The Uphill Battle

... already visited the Fat Cyclist web site, you need to go visit there now.

I’ve realized something I love about bike racing, specifically time trials and mountain bike races: No one shares that experience with you, and when it’s over, you are the only one who has those memories.

I suppose that sounds selfish, but when I race, I do it knowing I won’t be able to do the experience justice afterward, no matter how detailed a story I tell.

Take this last weekend for example: I did the mountain bike portion of the Fourth Street Clinic Triathlon in Salt Lake City with my brother-in-law and his wife. Perhaps the funniest part of the story happened when Chard, my bro-in-law left to go to the poolside and his wife, we’ll call her Mrs. Chard, ran to the bathroom, leaving me with both of their children. When the kids looked around and realized I wasn’t their mom, the tears flowed freely. I’m sure I made for a pretty entertaining sight for Mrs. Chard—one exasperated brother standing in the transition area surrounded by bikes holding two bawling children trying to convince them their mother would come back for them sometime.

After she took the kids to go watch their dad swim, I got all prepped to take the timing chip into the bike course. Swimmers began emerging from the pool and running up the grassy hill to the transition area where I was waiting with a few other guys who were riding the bike split for their teams as well. Soon, Chard came up the hill, looking much like everyone else who’d just emerged from the pool—pooped.

Now, I don’t know about you, but racing for me isn’t about beating a time or whatever. I just see someone ahead and chase to get those people behind me before the finish line. So when I got on my bike, I passed three people before I left 200-foot parking lot by the transition area. Then I found one of the first obstacles on the course: a four-flight staircase leading to a bridge over a major road. Well, I’m pretty good at stairs, so I passed two or three more people by the time I reached the bridge. I caught a few more people before the doubletrack started, and then the real fun began.

The dirt sections immediately had a few semi-steep inclines, or that’s how it seemed. Some people were getting off their bikes and walking. As I passed one guy, though, I realized I was still in my big ring while he had obviously shifted to something smaller.

I came up to a turnaround, and that’s when something unexpected happened: someone passed me—someone with a braided ponytail. I’d just whizzed by dozens of athletic-looking triathletes, people with ripped six-packs and huge quad muscles.

AND THEN I GOT CHICKED!

I took chase, but I got caught between some slower traffic on the brief downhill.

Someone told me the week before the race that there would be some pretty scenery on the bike course, but now that I look back, I don’t remember seeing any scenery at all. It’s probably because I was so focused on the people ahead of me. The girl who passed me was flying up the next climb. I was keeping her in my sights, but it was obvious that wouldn’t last long. As the climb pitched steeper, she quickly crested and disappeared from view while I picked off a few more stragglers on the hill behind her. By now, there were more people walking their bikes than riding.

Up around the crest, the course had even more goodies to offer. For good measure, they’d thrown in a mud puddle, some decent-sized boulders and a few more power climbs. Again, I managed to keep it upright, keep the pedals moving (although I did hop off the saddle for one quick, rocky descent) and even keep passing a few people.

I’d been gearing up for the last part of the course for a while, knowing it would likely be a downhill with a surprise or two thrown in. I’d already resolved to keep my hands off the brakes as much as possible, since I’m typically a pansy on the descents. So when I got to the downhill, I let it fly, bombing down the trail, which was less technical than I expected, headed for home. Where the trail met the pavement (the way back to the transition area) one bowlegged kid actually caught me descending an even faster pace than my own, so I naturally decided to key off of him.

Together, we weaved through the tight corners and found our way back to the four-flight staircase. I kept on his wheel even as we bounced down the staircase on our hardtails. We turned the last corner and hit the straightaway to the transition area, where I got out of the saddle and cranked out a quick sprint to gain a gap.

Passing the trees, I suddenly recognized some spectators—my in-laws, my wife and most of the rest of the family. I passed on the ankle chip to Mrs. Chard, and that was that.

Waiting around for her to come in at the finish, I spotted that amazing girl mountain biker who passed on the first loop. After she crossed the line, I couldn’t hold back, my curiosity, I had to find out where this girl got her leg power:

“So are you a pro or something?”

“Yeah, well, a pro mountain biker,” she responded.

“No kidding? Do you race the Intermountain Cup or what?”

“No, the NORBA National Series.” In case you’re not familiar, the NORBAs, or NMBS races, are the U.S. pro series. This girl was the real deal—she was out there competing with Olympians and World Champions. As it turns out, she was from Pocatello, so she actually knew a few local names I knew. To top it off, she won the female side of the triathlon.

So I’d been caught and passed by a real mountain bike pro. I could handle that.

It struck me as pretty entertaining that I keep meeting professional athletes—Sam Jurekovic, Pete Kuenneman, and Kit DesLauriers at the Teton Pass Climb back in the day, Wendy Wagner at the E100 12-hour, my cousin Brad at our family reunion, etc. etc. In what other sport can you do that? Mountain biking is cool—bottom line.

At the end of the day, our little triathlon team didn’t have such a bad day either. We managed a fourth-place finish out of the 25 or 30 triathlon teams at the race, and we had some relatively impressive results for our individual splits. But I couldn’t help apologizing to my teammates.

“Why?” you ask? I hogged the coolest leg of the race all to myself.

I’ve realized something I love about bike racing, specifically time trials and mountain bike races: No one shares that experience with you, and when it’s over, you are the only one who has those memories.

I suppose that sounds selfish, but when I race, I do it knowing I won’t be able to do the experience justice afterward, no matter how detailed a story I tell.

Take this last weekend for example: I did the mountain bike portion of the Fourth Street Clinic Triathlon in Salt Lake City with my brother-in-law and his wife. Perhaps the funniest part of the story happened when Chard, my bro-in-law left to go to the poolside and his wife, we’ll call her Mrs. Chard, ran to the bathroom, leaving me with both of their children. When the kids looked around and realized I wasn’t their mom, the tears flowed freely. I’m sure I made for a pretty entertaining sight for Mrs. Chard—one exasperated brother standing in the transition area surrounded by bikes holding two bawling children trying to convince them their mother would come back for them sometime.

After she took the kids to go watch their dad swim, I got all prepped to take the timing chip into the bike course. Swimmers began emerging from the pool and running up the grassy hill to the transition area where I was waiting with a few other guys who were riding the bike split for their teams as well. Soon, Chard came up the hill, looking much like everyone else who’d just emerged from the pool—pooped.

Now, I don’t know about you, but racing for me isn’t about beating a time or whatever. I just see someone ahead and chase to get those people behind me before the finish line. So when I got on my bike, I passed three people before I left 200-foot parking lot by the transition area. Then I found one of the first obstacles on the course: a four-flight staircase leading to a bridge over a major road. Well, I’m pretty good at stairs, so I passed two or three more people by the time I reached the bridge. I caught a few more people before the doubletrack started, and then the real fun began.

The dirt sections immediately had a few semi-steep inclines, or that’s how it seemed. Some people were getting off their bikes and walking. As I passed one guy, though, I realized I was still in my big ring while he had obviously shifted to something smaller. I came up to a turnaround, and that’s when something unexpected happened: someone passed me. And that someone had a braided ponytail. I’d just whizzed by dozens of cyclists, men and women, and here some girl chicked me. So naturally, I took chase, but I got caught between some slower traffic on the brief downhill.

Someone told me the week before the race that there would be some pretty scenery on the bike course, but now that I look back, I don’t remember seeing any scenery at all. It’s probably because I was so focused on the person ahead of me. The girl who passed me was flying up the next climb. I was keeping her in my sights, but it was obvious that wouldn’t last long. As the climb pitched steeper, she quickly crested and disappeared from view while I picked off a few more stragglers on the hill behind her. By now, there were more people walking their bikes than riding.

Up around the crest, the course had even more goodies to offer. For good measure, they’d thrown in a few mud puddles, some decent-sized boulders and a few more power climbs. Again, I managed to keep it upright and keep the pedals moving (although I did hop off the saddle for one quick, rocky descent) and even keep passing a few people.

I’d been gearing up for the last part of the course for a while, knowing it would likely be a downhill with a surprise or two thrown in. I’d already resolved to keep my hands off the brakes as much as possible, since I’m typically a pansy on the descents. This time, however, I only passed more people on the downhill. Where the trail met the pavement (the way back to the transition area) one bowlegged kid actually caught me descending an even faster pace than my own, so I naturally decided to key off of him.

Together, we weaved through the tight corners and found our way back to the four-flight staircase. I kept close on him even as we bounced down the staircase on our hardtails. We turned the last corner and hit the straightaway to the transition area, where I got out of the saddle and re-passed him.

I passed on the ankle chip to our runner, and that was that.

Waiting around for her to come in at the finish, I spotted that amazing girl mountain biker who passed on the first loop. After she crossed, I tracked her down and asked a few questions:

“So are you a pro or something?”

“Yeah, well, a pro mountain biker.”

“No kidding? Do you race the Intermountain Cup or what?”

“No, just the NORBA National Series.”

So I’d been caught and passed by a real mountain bike pro. As it turns out, she was from Pocatello, so she actually knew a few local names I knew. To top it off, she won the female side of the triathlon.

It struck me as pretty entertaining that I keep meeting legitimate professional athletes at these races—Sam Jurekovic and Kit DesLauriers at the Teton Pass Climb back in the day, Wendy Wagner at the E100 12-hour, my cousin Brad at our family reunion, etc. etc. I think the Intermountain West has some pretty cool pro athletes, if you don’t mind my saying.

At the end of the day, our little triathlon team didn’t have such a bad day either. We managed a fourth-place finish out of the 25 or 30 triathlon teams at the race, and we had some relatively impressive results for our individual splits.


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Back to work after baby–how do you know when you’re ready?
http://lifestyle.msn.com/familyandparenting/articleNW.aspx?cp-documentid=5797498&ocid=T067MSN40A0701A

I remember riding around on my road bike almost in the months after I bought it (almost four years ago). The shop-hand had given me a lecture about how too many people ride in the drops and end up getting back pain as a result, so I was initially hesitant to ride aerodynamically. I even did my first time trial--the Targee Hill Climb--without placing my hands in the drops at all. I will always remember the response of those in my Tuesday night ride group when I told them my time: "Oh, hmmm," translation: Newbie, you stink!

So when I did finally get around to putting my hands in the drops on the group ride, I was somewhat surprised to find that my speed picked up about a mile or two per hour, which is significant if you think about it. I'm sure aerodynamics had something to do with that, but I knew it was more than that: the position was more powerful, not just less wind-resistant.

Since those days, I've tinkered with my position so much that I'm sure I'll never be able to replicate the way it was set up when I bought it. Heck, I even have aerobars on it now. Still, I remember that, last year, when I had my real breakout time trial and bikesplit (triathlon) performances, I had that same feeling—my body was where it needed to be in relation to the pedals. Unfortunately, I've gullibly changed my position since then because of silly things I've read on the internet. I now realize the lesson here: When you find a good thing, stick with it.

After all, a position that maximizes your sweet spot is priceless in bicycle racing.

But, I must say, I just came across a gem of an article on the subject. It's pretty technical and complicated, and it will likely take some time to digest. But it (and the article I have linked on the blog here) is one of the few things I've read about bike fit that really seems to resonate with my experience with the subject.

Oh, and it's written by Keith Bontrager, bike engineering genius. How's that for ethical appeal?

Gibo, Gilberto Simoni, two-time winner of the Giro d'Italia, the guy who could outclimb Pantani (even a bit during his amateur years), may actually be sorta cool despite being totally euro. No, I don't think "cool" and "euro" usually go well together. On the contrary, "euro" and "doper" usually fit much better. But, at least I hope, Gibo may break the mold.

The real reason I'm thinking Gibo is sorta nifty is this: After doing a mountain bike marathon as a training ride, Gibo suddenly realized that mountain biking is more fun than road biking—REVELATION! Of course, he's not the first road pro to realize this. But unlike the rest, Gibo is actually willing to basically scrap his road bike season after the Giro this year to compete in mountain bike events. C'mon, you have to admit, that's pretty cool.

My wife's due date for the birth of our second kid is in just four months. No pressure on me, but I'm hoping to get up Teton Pass a few more times before that happens. I'm still trying to reconcile my "no goals, no competition" mindset with my "must get up Teton Pass in less than 40 minutes" obsession. They're a bit incongruous, it seems, and the truth is that I don't really have time to be "competitive" about anything right now.

But that gets me on a subject that's been on my mind lately: The uselessness of intensity. I'm not talking about workout intensity; I'm talking about "attitude" or football player intensity. I used to be pretty intense about sports. I took them pretty seriously. I wasn't afraid of a little contact, some growling, snarling and other generally inhuman behavior. So when I got into cycling, I started off looking pretty intense—gritting my teeth, being "mentally tough," gut-checking, and "releasing my anger" as I hammered out a sprint.

Then, a few time trials and disappointing races later, I realized something: that whole "mental toughness" schtick wasn't helping. In fact, if anything, it was making me a much less pleasant person to be around during competition. After all, this is RACING we're talking about. That element of going toe to toe with your competition is nonexistent.

So what's the right approach? I'm sure it's different for everyone, but here's my take on the subject: In racing, it's all about your preparation. Being more or less "fierce" on race day is meaningless. It's what you put in during the weeks and months before the race that will make you faster or slower. So show up on race day and be happy with what you can put into it.

Now, granted, if you sabotage yourself with mechanical problems or a poor nutrition strategy on race day, that can ruin your day, but that's the next important point: sometimes you have a rotten day. That's the nature of racing. Sometimes your body is up; sometimes it's down. Sometimes it's down even when you really really need it to be up. If you race, you just have to accept that fact.

About competition: If there's a race you feel some sort of inordinate pressure about—you feel like you have to beat someone or your self-esteem is riding on a certain result—you probably shouldn't be doing that race. It's a sign that you've already taken an unhealthy approach to it. Find something else you don't have any expectations for and enter it. Racing is a privilege. Racing is fun. When it becomes stress instead of fun, you're abusing the privilege.

Competition, in theory, should result in you reaching your best. When you race, you either go off the front, give your best and win, or you key off the guys in front of you and give your very best. It's giving your all and seeing what you're made of that makes it fun. Those moments where I'm saying to myself "I can get that guy ahead of me" are some of my favorite race memories. In races where I've gone in with this mindset I don't find myself getting upset or frustrated when someone gets ahead of me. That's racing. You smile and keep giving it your all.

After all, if you can't "not win" once in a while, you'd better stick to racing losers.

Manufacturers are now posting their 2008 bikes and prices, and I am, of course, taking notes. I was a little disappointed to see some companies raising prices on bikes that were not improved in the least since last year. Most notably, I helped my brother-in-law get a brand-new Trek FX 7.2 for $375 this past summer, and that same bike is now up to at least $475—no improvements, no changes, just $100 more on the price tag. Obviously the commuter bike market is hot right now.

Fortunately for you and me, the hardtail mountain bike scene must not be nearly as hot. Yes, Trek still has its prices up nice and high, even for 28-pound frames, but Specialized is being a little more flexible this year.

"What makes you say that?" you ask, noting that their bikes, for the most part cost pretty much the same as they did last year.

"Well," I answer, "have you checked out the frame material for the $590 Rockhopper hardtail?"

That's right, it's M4 aluminum. What does that mean? Well, last year the least expensive M4 frame was the Rockhopper Pro at $1,100. It's the lighter of the Specialized aluminums—the other one being the A1. Yep, that's right, this is a paperweight aluminum frame selling for LESS THAN $600!!!

I can't even tell you how disappointed I was to realize that I don't have a spare $600 right now.

Nonetheless, if anyone at Specialized is reading (HA!), like, say, Ned Overend, I should point out that I'm a professional writer who'd be perfectly willing to type up a review, advertising text, whatever in exchange for a sweet, cheap hardtail Rockhopper. Did you hear that, Specialized guys?

[cricket, cricket]

Did anyone hear that?

Bueller?

Was gusting up to 54 mph at one point when I looked at the weather online. Yikes. Otherwise, it was a balmy 25 degrees outside. I couldn't help but think that the wind might've made for interesting flat time trial weather. That thought, of course, brought to mind some of the days when I tried to time trial in wind gusting up to 30 mph. My 10-mile time trial time dropped by about three minutes, and I spent most of the time listing to the right. Very strange.

That stuff's not my focus this year, anyway. Instead, I've been thinking more about Teton Pass, which is more a haven for backcountry snowboarders and skiers right now. Wanna see evidence? Here are the current conditions on Teton Pass.

Check out this nifty YouTube vid from SRAM.

I know, my blog is about as lively as a potato field in winter. Such is life. So today, I want to give you an update on what I'm up to cycling-wise, or more accurately, what I'm trying to be up to.

So it works like this, I went to New York for Christmas, walked the whole time, and didn't turn a single pedal while I was there (when I brought up the idea of renting a bike and riding through Central Park, all of my non-cycling family members—each one of them, that is—cringed). I did my best to run up stairs when possible, though we did skip the Empire State Building.

My plan was to start off the year with at least a six-week block of riding the trainer at SMAC level. What is SMAC? Sub-maximal aerobic conditioning. Yes, I made the term up myself (just picture me glowing with pride). The idea is that you ride just below the upper end of your aerobic HR zone, which for me amounts to about 150 bpm. The challenge is keeping your HR from going higher. Anyway, that's how I planned to build my base—doing that for an hour per session, three sessions per week.

I also wanted to include the occasional day of sprint work on the mountain bike, weather permitting. Well, the weather isn't permitting, so I haven't done that once yet this winter, which is a bit tragic to me. I'd like to work up some upper end fitness at some point, never mind the leg strength.

See, the whole idea behind all of this training was to get fit and make a solid run at Teton Pass in the spring and finally get that 40-minute goal behind me. Then I can get back to time trials, for which I only need a 30-minute base.

So that's what I wanted to do. What's actually happening? Well, we got back from New York, and I almost immediately caught a head cold. When I thought I was over it, I did a trainer ride. It turns out I wasn't over it, and I got even sicker. Then I started teaching my night class and got even sicker ... just kidding. Actually my night class has been a lot of fun, but it's just one more night I can't ride the trainer.

So my wife and daughter left town for a solid two weeks, during which I expected to be riding the trainer every day. Would you know it, that was when I got really really sick.

But you know, through all of this, I'm not doing too bad. My endurance is all right when I do get on the trainer. My bodyfat is staying relatively low. My legs are even perhaps getting more muscley because I keep doing squat workouts when I don't have time to ride the trainer.

(By the way, squat workouts, at least ones that aren't too intense, really didn't even exacerbate my condition when I was sick. If you get sick too, you'll have to try it out.)

So really, what do I have to complain about? I might just go for it and make that early season bid for Teton Pass. And I might just be smiling the whole way up.

Yes, I saw some people riding some nice road bikes in New York City, but by far the best rides were the singlespeed/fixed gears I spotted. Here's just one bike that happened to pose for me. Note the track handlebars, smooth-looking rear wheel, single gear, no visible breaks, etc. etc. I guess the track stand/sprint would be more valuable in a world with stoplights and short city blocks, eh?

By the way ... Did you guys hear, the Gatto Nero is returning to the Giro? (Scroll down to the bottom of the newspage, by the way.) I think this is going to be a pretty cool competition—who can be last without going outside the time limit? I may even be more interested in that jersey than the Maglia Rosa. And it's nice to see a jersey that doesn't require EPO to win.

Last night, I did 29 chin-ups in one set—a new record for me. It was particularly satisfying because I hadn't done a single chin-up in two weeks or more. That may have also been my performance advantage—tapering. But I somehow forgot about the disadvantages that sometimes come with performance.

See, this morning, I woke up feeling grouchy. I got to work, and I grouched when something didn't go my way. After a few hours, I found myself sitting and thinking, "Why am I so stinkin' grouchy today?" Then I realized: I did 29 chin-ups last night.

This is a pattern I've noticed in myself over time—anytime I really really exert myself when my body wasn't properly conditioned to do so, I wake up the next morning feeling like I want to chew someone out, not to mention being sore and absent-minded.

So what I'm wondering is this: Am I the only one who experiences grouchiness after totally exerting myself?

The Blog Roll

I know I haven't been blogging all that much lately. Instead of feeling guilty about it, I'm just going to direct your attention to some other interesting bike blogs. Here's one I just discovered today: Sam Jurekovic's Blog. Sam is on the junior mtb racing team. Perhaps my most embarrassing moment in life was the day I went to the Teton Pass Climb (only my second race ever), and asked some random kid where I stick my race number. I then proceeded to do the race with a t-shirt. The kid, of course, was Sam J. That year, Sam went to World's, and the next year he came back and won the Pass Climb.

That first year, though, the race was won by none other than Matt Shriver. I can also list one of my embarrassing moments as having asked Matt's brother some other ridiculous question before the start. I don't know how I do it, but somehow, I always manage to pick out the race winner and embarrass myself by talking to him—yet another strange phenomenon.

On that note, I would be remiss to leave out Dave Harris, who I parked my bike next to at the start of the E100 12-hour. I managed to keep my mouth shut this time because I knew I recognized him from somewhere. That somewhere, of course, was the E100 video. Dave went on to win that day, and Botched and I survived (which was my goal).

Anyway, none of these guys is reputed as a brilliant blogger or anything, but I actually found some pretty good reading on there. Matt Shriver had a top 10 finish at the National Road Championship last year (when George Hincapie won), Sam won the U23 cross country National Champs this year, and Dave, last time I checked, crashed hard at the BC bike race. Take the time to read Sam's national champ story—it should make up for the lack of content here.

Well, I didn't do great on the math section--only in the 47th percentile--but the verbal reasoning section was a different story. For the verbal section, I scored a 760, which probably means nothing to you, but it's well into the 99th percentile. I'm still a little nervous about the written section, which I won't be getting for two weeks. Either way, I'm hoping this expanded some options for me.

I really wanted to ride on Saturday, but it didn't pan out. I actually busted my seatpost ring--the second time that's happened this month. In the words of Bullwinkle, "I guess I don't know my own strength." With the bike on the trainer, I think I'm getting a little more leverage on the multitool—perhaps a little too much. Anyway, I then went to take the mountain bike out, and after the first mile I realized my chain wasn't shifting properly. It turns out one of my pins was coming loose and had added a new stiffness to one of my links. After about a half hour of tinkering with a chain tool, I gave in and went to the bike shop for some spare parts—a new seat ring for the road bike and a SRAM powerlink for the mountain bike. And that was about all the time I had allotted for riding a bike.

I won't even tell you how much of that time was spent wringing my hands in absolute frustration.

To top it off, I was running an errand for my wife yesterday and took a hard fall on some concrete. I now have a gauze pad soaking up blood on my throbbing knee. So that means I may not be riding until tomorrow (if I'm lucky). An old friend is planning on joining me for a snowshoe hike up the old mountain bike trails on Saturday, so I'm not too worried about my newfound belly softness.

But yeah, tomorrow I have an interview at my alma mater for an adjunct teaching position. I might be picking up a night class for some extra cash (provided I get the job). That means it might be a busy four months.

Sorry, all. I haven't given up on cycling, I swear. I'm just preparing to take the GRE this weekend (that's the exam you have to take to get into grad school). I'm a little nerve-wracked, but no big deal. I'll tell you guys how I did.