plan C

plan C began like this: I took my wind jacket out of it's little bag on my bike's top tube, pulled it on over my other layers, and set off anyway.

I had a plan A and a plan B.
tuesday night before I went to bed I readied everything.
alarm: 5:13, same time for either A or B
clothing: two piles. long tights, wool socks, and 3 layers for plan A, shorts, cotton socks, and a sleeveless top for plan B. same heart monitor either way.
bike: front light attached, ready for plan A.
car: key awaiting, ready for plan B.

I was prepared.
prepared for A, dry pavement, or B, wet pavement.
decision to be made at 5:13 and 1/2 as I arose and pulled the curtain aside to look out at the street in front of my house.

at 5:13 and 1/2, the pavement was dry.

but at 5:29 as I opened the garage door to take off on my bike, my eyes were drawn to the speckled pattern of dark/light on my driveway. raindrops.
I hesitated for mere seconds, as thoughts ran through my mind:
I don't want to go change, it's too late to get up to spin class and get a full hour in, I am all ready to go, argh, I don't want to change my plan now . . .

thus, plan C.
I pulled out my wind jacket, shrugged it on, and set off anyway.

I do not like to be thwarted. call me obstinate, stubborn, determined, whatever: once I commit to a plan I seem to have a one-track mind.

plan C, I decided, would have some flexibility. it was really just sprinkling at 5:30, and I wasn't sure if it would intensify or back off or just be pockets. so I rode up the hill, thinking that I would just keep going on my usual route until the weather suggested something different.
well, for a while I had a tailwind and no rain. and so I headed up the canyon.
logic would tell one that when a rainstorm is hovering, higher elevations are likely to receive more than lower elevations, correct?
well, the canyon didn't seem to be so bad. it was just light rain, not a downpour.
regardless, I did concede to the elements and planned to shorten my ride. I wouldn't go all the way to the top: I'd ride up for about 45 minutes or so, then turn and head back.
and all was (relatively) well until the last mile and a half uphill, when the rain decided to be serious. but I was so close to completing plan C . . .

I will just say that the ride down and home was hell. I was freezing, soaked, being stung in the face by mini rain bombs, and only wanting to be home and off my bike. water splashed me from the front tire, from the back tire, from the sky, and I tried to giggle about it, but my cheeks were too frozen and wounded.

I'd like to say I learned a lesson.
but knowing myself as I do, I'm not so sure that I really did.

grabbing the sharpie

I bought my first road bike from REI, three and a half years ago.
and as I was (proudly) walking it out the front doors of the store the employee on door duty grinned at me and said, first road bike?
and I smiled back, nodding my head, and said, yep.
then he said, say goodbye to good posture!
I winced, and kept walking, slightly deflated.
darn mountain biker, I thought to myself.

what brings this to the forefront today, you ask? well, my upper back is hurting. this is a result of sunday's ride: when I'm fighting the wind I tend to tense up, lifting my shoulders and tightening all those upper back/shoulder/neck muscles. when I ride under those conditions I try to remind myself to relax, drop my shoulders, pull my shoulders back and take the rounding out of my back.
try, I said.
I must have said to myself drop your shoulders thirty times sunday.
I ended the ride hurting, and during yesterday's ride they still ached, and today they are finally beginning to loosen up a bit.
but here's the thing: I think that REI guy might be right.
I feel like my shoulders have a permanent round forward to them, and my back rounds as well. every once in a while I'll see someone out riding whose back is flat and their shoulders are pulled back and they look beautiful to me. this is how I want to look when I ride.

when my daughter was in preschool she broke her collarbone and had to wear a brace for a few weeks. the brace pulled her shoulders back, keeping the collarbone correctly aligned during healing. I want one of those. because I tend to forget to pull my shoulders back and straighten my back. I need a reminder.
perhaps a tattoo, on my knuckles.
faith on the left hand, straighten on the right.
I know it's too many letters, but then again so is faith, and I manage to make it work.

maybe I just need to break my collarbone, to get put in a brace, to help me re-learn how to carry myself . . .
or maybe I'll just dig out the sharpie.

S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T-E-N

yep, I think I'll go for the sharpie.

training rides and their rewards

today I rode a training ride. not the kind with extra little wheels coming off your rear axle, but the kind that is good for you. the kind that emphasizes your weaknesses. the kind that makes you push limits and stretch thresholds and, well, experience misery.
it was hard.
okay, it wasn't all hard. there were a few beautiful descents and miles of tailwind pushes. and I was intensely grateful for every one of those moments.
but the rest was hard.
see, there was this thing called the wind.

I'm a decent climber, and a pretty good descender (for a female), but the steady grade-into-the-wind stuff just kills me. it eats up every ounce of energy I have, and spits back a general sense of depletion and frustration. I want to be moving more quickly. my muscles cry out that they're giving it all they have: why is my body moving so slowly?

I kept thinking about how good this was for me. I certainly wasn't thinking about how much I was enjoying it.

except, to be honest, for the moments when I looked at the snow-drenched mountain peaks: mount timpanogos and its range, and then as we turned directions and moved further north, glimpes of the high uintahs, still richly, densely white.
and the moments I gazed at jordanelle reservoir, and then those times I looked up at wind-whipped white clouds resting against the clear blue sky.
and the burro gnawing at a wooden post, the mottled farm cat who slunk across her yard, the horses whose necks stretched gracefully upward as they sniffed the wind.

the dogs who chased and barked at me, threatening to nip my shoes: not so much.

but it's one more ride to chalk up in my Book of Life, one more intense effort that will (supposedly) pay off.
and now I'm huddled in my jammies after my hot shower, having eaten everything I could find for the past two hours in an effort to replenish my depleted stores, ready to spend the next hour with a great book on my oh-so-comfy couch: this is my greatest, most favorite, reward.

my exclusive club

tonight was the Bad Ass Coffee Cycling Team season kick-off barbecue.
we stood around, outside, in 50+ degree weather, chatting and watching burgers and dogs cook on the grill, then munched on chips and veggies and brownies and other assorted picnic food.
I knew very few people ~ and even if I might have met some before I didn't recognize them in their Real People Clothes.
and john's (paraphrased) observation was this: you just can't tell a cyclist from their Real People Clothes; cyclists come in all shapes and sizes.
we do.
and how great is that?

I have met the most incredible people through my cycling life. and it's not that incredible people don't exist in every walk of life; it's just that my cycling experiences have introduced me to fabulous people with whom I have something significant in common.
we all love to suffer.

because this was john's other (again, paraphrased) observation tonight: the joy of cycling is in the suffering.
in other words, it's in overcoming the challenge that we feel the thrill.
it's through the suffering that we learn to relish the release.

it's possible there are cyclists out there who never stretch, who never suffer or push past their known limits, who never grimace in pain. I believe it's possible to enjoy easy, relaxed, just-for-fun cycling.
but most of the people I know, the people I admire and bond with, are familiar with punishment and reward. with pushing further than they thought they could. and with swooping with joy and release afterward.

it's internal, this push and stretch and thrill. only I can know how hard I hurt; only I can feel my reward when it's over. and when it's all over, I am powerfully pleased to be me.

we don't talk about this, my cycling buddies and I. we'll talk about how it hurt, how glad we were to be done with the climb, how great it felt to go fast on the descent. but we don't talk much about the internal glow, the strength and power we feel when we surpass our own known limits. but somehow, we must connect at this level because there is a powerful draw between us.

I respect and admire all of these people, for I know exactly what it takes to push yourself, to claw through the muck, to suffer and want beyond all reason to stop, but to keep going anyway. I like this bond.
and I will forever be grateful that I was admitted to this exclusive club, whose only admittance fee is a willingness to push your limits further than you ever thought they could stretch.

to indulge

I have a friend who used to have a massage every week.
she'd have the masseuse come to her home every tuesday afternoon, where my friend kept her massage table ready and waiting in a spare bedroom.
I know people do things like this, but to think of allowing myself such a luxury was just mind boggling.

I do think of massages as luxuries. they are treats, bonuses, things to enjoy every once in a great while. one time, quite a while back, a masseuse tried to convince me that therapeutic massage is best done weekly (or more often), but it just never seemed to me to be an expense I could justify. it has always remained in the category I call indulgences.

I had a massage yesterday, though, that made me rethink the entire concept of pampering. it was the ultimate pleasure, ninety minutes of exquisite relaxation and sensual stimulation. quiet music, rich and exotic scents, hot stones and towels, and the pressure of knowledgeable hands smoothing my skin and softening my muscles. it was an experience of pure joy and release: I just let myself be, and let the experience sink deep into my very self.

I just might be able to fit one of those into my week, every week . . . someday . . .

so up percolates the question: why is it that so many of us deny ourselves this kind of experience? obviously the expense is one issue that needs to be addressed. but beyond that, I still experience an inner resistance to these kind of luxuries. is it about deserving them or not? or that so many others aren't able to do this, why should I? is it that I don't want to be seen as someone who spoils herself in this way? I truly don't know.

I'll ponder this, as I save up my quarters and dollars for my next visit to jenni, the wonder masseuse. if I arrive at the answer, I'll let you know.

the kaleidoscope

yesterday I had nothing to say.
that doesn't usually stop me from posting something here. however, I knew I'd have something to say today, and my subconscious steered me away from this site all day long yesterday, saving it for today.

today, you see, is jake's birthday.
my feelings about today are an ever-changing kaleidoscope, created out of illogical and surprising bits and pieces of common, everyday bits of humanity.
do you remember the awe you experience holding a kaleidoscope up to the light, twisting gently, watching new shapes and forms fall into stunning, unimaginable designs? the word is from the greek words kalos, beautiful and eidos, form, and the english scope, to see.
my feelings are like this, with just a touch of melancholy draped softly over the vision.

I have great joy for what was, and for what he is now. I have pain and sorrow and loss, for what was and what wasn't. I flounder in a field of nothingness, trying to imagine his brother and what might have been. I swim in the love of it all. I ache to touch him again, I am split apart from knowing I can't. I thrill for his ability to be everywhere around me, always, omnipresent. my heart swells with gratitude for his freedom, my heart swells with grief for my own loss.
each aspect of the experience is an exquisitely cut gemstone, gleaming, allowing light through on every side, casting multicolored shadows over the world.

this morning I rose early, setting out on my bike for the spot where snow covers the road to east canyon, ending all skinny tire passage toward the summit. the morning was warm enough that my earlobes and toes and fingertips were only tingling with cold, not bitterly complaining. I rode until I was certain my path would be thwarted, then rode further. and a bit further.
when snow and ice rendered forward movement impossible, I paused.
I twisted open my small metal container and let a bit of jake float down to the winter-weary snow on the side of the road. it wasn't a moment for deep words, but instead a deep involvement with the awe of the moment.

jake and his brother sent two messages this morning. the first was a porcupine alongside the road, who fluffed his quills into a prickly, peacock-ish display as I rode past. the second was a moose, hanging out in solitary peace in the brush banking little dell reservoir. I read their messages to be these: the porcupine, throwing up his quills, meant to just do what I'm meant to do; the moose, seemingly alone, conveyed the message that even though I may feel or seem alone, it is okay to be so. the porcupine was just following its instincts, and the moose, its individual path. and none of us are ever truly alone.

I rode home a bit lighter.
I have another touchstone now in my life. I have so many, so very many physical locations that hold great depth and meaning for me. this one, the rutted and rock strewn side of the road that the tired snow will eventually melt and dampen, 2.6 miles past the gates blocking motorized traffic from big mountain summit, will now be a small, multi-faceted stone in the kaleidoscope of reality that is jake and susan.

truly fantastic

here are some of today's firsts:

• first time up big cottonwood in april, mid-april, no less
• first time riding my bike past a ski resort, watching the chair lift go up and the skiers and boarders come down, me in my sleeveless jersey and the skiers in their snow gear
• first time jake got to climb up to brighton with me
• first time I've ever seen (and heard) a green, plastic, yodeling pickle
  

that's enough, I think.

what a glorious, perfect, beautiful day.
this is not to say that my ride was a piece of cake. it was much harder than I wanted it to be, and there were many moments when my cheerleader-self had to jump in and save me from certain death, or at least deep despair.
but I conquered, the sun shone, the tailwinds pushed me beautifully, warm air caressed my bare arms . . . truly, I could not have asked for more.

what a fantastic day.

oh, the pickle, you ask? well, let me just say that my biking friends are such a gift to me: I love them. this was apparently a gift from one to another, and it came up the canyon with us in someone's back pocket. (no names: I feel I should protect their privacy. not sure why.)
just think about that for a minute. the pickle in the pocket, not the no-names policy.
to see (and hear) this fabulous item, follow this pickle link. be sure to click Try the VIRTUAL yodeling pickle . . .

if your day hasn't already been fantastic, I'm pretty sure the pickle will make it so.
yodel-ay-ee-oooo!