Poetry for Short Days and Sub-Zero Temps

one more day on the trainer
and i may go insaner.

dr. cherry's work, at 3 months

it's been nearly three months since dr. ken cherry of UVA installed Pipes 2.0 via a patch of my left external iliac artery & an inguinal release. rode 60miles sunday, ran 10 hilly ones yesterday and flirted with low 6's pace his morning: nary a squeak of claudication. i can run sub-7 pace comfortably now when before surgery my left side from hip flexor to calf would shut down at 7:40 from lack of blood.

now i don't wanna jump to any Rash conclusions, but my studies would indicate that i was broke, cherry fixed me, and that his counterpart at christiana care who saw no stenoses or vascular irregularities in my arteriogram and concluded "maybe at the age of 40 your vessels don't dilate like they used to" was full of shit. but i could be wrong.

regardless, it is good to be moving again, and moving w/o having to mitigate constantly migrating pain. no objectives or focus for the upcoming season -- have yet to consult the Oracle -- but there's short-course du nats in april (eep), in may a national-caliber tri (my favorite race) and in june a half-ironman that's also a qualifier for Kona. maybe that's focus after all.

for now it's just base base base, with perhaps some lifting injected here & there if i can talk EZ into spotting me on squats over & over & over again. oh seemple simon and eez pieman...

LC du worlds, or Accomplishing the Preposterous

a month ago i was moaning to fatmammycat about the preposterous conceit of running 16miles at worlds when i could barely manage 3 on the treadmill. preposterous is just another fancy arsed word for ludicrous - she responded - and we KNOW ludicrous is easily bitch slapped senseless when up against reservoir deep. she was right.

long course du worlds
18k run – 78k bike – 9k run

if you're a cyclist, you can't do much better than belgium. there are usually smooth, glass-free dedicated bike lanes and when there aren't, drivers yield to you instead of firing invective and anything else they can find behind the passenger seat.

and the belgians know how to put on a race. the day before worlds, the local organisers treated us to an escorted pre-ride of a bike course that zigged and zagged through downtown geel before shooting back and forth between a couple roundabouts. we were in a rolling enclosure the entire time, protected by motos that would stop traffic along sidestreets, drop back behind and then zoom to the next intersection in a finely-coordinated dance. i felt like i was in the Tour. and nobody crashed or made any bone-headed moves. if we'd been triathletes there'd have been bodies all over the road.

one thing the race organisers couldn't do was control the weather, and when i woke before dawn on race-day morning a fine mist was falling from the sky, and it continued to fall off & on over the next 6 hours, just enough to keep the roads wet and the corners & cobbles slightly treacherous. but at least it wasn't hot!

after a short warmup i hit the loo for one final time and had a panic moment when i emerged to find transition empty and the start not where i thought it was. but it's not a proper race unless you almost miss the start, and once i was there standing behind the line cares and anxieties vanished. racing is the reward for all the BTW workouts, the packing, the visualising of bike in's and run out's, the 8th nervous poo; and once you're on the start line, you can relax because the hard stuff's done. fisch and the Oracle had laid out my race strategy so i didn't even have to think, just execute.

the first run was 4 laps of a 4.5k course that offered a couple out & backs so you could track how many people were in front of you -- and there were a LOT. the women's field wasn't big – about 50 – and half of them were ahead of me after the first 5k. the 40+ men had started 2 minutes ahead, and the fields began to mix halfway in. oh great - my pal bob had lamented before the race - i've got 2 minutes before all the estrogen in the world comes up my ass.

i ran with a couple other Team USA women for the first 2 laps because they were running a relaxed, loose pace. whatever you give up on the first run will more than come back to you on the second – the Oracle said – long course is very forgiving of a slow start. every couple k's i did a reality check to make sure i wasn't running 10min miles and looked for my teammate rich from NC, because his big happy grin reminded me how very cool it was just to be here in the first place.

i ran up on a german dude in a skinsuit and pulled alongside to pass. he was having none of this, however, and sped up a little. klaus the german was tall, and we were turning into a windy section, so i slotted behind and nestled in his draft. klaus was awesome. everytime i thought we were going a little too slow i'd run abreast of him and he'd speed up again. klaus was very accommodating, and he pulled me almost all the way to a clump of women just ahead. hooray for klaus.

in T1 i sacrificed some time stretching a couple talkative ITBs and then took off on the bike. the course was never boring: there was always something to do, like corner on cobblestones, wend your way through the feedzone and exploding waterbottles, and finesse a 180 on a 2-lane highway. at race pace, that 180 was an entirely different animal from the pre-ride, and on the first of the 4 laps i had to unclip and tap my way around it. oopsie! - i sang to a course marshal who seemed disappointed by the lack of drama. the second time around that 180 i was more bold, but the 3rd time i creeeeeeeeept around it like the bike and i were made of fine china. there was someone hot on my wheel as i came into the turn, someone who had to stutter to a crawl when i slowed down to minus-70mph inching around the barricade. when we straightened out the suffering soul shot by on my left – none other than klaus! oh, how he must hate my very bones.

the bike felt good, however, and i passed some women out there so i knew i was making up time. in my head were many voices: fisch, the Oracle, slick rik, fatmammycat and eileen the YMCA lifeguard who oversaw my snail-toils in the deep-end with the AquaJogger. you're going to do great, i just know it – she'd declared, as though all my bones were properly knit together. this host of voices nearly drowned out the irish washerwoman jig on the mental jukebox but not quite.

in T2 i nearly toppled over because my legs were so racked from the bike, but i decided to go with my flats instead of the trainers i took out for the first run. might as well give that mending metatarsal a test! i craved sugar too, so i rifled through my transition rucksack for a bag of jelly beans (Brachs, brah), stuffed them in my singlet pocket and shuffled into the second run. my feet felt like inanimate blocks, and i ran like frankenstein... but at least i had jelly beans. i rummaged in my pocket, cellophane snapping so loudly that a dude ahead of me flinched. i stuffed a handful in my mouth, oh the licorice ones are the BEST, just as the man turned around to see what all the commotion was about. i grinned at him, a big black goofy grin, and he shuddered and turned back around. jelly beans are great, see, because you can mash them to the roof of your mouth where they'll stay until the engine room calls for a little more gas, and you swirl your tongue up there and get some.

after a couple minutes the things at the ends of my legs started to feel like feet again... and look, here's klaus! hello klaus, how happy you must be to see me. would you like some jelly beans? no?? klaus did not have a good second run. i hope this is not because i bullied him too much in the first, being a chick and all.

i caught a couple more women and from the out & backs determined there were about 5 more ahead of me as i neared the finish. what i didn't know was that i was first in my age group until i crossed the line and the PA announced me a world champion. way to go, delaware! - deepak called from the stands and high-fived me as i headed toward the post-race eats, difficult to get down because of the shit-eating grin on my face.

and thus began a 10 or 12hr "recovery" period which FMC has already described. 'tis good to have friends.

that bus with your name on it

this story about 3 local cyclists arrived in my inbox this morning. names have been changed.

it's reason to:
1) hug your friends
2) throw over your fears and strike up a conversation with that person you think you've no business approaching
3) drink that bottle of rioja you've been saving for the "right" time
4) if something's making you unhappy, change it

Melanie, Les and I were heading south when we were hit. Melanie and Les were planning on doing a hundred miles, while I was aiming to be back around 10. Because those guys were doing a lot more than me, I told Les I would pull along at a moderate pace.

I was in the front with Les and Melanie single file behind me (not sure who was directly behind me). As is my wont -- and much to the dismay of many in this group -- I was far to the right. I was approaching the intersection, past the entrance to the picnic park, along the guard rail section of the road, when I noticed a mini van coming from the opposite direction had crossed the double yellow line aiming for us. What happened next and what went though my head probably took less than a second. My first thought was that the driver would correct this, as I had seen this before. Instinctively, I moved even closer to the right, even though I was almost on the white line as it was, and there was precious little room left. I then noticed that the driver was not taking any corrective action. My second thought was that the driver was intentionally aiming for us, that is, playing chicken.

Contemporaneously with my second thought, or perhaps, milliseconds later, he hit me. At this point I was abreast of the rear of the van. I suspect that my left arm, which is fairly swollen but not cut, hit the very back of the van. I did not go down. The next thing I heard was the driver slamming into Melanie and Les. Ultimately, his vehicle continued along the guard rail, across the entrance to the picnic park and came to rest - disabled - on the other side of the picnic park entrance. I stopped and while still on the bike turned my head back. Both Melanie and Les had been launched over the guard rail and were lying motionless down the embankment perhaps 20 to 30 feet from the road and 10 or more feet below the surface of the road. I dismounted, turned and began to run backwards as fast as I could. The severity of this accident hit me like thunder and lightning: Seeing them at the bottom of the embankment that far away from where they had been, I knew was severe; registering the severity and calling 911 took a few seconds. I stopped got my phone out of the seat bag and called 911 while coming to a good point to jump over the guard rail and down the embankment.

At some point, I believe perhaps before I jumped the guard rail I became cognizant of Melanie's painful cries. I assumed Les, still motionless, was dead. There were some people either already with Melanie or running toward her. I knew I had to get to Les and give him CPR as I saw no one headed in his direction, and as I went toward him I yelled at the people with Melanie to give her CPR if she needed it. When I got to Les, I discovered he was breathing and amazingly did not appear to be in shock. His eyes were fluttering and I truly did not believe he was going to make it. At about this same time, while talking to him and attempting to keep eye contact and keep him alert, I noticed gaping holes in his head and thigh that were bleeding profusely. My next thought was that he would bleed to death. The head wound looked to me like it went through the skull. At this point, people began popping out of no where and I was handed some t-shirts to put pressure on his wounds. One of these persons was an EMT and Nurse who is a full time employee at the picnic park. He was on the scene quickly. He and the other EMTs that attended to Melanie and Les were absolutely professional. Doing their job without hesitation; calm, cool and collected. I wanted to go over to Melanie, so I asked someone near by to take over the keeping-pressure-on-the-wound duty and without blinking an eye whoever it was did so. I went over to Melanie who was clearly in shock and a great deal of pain. Her only visual external injury was a gaping leg wound; surprisingly it was not bleeding like Les's, but someone had pressure on it. At first, she did not recognize me, but then muttered my name, which gave me some comfort. The EMTs were arriving by this time and shortly thereafter two separate helicopters. I don't know how long it took before both Melanie and Les were airborne, but it seemed like a long time.

There are few accidents that one can look back on and come to the conclusion that absolutely nothing could have been done differently to avoid it or mitigate its consequences. This is one of those few. Les and Melanie were sitting ducks. They were riding on the right side of the road with a guard rail to their right. They weren't in the middle of the road; they weren't on the wrong side of the road; they didn't run a stop sign or red light. They were obeying all traffic laws. They simply had no escape route for a driver so blatantly negligent. Even if their last thought before being run down was to pull to the left, I doubt that would have helped. Once the mini van hit the guard rail, it was guided by the rail to its resting point and, in the process, taking anything in its path, i.e., the south bound lane, with it.

I, like some of you, have been riding these roads on and off for 30-35 years. I have never had a car come this close to me before or been involved in an accident like this. Although I don't believe that this is less likely or more likely to happen in the future, one thing is for sure: The roads we ride are far more crowded every day and drivers have far more distractions such as cell phones, hand held devices, etc., which do in-fact, in both cases, increase the probability of these types of accidents. That was the case here as the young, inexperienced 19 year-old driver told me as I yelled at him "What the f__K were you doing?" He said he was not paying attention as he was attempting to pickup a dropped bottle in his car. It is clear that he did not have his eyes on the road as he took no evasive maneuvers. The arc of the path his van took never altered.

alternatives to running, pt2

foot still hurts; can't run; bailing on next weekend's half-ironman.
so i'm riding more -- which isn't so bad: i have E and laf and options for group rides justabout every day of the week. but cycling by nature offers challenges you won't encounter running trail through White Clay Creek SP.

- why is that man so angry? - i asked laf as we rode past a gesticulating driver waiting to turn onto rt 4 from the Taco Bell.
- i guess we kept him from making his turn.

so even though we're going with traffic -- ARE traffic -- señor Dodge Durango is pissed off because he had to wait 20sec to make his turn. WTFever. i don't engage with irate drivers because i am a big scairdycat, i mean i am a lover and not a fighter, but being as italian as risotto laf is both; and when the Durango roared by us, wheels squealing in protest and nearly clipping laf's shoulder, he sprinted to catch the vehicle at the red light 50yds up the road. i poodled along, prepared to call 911 should shots ring out. from my position of cowardice, i mean discretion, i could see words and spittle exchanged. when i caught up with laf his hackles were spiky and his face mottled with emotion.
- everything okay? - i asked insouciantly.
- you know what he said to me?!? he said 'my daughter has a bike like that.'
- THAT'S what he was shouting? that his daughter has a bike like yours?
i thought of TuesNiteTrack's john, whose daughter sally kicks my ass over any triathlon course, long or short. i don't know what kind of bike she rides, but if it's a fuji like mine and laf's, my chest would puff out if john said that to me. i'd feel kinda bad-ass.
- well that's cool - i pronounced, wonderingly. people are funny.
laf looked at me skeptically.
- he had a 4-year old girl sitting in the back seat. he was saying SHE had a bike like mine.
- that little girl has a fuji?
he sighed.
- it was an INSULT, finn. like i was riding a little girl's bike.
my brow furrowed.
- really?
- really.
- hmm, i still think i would have said 'thank you.' after all, you have a very nice bike.
- you keep assuming people are like you. they're not.

and that's a good thing. because if they were, weddings would never be on time, no one would do taxes and there would be constant shortages of jelly beans. there would be no floaters in the crapper and no marinated carrots, and no one would have heard of nora roberts.

Faith

countdown to short-course du worlds qualifiers: 6 days
status of legs: shit

so muhammed went to the mountain.

[finn]
just out of curiosity, did your legs ever feel like crap for a week? if so, how did you deal mentally/physically?

being Perfect, the Oracle was probably never this pathetic, but i am fed up.

[the Oracle]
The answer is: Yes. I was trying to think up a nice, technical answer for you on how to deal. I can't. How about just "get over it."

he then prescribed intervals on the bike today, and 400s at the track tomorrow. left to mine own devices, i'd be on the sofa from now 'til sunday demanding peeled grapes from laf, but this season is all about changing the pitch up. and faith.

I know that's not what you want to hear, but you've been working hard, and the hard work will show on Sunday not yesterday, not today, probably not tomorrow. The feeling will go away on Sunday when the gun goes off.

hurrrrr. we'll see about that.

so i did. ask.

[finn]
i just looked at results from powerman alabama and got myself into a State. there is no way i can run that fast -- sub 6?? but i am not dashing to you to cry -- much -- because i know you've better things to do and i'm not 5 years old.

[the Oracle]
I only looked at this quickly, and don’t understand why you’re in a “state”. Who ran sub 6’s? The way I see it, you would have been 2rd overall (and there were several pros in the race). It’s hard to compare one course to another, especially when you don’t know the two courses, or the conditions on the day of the race. I’ll take a closer look when I have some more time, but give me an idea of what you’re concerned about.

[finn, tues AM]
i think the State's just a delicate mental condition brought on by two tectonic plates colliding in my mind: the idea of having low/no expectations (which i'm used to) and having higher, perhaps unrealistic expectations. that conflict may be the hardest thing about this season.

that's the complicated explanation. the simple one is that the powerman girls laid down some smokin' times for that first run.

[finn, tues PM]
even though my legs were decidely not-perky tonight, i still banged out 6x800, all under 3min with the help of my new friend Laconic David. yay.

[the Oracle]
Way to go!

By the way.....
"Kloner, Frank and Simpson placed first, second and third, respectively, despite being assessed a four-minute penalty for accidentally not running three-tenths of a mile of the run course. The penalty did not affect their order of finish but Kattouf wound up fifth behind Harris by five seconds."

That should make you feel better about those "smoking times". You'd be that fast too if you cut the freekin course. Another lesson learned...never trust the split times and distances of a duathlon.

Go get some rest and dream of gold.

FMC's right. having the Oracle is like having another heart.

going to long-course du worlds

LC worlds qualifier
6 april, north carolina
8k run - 53k bike - 8k run

in early april i'm usually emerging from hibernation, dusting off the tri bike and slouching into speedwork. this year the first race of the season was the regional qualifier for long course duathlon worlds this summer. who knows the strange ways of USA Triathlon? not i.

because of the rude beginning to the season, and because i'd like to step up the game this year, i appealed for coaching advice to someone whom i revere as much for his attitude as his storied athletic career. he graciously accepted and under this oracle's direction i have bitched, whined and wept over my top tube; but here it is april and i'm standing at the start of an A race feeling entitled to one of the top 2 slots in my age group that will send me to belgium in august. i feel entitled because i've done my homework and the Oracle and i have a Strategy. we didn't want to change too many things in my first race in 6 months, so the strategy is pretty simple: go hard and don't fuck up the transitions like i usually do.

8k run
the run course is flat and fast, if you're fast. i'm not. i'm safe, content to sit with the lead group of women, none of whom i know because i don't race this far from home. i recognised only 1 name on the pre-reg list -- Stacey R -- who's studly enough to be out of my league and coaches other studs. i peg the woman beside me as stacey based on body type and the fact that she chatters and chirps encouragement through the first half-mile. who talks that much during a race?? someone who's saving something for the bike, i now realise. but anyway.

a chick wearing compression socks that look suspiciously like arm warmers has had enough of the chatter, or maybe wants to win the race, because she shoots up the road at the 2 mile mark. no one else responds, so after a half-mile of indecision i do, and for the rest of the first run i linger in no man's land about 20sec back from her. she runs well, i note, but she doesn't have a cycling ass, so it will be interesting to see what she does on a bike.

into the transition zone... and so much for Strategy. i put my helmet on over the sunglasses on top of my head, i lose my balance trying to kick off my shoes and plant one foot in a puddle and the other in the helmet of the person next to me. i swear every time i enter a TZ i turn into a total moron.

i never thought anyone could have a slower transition than me unless they were maybe a beaver or reclining chair, but i make it outta there before compression-sock chick, and when i mount the bike i'm first F.

53K bike
how do you ride the beginning of a 32mi bike when you're in first place? good thing i don't have to worry about this for long! i'm toodling in my small ring when a tightly compact aero-human in a pointy helmet shoots by me like a bullet train. now SHE has a cycling ass. hmmmm - i strategise - i think it is time for snacks - and i am enjoying a tasty e-gel and accelerade when stacey rips by. let's chase her down! - she yells chirpingly while i gape at her, drooling gel. who talks that much during a race??? people who've got their shit together, maybe, because i don't. i can't get in a groove, the mental jukebox is skipping all over the place, and i've forgotten how to time-trial rolling courses.

i endeavor to keep stacey and aerogirl in sight, but i'm struggling and at mile 16 they're small specks. like insects. i am watching all the insects march along... and then i have my song. my legs feel better -- or maybe we've left the worst of the rollers behind -- and by mile 20 i've gained some ground on aerogirl, but stacey's still way out there. when another woman passes me i use her as motivation to leave aerogirl behind. the woman in front of me wasn't part of the lead group of runners, so unless she was totally dogging the first run i should be able to take her in the second. still, the voice of the Oracle's there telling me every second i make up in the bike is one i don't have to make up in the run, so i'm at her heels coming into transition.

8k run
T2's smoother: the only malfunction i have is trying to put on two left shoes. the Oracle suggested 2 pairs of flats; what he neglected to mention to the moron is that they should not look exactly the same. aerogirl and i leave the TZ at the same time, stacey's 2min up the road with second place 20sec ahead of me. i know second's within reach; i don't know about stacey.

i gain on second slowly and pass her in the first mile. i can't make up time on stacey, though. she's too good, too experienced; and i finish 1:37 back from her, roughly a minute of that lost in transition.

this is going to be easy - said the Oracle afterward. there is no question that you can go A LOT faster.

there is work to be done.
and i am going to belgium.

countdown to worlds qualifier: 4 days

- where are you going? - D grumped when my watch chimed at 4:10 this morning.
- swimming.
his arm tightened like a boa.
- i thought you were laying off that until your race.
- no, that's *whiskey*. two different things.
- mmm. they're both vices.

'tis true, though -- the hooch is on the shelf 'til sun nite.** last night i knocked out one final hard ride, and between now and sunday's race it's ez street. what is ez street? i'm a grizzled veteran and i still don't know. so i approached the bench.

- I think you should do what you usually do the 3 days leading up to a race (I've changed your routine enough already, I don't want to mess too much with your lead-up to a race). Everything should be easy through race day. What do you usually do in the 3 days before races?
honesty is the best policy with The Oracle.
- what i usually do 3 days before a race is stop drinking whiskey and pray a lot, to a whole host of deities.
- That's a start. Also try doing some (4 to 6) 20 to 30 second pick-ups during your run(s) and 1 min pick ups on your ride(s).

then he gave me a bunch of hot tips for improving my transitions but i won't go into that because you'd be bored senseless and then i'd have to kill you.

- And Finn?
- yessir.
- Get to the race at least half an hour earlier than usual.

PAH. that's just crazy talk.

**wine ≠ hooch.

The Oracle is motivating

finally getting back into the training groove after a month flipped upside-down by 12days in scotland, an unplanned trip to baltimore and a flu that knocked me out for 5 days. feels good to be moving again.

but this Quality Over Quantity school of thought The Oracle subscribes to demands a deep stock of emotional fortitude, mental focus and blind faith, 3 things noticeably absent from Finn's Top 10 Strengths list, which includes things like Eating ice cream, Not folding laundry and Ignoring spills on the kitchen counter. also The Oracle subscribes to Pain, another foreign construct in my happy world of 12mi @ 8min/mile. yesterday it took me 6hours to screw up enough courage to get on the bike and grind out a BTW 20mi ride and 3mi run. 77min of PAIN. a small child sitting on a seesaw in his backyard saw my face during the run and then ran inside, his fat little arms flailing.

- is it normal to cry during these workouts? - i asked The Oracle - or am i just a big pussy.
i am sure The Oracle never cries. firstly, he is a dude, and second he is perfect.
- yes - he surprised me - crying is normal for that type of workout. You’ll cry when you stand on the top step of the podium listening to the national anthem too.

that is why i have the blind faith.

The Oracle is perspicacious

at his suggestion, sent The Oracle links to last year's race results and splits. this morning's response:

I looked at a few of these, but not all yet—I’m still forming my thoughts on them. These are pretty impressive results, but you definitely have potential to do better. In your opinion, which races went well and why and which didn’t and why (if you know the whys)?

Have you worked on speed through transition? I don’t think it affected any outcomes (maybe one), but I think you could gain about 35 to 45 seconds for no additional effort if you worked on it a bit.

Also, do you have a du before 4/6? No problem if you don’t, wanted to try something if you do.

The Oracle has bounded up the divinity charts; now he's right up there with rudy, a rung or two below dr. fellows. why?
1. IF The Oracle is not on crack, i have the potential to be even better.
2. my du biggest weakness is transitions and he glommed to that right away. i'd never considered transitions as possibly affecting an overall outcome, but it makes sense that they do.
3. The Oracle wants to "try something" before LC quals and i'll bet it is something different than challenging the devil to a fiddling contest (prizes being a Team USA berth or my soul) which is what *i* was planning to try, but maybe not.

then this:
I would try to get on a Lifecycle/Spin class or some kind of equivalent while you're on vacation. Two or three very high intensity workouts a week (even if it's only 30min to 1hr) will keep you from losing what the base got you and can help you for short-course. Do the biking before the scotch though.

"high intensity" makes me nervous. just typing it triggers a poo. i have to ask.
when you speak of "high intensity" how high is high? are you talking long-course pace, short-course pace or balls-to-the-wall?

his response:
B to W.

FUCK.

the irish blog awards, and The Oracle

first of all, congrats to fatmammycat and twenty major for representin (FMC in spirit) at the irish blog awards saturday nite. FMC took best post award; twenty snagged most humorous post and best blog overall. congrats to both, and to arseblog for winning best sport blog.

now, let us speak of sport, which i don't do often because i know that playing with dust particles is more exciting than reading about so-and-so's training plan, unless so-and-so happens to be your competition and if you are my competition then i have done this blogging thing wrong wrong all wrong.

to some people, having the right coach is the difference between an All-American season and one that ends in june when you're burnt out on the sofa reading Lucky magazine and eating Mallomars. finding a proper coach can be an arduous process, and having just gone through it myself i feel qualified to offer this guide called:

HOW TO FIND THE RIGHT MULTISPORT COACH FOR YOU:
A GUIDE FOR DUMBFUCKS ACCUSTOMED TO FLYING BY THE SEAT OF THEIR PANTS AND SETTING UP THEIR BIKES IN TRANSITION AS THE STARTGUN SOUNDS

step #1. undergo a rude awakening. finding out that qualifiers for long-course duathlon (run-bike-run) worlds are only a month away is very effective. attendant upon this awareness are these realities:

• - your first race of the season will be a worlds qualifier
• - your second race will be another worlds qualifier (for short course), 3 weeks later
• - you are just now coming off base. you have done NO speedwork.
  
• - you will be off the bike for 11 consecutive days this month
• - you are fucked
• - you need professional help
• - your bowels are hot, roiling liquid

2. while you're in the bathroom, text all your friends who have coaches and ask whether it's too late to get connected with them (it is MARCH, after all). don't discriminate, blanketbomb. beggars can't be choosers.

3. back at your desk, stare at your unresponsive phone and then recall a crazy pipedream idea E proposed on a ride. send an email to the 2004 elite world duathlon champion and throw yourself at his mercy, esplainin' you're seeking training & racing advice from someone who's:

• - experienced, and successful
  
• - okay training by feel not numbers, and not all caught up in heart-rate, wattages, V02 max or lactate-threshold. some people dig that shit. not me.
  
• - appreciative of the fact there's life outside training and racing. there's whisk(e)y, for one, and 65hr work weeks.
  
• - unlikely to get on your tits too bad if you spend a weekend in the boozetank or battling the Dog, instead of riding a bike.
  

4. SQUEEEEE when he says yes and run back to the bathroom.

so now, for the first time i have an Oracle to guide me and reveal certain truths -- like if i wish to place top 2 in my AG in carrboro, NC on april 6th i need to get on a bike as often as i can during those 11 days in scotland.

so, finn's world has undergone a seismic shift, and instead of lazily slouching toward a half-ironman in june we are rabbiting into race shape for april. huzzah! -and i need a nap.

countdown to richmond: 1+ week

in the bank is another week, such as it was. getting my ass out the door in the afternoon has become a mental battle, and many times the bike loses out to the hammock. during an ez ride, E attempted to console me.
- it's all just polishing, right? i mean, you're talking about workouts that will give you a fraction of a degree of improvement.
- i suppose.
- really, it's the hours you put in a month ago that are going to help you out in richmond.
an awkward silence ensues.
- you mean the hours i racked up in maine.
- with the gin. yeah, those.

we sensibly abandoned this subject for a discussion about the top-speed of armadillos and whether or not they're capable of "scampering." E says to scamper all you need is legs, while i argued to afford scamperability there has to be a level of spinal flexibility, which your average armadillo don't got. clearly this calls for more research, pref performed on a beach in st. john with a mojito in one hand and iphone in t'other.

this week i eeked out only one quality workout, a greg watson special [cos i figure who better to (try to) emulate than the duathon world champ several times over]; to wit:
warm up - run 2.5 miles - ride 5 miles - run 2.5 - ride 5 - run 2.5 - cooldown.
this workout's supposed to be done at race pace. it wasn't, but it was done. period.

when i got on the bike, however, i was warmed-up from the run, so i bombed the descent on my twisty, rough road that may resemble parts of the purportedly technical, potholed richmond bike course. as i dodged potholes and shot tangents i thought if this is what richmond's like, the bike will be a blast. hills, tight turns and road challenges may give me a leg up over the Tiny People... unless upon meeting the course's bumps and grates the Tiny People fling their water bottles or Tiny Bodies in front of me, in which case we're all fucked.

so.
it is friday. Eat, drink, and be merry / For tomorrow we die.

countdown to richmond: 3 weeks

in the bank is another week's training, highlights of which were a track workout of 1200s and quarters at sub-5K pace; and hill intervals on the bike last night, followed by a tempo trail run on legs a bit tenderised by 6 miles on the treadmill that morning. an easy ride today, and easy brick tomorrow and maybe a race sunday will finish off the week. ordered my Team USA uniform, too.

hill intervals on the bike are never fun, even when you've got pantera's "Walk" stuck on the mental jukebox. there's no fluidity or zen, only hurt -- plus there's the burmese mountain dog that sits in wait on the hill cos he knows your stupid ass is gonna come up and go down, again & again, but at least you KNOW when he's coming, not like the Three JackRussells of the Apocalypse that pop up out of fucking nowhere.

but as fisch noted on tuesday, the suffering is timed and finite, and if you can get your mind on-board so it's working with you rather than against, the time does pass and you do get stronger. and when you're going head-to-head in richmond with some chick from germany, you can brew some confidence from the memory of this workout and the fact you got through it. a little pantera never hurts, either.

so here's phil, provin that his band iswas waaaaay better than zep ever was:



happy MFBT.

"Bring Your Bike to Work" day

- did you ride your bike to work today? - F asked.
- yeah, up I-95. it was a little dicey around the merge to 495 but i made it.
- really??
- NO, dumbass. i'm meeting a friend to ride after work and didn't want to leave my bike in the car. if it heats up too much the tubes pop.
- oh. hmmm. so, how much does a bike like that cost?
- more than you'd think.
- more than 500 bucks?
- more than 500 bucks.
- more than a grand?
- yes.
- a couple grand?
- more.
- that's crazy! i could go to walmart and get a Huffy for 300 bucks! actually, you can get one for $179; i checked when we were in maine. rust had already begun to filigree the handlebars and brakes, but what do you expect. F picked up my bike and hefted it experimentally.
- man, that weighs like 4 ounces!
- that's why it's more than 500 bucks.

as i climbed 3 flights of steps to the office this morning with my bike on one shoulder (it's more than 4oz, trust me), Lapple® tucked under arm and iphone in pocket, it occurred to me that i was carrying most of my worldly wealth. according to edmunds my laptop's worth more than my car... which gets me to wondering...

countdown to richmond - 1 month

one month.
that's 2 1/2 weeks of race-specific training & intensity, with a 10-day taper.

last week i felt like shit, leveled by such a deep fatigue that all i wanted to do when i got home from work was curl up on the sofa and nap... so i did. i wondered whether the chills i had were lyme disease or a low-grade fever. i wondered whether i will ever race well at worlds.

this week has been better. i went to the track tues nite for the first time in months. i ran quarters (3x[5x400m @ 5K pace w/100m recovery]) by myself because the only person close to my speed was AJ, and if i'd run with him our workout would have degenerated into a pissing contest from which it'd take me a week to recover. during our warmup i noticed he was running uncharacteristically creakily.
- what's YOUR problem.
- oh, i crashed at the race on saturday.
- again?!? - this is the same guy who rode into a goose and crashed on a training ride back in july and believe me, we haven't tired of mining that incident for snappy comments & rejoinders. a sudden realisation strikes. - oh jesus, AJ. of all the races to lay it down, you have to choose the race our CYCLING team puts on?!? - he's abashed, as well he should be.
- i know. and it was right out of transition, too. at the first corner - which means EVERYONE saw, and our multisport rep for being laughably bad bike handlers has been reestablished - but it wasn't my fault, really! there was a course marshal there saying look out for the puddle, but what he didn't mention was the big pothole the puddle was hiding. i hit that and flew out of the saddle.
- nice job, holmes. did anyone else hit this "pothole"?
- ummmm no... but hey, where were you? why didn't you race?
- sorry! have to pee!! - and i darted into the fieldhouse.

the quarters were neither fast nor slow, but they were dead-consistent (88-89 sec) and it felt good to open up. yesterday afternoon, after procrastinating for hours, i climbed on the bike for some 7min intervals which weren't as excruciating as they looked on paper. today LAF and i will do an easy hour-long brick and a week's training will be in the bank.

maybe i will make tollhouse cookies tonite.

talent vs. experience

rode the flats with the Penis Brigade last night, the lone female representin' among a bunch of burly-chested, hairy-legged macho dudes who require constant attention because you never know when one of them will miss the curl of a turn and ride right off the road. most of them ride for fun, not competition, so it's a refreshing change of pace. you better hope that none of your teammates see you on this ride - LAF said to me - you'd get so much shit. that's why i wear an old kit - i told him, and then watched paulie walnuts ride into somebody's backyard. but they're all mountain bikers so their saves are pretty good.

flatlands suck the life out of me, so when we hit summit bridge coming out of chesapeake city i got to the front and found wings, riding everyone except LAF off my wheel. summit's a long gradual incline, and if you find the right gear and rhythm you can really fly up it -- and if you're used to time-trialing, you crest the top and hold the effort steady, clicking through gears as you hit 30, 33, 35mph. it felt SO good -- smooth and fluid and simple.

- you're so talented - LAF said as he pulled alongside me.
- what?
- you didn't change position that whole time. you didn't move. - he means my shoulders & hips don't rock.
- that's not talent. that's hours in the saddle while your body figures out how to be more efficient. it's experience and laziness. why do any extra work?
- i guess. i always learn something when i ride with you.

it's all relative, isn't it. the next time i do the barksdale ride i will marvel at how L manages to stay with us when i would be off-the-back on the first hill if i were carrying those 30 extra pounds. but she's been riding for so long that she knows how to survive in a peleton. that said, it's also gratifying to have your "talents" called out.

i have fallen in love with swimming again too.

RTFM: Riding with Finn

if you are going to invite me on a 2-hour bicycle ride on a day when the heat index is well into triple digits, there are some things you should know:

-- you better have drunken enough. 3 miller lites the night before don't really count, even though they might as well have been water for all the good it did me.
-- i will ask if you want to "add on a couple miles" to the route you carefully laid out on MapMyRide. you should say NO.
-- if we meet one of my teammates on the road, you should not have a Festival of Penises to see who breaks first. chances are it will be me and i will hate you for having a penis in the first place.
-- i will suggest "why don't we take back roads. they'll be cooler." you should say NO.
-- that bottle on the shoulder you assume i see? i probably don't. you might wanna call it out.
-- it is normal for me to hum the same song for 3 hours.
-- there are real physiological factors behind the precept that women have better endurance. you may discover this for yourself around mile 40. then again, you should have drunken more.
-- if the ride ends up running 3 hours, if you bonk and need a gel from me, if you cramp on that steep fucker of a climb on hopkins, if you're late meeting your buddies at mcglynn's and you almost go into renal failure, you should be a good sport. as you were.

"car back"

the local cycling community's been rocked by news of another cycling fatality on the local highway that runs between delaware's beaches. a 18yo fell asleep at the wheel and plowed into a cyclist who'd stopped on the shoulder to fix his chain. that area's claimed a lot of cyclists -- dr. fellows was struck nearby -- because drivers are looking for cops, turnoffs to a friend's timeshare, kids crossing the road and hotties in bikinis in front of the Bottle & Cork. there's so much going on that a cyclist barely registers on the radar. especially if you're asleep at the wheel.

as a result, it's easy for cyclists to distrust and fear drivers; sometimes that distrust and fear ferments into agression. i've watched perfectly mellow people froth at the mouth and grow spiky points when confronted with a dickweed driver. case in point is my friend JB, a seasoned ex-pro worth considerable dinero i think, so dude's got a lot to lose by going up against something a ton or two bigger than him.

last week when JB and i were riding up THE ROAD I LIVE ON and a car behind us began laying on the horn, J pulled out and rode the center line so the driver couldn't pass us on the twisty, narrow road without taking the oncoming lane into a blind curve. the driver's reaction was... predictable and we were treated to a torrent of abuse when he finally passed us on a straight section.

-- you almost got to see JB in rare form – J boasted, his chest puffing with pride. if you'd tested him right then i bet his testosterone levels would have gotten him kicked out of the Tour. when something like that happens i like to get in the middle of the road, come to a complete stop and check my front brakes, rear brakes, saddlebag, spokes, everything. then i “discover” that my rear brakes are rubbing and wave gratefully at the driver (who's been seething behind me) and “thank” him for pointing out my brake issue.

- that's great, J. the next time that guy sees a lone rider on this road, he's gonna take out his frustrations from today. and chances are that lone rider will be me.

- oh, he won't be on this road again.

whatever, numbnuts. i'll be watching my back for a while.

monday afternoon, as a delightful blustery tailwind pushed me down Doe Run road, i sensed a car coming up behind me. it slowed and then motored beside me. i edged further away, shoulders braced for the impact of a beer bottle or stream of invectives, but when nothing came, i looked through the open passenger window at the driver, a burly bearded man in his 40s.

- hey – he said – i hope you get home before the thunderstorm. he smiled and then pulled away smoothly. when i rolled up the driveway 5min later, the sky was banding in shades of glowering gradients of black and gray, and 15minutes later the rain came sheeting down.

so, they're not all bad.

leipheimer beats contador...

...at least in BlogScope's Hot (HOT bzzzzt!!) Keywords tracking, as of, like, now. leipheimer's more requested than contador, barry bonds and... saturday??


Levi Leipheimer: more popular than Saturday.
bitchin camaro.