, and I'm not going to make them up, other than to acknowledge that something deeply powerful helped this man learn to ride when he had the option to not.

everyone has a story.
and the best stories aren't those that conclude in haste or with nothing but smiles all around.  the best stories have some grit, some pain, a bit of loss, a bunch of growth.
as we move into a new year, I wish for us all a deepening of our own stories, an appreciation of the stories that belong to others, and a continued curiosity of what's around the next bend.

the little train who could

I've got it:  I've finally gotten back into the rhythm of cycling class on that "spin bike" with the uncomfortable saddle.
oh I miss my real bike and its saddle.
sigh.

but it's good to be back in the groove, back to a place where the workouts are difficult and I survive them anyway.  sometimes I even kick their butts.
it's like reaching a tipping point:  I get to a point where I'm used to the bike, I can deal with the saddle, and I know that whatever workout is presented to me, I will complete it and live to tell.

often in life we're apprehensive about a task with which we're presented, and sometimes feelings of "I can't do this" bubble up.
and the only way those disappear is by completing that task, sometimes over and over again, to train your mind to believe you're capable.

and it hit me the other day that I've reached that point in my winter indoor training.  I know in my bones that I can do whatever I'm instructed to do each day.  though it's all about training the legs, the truth is, it's the training of the mind that's most important.

the best place is when you're the little train who began by saying, I think I can....   and gradually changed his words to I know I can.

I know I can.
you know you can.
now let's go do.

trying softer

every time I don biking gear and hop on my bicycle, I expect my body to give me everything it has.
every time I walk in the workout room, pull on my bike shoes, and hop on the exercise bike, I expect my body to perform "as usual."
and when it's more difficult than usual, or I'm aching somewhere, or it just feels too hard, I tend to blame myself, heading to a place of "what's wrong with me?"
which isn't the most productive place to go.

some days are better than others;  some times we perform better than other times.
and some days we get caught in a negative mental loop that, instead of improving our experience, harms both our workout and ourselves, that place of "what's wrong with me?"

chances are, the answer to that question is, nothing!  maybe I could have used more sleep, better nutrition the day before, less stress at home, the mental boost of my favorite jersey that was, unfortunately, dirty.  but there isn't anything wrong with me; I'm just having a less-than-stellar performance day.

however, when we figure out that we're having one of those less-than days, we often beat up on ourselves, making it worse instead of better.  I did a little research about how to stop this negative mental loop, and found the following written by Dr. G of Competitive Advantage to be helpful to me:  when we start beating ourselves up for performing poorly, we often get sucked into a place of trying too hard.  The guidance below helps me stop the negativity, be a little gentler with myself, and ultimately and unexpectedly, perform better.

-TRY SOFTER, NOT HARDER-

One of the biggest mental traps that athletes fall into is the “trying too hard” trap. Fueled by frustration or making the contest too important, trying too hard is a losing game. As a matter of fact, it’s the game of diminishing returns: The harder you try, the worse you’ll do! This is because trying too hard tightens your muscles up and absolutely kills your mechanics. Trying too hard gets you forcing things and peak performance always comes from being relaxed and “letting it happen.” Be alert inside to when you start pressing and trying to make something “big” happen. When you become aware of yourself trying too hard, quickly shift your focus of concentration away from the outcome or its importance to the task at hand. Remember you want to relax and try “softer,” not harder.

tomorrow morning I have a time trial, a 20-minute stretch at zone 5/ventricular threshold/a really hard place to be.  and no matter how I feel going into it, I am going to try, softly, to perform well.  awesomely.  strongly.  well.
I'll let you know how it goes.

*UPDATE december 19th after the time trial:   softer worked.  grin.
go give it a try!