Here is my first effort at a Podcast. Enjoy. For more information on the song opening the cast please visit Alison Kramer’s site.

Also, there is something wrong with the server hosting my site. Things are VERY slow. The hosting company says that it may take a week to fix the problem. Sorry. Thanks for your patience.

The podcast is about 6 minutes long.

 

 Book Woman One [6:13m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

For those of you here in NC–did you see the article in Wednesday’s N&O about the guy in Durham training for PBP?  It was a great piece.  My daughter was funny that morning, and, as usual, alarmingly astute.  When I went in to wake her up, I was just chatting away, and I told her that there was a big long article in the paper about a man in Durham training for PBP.  First words out of her mouth that morning:  “Oh good.  Now maybe when you say you’re going to PBP, someone will know what you’re talking about.”

I didn’t point out to her that she’s the one who expects people to know; I always just say I’m training for a crazy long bike ride.  If she’s around, she chimes in with “It’s PBP,” and then is perplexed when the other person ignores her.

I can’t complain–it’s kind of nice to have a child who’s proud of me (puberty looms, at which point I’ll be the most embarrassing mother ever!).

Off for the frostbite ride now; it’s currently 36 degrees, so let’s hope that name isn’t too prescient.

Today felt like I had been released from prison. Admittedly, I’ve never actually BEEN released from prison, so maybe it wasn’t quite that good, but it was up there. The sun shone all day, the high was something like 66 degrees, and I even managed to sneak in a bike ride. Sort of.

I spent most of the day painting, gazing longingly out the windows, but then I got to a stopping point, threw on my bike clothes, and headed out. As I was putting air in my front tire, the valve tore off the tube. Mr. Helpful was inside, so I stood there for a second, torn about what to do next, but then I was a good girl, and changed the tube (actually, I opened the door to the kitchen and yelled inside that I had a flat tire. My son laughed, but luckily no one else heard–no one came running to help, anyway). First, though, I decided I shouldn’t use a tube from my saddle bag, so I had to rummage in a bin to find another one. As I was doing that, I realized that we have probably 15 tubes of various sizes in various storage containers, so I decided to pull them all out, so that I can sort through them later and organize them somehow. In my typically sensible fashion, I started piling tubes, frame pumps, and CO2 dispenser/cartridges on the hood of my car. We have quite a collection.

I finally got around to installing one of the tubes on my bike, which took about 15 minutes, because it popped out in one spot and I refused to pull the whole tire off and start over, and instead rubbed all the skin off my right thumb shoving the tube up under the bead. Finally got it on, then decided to practice using CO2, since I had all those cartridges out anyway. The good news is, we now have fewer cartridges lying around. I blew threw three in no time, and didn’t manage to get a single molecule of anything into the tire. So I gave up and used my floor pump. I had to release the air and start over three or four times because of the tube bulging in spots, but the whole thing finally got seated, and just as I was finishing up, Mr. Helpful wandered out to the driveway, surprised that I was “back already.” Hah!

Anyway, I finally got onto the bike and actually rode it. Not as far as I had intended, but it was good enough. Get this–I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved jersey! Wheee! Even with the grease and the skinned thumb and–gasp!–broken fingernail, it was a very happy-making ride.

Two other points: the silver lining of the tire-changing detour was that I found the tiny red box full of tiny little screwdrivers that’s been missing for weeks. The day of my 80-mile ride I decided I needed to install a new rear light (long story–my good one got lost just before/during CNC, so I’ve been carrying my back-up clip-on in my saddlebag for emergencies, but it’s hard to attach, so I bought a more permanent one, but haven’t installed it yet . . .), but squandered half an hour of riding time looking for those screwdrivers. The light’s not very helpful if you can’t get it open to put the batteries in, so I just left it in the kitchen and rode with the back-up again. The new light has been lying on the counter ever since, reproaching me for not being more aggressive about finding the screwdrivers. But today I found them! So now the little box of screwdrivers is sitting on the counter with the still-unassembled light, waiting to reproach me every time I walk into the kitchen. I have a solution to that problem. The weather’s supposed to be great for the next few days–I’ll just skip the kitchen, and ride instead!

Second other point: Brevet week starts 3 months from today. PBP starts 6 months from today. Just thought I’d mention it.

ps–I forgot about the assorted paraphernalia on the hood of my car until I went racing out the door around 6:30 to pick my daughter up. So I had to bundle it all up and shove it somewhere out of the way. Hmmm . . .

I think I’ve mentioned RBR on this blog already, but I just need to reiterate that I love these guys.  I have a Premium Site membership, which is always the first place I look when I need to search for info on some specific cycling topic, and I also get their weekly e-newsletter.  The newsletter often has tips and advice that I didn’t even realize I needed.

I was being lazy this morning and catching up on the last couple of newsletters that have been sitting in my email box, and I came across a tip from Fred that I need to remember and USE:  if you’re trying to increase your speed on a century ride (well, DUH!  who isn’t?!), you should include speed work not just as a separate type of training ride, but incorporate it into your long rides as well.  Fred suggests basically a 10-30 second sprint every 15 minutes.

Since I drink and eat on a quarter-hour schedule, it should be pretty simple to work some short sprints into my rotation (the system is 6 swallows of accelerade on the quarter-hour, alternating with water on the in-between quarters; ie, 7 minutes after the hour, 22 minutes, so on–yes, it’s a little OCD, but it gets the fuel where it needs to be; plus food with the water at least once an hour).  Plus it’s another thing to keep track of, which keeps the brain focused on cycling instead of getting sucked into a whirlpool of misery.  The trick, ultimately, will be to train my head to stay on track when I’m sleep deprived and way beyond my physical limits, but that’s a subject for another post.

Anyway, this is a public reminder to myself to add in those regular hard efforts on my next long ride (which might not be for a few days; I’m quite stiff this morning). 

Saturday, February 24th–first century of the season.  It’s an annual event called the Frostbite Tour, organized by my friend Mike Dayton; I’ve ridden it the last several years, but never managed to do the whole 100 miles.  I’m lobbying for decent weather–if any of you can pull some strings on that front, feel free . . .  The ride, fyi, is also a fundraiser for esophogeal cancer research, in memory of a friend of Mike’s who died several years ago. 

I’m just going to go ahead and say this up front–I’m way tired, so I apologize if this post is boring.

They said on the news over the weekend that today was going to be a break in the cold weather, getting into the upper 50s, maybe even 60 degrees.  I was moping that I couldn’t ride, because I had a dentist appointment today, when Mr. Helpful very helpfully pointed out that I could ride TO the dentist’s office.  He even volunteered to retrieve the nine-year-old from school, take her back to his office for a while, then take her to Tae Kwon Do.  Can’t beat that offer, so last night I scrambled around washing gear and mixing drinks and plotting a route that would get me to the dentist at 11:45.

Amazingly, it all worked (I often assume that spontaneous things won’t work out–it’s only my fussing over events that makes them come off like they’re supposed to–I used to have a friend who said she was quite certain that it was her anxiety that kept the plane in the sky, and a flight to Tokyo was an awfully long way to have to worry it airborne . . .).  I got to the dentist right when I was supposed to, and inhaled a sandwich while peeling off some of my layers and waiting to be called to the exam room.  I think I can safely say that they’ve never had a patient stop in for a cleaning in the middle of a 90 mile bike ride before; they all seemed a bit  . . . umm . . . befuddled.  Plus my teeth were full of peanut butter; felt kind of bad about that.  Oh well.  One must use one’s time wisely; if all I could do while sitting with my mouth open was digest, then I intended to do just that.  Anyway, after that hour-long break, I got back on the bike, with shiny clean teeth.

 Anyway, my route from there was problematic.   I wound my way all through Preston and Preston Village, which was fun–I ogled the great huge beautiful houses that looked out on the golf course, and concluded that it would actually bother me to look out every day on that great expanse of dried-up brown winter grass.  I’m quite content looking out on my great expanse of brown fence, thank you very much.  But past Preston, things got dicey.  That whole area has grown so much, and is changing so rapidly, that even finding an accurate map is difficult.  So I made one wrong turn (and found the back entrance to Green Hope High School, as well as the Cary Tennis Center, which I happen to know has a HEATED bathroom–these are the useful tidbits that clutter up my brain), and then made a second, and much more challenging, wrong turn.  The second was on Yates Store Road.  I went left, thinking I could then make a left onto Green Level Church Road, but found myself grinding up that desperately steep hill that I haven’t been up in 4 years.  Construction trucks kept barrelling past me, scaring the dickens out of me.  I went pretty far after the hill and didn’t find the dead-end/turn that I was looking for, so I concluded I had gone the wrong way, so I went back (down the steep hill, and up the other side, still playing chicken with the scary-big dumpster trucks) and further, and then came up on the WRONG dead end–the road just stopped at a slag heap.  Where an 18-wheeler was trying to turn around.  More playing chicken.

 Anyway, at that point, I just bagged trying to follow this route I thought I had figured out, and backtracked to High House Road.  No biggie, and I still managed to get home (for a pit stop) right at 60 miles.  Perfect.  And now I know which way to go on Yates Store Road–up the hill.

The only other excitement on my ride was when, at 80 miles, I was passing a gas station at the intersection of Old South and Penny, and someone hollered to me from the parking lot–it was my brother and two of my nieces.  They are enough to brighten any day, and seeing them when I was really tired but still had ten miles to go–that was a pick-me-up.  In a pick-up!  Tee hee!  Oh dear.  I do get a bit punchy when I’m tired.

Anyway, the upshot of all that is that I’ve now done my long ride for the week.  I know I don’t usually go long on Monday, but sometimes you have to carpe diem–or at least carpe the decent weather.  I’m especially pleased with today’s ride, since I just did 80 miles on Friday, so I’m beginning to shorten the recovery window.  Very soon I’m going to need to be doing long rides on consecutive days.

In the meantime,  it’s 9:15, the children are in bed, and I basically exercised all day today, so I’m going to go veg out with some mindless television before my (early) bedtime. 

 ps–if you see me around and about tomorrow, remind me to stop off at the dentist’s office–I left a bundle of clothes there when I peeled off those layers.  They probably won’t want to keep those too long . . .

If you are planning to ride 80 miles, and it’s 35 degrees when you leave the house, and 38 when you return (way too many hours later), here’s what you should wear:

  sports bra:  I suppose guys could delete this layer, but frankly, they might want to consider it, just for insulation purposes–but don’t mention it to anyone!

 a long sleeved base layer–I like a silky-soft wicking V-neck that I got from REI, but I’ve also been known to wear Patagonia’s midweight capilene

bike shorts (liberally doused with chamois butter–I was trying to train myself to go without, but 60 miles seems to be the upper limit of what my butt can tolerate unlubricated)

tights–mine are a plain sugoi model, but I think I need to upgrade to an insulated or fleece-lined version.  Before my next cold ride.

long-sleeved jersey, sort of midweight, with a high neck

a jacket of some sort:  I’ve been wearing a fleece-lined, slightly baggy pullover one that actually belongs to Mr. Helpful.  It’s probably somewhat akin to wearing a parachute, but it’s the perfect weight and warmth, so it’s working for me.

the really thick woolly-bull smartwool socks

mountain bike shoes

over-the-ankle neoprene booties

pearl izumi amfib gloves

a headsweats headband, for sweat absorption

balaclava

fleece-lined knee warmers over the tights, although I haven’t yet found a way to keep them from constantly slipping down (I consider the frequent tugging and re-adjusting to be yet another way to keep my mind occupied on an all-day ride)

large cycling sunglasses (the bigger, the better–to keep the eyeballs from feeling like they’re freezing)

mycoal chemical heat packs:  one in the bottom of each shoe, and one mega-sized one stuck to the front of the base layer, just above the belly button

Luckily, tomorrow’s supposed to be warmer.  It’s a good thing.  I’m aiming for 90 miles.

I figured “mucus production” would not be a good title for a blog post, so I restrained myself. But that’s what’s on my mind, so if you’re squeamish, feel free to just skip this post.

Event of the day: 65 miles; 35 degrees at the start, 45 at the end. Just a tad bit chilly.

But here’s the real problem–I have become a mucus factory. It started in October, with a tiny little dry hacking cough. I just ignored it, assuming it was allergies. Then I assumed it was residual junk from CNC. Then I had the whole Rocky Mntn. thing, so the cough was the least of my concerns. By the beginning of December it was getting worse, and by the beginning of January it was driving me crazy and starting to keep me awake at night. Still just a shallow, dry, hacky thing, but then I started having those spasmodic coughing fits that are immediately preceded by a ferocious itch in the throat–you know the kind where you turn purple and tears run down your cheeks? That kind.

So I went to the doctor, who said it was likely one of three things; one was allergies, one was asthma, and the third was reflux. She was voting for allergies, and said I should take some Sudafed to dry things out, and start doing daily nasal lavage. Washing out my sinuses. I actually already owned a Neti pot, so the idea was not completely bizarre. She recommended a different system, though, so I started using this NeilMed bottle that I use to squirt saline up my nose (it’s actually kind of interesting–it feels slightly like you’re drowning, and then water randomly drips out of your nose for an hour or so afterward.)

And then there’s the Sudafed issue. I started off taking it twice a day, and was thrilled that the cough stopped within a few days. Then I ran out of Sudafed, and had to buy a second box. The pharmacy assistant at the Harris-Teeter noted that I was already on “the list” because of the box that I had bought the week before, but she let me have the second box. When that ran out, I went to Target for a third box. I’m beginning to wonder a) how long one can take Sudafed without ramifications (I’ve backed off to once a day), and b) how many boxes one can buy before the drugstores start communicating and officials decide I’m doing something illicit. It’s a bit alarming, having to strategize one’s cold-medicine purchases.

In the meantime, I’m still producing incredible quantities of mucus. My allergies are just giving me fits this winter. I do allergy shots once a week, and I’ve been stuck at the same dose for several weeks now, because I’m reacting so strongly that I can’t increase. And riding the bike is a nightmare. I’ve become the queen of the snot-rocket. It took some practice–I’ve learned that I have to angle my head just right, or else it flies back up onto my sunglasses. I came home a couple of times looking like snails had been wandering aimlessly across my face.

My eyes are having trouble, too. I finished riding at about 4 this afternoon, and it’s now 9:30. My eyes are still swollen and horribly bloodshot, and they feel like they’re full of sand. I had to take my contacts out as soon as I got home.

And every time I ride, the darned cough comes back. I’ll take some more Sudafed in the morning, and it’ll go away, but for tonight, I’m coughing and dripping and itchy and bloodshot.

Another succesful ride. Pretty, too.

I have a question.  I read a weekly e-newsletter from the guys at RBR, Ed and Fred, whom I adore, and this is what perplexes me.  I’ve read a lot of their material on winter riding, and they say repeatedly that winter is not a good time for speed work; that you can’t really do all-out hard efforts in cold weather.

What I want to know is–why not?  Now, interestingly, my last couple of long rides have been mind-numbingly slow.  Molasses in (ready for it?!) January kind-of-slow.  My assumption is that I’m slowing down because I’m turning into a great huge sloth, but the RBR tidbit keeps popping into my head, and making me wonder whether perhaps there’s some force other than athletic inability at work.  Is it because I’m wearing so much more gear in winter?  I am truly wearing a lot of gear.  I’ve been borrowing a fuzzy warm fleece pullover from Mr. Helpful, and it’s a bit big on me–maybe it’s causing drag?  Or maybe the booties, or the balaclava?  (An aside–a balaclava day is not the time to start eating PB&J sandwiches on a ride–I might as well have been riding around with my nose stuck inside the peanut butter jar for 3 hours.)

Maybe it’s that the cold air in my lungs makes it impossible for me to work to capacity.  Or maybe muscles can’t work as hard because they can’t get warmed up.  I don’t know.  Anyone out there understand this phenomenon?  I’d love to know that it’s not just me.
Another aside–you cyclists reading this should check out RBR, if you haven’t already.  Ed Pavelka used to live in Chapel Hill; he rode our local brevet series in 2003.  I never actually met him, even though we were on the same rides–I saw him once, zipping back toward the finish.  I was still slogging toward the turn-around.  But I saw him; he was definitely there.  He has since moved to Pennsylvania, and I can only assume he’ll qualify at some other series this year.  But I still read the newsletter religiously, and we’re Premium site members.  It’s a huge wealth of information for cyclists, plus they’re good writers (which I always appreciate).

Tomorrow’s another chilly one–at least it won’t be snowing!