Riding has been non-existent for over a week now. Along with doing a crap ton of stuff to get our house ready to sell, I’ve been doing some volunteer design work for the soccer club and some freelance stuff for the shop. The only physically active things I’ve done has been some running lumbering on the treadmill and the lifting heavy things for no reason.
After a weekend that featured back to back rides on the Boone, I haven’t been on a bike since. Other than some borderline useless Stankment™ based workouts, pre-moving chores, and some free design work for B’s soccer club, I’ve been a slug.
Wednesday I was jonzing to get out on the bike in the morning, but a winter storm was barreling down on Michigan and I didn’t want to get caught out in the snow storm, so I opted to attempt hiking in the woods again.
I was this close to writing a blog post about how the weather’s got me down and how I feel like a paper white turd. But just as I began to type I realized that every year since the winter of 2006 I have reached a point in the winter that I write some post about how the dark days, slush, ice, cold, and muck of winter have finally beat me down like a $5 hooker with an angry pimp. I guess just in writing those first sentences I have written it again, but I will go no further. Winter has not beat me down, but the lack of riding and physical activity has beat me down and has me looking and feeling like pre weight loss, pre pedo, pre jailed Subway Jared. Or like me circa 1990.
Thursday, 6:14 AM
On Wednesday I was filled with nervousness for a variety of reasons; the proud, yet daunting reality that my boy was turning 12, waiting for a response from our real estate agent concerning an offer Wifey and I made on a home, and I was attempting not to think about a job interview scheduled for Thursday morning. All of those things are good and/or potentially great things, but my mind can’t focus on too much change at once, so I knew I needed to get outside to blow the mental stink off of me.
That rear brake cable.
As expected, there has been little no time in the saddle since Saturday’s foray out onto the snirt roads. Most of that is due to doing a crap ton of other shiz that seemed more important than freezing my tits off out on some desolate frozen dirt road.
Let me start by saying that this is NOT a “race report.” Ever fattening forty-four year old guys who haven’t raced in nearly two years shouldn’t write race reports. However, this is my blog, and pretty much my ride journal, so to an extent it is a race report. Just don’t expect much “racing.”
As I mentioned in my last post, I decided to go against the advice of doctors, priests, lawyers, heads of state, relatives, my dog, and public opinion by signing up for my first bike race in over twenty months: The Fat Chance at Crystal Mountain. I thought it made perfect sense to come out of race retirement in the middle of winter and do a fat bike race.
I’ve done a shit ton of XC and endurance mountain bike races, a bunch of gravel races, a few cross races (which I’ve sort of blocked out), and one road race (which, like being touched “down there” by a shirtless ice cream truck man, I pretend never happened). However this would be only my second fat bike race. How bad could it be?
Bad. Not all bad, but at the end it was clear that there is still no cure for stupid.
From my records (records = this crap blog) it seems that it’s been well over a year and a half since I lined up for a race. I’ve gone to races, photographed races, talked about races, wrote about races and peed in the woods at races, but somehow I’ve managed to avoid racing for 1 year, 8 months, 25 days and counting. During that time I’ve gained weight, rode less, then rode more, still gained weight, rode anyway ’cause that’s just what I do and all but forgot what it’s like to put out any sort of race day effort. So, it makes perfect sense that I signed up for the Fat Chance at Crystal Mountain this coming Saturday.
I’m a moron.
Thursday morning after I got B off to school I found myself waffling on when and where to squeeze a ride in, or if I wanted to at all. I should really do that second strength training session of the week, and conditions aren’t that ideal right now with many of the snirt roads being covered with every imaginable form of winter: ice, snow, slush, mud, water, dead squirrels, etc., etc. But with rain in the forecast, which will undoubtedly make the dirt and snow (snirt) into miles and miles of gritty chilled diarrhea, I figured I’d better roll while the rolling’s good.
The other day while riding along talking with friends on the New Year’s Day group ride, many folks (myself included) were talking about how the dawn of the fat bike has made riding our trainers all but a thing of the past. So far this fall/early winter I have spent a whopping four minutes on the trainer. I tried, but I just couldn’t do it. When forced indoors for physical activities I’ve been more than content with running intervals and jogging on the treadmill and strength training. You just can’t beat the mental rub and a tug of riding your bike outside, no matter what the weather, and I wasn’t going to sully that feeling with time spent pedaling and going nowhere for no reason.
Then yesterday happened.
The first day and ride of 2016 was so good I wanted to see if I could top it on the second.
I didn’t.
Things were swell on the second, but it wasn’t like the first. It never is.
