remember my 8 oz glass with 4 oz of water in it?
my "realism" versus pessimism versus optimism story?
I had an "ah-ha" this morning, and needed to share the other piece of it:
I always know that I will be able to get more water.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
lost river road
today's ride was a 45 minute "recovery spin," as ordered by my tapering plan. whee! I love being home before 7, making coffee, enjoying the cool morning before life gets wound up.
the challenge, of course, is where in the world to ride where I can really do that. (or more accurately, where in my part of salt lake city can I do that.) so I do my best to spin more, go slower up the inclines, and keep to streets that are as flat as possible.
this morning I took a slightly different route than my usual recovery ride, and passed a street named "lost river road."
oh, my romantic heart just soared! I want to write a book about this street, which would of course be set somewhere quite different from its actual location, a very nondescript part of the millcreek area.
my book would be about an older Cape Cod style home, with a huge porch, in which generations of the Stewart family had lived, labored, and loved . . . all on Lost River Road on the remote edge of, gee, what city shall I place them in? oh, I'd have to do some research, but they'd probably end up back east somewhere, some romantic-sounding little town in north carolina . . .
okay, so this is what happens to me while I'm riding.
people ask me what I think about while I ride, and I am always at a loss for words. (I know, that's hard to believe.) but I think about a million things, I think about nothing. song lyrics repeat themselves, over and over, and I go to a meditative place where everything comes in and out and leaves nary a trace. I solve world problems, I create shopping lists, I zone out. I curse yellow lights, I give thanks for greens, I look all ways before cruising through 4-way stops, and my mind is on auto-pilot. I think, I memorize signs and street names and flower beds, and I absorb the cool air so I can relive it later in the day.
and I sometimes take myself to a beautiful spot alongside a river, where huge trees let their branches hang over the water and rocks stick their backs up high enough that you can walk across to the other side, where there are no people at all, and just a few houses set far apart and back from the simple, packed-dirt road that is only occasionally traveled and named, lovingly, 'lost river road.'
the challenge, of course, is where in the world to ride where I can really do that. (or more accurately, where in my part of salt lake city can I do that.) so I do my best to spin more, go slower up the inclines, and keep to streets that are as flat as possible.
this morning I took a slightly different route than my usual recovery ride, and passed a street named "lost river road."
oh, my romantic heart just soared! I want to write a book about this street, which would of course be set somewhere quite different from its actual location, a very nondescript part of the millcreek area.
my book would be about an older Cape Cod style home, with a huge porch, in which generations of the Stewart family had lived, labored, and loved . . . all on Lost River Road on the remote edge of, gee, what city shall I place them in? oh, I'd have to do some research, but they'd probably end up back east somewhere, some romantic-sounding little town in north carolina . . .
okay, so this is what happens to me while I'm riding.
people ask me what I think about while I ride, and I am always at a loss for words. (I know, that's hard to believe.) but I think about a million things, I think about nothing. song lyrics repeat themselves, over and over, and I go to a meditative place where everything comes in and out and leaves nary a trace. I solve world problems, I create shopping lists, I zone out. I curse yellow lights, I give thanks for greens, I look all ways before cruising through 4-way stops, and my mind is on auto-pilot. I think, I memorize signs and street names and flower beds, and I absorb the cool air so I can relive it later in the day.
and I sometimes take myself to a beautiful spot alongside a river, where huge trees let their branches hang over the water and rocks stick their backs up high enough that you can walk across to the other side, where there are no people at all, and just a few houses set far apart and back from the simple, packed-dirt road that is only occasionally traveled and named, lovingly, 'lost river road.'
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
to taper
three facts I learned this morning:
1. wasatch boulevard between big and little cottonwood canyons is a mess.
2. little cottonwood road is closed, heading east from wasatch (9800 s.)
3. even 46-year-old (MIDDLE AGED!) women in unflattering biking shorts can get whistled at by guys in trucks.
I am tapering this week.
this is a concept I'd first heard of about a year ago, and I must say it's kind of a fun one. in a layperson's words (that would be mine), it's about letting your body prepare for an event by resting and lessening your training intensity.
since I am riding a long, challenging century this coming saturday, I thought I would try this tapering guideline I read in bicycling magazine. so today was a 3-4 hour "moderate" ride, to deplete my carbohydrate stores so that my body is prepared to have that happen again in 3 days.
now, truly, I believe I have enough carbohydrate stores to last me a good few years . . .
but, I am playing the game, because the other three rides this week are mellow, and it just sounded like I should give it a try. anything to help me complete this saturday's ride!
I tend to work, work hard, and fear that if I stop I will lose everything I've worked for. I have read that it's difficult for many athletes to use their will to hold back at times: to spend long enough warming up, to lighten up on recovery days, to not push as much as they think they can all the time.
I don't claim to be an athlete, but there seems to be a lot of wisdom in having that discipline.
I am working on it.
now, the discipline to carbohydrate-load: that one comes quite easily to me!
off to eat more chocolate cake,
me.
1. wasatch boulevard between big and little cottonwood canyons is a mess.
2. little cottonwood road is closed, heading east from wasatch (9800 s.)
3. even 46-year-old (MIDDLE AGED!) women in unflattering biking shorts can get whistled at by guys in trucks.
I am tapering this week.
this is a concept I'd first heard of about a year ago, and I must say it's kind of a fun one. in a layperson's words (that would be mine), it's about letting your body prepare for an event by resting and lessening your training intensity.
since I am riding a long, challenging century this coming saturday, I thought I would try this tapering guideline I read in bicycling magazine. so today was a 3-4 hour "moderate" ride, to deplete my carbohydrate stores so that my body is prepared to have that happen again in 3 days.
now, truly, I believe I have enough carbohydrate stores to last me a good few years . . .
but, I am playing the game, because the other three rides this week are mellow, and it just sounded like I should give it a try. anything to help me complete this saturday's ride!
I tend to work, work hard, and fear that if I stop I will lose everything I've worked for. I have read that it's difficult for many athletes to use their will to hold back at times: to spend long enough warming up, to lighten up on recovery days, to not push as much as they think they can all the time.
I don't claim to be an athlete, but there seems to be a lot of wisdom in having that discipline.
I am working on it.
now, the discipline to carbohydrate-load: that one comes quite easily to me!
off to eat more chocolate cake,
me.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
water
the glass is half full.
the glass is half empty.
the 8 oz glass has 4 oz of water in it.
I tend to live in the last category, and call myself (among other things) a realist. I definitely have a positive outlook, and even consider myself optimistic, but my optimism is tempered with a healthy dose of reality.
this drives some people crazy, just as I'm sure optimists and pessimists do the same to others.
one of my biking partners told me the other day, "if you always think you have a tailwind, you do." I thought about hitting him. honestly. wishing and thinking just can't always make it so, and why should it? what's wrong with me noticing that I have a headwind pushing against me? I don't dwell on it, I don't bemoan it for long, and I don't turn around because of it . . . but I want to be able to point out that it's there without being considered negative.
there are plenty things in life that conflict with our dreams about how life might be, and I see nothing wrong with acknowledging them. to whine, complain, and not move forward because of them is unwise and self-defeating, but to pretend they don't exist isn't necessary, either.
I have a child who says to me at least two or three times a day, "you know what I hate?" and then goes on to tell me her latest gripe. they are usually minor annoyances, and I try not to roll my eyes when I hear the question. I get tired of hearing what she hates. I want to hear about something she loves! sometime!
but she's entitled to recognize and verbalize those things that irritate her, and if she wants to say she hates them, that needs to be okay. and I'm hoping it's just a phase.
it's okay to hate things, to wish or want them to be done differently.
it's also okay to love things, to share your joy about them with everyone you know.
and it's okay to see things cleanly and simply, and just be aware without attaching any strong feelings to them at all.
and I guess my favorite people are accomplished at merging all three of these as they go through life, without imposing their way of thinking and viewing things upon anyone else.
the glass is half empty.
the 8 oz glass has 4 oz of water in it.
I tend to live in the last category, and call myself (among other things) a realist. I definitely have a positive outlook, and even consider myself optimistic, but my optimism is tempered with a healthy dose of reality.
this drives some people crazy, just as I'm sure optimists and pessimists do the same to others.
one of my biking partners told me the other day, "if you always think you have a tailwind, you do." I thought about hitting him. honestly. wishing and thinking just can't always make it so, and why should it? what's wrong with me noticing that I have a headwind pushing against me? I don't dwell on it, I don't bemoan it for long, and I don't turn around because of it . . . but I want to be able to point out that it's there without being considered negative.
there are plenty things in life that conflict with our dreams about how life might be, and I see nothing wrong with acknowledging them. to whine, complain, and not move forward because of them is unwise and self-defeating, but to pretend they don't exist isn't necessary, either.
I have a child who says to me at least two or three times a day, "you know what I hate?" and then goes on to tell me her latest gripe. they are usually minor annoyances, and I try not to roll my eyes when I hear the question. I get tired of hearing what she hates. I want to hear about something she loves! sometime!
but she's entitled to recognize and verbalize those things that irritate her, and if she wants to say she hates them, that needs to be okay. and I'm hoping it's just a phase.
it's okay to hate things, to wish or want them to be done differently.
it's also okay to love things, to share your joy about them with everyone you know.
and it's okay to see things cleanly and simply, and just be aware without attaching any strong feelings to them at all.
and I guess my favorite people are accomplished at merging all three of these as they go through life, without imposing their way of thinking and viewing things upon anyone else.
Monday, July 28, 2008
lotoja latest
today I can't imagine myself riding lotoja.
my brain is having a drama fest, telling me what a fool I am, and how crazy I am to think I can do that ride. and that even if I DO complete it, the time it will take me is so long that I might as well not do it.
that I can barely make it up any hill, that everything is steep and I'm just slow. that last saturday's 90 miles wiped me out: who do I think I am to commit to riding 206 miles?
I am also registered to ride the 'tour de park city' century this coming saturday: it has some pretty significant climbing involved. a friend was telling me that their family drove the route the other day, and it is LONG and STEEP and NARROW and has NO SHOULDER and on and on . . .
so my little drama queen brain has leaped on that as well, telling me I can't possibly do it. that I'll be the slowest one, that I probably won't even be able to make it.
days like this I just want to tell my brain to take a hike. I know it's just a little pity party going on in there, that I actually am capable, and I will succeed at whatever I set out to accomplish. that my brain just has nothing better to do so it's going to stir up some DRAMA to keep me flustered and anxious.
it is doing a darn good job.
and I am worn out from talking back to it today, so I am shutting myself down and counting on tomorrow to be (in my favorite singer Sting's immortal words) a brand new day.
my brain is having a drama fest, telling me what a fool I am, and how crazy I am to think I can do that ride. and that even if I DO complete it, the time it will take me is so long that I might as well not do it.
that I can barely make it up any hill, that everything is steep and I'm just slow. that last saturday's 90 miles wiped me out: who do I think I am to commit to riding 206 miles?
I am also registered to ride the 'tour de park city' century this coming saturday: it has some pretty significant climbing involved. a friend was telling me that their family drove the route the other day, and it is LONG and STEEP and NARROW and has NO SHOULDER and on and on . . .
so my little drama queen brain has leaped on that as well, telling me I can't possibly do it. that I'll be the slowest one, that I probably won't even be able to make it.
days like this I just want to tell my brain to take a hike. I know it's just a little pity party going on in there, that I actually am capable, and I will succeed at whatever I set out to accomplish. that my brain just has nothing better to do so it's going to stir up some DRAMA to keep me flustered and anxious.
it is doing a darn good job.
and I am worn out from talking back to it today, so I am shutting myself down and counting on tomorrow to be (in my favorite singer Sting's immortal words) a brand new day.
meg ryan
have you seen City of Angels? it's a movie with meg ryan and nicolas cage, and although the story line is a little odd, the overall impact of it is powerful and beautiful.
one scene in the movie is set in lake tahoe (which I love; okay, does anyone not?) at a time when meg's character is the happiest she's ever been. she is riding a bike downhill, and she takes her hands off the handlebars and closes her eyes, just reveling in the perfection of her situation. you can see the joy on her face, you can feel her complete bliss.
I am practicing being meg.
beacon drive is where I do this.
when beacon heads west off wasatch boulevard, the street swoops around and down, and this is where I practice taking my hands off the handlebars, raising my arms in joy and freedom, and experiencing that triumphant feel. today I lasted my longest yet: almost 6 seconds. I don't close my eyes, but I am everything that meg manifests in that scene.
this is why I cycle.
because those moments are my reward for all the work and effort I put into this. I earn those moments, and I relish them. I only swoop after I climb. and I can only take my hands off the handlebars because I've spent over 6000 miles getting comfortable enough on my bike to do it.
the best things in life are not given to us, but are earned by us.
I picture meg ryan's face and I know that my joy is as great as her characters', my joy is as great as my grande coeur can hold.
one scene in the movie is set in lake tahoe (which I love; okay, does anyone not?) at a time when meg's character is the happiest she's ever been. she is riding a bike downhill, and she takes her hands off the handlebars and closes her eyes, just reveling in the perfection of her situation. you can see the joy on her face, you can feel her complete bliss.
I am practicing being meg.
beacon drive is where I do this.
when beacon heads west off wasatch boulevard, the street swoops around and down, and this is where I practice taking my hands off the handlebars, raising my arms in joy and freedom, and experiencing that triumphant feel. today I lasted my longest yet: almost 6 seconds. I don't close my eyes, but I am everything that meg manifests in that scene.
this is why I cycle.
because those moments are my reward for all the work and effort I put into this. I earn those moments, and I relish them. I only swoop after I climb. and I can only take my hands off the handlebars because I've spent over 6000 miles getting comfortable enough on my bike to do it.
the best things in life are not given to us, but are earned by us.
I picture meg ryan's face and I know that my joy is as great as her characters', my joy is as great as my grande coeur can hold.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
healing
my biking buddy bill told me a story:
this morning he was riding up millcreek when someone started to overtake him. testosterone bubbled up, and bill put on the speed. nevertheless, bill got passed. by someone older than him. someone with gray hair, probably at least 60 or so. uh-oh.
you guessed it, bill starts working even harder, determined to stay on this guy's tail. which he did: bill is a great climber, a strong rider period. (he has to hold back when he rides with me, or he does loops around me: up and back, circling, waiting for me.)
gray-haired-guy wins, but not by much, and bill catches up to him on the way down. they ride together for a few minutes, while bill compliments him on how strong a rider he is. the guy acknowledges the compliment, and says, "it's all I've got to live for."
deep breath.
as bill relays this story to me, I am stunned, then immediately jump to rescue the man. maybe his wife just died two weeks ago, he must be in a temporary hole, it can't be his total life outlook, it's got to be a momentary thing . . .
it made me reflect on the millions of unknown stories out there. to bring it down to a manageable thought, I concentrate this morning on the cyclists I see out when I ride. they all have stories, lives, whole universes of which I know nothing. maybe some are riding to relieve pain and anguish, maybe some are riding to prove they are physically capable. some may ride to release stress and anxiety, some may ride because they are in training for a limit-pushing event. some probably ride to escape, some ride for pure pleasure, some ride to work off the extra piece of cake they ate last night . . .
my point is that we all have stories, and they are all more rich, varied, and deep than we can ever imagine. we see physical attributes, we hear quips, we seek clues from facial expressions. but we cannot know anyone's truth unless we sit and be with them for a substantial period of time.
I will make up a story to go with this gray-haired man. I have not seen him, I do not know him. but I have some small clues, and I will fill in the rest with feelings. he has experienced loss, and is hurting. so I will send him love and peace and strength via my God network. you know, that universal energy that flows within and between all of us . . . some of you may deny its existence, but I know it's there.
to my gray-haired man, and to all of you who have ever suffered loss, I send peace and love, and energy to heal. we humans are amazingly resilient, and I know he will once again, someday, feel that he has more to live for than cycling quickly up a canyon.
this morning he was riding up millcreek when someone started to overtake him. testosterone bubbled up, and bill put on the speed. nevertheless, bill got passed. by someone older than him. someone with gray hair, probably at least 60 or so. uh-oh.
you guessed it, bill starts working even harder, determined to stay on this guy's tail. which he did: bill is a great climber, a strong rider period. (he has to hold back when he rides with me, or he does loops around me: up and back, circling, waiting for me.)
gray-haired-guy wins, but not by much, and bill catches up to him on the way down. they ride together for a few minutes, while bill compliments him on how strong a rider he is. the guy acknowledges the compliment, and says, "it's all I've got to live for."
deep breath.
as bill relays this story to me, I am stunned, then immediately jump to rescue the man. maybe his wife just died two weeks ago, he must be in a temporary hole, it can't be his total life outlook, it's got to be a momentary thing . . .
it made me reflect on the millions of unknown stories out there. to bring it down to a manageable thought, I concentrate this morning on the cyclists I see out when I ride. they all have stories, lives, whole universes of which I know nothing. maybe some are riding to relieve pain and anguish, maybe some are riding to prove they are physically capable. some may ride to release stress and anxiety, some may ride because they are in training for a limit-pushing event. some probably ride to escape, some ride for pure pleasure, some ride to work off the extra piece of cake they ate last night . . .
my point is that we all have stories, and they are all more rich, varied, and deep than we can ever imagine. we see physical attributes, we hear quips, we seek clues from facial expressions. but we cannot know anyone's truth unless we sit and be with them for a substantial period of time.
I will make up a story to go with this gray-haired man. I have not seen him, I do not know him. but I have some small clues, and I will fill in the rest with feelings. he has experienced loss, and is hurting. so I will send him love and peace and strength via my God network. you know, that universal energy that flows within and between all of us . . . some of you may deny its existence, but I know it's there.
to my gray-haired man, and to all of you who have ever suffered loss, I send peace and love, and energy to heal. we humans are amazingly resilient, and I know he will once again, someday, feel that he has more to live for than cycling quickly up a canyon.
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