Riding about is about being present. It's the seminole reason and essence of every ride. It's hard to be present for everything else, but riding forces on to be in the moment - any distraction can be disastrous. Racing is the extreme end of this present state. The mental burden that eventually gets to you if you have any doubt of your ability to be in the here and now.
Being present in life is a challenge. For me, it's been a life-long search to figure out strategies by which I can stay present for my friends and family. It has been such a huge burden on my mind that I became a drug addict in part to ensure I didn't have to be there for people - sorry, I'm using, I can't be of any help to you right now.
That was my one-off cope out. Ah yes, to be young, stupid and without regard for empathy. Since becoming a bit more grown up I've found that being there for people is important, and it's not as hard as I made it out to be. In fact, I've found that instead of it being a burden on my emotional state that it actually engages my mind in a way that adds to my energy - instead of a sink that I pour my energy down, when I'm emotionally engaged with people I find that my mental energy goes up.
I have three levels by which I engage with people. These three levels are also indicative of how close I am with any person given the level on which we engage naturally.
The first level: Fact sharing.
The second level: Opinion sharing.
The third level: Emotional sharing.
Level one sharing is akin to "breaking the ice" or "small talk." There's nothing really substantive in the dialogue and is meant to take up the air between two people in order to fullfill any "awkward silence" that may occur when two people initially meet or between two people who are "just being nice." It serves one of those two purposes. Perhaps you just met and you find that you have a good vibe with this person, so you share some facts. Maybe they find interest in those facts - honest interest. Then maybe, with this co-interest in the subject by which you both find common ground, you can move on to opinions about the facts. But really, those opinions are meaningless without co-interested parties. Nobody who doesn't ride gives a shit about your opinion of Gore Ride On cables versus Nokon or Campag.
The "just being nice" aspect may be incurred when two people first meet but there is no energy exchange. You're both nice to each other but, "hey, how about this weather?"
Level two sharing is really an extension of level one. As I said above, you share opinions when you find you have common ground and co-interest in a broached subject. Most "acquaintances" don't get beyond this level. I would say this is where my work relationships end up except in a few cases which I can count on half a hand. I would also say this is where most of my social interactions end. Cycling is about facts and opinions, you'd be amazed how many hours you can spend on a bike talking and getting to only this level.
In fact, cyclists and athletes in general don't want to admit to emotional intelligence. Having emotions can get in the way of athletic goals - it's all mental, just like dehydration.
Level three sharing is vulnerable and risky. Most don't share feelings unless they are very close with the person with whom they are interacting. Emotional vulnerability is seen as taboo in our culture, especially for men. Men are not supposed to have feelings and it's not very masculine to share them if they do.
Level three is a natural state for me. I don't know why. It's the reason a lot of people keep me at arms length - people get scared when someone places so much emotion on the line with people he or she barely knows.
Vulnerability is a risk and the person who risks a lot is not to be trusted.
Granted, I don't actually share things that I perceive as making me vulnerable. To the people who are close to me, with whom I've actually shared my vulnerabilities, one can rest assured my secrets are safe with them - and they're way more interesting and make me far more vulnerable than basic level three sharing. I like to think of level three as an ice berg of knowledge, and when I go there with people I barely know it's only the tip of this ice berg.
So, yes, I do have boundaries. It's just that my bar for what can or should be shared is much lower due to the massive height of my level three ice berg. I feel comfortable sharing much more because that particular pile of shit is so high for me, so the bar can sit lower with out actually making me feel as though I've shared something that crosses the line - AKA TMI.
When I'm trying to be there for people in my life (it's always "trying" because I can't honestly say I'm there 100% of the time) I need to be on level three. You can't be there for someone with opinions and facts - those are meant to inform emotional interaction, perhaps with logic and reason to find solutions to personal dilemmas - but by themselves, without emotion, they don't help much.
This is one reason why I ride by myself so much. I'm alone, and not forced to interact on a level that I'm not comfortable with. Riding is a way for me to process daily interactions, and if I'm riding with someone I barely know I find that process stagnant. The present state of riding allows me the time to find solutions for myself. It's the present state I need, it provides a place for my mind to work through the reason and logic and have some "level three" time with myself. Like personal emotional auditing. Once I get that out of the way, once I deal with my own personal problems while I'm out riding, becoming present and helping others is simple. Nothing is more difficult than dealing with your own issues.
Somewhere along the way I decided to take my own advice.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
So Far
As I rounded that last switch back when I see the top it suddenly appears so far. What was euphoric turns to a deep pain throughout my body, like a weight I can't lift any longer my legs swell with each revolution of the pedals.
Climbs, no matter how long, always appear in three parts: the beginning, warming up and moving the blood into the capillaries - it's like waking up and getting out of bed in the morning, it's the hardest part, just getting the juice moving. Part two is euphoric; like you could do this all day; holding on to the unsustainable as if it were sustainable; telling yourself this is easy; it honestly feels easy; it's not really easy, which brings us to Part Three where euphoric turns into breakfast making it's way onto your top tube. This is also a pretty rad part. Sure, loosing your stomach is never fun, but this is what tells you if you're going hard enough. Some people go until their hair stands up on their arms, loosing your stomach is about two levels up from that, and is a good qualifier for work.
Power meters are for pussies, just sayin', it's not going to tell you how hard you could have gone, only how far you're willing to push yourself based on quantitative measures, it says nothing of your actual worth as an athlete, it says nothing of heart or courage.
That's all for today. I just had to go on that little diatribe before I fell asleep...
Climbs, no matter how long, always appear in three parts: the beginning, warming up and moving the blood into the capillaries - it's like waking up and getting out of bed in the morning, it's the hardest part, just getting the juice moving. Part two is euphoric; like you could do this all day; holding on to the unsustainable as if it were sustainable; telling yourself this is easy; it honestly feels easy; it's not really easy, which brings us to Part Three where euphoric turns into breakfast making it's way onto your top tube. This is also a pretty rad part. Sure, loosing your stomach is never fun, but this is what tells you if you're going hard enough. Some people go until their hair stands up on their arms, loosing your stomach is about two levels up from that, and is a good qualifier for work.
Power meters are for pussies, just sayin', it's not going to tell you how hard you could have gone, only how far you're willing to push yourself based on quantitative measures, it says nothing of your actual worth as an athlete, it says nothing of heart or courage.
That's all for today. I just had to go on that little diatribe before I fell asleep...
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Filter
A love-hate relationship exists between me and words. Writing is the concise form of my personality; it's economically streamlined and to the point. I can form sentences from words and words from letters that represent exactly the thoughts in my mind. It's beautiful.
What is written here is honest but it's filtered. I have about twice as many drafts of things I wrote but can not find it in me to make public or read again myself. Those drafts are filled with words that I can't touch. They're like old journal entries, it's something that I needed to write about and never see again. It's venting, and is only meant to be there for that moment to suit that need.
Riding exists for a moment, it too suits a need. There are always moments I wish did not exist on a ride: the six miles of highway traffic, the asshole that yelled at me. I filter them out in my mind. Those moments are there even on the best ride. But they're not the subject of my memories.
To let go of these negative memories is the basis of my happiness. You can't hold on to the negative. Riding up to Laguna Seca a few weeks ago a met a man on a hand cycle. He had no legs. I'm sure he has a lot of negative memories; plenty of bad energy that he could hold on to; way too many excuses not to ride and tons to complain about.
But he wasn't having any of that, he was riding up a giant hill. By the time that guy got to that hill he had already overcome something so much larger. When I find myself holding onto the small stuff it's that thought of him riding up that hill which reminds me it's all small stuff.
It could be so much harder. Letting go of the small stuff, through writing or spinning pedals, becomes a few orders of magnitude easier with that memory in mind.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Anticipation
[an-tis-uh-pey-shuhn]: unchecked desires and expectations. Knowing you want something when you almost have it but it's just out of reach; you're so close, you almost have said object of desire, you've already imagined a lifetime of possibilities that to not have is not an option.
Music
It's always playing for me, even when it's not on the stereo. It's in my head. It's in my energy. It's running through my veins. I can't get enough of it. The base line, the drum solo and the vocals focusing my attention away from the loud noises that often absorb the inside of my head.
Perhaps it's just a distraction. When I ride I never listen to music, sometimes a song will be stuck in my head but I never ride with headphones. The music is in the freehub, it's in the chain rhythmically clicking over the cogs and the crankset; it's in the air and the terrain.
The music is the journey. The music is the quiet content that is the sun rise or the sun set; it's the moment of breathing at the top of the climb; it's the dance we do on top of the pedals.
There is a rhythm to cycling, any cyclist worth their weight knows what that means. Therefore, the very essence of cycling is musical. It has structure, a body and verses we all know well. The bike is simply the instrument. The road and trail, the geography of the ride, is the beat.
Racing is a symphony and solo ventures are piano concerto's.
Perhaps it's just a distraction. When I ride I never listen to music, sometimes a song will be stuck in my head but I never ride with headphones. The music is in the freehub, it's in the chain rhythmically clicking over the cogs and the crankset; it's in the air and the terrain.
The music is the journey. The music is the quiet content that is the sun rise or the sun set; it's the moment of breathing at the top of the climb; it's the dance we do on top of the pedals.
There is a rhythm to cycling, any cyclist worth their weight knows what that means. Therefore, the very essence of cycling is musical. It has structure, a body and verses we all know well. The bike is simply the instrument. The road and trail, the geography of the ride, is the beat.
Racing is a symphony and solo ventures are piano concerto's.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Just throw it out there
It's this old hippy slang that the universe will provide if you just throw it out there. I know, sure, sounds pretty fucking idealistic to me. I can't tell if you're just supposed to pray for that to be provided or to just exude purple "I need this shit" aura.
It actually happened to me. WTF right? WTF indeed. Sometimes just being is the only way to get what you need. Yes, you're actually exuding the purple "I need this shit" aura. Really, not kidding, true story. It'll just provide it for you if you're passively "asking" for it.
Case in point:. People. Yes, those creatures which don't need chain lube, new tubes or are cleaned with simple green. No, these are those which you talk to right off the bat - as opposed to talking to yourself after 6 hours of riding, dehydration and low blood sugar - no, this is what I learned about in 4th grade, it's called socializing.
I didn't have a lot of these things to talk too in the local in which I reside. Lots of old people. One time I harassed Clint Eastwood in front of the yogurt section in Whole Foods; occasionally I make a pass at the cute girl who works at the gym (how awful it must be to be the cute girl who works at the gym... ); once in a while I go on a diatribe to one of the local evangelicals trying to save my soul (I have no soul, I remind them, I'm an atheist.. ).
So right, there I was one day, decided to meet up with this person and get a beer. We connected like I don't connect with people right off the bat. I guess my purple "I need this shit" aura was pretty bright or something that day. I needed it, way more than this particular individual knew. I needed to know there were people, and maybe that was the point - knowing there are people who you can connect with.
So instead of waking up all jaded about this place I woke up and wondered "gee, how many others are out there? Where did I put that purple aura? Where are my pants?" Actually, that last thing is the first thing that is usually on my mind when I get out of bed in the morning.
So you need something? Need a favor? Forget karma, that's for the birds. Get some purple "I need this shit" aura, that's the ticket. On second thought, don't forget karma, I mean, I'm a cyclist, I'm superstitious. A little karma is probably good too...
It actually happened to me. WTF right? WTF indeed. Sometimes just being is the only way to get what you need. Yes, you're actually exuding the purple "I need this shit" aura. Really, not kidding, true story. It'll just provide it for you if you're passively "asking" for it.
Case in point:. People. Yes, those creatures which don't need chain lube, new tubes or are cleaned with simple green. No, these are those which you talk to right off the bat - as opposed to talking to yourself after 6 hours of riding, dehydration and low blood sugar - no, this is what I learned about in 4th grade, it's called socializing.
I didn't have a lot of these things to talk too in the local in which I reside. Lots of old people. One time I harassed Clint Eastwood in front of the yogurt section in Whole Foods; occasionally I make a pass at the cute girl who works at the gym (how awful it must be to be the cute girl who works at the gym... ); once in a while I go on a diatribe to one of the local evangelicals trying to save my soul (I have no soul, I remind them, I'm an atheist.. ).
So right, there I was one day, decided to meet up with this person and get a beer. We connected like I don't connect with people right off the bat. I guess my purple "I need this shit" aura was pretty bright or something that day. I needed it, way more than this particular individual knew. I needed to know there were people, and maybe that was the point - knowing there are people who you can connect with.
So instead of waking up all jaded about this place I woke up and wondered "gee, how many others are out there? Where did I put that purple aura? Where are my pants?" Actually, that last thing is the first thing that is usually on my mind when I get out of bed in the morning.
So you need something? Need a favor? Forget karma, that's for the birds. Get some purple "I need this shit" aura, that's the ticket. On second thought, don't forget karma, I mean, I'm a cyclist, I'm superstitious. A little karma is probably good too...
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Adventure
Adventure is like a drug for me, everything I do has to involve some sort of discomfort or unknowing of what will happen next. To ride my bike is a synthesis of this dysfunctional yearning. From the first ride I ever did, just cruising around Lake Tahoe one summer day, it felt like everything was new; nothing was staying the same; everything changing all at once - it's the seeing of things, the crazy shit people do in their cars, the funny people you see walking, the occasional animal.
Riding on the road is one form of this adventure. It's fast. It's flying in and out of cars in busy cities; it's banking perfect tarmac at 50MPH; it's the feeling of gravity and acceleration on three axis as you navigate an uphill hairpin turn; it's the salt covering your body after six hours of hard riding; it's the dazed moment before coming too after riding in close to zero temperatures and getting that defrosting cup of coffee. Mountain biking is whole different beast. Solitary. Quiet. More animals, less traffic. Banking berms at 20MPH; steering with your rear brake and legs; bunny hoping a root while climbing; aiming for the grass and not the oak when you're crashing.
Improvise - when you're on the road people are never very far, not so when you're on the dirt. Twist ties holding my cables to my chain stay come loose and you have to figure out how to tie it back, with whatever you have. It's like the McGyver of cycling sometimes. It's an extra element of not knowing, it's more adventure.
Growing up I used to be so timid of nature, of the outdoors. Scared of what lys beyond the tree line. I could not hike alone. Amazing to me it is that I've become the person I am today. I enjoy riding with people, but not for long.
Experiencing the world around me on my own is something I've hardened my mind to do, because it was not intuitive or natural. It felt wrong. But more importantly it scared me. Things that scare you - those based on specious logic in particular - are walls that need demolition. They are easier to break than you think; they are personal obstacles that are formative for not only your character but dive to the very heart of who you are. Their destruction is your growth.
Riding on the road is one form of this adventure. It's fast. It's flying in and out of cars in busy cities; it's banking perfect tarmac at 50MPH; it's the feeling of gravity and acceleration on three axis as you navigate an uphill hairpin turn; it's the salt covering your body after six hours of hard riding; it's the dazed moment before coming too after riding in close to zero temperatures and getting that defrosting cup of coffee. Mountain biking is whole different beast. Solitary. Quiet. More animals, less traffic. Banking berms at 20MPH; steering with your rear brake and legs; bunny hoping a root while climbing; aiming for the grass and not the oak when you're crashing.
Improvise - when you're on the road people are never very far, not so when you're on the dirt. Twist ties holding my cables to my chain stay come loose and you have to figure out how to tie it back, with whatever you have. It's like the McGyver of cycling sometimes. It's an extra element of not knowing, it's more adventure.
Growing up I used to be so timid of nature, of the outdoors. Scared of what lys beyond the tree line. I could not hike alone. Amazing to me it is that I've become the person I am today. I enjoy riding with people, but not for long.
Experiencing the world around me on my own is something I've hardened my mind to do, because it was not intuitive or natural. It felt wrong. But more importantly it scared me. Things that scare you - those based on specious logic in particular - are walls that need demolition. They are easier to break than you think; they are personal obstacles that are formative for not only your character but dive to the very heart of who you are. Their destruction is your growth.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Units of Fun
Units of Fun: The currency by which every amateur cyclist gets paid.
If you're not having fun you're not doing it right.
If you get paid in green backs, you're a professional.
If you don't get paid in greenbacks and you're not a professional but you think otherwise then you're taking your shit to seriously. Way to seriously. Look beyond the spokes of your front wheel, there's a lot of other interesting stuff out there.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Unsure
Unsure: unn-sh-ur; thinking you know what you want, then finding out that you don't know what you want and your expectation for thinking that this knowledge was somehow in your control becomes undermined by the reality that life is the only sure thing.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Playing Cards
"So do you have a big advantage knowing the race course since it's on your local roads?" I was asked a few weeks ago, in reply I said, "Yeah, I can play poker while everyone else plays russian roulette, but there's still a chance I'll get dealt a bad hand or that someone else gets lucky."
So much luck is involved in racing, sure you can be a phenomenal athlete but racing is about luck on so many levels. You train, live, eat and breath cycling, it won't make you a better racer, you need luck. Life is about luck too. There's a lot involved in staying healthy, knowing the hazards ahead and using the cards you're dealt to leverage every advantage - understanding and educating yourself with the knowledge available is akin to counting cards.
I got tired of playing russian roulette with my body and mind so I quit using meth six years ago this February. That's a long time to be clean. It feels great. The euphoric recalls, the difficulties I used to have just making breakfast in the morning no longer persist. I can use a gas range with out thinking about how great it would be to chase puddles on tin foil instead of making a healthy meal. I can light candles without thinking about burning my thumbs. I can drive to places I used to associate with my drug culture past lifestyle without freaking out. Simples things seem simple again.
Sometimes we want to make things more complicated than they need to be. I'm unsure of the psychology, but for some damned reason when things are just fine we find something that is wrong and blow it out of proportion. I'm no exception. I did that, and I played russian roulette with my health. Everyone has their limits of what they are capable of physically and I know for sure what mine are and all I wanted was more because health alone wasn't enough for me. It makes me sick to think I felt this way.
Perspective results from hindsight.
You grow up but you never stop growing - you may be old but you're not too old to learn from your mistakes and make tomorrow better in so many ways.
So much luck is involved in racing, sure you can be a phenomenal athlete but racing is about luck on so many levels. You train, live, eat and breath cycling, it won't make you a better racer, you need luck. Life is about luck too. There's a lot involved in staying healthy, knowing the hazards ahead and using the cards you're dealt to leverage every advantage - understanding and educating yourself with the knowledge available is akin to counting cards.
I got tired of playing russian roulette with my body and mind so I quit using meth six years ago this February. That's a long time to be clean. It feels great. The euphoric recalls, the difficulties I used to have just making breakfast in the morning no longer persist. I can use a gas range with out thinking about how great it would be to chase puddles on tin foil instead of making a healthy meal. I can light candles without thinking about burning my thumbs. I can drive to places I used to associate with my drug culture past lifestyle without freaking out. Simples things seem simple again.
Sometimes we want to make things more complicated than they need to be. I'm unsure of the psychology, but for some damned reason when things are just fine we find something that is wrong and blow it out of proportion. I'm no exception. I did that, and I played russian roulette with my health. Everyone has their limits of what they are capable of physically and I know for sure what mine are and all I wanted was more because health alone wasn't enough for me. It makes me sick to think I felt this way.
Perspective results from hindsight.
You grow up but you never stop growing - you may be old but you're not too old to learn from your mistakes and make tomorrow better in so many ways.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Engagement
Engagement of your mind and body. Everyday that's what it's about. Engaging yourself in all you do. At work, at home, on the bike. What makes life engaging are the small details, the quick succession of switchbacks, of not knowing what's around the next bend. The unknown. It's not knowing that engages us into the moment.
Like a twisting uphill climb life engages us. It's the long boring straight and slightly downhill sections that disengage us; times when you can soft pedal into a slight breeze, just checking a box. When the road tilts upward and you can't see farther than a few hundred meters at a time is when you become engaged, forced into focusing on one small moment at a time, navigating the cracks and bumps to find the smoothest way, the path of least resistance to the top.
When you find yourself in the unknown, times when you can't see farther than a few hundred meters down the road of life are the times when you're most engaged in the present. When we try and plan out to far in advance we take away from the present road, the small details, and that is why keeping busy with what you have in front of you becomes so important. Unlike a road you can manifest your own destiny in life. You can make it a long straight boring section, or you can make it a twisty uphill affair; you can put the wind at your back and wings under your feet and fly around those corners with focus and meaning or you can drop it into the small ring and be just another pedestrian going from point A to point B.
It's like Ben Harper says, if you're going to get up then make a stand.
Like a twisting uphill climb life engages us. It's the long boring straight and slightly downhill sections that disengage us; times when you can soft pedal into a slight breeze, just checking a box. When the road tilts upward and you can't see farther than a few hundred meters at a time is when you become engaged, forced into focusing on one small moment at a time, navigating the cracks and bumps to find the smoothest way, the path of least resistance to the top.
When you find yourself in the unknown, times when you can't see farther than a few hundred meters down the road of life are the times when you're most engaged in the present. When we try and plan out to far in advance we take away from the present road, the small details, and that is why keeping busy with what you have in front of you becomes so important. Unlike a road you can manifest your own destiny in life. You can make it a long straight boring section, or you can make it a twisty uphill affair; you can put the wind at your back and wings under your feet and fly around those corners with focus and meaning or you can drop it into the small ring and be just another pedestrian going from point A to point B.
It's like Ben Harper says, if you're going to get up then make a stand.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Perfect
The perfect ride. Blue sky as far as I can see; a nice glossy sheet of sweat covering my body; cool wind, crisp morning air filling my lungs to the gills; clean tires warming up over the asphalt on a decent, tempting me to draw that next line a tad bit faster, a tad bit sharper, a tad bit earlier on the apex; a new, clean chain quietly clicking over a new sur la plaque, seamlessly shifting over a new cluster; mechanically sound and energy efficient - nothing wasted in forward movement.
Drawing a line down the road and then back up again, around each switchback lies an extra bump on the road. I listen carefully over my breathing for on-coming traffic as I ride the spine into infinity; the quickest way up any mountain is the spine, the backbone of the road, the center line where the gradient stays more constant. Consistency is key. Constant breathing, tempo on the pedals. Minor increases in gradient not noticed by the car-people force me to accelerate. The switchbacks throw 2-3% upward over the consistency of the spine, I grimace and tighten the bolts, like wringing water out of a wet towel.
Shifting is pointless. 53x19. I know I can spin it up this climb when my legs are favorable. I stand, motioning the machine in a fine sway, a movement dialed in for efficiency and power transfer. I move through the switchback quickly, quietly, my breathing increases, the sweat pours out of my helmet as the slightly slower instance in the corner allows the tailwind behind to bleed the excess water from my head. I sit down, find my seated tempo again, looking for every last inch of leg to give me a foot of grace.
A momentary drop in the climb, a few seconds to recover. But I don't. I keep pushing the gear. I shift down into the 13, maximizing the potential energy in the run up to the next switchback. 1.76 more miles. A bridge. 10:15 to the top. Anyone can do anything for 10:15. The road pitches, the switchbacks come more often, forcing me to drop into the small ring. I stand and get on top of the gear, finding rhythm in the motion, a synergy of breath, movement and cadence.
39x20.
I sit. I look down at my legs, at my body, and push out the thoughts of what I am doing. If I'm not sick when I get to the top I won't be satisfied. I want to be sick with pleasure. Sick with pain. Sick with this addiction that I have no control over. My bike owns me.
The final push. 16%. Legs feeling the burden of my gears. It's going to be hard no matter what. Momentarily I struggle. My mind starts to get louder. I fight it with intense focus on the road. 500 meters. The gradient eases. Time to throw it into sur la plaque again. The large plate. The bigger the plate the more food I can fit on it and he sicker I can make myself. It's a gross analogy to my disease. But it's a sick disease and deserving of such a metaphor.
I can go faster. I can always give 50% more. The only thing stopping me is the top of the mountain.
Drawing a line down the road and then back up again, around each switchback lies an extra bump on the road. I listen carefully over my breathing for on-coming traffic as I ride the spine into infinity; the quickest way up any mountain is the spine, the backbone of the road, the center line where the gradient stays more constant. Consistency is key. Constant breathing, tempo on the pedals. Minor increases in gradient not noticed by the car-people force me to accelerate. The switchbacks throw 2-3% upward over the consistency of the spine, I grimace and tighten the bolts, like wringing water out of a wet towel.
Shifting is pointless. 53x19. I know I can spin it up this climb when my legs are favorable. I stand, motioning the machine in a fine sway, a movement dialed in for efficiency and power transfer. I move through the switchback quickly, quietly, my breathing increases, the sweat pours out of my helmet as the slightly slower instance in the corner allows the tailwind behind to bleed the excess water from my head. I sit down, find my seated tempo again, looking for every last inch of leg to give me a foot of grace.
A momentary drop in the climb, a few seconds to recover. But I don't. I keep pushing the gear. I shift down into the 13, maximizing the potential energy in the run up to the next switchback. 1.76 more miles. A bridge. 10:15 to the top. Anyone can do anything for 10:15. The road pitches, the switchbacks come more often, forcing me to drop into the small ring. I stand and get on top of the gear, finding rhythm in the motion, a synergy of breath, movement and cadence.
39x20.
I sit. I look down at my legs, at my body, and push out the thoughts of what I am doing. If I'm not sick when I get to the top I won't be satisfied. I want to be sick with pleasure. Sick with pain. Sick with this addiction that I have no control over. My bike owns me.
The final push. 16%. Legs feeling the burden of my gears. It's going to be hard no matter what. Momentarily I struggle. My mind starts to get louder. I fight it with intense focus on the road. 500 meters. The gradient eases. Time to throw it into sur la plaque again. The large plate. The bigger the plate the more food I can fit on it and he sicker I can make myself. It's a gross analogy to my disease. But it's a sick disease and deserving of such a metaphor.
I can go faster. I can always give 50% more. The only thing stopping me is the top of the mountain.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Human Nature
Human: the assertion that your mistakes in life are caused not by conscious decisions on your behalf but by powers beyond your control in an attempt to delegate personal responsibility; the underlying nature of us as a species that bisects all genders, classes, races, creeds and superficial belief systems - a nature that embodies us all at once in agony, a constituted contradiction, a place of being which exists to placate our collective unknowing; a system whose very premise is to embrace and hold together our fragile consciousness, reassuring us that our social and superficial social contracts are real, that our human nature to proliferate as a species at the cost of our brethren for capitalistic gains in material wealth is just - ignoring the historicity whose arch in time makes clear with absolute power comes absolute greed - reproducing itself like a generational cancer, the life cells that keep us alive consuming us until we die.
Monday, May 9, 2011
The Fix
There are a lot of people who ride bikes, all for different reasons. Most bike racers (I say most with an *) do it for competition. If you've read this blog, you probably know I don't. It's not why I ride. My number 1 rule is that I race because I ride, I don't ride to race. I don't need to get up early on a Sunday morning and drive out to a start line with a proverbial ruler - I've gone through and overcome enough challenges in my life, I know my proverbial balls are pretty big. Going out to the race isn't my ruler for personal growth - it's what I do when I want to ride with friends and people I don't get to see every day. It's this social thing for me and really nothing else. Sometimes, mostly my accident, I do well... but only sometimes.
I ride because its my meditation. It provides me with peace and an escapism that I can't get anywhere else. Some people watch movies, some people play instruments; I focus on switch backs, it's what works for me. That's why I don't ride with people that often. I want to be by myself. I want to find that peace I can't get with others around me. Racing fills in the social gap in that regard. That's how it is for me. I love my bike. I love the buttery smooth feeling of rolling up a mountain in a rhythmic motion; feeling the world fly by me under my own power; getting every last bit of energy out of my legs at the top of climb; descending banked corners at 50 mph; watching the drops of sweet salty sweat fall off the brim of my cap 15 minutes into a climb.
It's what I live for, I love this shit.
I ride because its my meditation. It provides me with peace and an escapism that I can't get anywhere else. Some people watch movies, some people play instruments; I focus on switch backs, it's what works for me. That's why I don't ride with people that often. I want to be by myself. I want to find that peace I can't get with others around me. Racing fills in the social gap in that regard. That's how it is for me. I love my bike. I love the buttery smooth feeling of rolling up a mountain in a rhythmic motion; feeling the world fly by me under my own power; getting every last bit of energy out of my legs at the top of climb; descending banked corners at 50 mph; watching the drops of sweet salty sweat fall off the brim of my cap 15 minutes into a climb.
It's what I live for, I love this shit.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Perspective
My first for real race of the season was pretty hard. I got dropped, I stayed on, I felt good, I felt bad, I hit the wall, I made a break, I got nervous, and I felt relief.
Before the final event and after three days of intense racing I was very nervous. I couldn't calm my mind down the night before the circuit race. Then all of the sudden I had a moment of perspective: at least I'm not in Libya; at least my house is still standing; I have food in the fridge, and fresh water to drink; I have a good job that pays my bills and more; I have a wonderful group of friends, a supportive family and people I know love me.
With that perspective this whole racing business becomes pretty small. Racing isn't what paid for my bike; it's not what puts food on my table; it didn't pay my car off; it doesn't bring anymore emotional intelligence into my life; racing isn't about fulfilling some gaping hole in my ego, rather, it's about completion. it's about starting something and seeing it through.
Waking up each day I have to self-commit to a lot of things: family and friends, work and myself above all else. I know I can hang, I know if I really try I can do OK with some pretty stiff competition but it's not why I start the race. It's very difficult for me to come to that line, it's the tough "get out of the door" feeling I have some days when I just don't feel like doing what ever I need to get out the door and do that day. it's easy to just say fuck it. When it gets hard in a race it's easy to say Ok, I've had enough, that's it I'm threw.
But you can always give 50% more. Your self-commitment and motivation are always synergistically linked. If you're committed to seeing it through the motivation materializes out of thin air; if you're motivated you are already self committed to the task at hand.
I was told from a young age that if you start something you see it through; if you're going to do something, then do it right. For me, doing this racing thing right is to get myself to the highest level I can as an amateur. I'm almost there, I can taste those points. I won't quit until that goal is reached.
In the mean time, while I complete that little goal, I'll keep my perspective and wits about me. I know it's just a bike race. I know it's place in my life, what it does and does not provide for me. It's just a hobby. A very expensive, time consuming, energy sapping hobby that can easily take precedence over more pressing and important matters. And here is where it comes full circle: cycling is hard, life is hard; it's not about point A or point B, it's about the ride; it's not about the bike but it's about the bike; cycling is not a sport for me, it's a lifestyle, the filter through which I experience my world - it can leave me with or without perspective, it's my decision to choose which road to take, and what I get in return for my hard work.
Before the final event and after three days of intense racing I was very nervous. I couldn't calm my mind down the night before the circuit race. Then all of the sudden I had a moment of perspective: at least I'm not in Libya; at least my house is still standing; I have food in the fridge, and fresh water to drink; I have a good job that pays my bills and more; I have a wonderful group of friends, a supportive family and people I know love me.
With that perspective this whole racing business becomes pretty small. Racing isn't what paid for my bike; it's not what puts food on my table; it didn't pay my car off; it doesn't bring anymore emotional intelligence into my life; racing isn't about fulfilling some gaping hole in my ego, rather, it's about completion. it's about starting something and seeing it through.
Waking up each day I have to self-commit to a lot of things: family and friends, work and myself above all else. I know I can hang, I know if I really try I can do OK with some pretty stiff competition but it's not why I start the race. It's very difficult for me to come to that line, it's the tough "get out of the door" feeling I have some days when I just don't feel like doing what ever I need to get out the door and do that day. it's easy to just say fuck it. When it gets hard in a race it's easy to say Ok, I've had enough, that's it I'm threw.
But you can always give 50% more. Your self-commitment and motivation are always synergistically linked. If you're committed to seeing it through the motivation materializes out of thin air; if you're motivated you are already self committed to the task at hand.
I was told from a young age that if you start something you see it through; if you're going to do something, then do it right. For me, doing this racing thing right is to get myself to the highest level I can as an amateur. I'm almost there, I can taste those points. I won't quit until that goal is reached.
In the mean time, while I complete that little goal, I'll keep my perspective and wits about me. I know it's just a bike race. I know it's place in my life, what it does and does not provide for me. It's just a hobby. A very expensive, time consuming, energy sapping hobby that can easily take precedence over more pressing and important matters. And here is where it comes full circle: cycling is hard, life is hard; it's not about point A or point B, it's about the ride; it's not about the bike but it's about the bike; cycling is not a sport for me, it's a lifestyle, the filter through which I experience my world - it can leave me with or without perspective, it's my decision to choose which road to take, and what I get in return for my hard work.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Motivation
: moe[te]vae-shion : An inner force fueled by desire - sometimes by outside stigma or negative energy from other people and/or groups or by inward reaching daemons; once recognized, gets transformed by your inner consciousness into something positive. When this energy is funneled appropriately it can have a transformative effect on attitude, lifestyle and overall wellbeing.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Testing Limits
That's really what it's about.
How do you know what the limits are without testing them?
It's like sex. You can't know what you're doing until you've tested it; you don't know what you like until you've tried it. That unsure, uneasy but awkwardly anxious yet excited moment in kissing someone for the first time? Same thing. It's a boundary, a limit that's being tested. It's the same feeling I get when I toe the line at any race.
Sex and bike racing share common ground: They're both dangerous when done without protection; they involve sweat and precise movements in near nudity; you get better at each through training; both have a lot of accessories; each requires time, energy and focus for a brief moment of glory and euphoria; in both cases natural talent get's you further; and afterwards all you want to do is pass out on the ground.
Testing limits is something I do on a regular basis, I used to do it a lot more, but you only need to test some limits once to know what's good for you. I value not only the lessons I've learned by proxy of these tests, but the insight I've gained about my own psyche. It's this insight that's guided me through some pretty shitty moments in life - moments I'd care to forget but inform who I am today, and in this way feed that insight and make me a stronger person.
It's cyclical. In the most simple terms, going beyond a limit can be viewed as a fuck up. You red lined it on the bike for too long and blew up before the summit. You tried to do 10 hours of work in 8 and half-assed the task. You tried one too many drugs and ended up hurting a lot of people who love you.
Bottom line is as long as you fuck up and then you learn from the experience how you fucked up and you don't fuck up again, then you've gotten what you need out of that test - you now know the boundary, you know the limit, you learned from your experience.
One day, you have a lot of fuck ups under your belt and all this fucked up wisdom from wadding through a fucked up life and somebody says to you, "wow, you've been around the fucking block" and you think, "yeah, I have been around the fucking block, what am I doing with all this fucked up knowledge?"
I guess that's why I write in this blog? Just passing it around I suppose.
I can't believe I spent four hours thinking of this while I rode today - that's what happens when you ride by yourself a lot.
I also thought about why fat people think it's appropriate to wear a moo-moo. Just as a side note, it's not.
How do you know what the limits are without testing them?
It's like sex. You can't know what you're doing until you've tested it; you don't know what you like until you've tried it. That unsure, uneasy but awkwardly anxious yet excited moment in kissing someone for the first time? Same thing. It's a boundary, a limit that's being tested. It's the same feeling I get when I toe the line at any race.
Sex and bike racing share common ground: They're both dangerous when done without protection; they involve sweat and precise movements in near nudity; you get better at each through training; both have a lot of accessories; each requires time, energy and focus for a brief moment of glory and euphoria; in both cases natural talent get's you further; and afterwards all you want to do is pass out on the ground.
Testing limits is something I do on a regular basis, I used to do it a lot more, but you only need to test some limits once to know what's good for you. I value not only the lessons I've learned by proxy of these tests, but the insight I've gained about my own psyche. It's this insight that's guided me through some pretty shitty moments in life - moments I'd care to forget but inform who I am today, and in this way feed that insight and make me a stronger person.
It's cyclical. In the most simple terms, going beyond a limit can be viewed as a fuck up. You red lined it on the bike for too long and blew up before the summit. You tried to do 10 hours of work in 8 and half-assed the task. You tried one too many drugs and ended up hurting a lot of people who love you.
Bottom line is as long as you fuck up and then you learn from the experience how you fucked up and you don't fuck up again, then you've gotten what you need out of that test - you now know the boundary, you know the limit, you learned from your experience.
One day, you have a lot of fuck ups under your belt and all this fucked up wisdom from wadding through a fucked up life and somebody says to you, "wow, you've been around the fucking block" and you think, "yeah, I have been around the fucking block, what am I doing with all this fucked up knowledge?"
I guess that's why I write in this blog? Just passing it around I suppose.
I can't believe I spent four hours thinking of this while I rode today - that's what happens when you ride by yourself a lot.
I also thought about why fat people think it's appropriate to wear a moo-moo. Just as a side note, it's not.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Fitness
: Ph[i]t-necc : The synergy between cardiovascular and pulmonary strength, muscle and mitocondrial density and body fat percentage. Mixed properly, creates a mind-body machine which eats mountain roads in the big ring, clicks off the km's in a rhythmic and controlled fashion and whose only limiting factor are the amount of pastry shops in any given 100 mile stretch of road.
Fitness is assured when the leg band on the bibs are lifting thusly off the top ridge between the two large quadricep muscles when downward pressure is applied to the pedals. If said band is not lifting thusly, more training is required.
Fitness is assured when the leg band on the bibs are lifting thusly off the top ridge between the two large quadricep muscles when downward pressure is applied to the pedals. If said band is not lifting thusly, more training is required.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
An Exercise in Economy
So much of my life revolves around a cost-benefit analysis. Not only in consumerism but in my day-to-day scheduling of events. If my mind was written in C my event handler would be less concerned with memory resources and more in the economy of the processing hops.
My form on the bicycle, finding more economical movements, creating more synergy between the body-machine object that moves forward in time, and never back. Life again, is like a bicycle trip, forward motions mostly planned in advance informed by economical movement, getting from point A to point B with the least amount of resistance and the best cost-benefit.
Sometimes on the bicycle you need to go uphill to get the greatest training, or cost, benefit. Sometimes in life the same is true. Sometimes you need to go uphill, sometimes you have a tailwind and sometimes you have a headwind - regardless you need that hill - it's there to tell you something - to train your mind and body. It's about learning, it's about finding rhythm in chaos, it's about finding peace, it's about the distance between the places where you gain your experience and your wisdom.
I wake up everyday and learn something new about myself. Recently, I've been learning a lot about emotions. What they are, how they affect me, why they are invoked, why I react to them. I never gave them a lot of thought in the past - as Dan Savage would say, you don't want to over-lesbian this thing by feeling it to death. That was a good rule of thumb, but now I'm realizing that sometimes an emotional audit is in order.
Right now I feel tired. I was out at a concert all night. I stayed up late, on my feet dancing, and having a pretty awesome time. As one of my best friends would say, I made a pretty big withdrawal from my energy bank. I don't have the opportunity right now to make a deposit because I have a job, responsibilities, and some sunshine to soak up on my bicycle this afternoon. But I know tonight when I get home and crash on my bed it'll all be worth it.
It'll be worth it because I have the choice to do these things. Sometimes I regret my choices, but the fact is that I have them, they're options, and I can choose to or not ... that's a pretty awesome gift. I can choose to feel and I can choose to not feel. I can choose to react and I can choose not to react.
Today I chose to wake up at a respectable hour even though I needed the rest - what is more important to me today is to get my job done to the best of my ability, in the most economical way possible, fitting the most work into the small space of time I have to get done what needs to be done. Today I'm going to ride my bike - I'm going to get outside and do what I need to do in the most economical way possible. It'll involve going uphill quite a bit. It'll involve some pain, and it'll definitely involve me second guessing whether it's a good idea to ride when I'm so tired, whether that'll benefit me in a training sense.
Truth is, I don't care if it does or doesn't. I know riding my bike makes me feel good, tired or not. I've done way more on way less. I tell myself that every time I go uphill. More on less. More on less. More on less. When there's nothing left you can always give 50% more. When that's gone you've got 50% more. And when that's gone... you get the picture.
I do this because I can. Because it's beautiful outside and I've been at my computer in a lab all day. I do this because life is too short not too.
My form on the bicycle, finding more economical movements, creating more synergy between the body-machine object that moves forward in time, and never back. Life again, is like a bicycle trip, forward motions mostly planned in advance informed by economical movement, getting from point A to point B with the least amount of resistance and the best cost-benefit.
Sometimes on the bicycle you need to go uphill to get the greatest training, or cost, benefit. Sometimes in life the same is true. Sometimes you need to go uphill, sometimes you have a tailwind and sometimes you have a headwind - regardless you need that hill - it's there to tell you something - to train your mind and body. It's about learning, it's about finding rhythm in chaos, it's about finding peace, it's about the distance between the places where you gain your experience and your wisdom.
I wake up everyday and learn something new about myself. Recently, I've been learning a lot about emotions. What they are, how they affect me, why they are invoked, why I react to them. I never gave them a lot of thought in the past - as Dan Savage would say, you don't want to over-lesbian this thing by feeling it to death. That was a good rule of thumb, but now I'm realizing that sometimes an emotional audit is in order.
Right now I feel tired. I was out at a concert all night. I stayed up late, on my feet dancing, and having a pretty awesome time. As one of my best friends would say, I made a pretty big withdrawal from my energy bank. I don't have the opportunity right now to make a deposit because I have a job, responsibilities, and some sunshine to soak up on my bicycle this afternoon. But I know tonight when I get home and crash on my bed it'll all be worth it.
It'll be worth it because I have the choice to do these things. Sometimes I regret my choices, but the fact is that I have them, they're options, and I can choose to or not ... that's a pretty awesome gift. I can choose to feel and I can choose to not feel. I can choose to react and I can choose not to react.
Today I chose to wake up at a respectable hour even though I needed the rest - what is more important to me today is to get my job done to the best of my ability, in the most economical way possible, fitting the most work into the small space of time I have to get done what needs to be done. Today I'm going to ride my bike - I'm going to get outside and do what I need to do in the most economical way possible. It'll involve going uphill quite a bit. It'll involve some pain, and it'll definitely involve me second guessing whether it's a good idea to ride when I'm so tired, whether that'll benefit me in a training sense.
Truth is, I don't care if it does or doesn't. I know riding my bike makes me feel good, tired or not. I've done way more on way less. I tell myself that every time I go uphill. More on less. More on less. More on less. When there's nothing left you can always give 50% more. When that's gone you've got 50% more. And when that's gone... you get the picture.
I do this because I can. Because it's beautiful outside and I've been at my computer in a lab all day. I do this because life is too short not too.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Metaphors
Everyday I'm amazed at how well cycling has become a metaphor for my life. You have your ups and your downs, you have good sensations and bad ones, you have a tail wind or a head wind. Sometimes life can be like an uphill slog into a head wind and other times you're coasting.
Some days I wake up and I'm just checking the boxes. I'm not really paying attention to the trip I'm on, the scenery, or the good conversation that may ensue - I'm here but not really. I think everyone has these days, but when I get outside I'm forced into the present. I'm forced to pay attention. I'm forced to see myself for what I am in that moment and that's not something I take lightly.
It's hard. Life is hard. Cycling is hard.
But cycling is also fun; life is fun; being myself is fun.
I can't help but feel sad for people who don't embrace themselves once in a while, take everything less seriously just for a minute, especially themselves. It's so fucking easy to be hard on yourself. It's easy to resent. It's easy to be angry. It's easy to let other people get under your skin. It's easy to let people take up real estate in your head.
Experience tells me the hardest things in life are humility, apology, and letting go. I think they are all interrelated.
Some days the hardest thing I have to do is step outside my door and throw my leg over the top tube. Some days the hardest thing I have to do is run some massive experiment with tons of moving parts, coordinating with lots of different people in different time zones and different cultures and simultaneously juggling the associated bureaucratic bullshit.
The bottom line is that some days are easy and some days are hard. Everyday no matter what, is a gift. Being present for that gift, the chain of chemical reactions that leads to consciousness and thus the experience of now, it's pretty fucking awesome. Hands down the best trip I've ever been on, and I've been on a lot of trips.
Some days I have to tell myself it's just going to be an uphill slog into a headwind, no big deal, probability is that I experienced that same feeling on my little jaunt out on the bicycle before work that day - I'm mentally prepared.
Some days I wake up and I'm just checking the boxes. I'm not really paying attention to the trip I'm on, the scenery, or the good conversation that may ensue - I'm here but not really. I think everyone has these days, but when I get outside I'm forced into the present. I'm forced to pay attention. I'm forced to see myself for what I am in that moment and that's not something I take lightly.
It's hard. Life is hard. Cycling is hard.
But cycling is also fun; life is fun; being myself is fun.
I can't help but feel sad for people who don't embrace themselves once in a while, take everything less seriously just for a minute, especially themselves. It's so fucking easy to be hard on yourself. It's easy to resent. It's easy to be angry. It's easy to let other people get under your skin. It's easy to let people take up real estate in your head.
Experience tells me the hardest things in life are humility, apology, and letting go. I think they are all interrelated.
Some days the hardest thing I have to do is step outside my door and throw my leg over the top tube. Some days the hardest thing I have to do is run some massive experiment with tons of moving parts, coordinating with lots of different people in different time zones and different cultures and simultaneously juggling the associated bureaucratic bullshit.
The bottom line is that some days are easy and some days are hard. Everyday no matter what, is a gift. Being present for that gift, the chain of chemical reactions that leads to consciousness and thus the experience of now, it's pretty fucking awesome. Hands down the best trip I've ever been on, and I've been on a lot of trips.
Some days I have to tell myself it's just going to be an uphill slog into a headwind, no big deal, probability is that I experienced that same feeling on my little jaunt out on the bicycle before work that day - I'm mentally prepared.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Spinning
The easy day after burrying the hatchet for six hours; the trip to the coffee shop to procrastinate before work; the sunny spring morning the day before your first big race of the season; the sanity ride to ease out of work mode for an hour; the social ride you don't do often enough; the mellow trip rolling down the coast with the wind at your back; the victory lap after a hard crit; evening out freshly glued tubulars on new wheels; the sun is setting, what better way to watch than from the top of a mountain?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
To much trouble, I'm out
I heard a quote of Lance Armstrong from a friends book. Lance was getting an interview set up by a reporter. There was a very small hickup in the setup and Lance sends a one sentence reply back to the reporter "To much trouble, I'm out."
As an athlete you have to strike a balance in everything. You need to shred stress where it isn't necessary, and you need to prioritize what is important. Unlike Lance, this isn't always possible in everyday life. I can't, for example, just say "To much trouble, I'm out" when I have a job to do. Unlike a professional athlete who gets paid to train, shedding all outside stresses is a must because it would be detrimental to their paycheck. I on the other hand, need to take on those stresses no matter what and still find the legs at the end of the day to get outside to do what I love - even if I have had "one of those days."
It's my knee jerk reaction, almost instinctual... it's an end of the work day superman-phone-booth-clothing-change that has become ritual. I tear off my work clothes, get in the sham, and forget about all the other bullshit in life for three or four hours. I've been at work since 7AM, up since 5AM, I've done house chores, made food for the day, did my job to the best of my ability and now it's time to make room for myself. It's 3PM, I feel good because my job fills in the little 1st place-like finishes that I need to feel complete, making my bike ride icing on the proverbial cake.
This has been one of those testing weeks for me. I did not feel like my usual happy self. I felt like I was falling behind everywhere, and the level of stress I was taking on became too much and my riding suffered. Not only that but my personal life suffered. In fact, I suffered in almost all aspects of my life. That's ok though, because as a cyclist suffering is something I'm good at. And the more I ride the better I become at seeing what that suffering is and learning to cope. That's the great thing about this past week: I survived and learned something about myself in the process, what could possibly be more awesome than that?
Well, great sex is definitely better than that, just sayin'.
I know and am grateful that 90% of the time I realize that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it and I react 90% of the time with laughter, because you can't sweat the small stuff and in the larger scope of it all, it's all small stuff.
As an athlete you have to strike a balance in everything. You need to shred stress where it isn't necessary, and you need to prioritize what is important. Unlike Lance, this isn't always possible in everyday life. I can't, for example, just say "To much trouble, I'm out" when I have a job to do. Unlike a professional athlete who gets paid to train, shedding all outside stresses is a must because it would be detrimental to their paycheck. I on the other hand, need to take on those stresses no matter what and still find the legs at the end of the day to get outside to do what I love - even if I have had "one of those days."
It's my knee jerk reaction, almost instinctual... it's an end of the work day superman-phone-booth-clothing-change that has become ritual. I tear off my work clothes, get in the sham, and forget about all the other bullshit in life for three or four hours. I've been at work since 7AM, up since 5AM, I've done house chores, made food for the day, did my job to the best of my ability and now it's time to make room for myself. It's 3PM, I feel good because my job fills in the little 1st place-like finishes that I need to feel complete, making my bike ride icing on the proverbial cake.
This has been one of those testing weeks for me. I did not feel like my usual happy self. I felt like I was falling behind everywhere, and the level of stress I was taking on became too much and my riding suffered. Not only that but my personal life suffered. In fact, I suffered in almost all aspects of my life. That's ok though, because as a cyclist suffering is something I'm good at. And the more I ride the better I become at seeing what that suffering is and learning to cope. That's the great thing about this past week: I survived and learned something about myself in the process, what could possibly be more awesome than that?
Well, great sex is definitely better than that, just sayin'.
I know and am grateful that 90% of the time I realize that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it and I react 90% of the time with laughter, because you can't sweat the small stuff and in the larger scope of it all, it's all small stuff.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Introversion
The primary difference between an extrovert and an introvert is the preferred way in which a person experiences their reality. Extroverts experience and interact with their world by outward means while an introvert experiences and interacts with their world through inward, reflexive means. Everyone does both, but most do one more than the other.
I've found that time alone on my bicycle is a form of introversion for me. I am reflecting on my day, on my body, on my emotions, on my physical self in a very intimate way. However, this introversion turns into a highly extroverted self when I am riding with friends. Reflection of this time conveys a ratio of introversion and extroversion when I ride, and my estimate is that it runs somewhere in the neighborhood of 75:25% of the time - this clearly makes riding an introverted activity for me.
Perhaps I need this time for myself, a time where I am auditing my emotions, my actions, and thinking. It's a time of observation without judgement; reflection without regrets. When I began my journey to be a competitive athlete I found it easy to get down on myself - I used the time on my bike as a way for me to get angry for not being better at it, and I never enjoyed it. It was about my ego, it was about beating up on people, it was about talking a talk.
Riding my bike is fun - initially, this wasn't evident. In fact, in almost every sport I've done, initially they sucked. Swimming is my first experience with this. When I began as a Frosh high schooler, I hated it. But by the end of my sophomore season I would spend the last three periods of the school day dreaming of diving into a lane and eating up some yardage. It became my release from being in a military school, from the oppressive shit I had to deal with, I introverted my experiences to focus on streamlining my form, perfecting the kick turn, propelling myself as far as I could with three graceful butterfly kicks.
Nobody could touch me beneath the water. I couldn't hear the harassment about being queer. I didn't have to stare at some poor underclassmen and scream at him, hit him, or be an otherwise brutal fuck-tard because that was how "men" dealt with shit. My battle was with the water, my form and soft rhythmic breathing was my weapon.
Like I say, I don't ride my bike to race, I race because I ride my bike. It would be an awful waste of fitness not to race. I've got it, so why not use it for something - racing is not a verification or even a validation. In a race my riding becomes extroverted - I extend this to all sport in fact, competition is an extroverted activity for me - it's not a natural state of affairs to have people around me watching, riding my wheel, trying to drop me. Vise versa, it's not natural for me to want to drop others, grab wheels or attack. I just want to ride. Sometimes I race and I ride away from everyone else. There's no attack, there's no moment of oh-my-god he's railing it and I can't hold on. It's just a moment, usually on a climb, where I look around and nobody else is there. I'm not doing it on purpose, I just found that sought after introverted concentration and forgot I was racing.
If life were a race you'd see me doing this quite a bit. In order for me to do well at something I need to introvert and find that form. Be it riding, swimming, programming, writing - they all have a form, they all have a rhythm. Life is form and rhythm. In life the nexus between two people becomes form and rhythm. Your relationship to yourself and your work is form and rhythm. Your thinking follows a form and a rhythm.
Maybe you don't realize it yet, but there's a pattern in your process. The form of your thinking and the rhythm of your schedule - it's all patterned - patterned to the same extent that I can know in a race there will be attack after attack, then it'll be easy once a break clears, then shit will shatter on the hill. It's a form that follows a pattern, only revealed when I introvert and observe the little nuances of life.
I've found that time alone on my bicycle is a form of introversion for me. I am reflecting on my day, on my body, on my emotions, on my physical self in a very intimate way. However, this introversion turns into a highly extroverted self when I am riding with friends. Reflection of this time conveys a ratio of introversion and extroversion when I ride, and my estimate is that it runs somewhere in the neighborhood of 75:25% of the time - this clearly makes riding an introverted activity for me.
Perhaps I need this time for myself, a time where I am auditing my emotions, my actions, and thinking. It's a time of observation without judgement; reflection without regrets. When I began my journey to be a competitive athlete I found it easy to get down on myself - I used the time on my bike as a way for me to get angry for not being better at it, and I never enjoyed it. It was about my ego, it was about beating up on people, it was about talking a talk.
Riding my bike is fun - initially, this wasn't evident. In fact, in almost every sport I've done, initially they sucked. Swimming is my first experience with this. When I began as a Frosh high schooler, I hated it. But by the end of my sophomore season I would spend the last three periods of the school day dreaming of diving into a lane and eating up some yardage. It became my release from being in a military school, from the oppressive shit I had to deal with, I introverted my experiences to focus on streamlining my form, perfecting the kick turn, propelling myself as far as I could with three graceful butterfly kicks.
Nobody could touch me beneath the water. I couldn't hear the harassment about being queer. I didn't have to stare at some poor underclassmen and scream at him, hit him, or be an otherwise brutal fuck-tard because that was how "men" dealt with shit. My battle was with the water, my form and soft rhythmic breathing was my weapon.
Like I say, I don't ride my bike to race, I race because I ride my bike. It would be an awful waste of fitness not to race. I've got it, so why not use it for something - racing is not a verification or even a validation. In a race my riding becomes extroverted - I extend this to all sport in fact, competition is an extroverted activity for me - it's not a natural state of affairs to have people around me watching, riding my wheel, trying to drop me. Vise versa, it's not natural for me to want to drop others, grab wheels or attack. I just want to ride. Sometimes I race and I ride away from everyone else. There's no attack, there's no moment of oh-my-god he's railing it and I can't hold on. It's just a moment, usually on a climb, where I look around and nobody else is there. I'm not doing it on purpose, I just found that sought after introverted concentration and forgot I was racing.
If life were a race you'd see me doing this quite a bit. In order for me to do well at something I need to introvert and find that form. Be it riding, swimming, programming, writing - they all have a form, they all have a rhythm. Life is form and rhythm. In life the nexus between two people becomes form and rhythm. Your relationship to yourself and your work is form and rhythm. Your thinking follows a form and a rhythm.
Maybe you don't realize it yet, but there's a pattern in your process. The form of your thinking and the rhythm of your schedule - it's all patterned - patterned to the same extent that I can know in a race there will be attack after attack, then it'll be easy once a break clears, then shit will shatter on the hill. It's a form that follows a pattern, only revealed when I introvert and observe the little nuances of life.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Gears
Gears: an allusion to the ways in which mechanical energy is stored and released dynamically over time, often used as a metaphor in life that denotes how mind numbingly hard shit can be or how simple, light, and fluid a moment is.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Triggers
I used to have a lot of different ideas about various objects and language. For example, about two years after the last time I smoked meth I couldn't use gas stovetops, disposable lighters, tin foil, or other stuff I used for ... using - in the recovery world we call these "triggers," or nouns, verbs, and adjectives that trigger a euphoric recall about using a drug. Let's say I had some serious issues with this for some time (my list of triggers was four pages long, word for word, line by line, double-sided on college ruled paper).
You know that guy who is always making those sexual innuendos about stuff... you're thinking, "where's your head man?" Yeah, that guy, he's always thinking about sex. For me, I was always thinking about drugs. So when I'm hanging out with bike racers and the term "peaking" is used I instantly start thinking about peaking on E or L or G or whatever and it takes me a minute to internalize "I'm not high" then I realize it's not 'that' peaking.
Anyways, I think it's a crock of shit. It probably isn't, but as far as my cycling is concerned, it is. I don't peak. I might lower my volume for a period so I can gain my wits and a lucid sense of reality again, but I don't peak. Not my thing. I show up at races with whatever I've got in the tank. I can't ask myself to sacrifice any more mental energy on bikes, it's a principle. As an amateur, in my mind, it's not worth it to take it that seriously.
If I was going to worlds, I might reconsider. But since my only international event is the Saturday Morning International World Invitational GP I can't really bring myself there. Sure, there's a lot of people out there who I race against who do take it that seriously, and that's cool, I'm not going to judge them... much. But I won't be bothered with that type of mind set.
I've got this pro contract with computer science. It's pretty neat. I like it, and it brings me a different sense of satisfaction than competitive racing. It's more mental than physical - I need both of those mind-sets to be challenged daily because I get board easily. The idea of centering your life around one thing - social stuff, racing stuff, work stuff - isn't healthy. I like the challenge of balancing all of those things, spinning (there's another one of those trigger words) a lot of different plates, but not reading into or allowing any one plate to take over my life.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Acting The Part
I believe your mental game is your game. You've got to know you're going to score before you actually score. You've got to have that confidence. You've got to know you're that fucking good.
Life is a trip like that. It's all about pretending to be something you're not. If you want something you've got to pretend, at least a little bit, that you're already there before you can actually achieve it. You've got to know you're good enough to have it, and that you're that person it just hasn't been realized yet.
Want to be a computer scientist? Act like a computer scientist - do things that computer scientists do. Extend this notion to all your goals. Extend it to interpersonal relationships with other people and yourself - play the part and you'll become it.
I used to be a drug addict. My hobby was altering my consciousness because I didn't want to know myself, I wanted to be something else. Somewhere along the way I decided I wasn't a bad guy, that I deserved better, that I deserved to have good people in my life, and not to allow the negative ones to take up space in my head.
I woke up and wanted to be an athlete. I didn't know what this meant. I didn't understand the dedication that it would involve. I didn't understand the life changing experience that would ensue. All I knew is that I wanted what an athlete had: I wanted something good for myself, something only I could give me. I couldn't purchase it, I couldn't give it away, I couldn't inject it, I couldn't smoke it, I couldn't rail it. I had to work for it.
What kind of athlete did I want to be? Sort of a broad question... deep thought ensued and I decided bikes were pretty awesome. I also look good in lycra so that was a plus. I surrounded myself with people who raced bikes on every level of the sport. At first I thought I wasn't good enough to be better than a category 4 rider. But the more I hung out with other top level amateurs the more I rode and the more the sport grew on me.
All I had to do was wake up everyday and re-commit to acting like an athlete and surround myself with like-minded folks. The goal of being an athlete soon diminished and was replaced with a love for a machine, for pain, and for a minimal amount of glory.
I wake up everyday and I pretend to be a lot of things. Most of these things I would have never seen myself doing six years ago. Most of these things people have told me I would never achieve. But here I am, doing those things, being that person. So to all those people who said you can't or you won't, go fuck yourself - I am and I did.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Training
My general bicycle riding principle:
There is no substitute for owning all your local climbs in the big ring; using smaller gears to go up a climb faster only works when you're doped.
Computers suck almost as much as dopers. Yes, Fabian uses a SRM, as well as all of his colleagues - if I got a check from SRM every time I looked at my power meter I'd use one too - if you're not getting a check then spend that extra cash on a nice pair of Assos bibs, you'll be happier.
Coaches are for people who don't understand why they are riding their bicycle. If you're not going to the Olympics or Worlds then go have fun; intervals are not fun; structured training is not fun - if you want to ride your bicycle fast then every time you go up hill, do it faster than everyone else (in your big ring).
If you feel good, gas it; if you feel square, then don't.
Don't assume anything about how you're going to ride on any given day, ever. Expectations are premeditated resentments.
Always say something about how much you haven't been riding when you show up for a group ride, even if you have 30 hours in your legs that week.
In general, Campy doesn't work better than anything else, you only have it for sex appeal - this isn't a training guideline as much as a overarching observation... just sayin'.
Own an all black Assos kit... or two.. or three...
If you're not at a race, then ride some handbuilt 32 spoke wheels with brass nipples and washers; rolling around on a suitcase of carbon cash is stupid, and makes you look like a tool, especially at Saturday morning worlds.
Drink coffee all the time, especially before you go to bed at night. This will ensure you're ready to go first thing in the morning.
Do a six hour ride with nothing but your favorite beer (or if you're like me, whisky and warm water) in your water bottles at least three times during the winter.
Don't take it seriously.
Minimize everything.
Have fun.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Time time time
8(ish) hours at work, 4 hours on my bike, 5 hours with Lily, 7 hours of sleep, back at work by 7 the following day. Today is the following day. I'm back at work. The sun just came up, it's peaking through the top level window blinds in my basement lab/office. I'm drinking my third jar (I drink my beverages from an old mason jar at work) of Maté this morning.
How sustainable is this? Why do I do it? Every week that goes by seems to go by faster. I crave the moments that slow this process down; moments that make time crawl. Pain slows time; happiness slows time; moments of cathartic emotional, body-disconnectedness, out of mind experiences pulling me closer to the event horizon of my consciousness - then back again.
I first noticed the nexus of emotional states and perception of time in a sweat lodge backpacking six years ago. I've done a my share of sweats and this one was particularly hot - hot enough to push the 12 other people out for air and relief from the neck burning steam coming from the center of the willow branch dome covered in sleeping bags, mats, and tarps. Me and one other, named Shane.
He took the nalgene of water we used to stoke the heat of the lodge and poured it over the rocks, creating a suffocating steam which I was certain was blistering the back of my neck. In agony I motioned to leave the lodge. Shane noticed and said six words that changed my life, "The heat will tell you something."
Really? I wondered.
Curiosity more than anything told me to stay. I sat. It was 30 minutes long. The time it takes me to ride 10 miles; twice the time it takes me to write this blog entry; four times the amount of time it takes me to make my breakfast; eight times the amount of time it takes me to brush my teeth. If time were distance it would be 16 times the distance squared of my desk to the south facing wall in my lab in feet.
It's a number. The discrete way in which we've come to understand our world. None of it is real. The numbers in your checking account; the numbers on your watch; the numbers defining the words in a binary language created so you can read this blog. It's a measurement that doesn't really exist; without time there would be no measurement, there would be no forward motion of the clock hands and thus a discrete measurement would not take place, not in this dimension anyways.
In my search to find a cyclical continuity to my day, one in which the perverted notion of discrete time plays little to no role I find emotional connection with myself and others. There is no discrete measurement of happy or sad. To escape the constant tick-tock, the nagging 800lb pink gorilla in my pocket (AKA my cell phone), I ride my bike, I find emotional connectivity, I let myself experience pain, happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy, the cold and the hot. I experience it because it's real, I experience it because it's telling me something.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Ritmo
Ritmo: The sensation of physical and mental symmetry between you and the machine denoted by a rhythm or a smooth, fluid and "buttery" motion of the pedals under your feet often accompanied by a high heart rate, feelings of euphoria, wellness, and a fountain of sweat from your face.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Planning
Everyone has planned something at one time or another. Making time for yourself when you have a busy schedule requires that you be more diligent about making plans for anything let it be people, work or time for yourself.
I'm constantly trying to economize the way I spend my time to maximize recovery mentally and physically but also live my life with high standards and room for personal growth; if I were constantly focused on my recovery I would never have time to play my guitar, program software, make healthy food, or socialize.
This consisitant focus on planning my day-to-day schedule can be overwhelming, and actually take away from the time you have to do the things you need. Case-in-point, I started my mid-week long ride yesterday with thoughts about how I am going to plan today. For about the first 10 minutes of the ride I could tell I was not focused on the task at hand: riding my bike. My mental clarity was anything but clear and I wasn't feeling great.
I stepped back and realized that this was due to a lack of present focus; I was in the future mentally but my physical body needed to be present in order to feel right. My trick? A mantra, I'm sure you've heard it before "ride your fucking bike jeff."
Simple.
The same mantra, slightly modified can help on day-to-day stuff, "[insert verb to be done in the present] [insert an explicative that appropriately fits within the current situation] [insert appropriate adjective] [your name here]"
Done. Welcome to the present. That wasn't so hard was it?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Cruising
Sometimes you just have to go out and cruise.
Nothing special, just ride your bike somewhere.
Doesn't have to be about a destination, you're just cruising.
Sometimes, I don't want to think about anything else but my where my front wheel is pointed.
The other day I had a moment riding. It was just a brief moment. It was equivalent to those times when I'm jamming on my guitar trying to learn a new song and all of the sudden I've got a rhythm, I'm doing a set - it's like sex, getting out there you're unsure of yourself but all of the sudden it's synergy with the machine and the road and it's fucking liberating. Nothing describes it.
I rode with a friend who is going through a tough time right now. She is unsure of a current situation and has a lot of other people helping to inform her opinion in a unilateral way. I like to see things in a bilateral fashion but things are never that way, it's more a omnilateral (is that a word?) thing.
The thing is being human. Human ideology, human social contracts, human sexuality, how these things inform one another until you blur the line between all of them and can't tell what is what. I've always told people I'm not attracted to others physically, it's an intellectual attraction - an attraction to personality above all else. Physical attraction has a place, it's just not number one on my list when I meet someone.
This has given me a different way of seeing humans interact, and a different way in which I audit my own human interactions. The long and the short of it is that she needed to know what she was dealing with was not unusual, in fact, it's totally in the norm from my perspective. Her relationship with an ex has explanation in very simple terms where before I could see that it seemed overly complicated to her.
I feel like all human interaction can be simplified to very simple terms - simple yes, but perhaps informed by complicated underpinnings. People get caught up in the underpinnings. The day-to-day actions of an individual towards other individuals. Those actions are combinations of complex day-in and day-out beliefs often misinformed by a broken social contract that was signed at birth, and followed through on by a person as a member of a household. Not just a physical household but the abstract household of common thought that often binds a family or group of people together. It's a household of ideas that are passed from generation to generation, often without second thought, without and audit of their worth or epistimology. It's this unquestioned dogma that runs people astray, they do not understand there are other ways of thinking and they become absorbed until one day they crack and hurt other people.
My friend got hurt by one of those people and that absolutely sucks. It sucks because she does not deserve it and it sucks because the person who hurt her is loosing the only person within his "household" who has inclinations to be there for him and support him in his current struggle. He doesn't realize that right now. He will though. He'll wake up one day and realize his mistake and make amends but for the current moment his struggles with his social contract, his household of ideas and people who believe in those ideas will continue to make lame any type of meaningful relationships and movement forward as a healthy individual.
I understand this type of person because I've been there. I've done that. I saw my grass wasn't green. I knew my sun hadn't risen. I understood that there was another way but had not been experienced to find that way. I sit here today with more experience, but it's not over. This road is long and I ride it everyday. Like any ride you go up, you go down, you have tail winds and you have head winds. Sometimes you've gotta put your head down and grind and other times you're cruising.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Balance
Sometimes I forget that my life is pretty busy, I mean, I get so caught up in the day to day stuff that actually stepping back and realizing that I am in fact a busy guy is rare. Driving back from Boonville last Sunday after a six hour ride in the morning I had one of those moments. I feel like it's important to have a realization every now and then that convey's to you the balance in your life, whether or not the scales are tipped.
Every day we wake up, drink some coffee or tea and get on with our day. The sun rises, the sun sets. In between we work, play, socialize, and do chores. If you're like me you get into rubber band shooting matches with your roommate after dinner (I lost).
I'm trying to make time for everyone including myself, who happens to be demanding as hell. When compared to my family, my friends, it's myself that takes up all the time and I have a propensity of getting down on myself about this. But when I step back and take time to realize the way in which I got to where I am today it becomes clear that this "selfish" way I go about my day-to-day is the same ideology that saved my life almost (six?) 6 years ago.
Trying to appease other people; not letting myself have "me" time; trying to do all these things for other people (read: school, work, social events, et cetera) - this is what drove me to use, using was my back door away from the obligations I made to appease everyone but myself; drugs became my "me" time.
In rehab I learned that being selfish can be good. Letting go of a little empathy can be healthy; not taking on others emotions and letting someone's negativity get into my head was key. Today I use several tactics to keep myself sane. Most of the time it involves being on my bike - this serves a personal sense of wellbeing as well as a way to vent. But I also employ several mental skills honed in over the last five years to keep the negativity out and the positive energy flowing.
I don't let others take up space in my head. If somebody says I made them feel a certain way I take it into consideration, but I don't internalize it. Internalization, also known as taking it personally, can happen whether your words or actions have or don't have ill intent. If I'm stating an opinion and my underlying goal is not to offend and someone says I hurt their feelings I don't internalize their reaction - it's simply that, THEIR reaction. My retort is usually "that sounds like a personal problem..." and I move on. This usually angers people, but again, it's an internalized reaction and I have no control over that and I refuse to accept any type of personal responsibility for their reaction, because it is a personal problem.
Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. Go through life with good intent. Go through life with positive energy. Expend your empathy wisely, you can only take on so many other emotions that are not your own and there is a time and place for it, but it is not all the time - space in your head is valuable real estate.
Be selfish. Allow yourself time away from everyone else to do your own thing. Explore the world in your own way. Do not let others be the guiding light - allow others to be there on your journey, but the light is yours and yours alone.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Bike
You know you've got something good when your own mom says to you, "Why do you think you need women in your life when you have your bike? These are the best days of your life and you've given yourself something that no other person can give you."
The best part is, she's right. Sure, I end up at my fair share of 3AM-drive-to-the-fucking-velopromo races. But there is no doubt I ride my bike for myself.
It's not solitude, it's not a work out, it's not to "get fit." It's not about the bike race, but it is definitively about the bike. For me, the bike gives me a confidence I never had. The bike gives me a sense of purpose but without a sense of responsibility. It's an addiction and my drug recovery in one bag of tricks. My best friend once said to me one afternoon before I was set to go out on a blind date, "Jeff, all you have to do is pretend you're on the bike all the time. If you can get that sense of confidence you have out here all the time you're golden, nobody can touch you."
I've always been that odd guy out, you're either intrigued or totally offended. On the bike though, I'm different. Everyone has that clique, that situation, that person they feel totally comfortable with. For me it's a machine.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Groups
I was out riding last weekend with a friend in Santa Cruz. He went from Campy to a SRAM bike. Before this happened the discussion was always about how terrible SRAM sounded. Typical American ideology went into building that groupset - throw some fancy skin deep graphics on something and it's bound to sell, regardless of how good it may or may not be.
All the groupsets out there have their own peculiarities. I made a genius metaphor to describe the three major ones - inspired by the comment from my riding partner in reference to campy that, "you have to talk nicely to it in order to make it shift."
I replied that, "Yeah, SRAM is like your mexican gardner. You can pick it up at any hardware store, not pay a whole lot for it, and be satisfied but not totally thrilled; Shimano is like a factory of Japanese seamstresses - they work great all the time, every time; and Campy is like an expensive Italian hooker - you gotta show her a good time, buy her a nice dinner, talk nicely to her and maybe she'll work, but at the end of the day you're going to pay a lot of money and you only get fucked."
That pretty much gets to the bottom of it.
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