Author: kennettron

You may have heard me ranting and raving about Osmo last year. Here’s why:

A) It works.

B) See A.

Like many of you, I’ve used pretty much everything out there in terms of hydration mixes. Some of it tastes ridiculously sweet, some of it messes your stomach up, and some of it actually makes you perform better. Osmo falls into that last category, which is why I’m endorsing it. Instead of injecting a plethora of nasty, artificial fluorescent food coloring to attract hummingbirds (hummingbirds are color blind by the way), or shoveling in a bunch of sugar, Osmo actually made a product that works. It’s a salty solution with just a touch of sugar and natural flavor. They made it with easy-on-the-stomach, high-quality trisodium citrate, as opposed to cheap sodium chloride (regular old table salt that messes up your stomach).

The result is a very mild-tasting, yet highly potent drink that I can actually feel making me perform better and last longer. No, I’m not talking about Viagra.

I’ll be using all three of their Men’s products next year (I swear I’m not talking about Viagra), including my favorite, PreLoad. I used it from March through September last year for every race I did, plus a lot of training days as well. As a plasma expander (the natural and legal kind), it vastly increases your body’s water supply for hot days, while improving oxygen transport at the same time. Doubly whammy.

The Active Hydration and Acute Recovery are amazing as well. Get edumucated and entertained with these videos that describe how each product works.

PreLoad:

Active Hydration:

Acute Recovery:

Osmo formulated each of these for their Women’s line of products as well, making them the first and only company to make the distinction between men and women when it comes to hydration:

Women’s Overview:

I contacted Osmo founder Stacy Sims last year before Philly and got her to shed some light on her heat training protocol, which I’ve talked about here on this blog before but I think it’s so awesome I’ll talk about it again. If you’re going to be competing in any hot races this year (especially if you’re coming from someplace cooler) or you just want an overall boost in fitness for any event, I recommend it. It’s not easy but it worked for me multiple times last year.

13 days before your event, begin the dry sauna training, which sounds easy but is pretty miserable after riding for five hours or however long your workout was. You sit in the sauna for 20-30 minutes right after each ride for 7 days in a row. Go as soon as you can after your ride. I just park my bike at the rec center, grab a towel on the way in, shower off, and I’m in the sauna within five minutes of finishing my workout. Don’t rehydrate before going in though. Counterintuitive? Yes. Only consume enough liquid to get your recovery drink down.

Sit high up in the sauna (which should be between 170-180 degrees) for as long as you can, only coming down to the lower benches if and when you have to. When you get out, don’t take a cold shower. Take a warm one. More importantly, don’t consume huge amounts of water at once when you get out. Don’t chug. Slowly rehydrate for the next 3-4 hours so the heat stress you just put yourself through doesn’t go to waste. You want your body to suffer and adapt to the suffering, just like in training. This is crucial and a bit miserable. Remember, you only have to make it through a week of this. Using all three Osmo products during this phase, especially the PreLoad, helped keep me feeling strong enough to make it through the next day of this miserable heat acclimation.

Stop five days before your event to let your hydration levels bounce back and your body super-compensate with extra plasma stores, more red blood cells, and increased capillary density. I recommend doing a practice run of this protocol during training a few months before your target race, just to make sure your body can handle it, similar to how you shouldn’t use new equipment for the first time on race day. If any of you try this, let me know how it goes and how your event went in the comments section since I’m interested to know if it works for everyone.

PS hummingbirds are not colorblind, you big dumb idiot.

And the prognosis is: I’m slow as fuck. Maybe not quite that slow, but pretty close to it. Maybe as slow as some hot, wet foreplay. As per usual, I’ve over inflated my ego and came down here expecting to win. Win big at the UofA crit and Oracle road race. What was I basing my form on? I’m not sure, but I guess my own Strava rides and the form of other guys who’ve been riding in the ice. Sorry Boulderites, but we’re WAY out of shape compared to the southern belles down here in Arizona. Yes, the Gateway ride is sorta fast at times, but dang the Shootout must be cookin right now because these boys is on fire! My only consolation to getting my ass pounded this hard is that it’s only February. I hate it when people use that lame excuse “well it’s only December,” “well it’s only February,” “well it’s only July.” Eventually you need to be fast. When? At races. This weekend had races, so to the winners: good on ya’ mate, as they say in Sweden.

After a hectic Friday, which was my last day of work, Adelaide and I flew down to Tucson late at night. We timed it perfectly, right in between Colorado’s stupid snowstorms. Quinn Keogh picked us up in his sweet liveable Elk Van with a bed in the back, dark curtains on the windows, and a sign that says free candy if you’re under 48 inches. (48 inches tall, get your mind out of the gutter).

The instigator of this trip was Adelaide, or more accurately, Adelaide’s desire to have me at her first race, you know, to give her sound tactical advice.

Saturday at noon: I spent a lot of time yelling at her from corner 1 to stop pulling and get off the front. She spent 20 minutes of her 30 minute crit dragging the remnants of her field around, only to be out-sprinted in the end. Wait, you can’t just ride hard and expect everyone to drop off your wheel or crash? Who woulda’ thunk? This isn’t a triathlon, Adelaide.

Adelaide sitting on the front.

After the race, I told her that she spent way too much time in the wind, pulling without attacking, to expect a good result, though she still ended up 9^th so it wasn’t like it was a complete flop.

Then, in the afternoon, disregarding my own advice, I did almost the exact same thing. My first mistake was lining up at the back, thinking that I’d ease into it for the first 10 minutes then start attacking…probably lap the field once or twice, solo. Nothing too he-manish, just enough to get in a good workout and let everyone know a new sheriff had come to town. Instead, the race broke apart on lap two because of a medium-strength crosswind. I spent half an hour working through small groups to get to the front. By then it was no longer the front, since a three-man breakaway was half a lap up with all three teams represented.

Still intent on getting that workout in, I ‘pulled an Adelaide’ and just sat on the front of whatever group I was with at the time and got 7^th, just after being lapped by the winning break. Good way to start the season, new sheriff!

Picking my way through the pieces.

Sitting on the front.

Quinn attacking and dropping me.

7^th was out of the money of course, meaning that it was up to Quinn and his $4.50 to buy the post ride Costco pizza/frozen yogurt/chicken bake/and king-size chorro (sp?). If you weren’t aware, you can get diabetes on the cheap at Costco.

Day two was much better. Not in terms of results but because it was a road race on a hard course with some good competition and I was ready to crush it! Ha.

The course was downhill for seven miles, rolling and flat for six, and uphill/rolling/and false flat uphill for the last seven miles. We were to do four laps for a total of 80 miles.

I got dropped hard. At the end of lap three, my legs, lungs, and heart could take no more. They’d had it. I’d been at my limit for roughly the entire race at that point and one little kicker before the end of that third lap shed me out the back of the peloton. The “peloton” being eight guys at that point, but still, it was humbling. I’ve got some work to do in order to get fast again. Judging from my current base, though, I don’t feel like it will take long, which is the good news.

The strong men of the race included a super ridiculously revamped Smart Stop squad, Landis Trek, and Conor Mullervy of Champ Systems, who was the culprit for dropping me that third lap. Bastard. Smart Stop went one-two with Josh Berry soloing for two full laps and Cameron Cogburn attacking with five miles to go, leaving Conor to sprint for third. I rolled in a long time later for 10th.

More importantly, Adelaide won her race after accidentally dropping the last woman left standing. She’s going to be fast, folks. Very fast.

3rd place was too ashamed to show her face.

After our races, we jump started Quinn’s van for the ride home and took a quick stop off at my favorite grocery store of all time, Sprouts. Back at Quinn and Allie’s house, we cooked up some delicious backyard barbeque and downed three bottles of cheap wine by the fire pit. It was a grand old time and probably my favorite moment of the weekend.

My almost equally favorite moment was the six-hour ride the following day on Mt. Lemmon: 11,500 feet of climbing,108 miles, 5,600 kilojoules. I was feeling the previous two days of racing, but not too much since my power was decent and my energy levels were pretty solid.

Adelaide and I rode to the base and did the bottom 20 minutes together so I could help pace her 20-minute test. She set yet another record but kept the vomit down this time. From there I went on alone to milepost nine 4 times, then once to milepost four. The weather was great. 65 degrees at the base and 50 up above for most of the day. There were almost no cars, making for a quiet, dry, pleasantly lonely day of tempo riding. I had my new playlist “Thomas’ Winter Mix 2014” so I was entertained for hours.

Heading home, I’d gone through all 1,300 calories of my food at 5.5 hours and realized a very hard bonk was quickly approaching. Fortunately Tucson has plenty of fast obesity establishments to choose from once you get off Catalina highway, each conveniently located twice every 10 feet in every direction. I chose the McDonalds on Tanque Verde.

Within 4 minutes I’d gone from pushing 300 watts with ease to a rapidly deteriorating state that included but was not limited to massive loss of brain power, blurred vision, profuse sweating despite being slightly chilled, and of course complete lack of sound decision-making capabilities (see choice of food establishment). It still wasn’t a full on bonk. But just 10 more minutes would have been a disaster.

I stumbled through the doors and slid across the just-mopped and still slippery floors, regained my balance, and the smell hit my nostrils. I decided right then and there that I’d buy EVERYTHING. ‘Dear gods of grease, I thank thee for providing this bounty of happiness. I shall take every hormone-laden meat patty, every fat-drenched Freedom fry, and all of the chocolate dipped cones and, as quickly as possible, I shall stuff them into every open orifice I see fit and be happy and everything will once again be good and right in the world.’ But I only had two bucks.

In America, $2 still buys unlimited calories. Within 87 seconds of being handed my soda cup, I’d chugged 190 tablespoons-worth of sugar in the form of strawberry Fanta and was cured immediately. I cruised the rest of the way home slightly faster than the speed of traffic and could have kept going for another two hours at the same pace, no problem. My endurance, ladies and gentlemen, is not the issue.

Tuesday morning in Tucson means the Tuesday morning ride, similar to the Shootout but smaller, shorter, and without as much firepower. It’s still fast though, and great training for a tempo-legged northerner like myself. Adelaide, Quinn, and I woke up way too early and were out the door at a dark and chilly 7:10 AM. We met the group on campus and picked up riders along the route as we slowly made our way through town to the backside of Gate’s Pass.

With approximately 60-70ish riders, it wasn’t a big turnout. Quinn said they’ve been getting over 200 on the Shootout lately and over 100 on the Tuesday morning ride. I think Tucson is once again become THE place in the States for training camps and general winter riding.

I’ll cut to the chase though. I won. Yep I won the Tuesday ride, taking a commanding yet uncomfortable lead on the final steep pitches of the climb up Gate’s Pass for the big W. Mission accomplished, folks. Season complete. Time to pack it up and start planning for 2015. Resume has been updated; please contact my agent and send me the papers to sign once the contract is hashed out. I won’t entertain the idea of anything less than 700K (euros).

Putting in some extra miles after the Tuesday morning ride.

Tuesday afternoon, as I write this from the airplane, was unfortunately our last day in the beautifully sunny and warm Southwest. We’re headed for the snow and four-degree temps of Colorado, about 18,000 minutes too soon if you ask me. I certainly wouldn’t complain if we were forced to stay in Tucson for another five or six weeks, training by day, racing by weekend, and sitting by the fire pit in the Keogh’s backyard by night, watching their wild dog, Lola, run rampant circles around us all like only a true desert beast can.

SmartEtailing has been good to me. Very good. They gave me the flexibility to train extra long during lunch hours, the ability to race a full schedule of the best events I could find last year, and the pay to get me there. Financing a full year of travel races and high end bike equipment was not cheap, and having a full time job was the only way to make it happen. Plus, I was offered amazing deals with QBP (the parent of SmartEtailing), the job allowed me to sit with my legs up, and I got to write about bikes, wheels, and power meters–not too shabby of a deal if you ask me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. The job forced me to rest, to train inteliggently (still up for debate), and it re-invigorated my desire to make it onto a pro team. Part of the job included writing about pro races, which was fun but made me super jealous of all the lucky guys who were out there racing California and US Pro Challenge instead of sitting in an office watching it unfold on a screen. I wanted that, what they had, now more than ever. For once, I focused my strength at crushing every race I attended instead of shitting it all away on training rides. Last year, thanks to working in the office, my passion was for the races, not intervals. (Okay so maybe it was 50/50).

Lastly, my coworkers were awesome and a pleasure to work with. They became some of my best friends. All in all, I have nothing but gratitude and good memories from working at SmartEtailing and I thank Liam, Stephen D, Steven H, Brittany, Will, Russell, Shaine, Alex, Jim, Tim, Jeff, Sam, Matt (did I work with him?), and even Dan. Yes, even that bastard Dan.

Last year wouldn’t have been possible without such a sweet setup like SmartEtailing, that’s for sure. It was perfect for me. But ditching the “9-5” desk job for Europe to go ride my bike and crush fools for a living? It sort of feels like:

Fuck yeah I’m so ready for this! I’ll once again be a full-time bike racer…AKA bored out of my mind, killing time in between rides with Facebook and Hulu for 13 hours a day. No but seriously, it’s time to focus on training and racing again. I know the down time, the extra sleep, the diminished stress, and the unlimited training hours will turn me into a monster. Either that or I’ll overdo it like I always used to and be tired and flat come race day. I guess we’ll find out if I learned my lesson in a couple months.

I wrote this in a fast, angry tirade so as to get it off my mind and be able to sleep in peace tonight. It’s one big block of jumbled thoughts and I get off subject many times throughout. Sorry for that. Here’s what it’s in response to:

http://303cycling.com/practicing-Conscious-Cycling

Basically the author blames cyclists for unsafe riding on the Gateway ride (a big group ride that has between 20 and 120 people on it from January through March). The author is calling for us to change our ways in order to appease the impatient drivers we’re holding up. Who knew there’d be so many deathly important, pressing issues for these drivers to take care of on a Saturday morning way out in the country? I say deathly important because not once, not twice, but three times last Saturday I and other cyclists were cut off or passed closely enough for me to feel that my life was threatened. I didn’t complain though. Fuck it. I know what I’m up against when I head out the door. But I have chosen to complain now, when another cyclist mind you is deciding to blame US for causing the problem. So long solidarity. But I guess he’s right. I do exist, therefor I am the problem–at least in they minds of a very select few drivers.

Read 303’s article for yourself and get their whole take on the matter if you so desire. Here’s my poorly written but still somewhat rational response. Time for me to got to bed. I’m sure I’ll regret this in the morning. Whatever…

Remember all those times cyclists were killed or permanently injured on the Front Range this past year due to unsafe group rides and slowly rolling through stop signs? Yeah me neither! In every incident it has been inattentive or purposefully homicidal drivers who end up avoiding even a slap on the wrist for taking someone’s life. Taking someone’s life. As for the unsafe riding on the Gateway group ride, I’ve been on two of the three editions this year, riding both at the front and the back, and haven’t witnessed anything out of control at all other than a few newbies not holding their line perfectly. On highway 36 we’re double file to the right of the white line the entire way, tight and orderly like good little orderlies. We still get buzzed and honked at of course, despite ample room for cars to pass safely. On the smaller country roads up north we’re single or double file for most of the ride, only taking the full lane a handful of times when things temporarily slow and bunch up. That’s the nature of large group rides. Would the local residents or whomever it is complaining about us rather there be 100 extra cars on the road to deal with? How about 100 slow-moving tractors? Passing a big group of cyclists can take up to a minute of their time. Yes a whole minute! But they need to deal with it in a SANE manor. I wrote SANE in cap locks to bring attention to the word and the lack of it being applied, because the actions of some of these impatient drivers is literally insane to me. They’d risk killing multiple human beings because they’re angry at us for making them slow down for 30 seconds? Maybe I’ll start doing the same thing at grocery stores when there’s a slow, elderly lady blocking the aisle when I’m in a hurry to get to the bulk section. I would love for there to be a cop car following the Gateway ride in order to ticket and arrest unsafe, INSANE drivers for once, instead of a cop car following along for the sole purpose of harassment. Police harassment has happened to me on group rides around the country, including the Gateway, Shootout, the Santa Barbra Worlds, and even smaller rides back in Oregon. The worst incidence occurred on the Shootout down in Tucson when a cop came around our group at 80+ mph and slammed his brakes on in front of us, attempting to make us crash. It was incredibly close and to this day I’m not sure how we all managed to swerve out of the way. Not long after this happened, another cop ran headfirst into the Shootout and mowed down 20+ human beings. Tucson’s finest. Sorry I’m getting side tracked. Back on the subject of hand: the very few drivers who complain about the Gateway ride are impatient, most likely miserable, bike-hating people who are going to complain about us no matter what we do. They don’t hate us because we’re rolling through a stop sign. They hate us because of who we are and what we’re doing, which is just a reminder to them of who they AREN’T and what they AREN’T doing, which is enjoying life and being happy. Don’t forget that and go blaming yourself when you get run over by one of these psychos. It’s like an abused woman saying, “I deserved it. I burnt dinner.” There’s a small minority of unsafe cyclists, just like there’s a small minority of unsafe drivers. While the unsafe drivers stick out in my mind, the unsafe cyclists may stick out in the minds of most drivers. Here’s the difference: I don’t purposefully threaten the lives of other cars (if a car had a life) when I pass them (if I passed them) on my bike in order to get even with that one driver I saw two Sundays ago who rolled through a stop sign. Like every cyclist, my number one priority while riding is to not get killed. Is that too much to ask?

I lowered myself into bed Sunday night with a deep, deep wheeze, followed by a bone-rattling cough that shot spikes of pain straight to the upper left half of my brain. Only the left half for some reason. I’m not sure why but every time the pain came it was only in the upper left half, never the right. But mainly I was focused on the lack of oxygen.

My lungs were ruined. They were completely demolished from two days of hard riding with a cough that just has not let up over the past week. I thought I’d ride the sickness out this weekend. Yeah, like that has ever happened in the history of ever. Last night I woke a dozen times throughout to cough and wheeze and desperately suck in what little oxygen I could. A few times I woke up solely from lack of breath. My lungs were so full of mucus and so closed off I was actually having difficulty breathing. Laying on my side seemed to give me more air than my back, but I’d inevitably roll onto my back once I fell asleep, which would slowly close-off my air intake, causing me to wake up and repeat the process.

The bronchial constriction finally let up this morning in the shower. Despite doubling up on store-brand Mucinex the evening before (and for the past 10 days for that matter), nothing would come out last night. But after the night of sleep things finally loosened up. In the shower I heaved up thick, brown, chunky mouthfuls of mucus and spat them out between my feet. With each chest vomit I could feel my airways clearing, bringing in more precious oxygen. I took a few deep inhales after I’d puked out as much as I could and it felt like an elephant had finally decided to step off my chest. I could breath once again.

Two days before, Saturday morning:

The Gateway ride was the first group ride I’d done in months, and the first race-type effort of the season. There’s a difference between doing structured V02 intervals and having to respond to accelerations from other riders. I think you can cause yourself more pain with V02 just because you know that you can stop and fall off your bike when they’re over. But there’s another type of pain that group riding or racing can bring out.

It felt good to hurt, despite my legs and lungs feeling like shit. I managed to inflict a bit of damage on everyone on the ride, then went off to ride a few more hours by myself, which ended up just being one more hour when I realized I was ready for a long session of staring at the wall back at home. The fatigue really set in once I stepped through the front door and sat on the couch to take my shoes off. It hit me like a wave. I felt terrible. Legs were a mess, my lungs went into hibernation, my head filled with pressure, and I became super sleepy. And hungry too but that’s a given.

There was little time for being tired though, because I had a date with Adelaide, Liam, Whitney, Steven, and Haley at the Gateway Fun Park, which was the second time half of us had been there that day. This time for actual regular people fun things like go karts, mini golf, and arcade games.

Sunday morning came around fairly quickly and I set off for a big ride, intent on making the most of the unusually warm January weather with a climb up to Peak to Peak and repeats on some of the higher elevation climbs. You know, to help my lungs clear out with some extra-thin, cool mountain air.

I started out with a nice warm up riding with Adelaide to show her the secret Linden neighborhood passageway that brings you out to Sunshine, which involves plenty of 15% ramps. She’s getting strong enough for me to ride at a medium pace, which is pretty amazing given her very recent introduction to bike riding.

After that I continued up Sunshine to Peak to Peak by myself, next down Boulder Canyon, up Magnolia, down Magnolia, at which point I realized I was working with half my normal lung capacity, climbed Sugarloaf, descended Sugarloaf, got water and soda down in Boulder, then did Superflag twice, descended two minutes to to the steep wall section to climb again just so I’d ensure my elevation gain was over 14,000 feet for the day. This all resulted in a liter of phlegm clogging our shower drain the following morning. Totally worth it. With a couple days of rest I know this cough will finally go away. If not, well…it’s not like I’m going to sit inside when it’s sunny out.

Pooping, blogging, training…they all require it. You need consistent stress on your bike cycling-system in order to see large-scale gains. But you also need consistent rest periods too. Duh. This is why I took a big ‘ol, fat ‘ol rest week last week so that I could rebuild my war-torn body, only to tear it down once again this week. I’m no dumby; if you miss a rest week, I know  you’re bound to pay for it later, most likely with getting the sickness. I hate getting sick. I mean I really hate it, way more than ANY of you could possibly imagine. You think you hate getting sick? Ha. I laugh at that. I scoff, even. Compared to me, you LOVE getting sick. That’s how much I hate it. I live my life in fear of it. I literally have nightmares about getting a sore throat, wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with a pounding heart, only to breath a very relieved sigh of relief when I realize it was just a dream. Then I drift back to my normal peaceful sleep and dream about cutting people.

This is why I decided to rest, because I’m a true-to-virus, cold-fearing red-blooded American.

It makes sense then that I got sick anyways, right after my rest week was over. Anyways, I won’t let it get me down. Actually I will. I’m in a serious state of depression already and it’s only been two days. But I won’t admit it to myself and I’ll keep a good face about it, for I vow to be healthy enough to crush my first race of the year this Saturday: the Gateway Group Ride! And listen up Boulder Cyclists–it better have more than 15 people because it’s going to be sunny, it’s going to be nice, and we’re all going to have a nice time cold-damnit!

In the mean time, here’s something cool that I did recently that doesn’t involve bikes: I went XC skiing. Now I don’t pretend to know what the X and the C stand for, though I do have my theories (Xylophone Custard), but I can tell you this much: XC skiing is indeed fun and it’s much easier than skate skiing. Adelaide, Adrian, and I rented skis on Sunday and spent the day exploring the trails across the street. We live at the very tip of North Boulder (NoBo, as us locals call it), which means that we have miles and miles of Open Space trails right across from us not 50 meters away. It’s a good place to live.

I called Steven that evening and told him I was planning on skiing in to work in the morning, which is something we’d been planning/dreaming of doing all winter long for like two weeks at that point. He arrived the next morning at 6:50AM. It was still dark, 2 degrees outside, and my mind was still in bed. I fixed up some home-brewed mochas for instant motivation and we were out the door as the sun rose.

This is such an awesome picture I think I’ll use it as my new blog banner.

The commute involved a few snow-covered dirt roads, like the one above, and a bit of walking for the last mile when we got into civilization and the bustling city of Gunbarrell where the office is, but for the most part we were tucked into the rolling hills, enjoying silent singletrack all to ourselves.

It was 7 miles out and 7 back, which took a little over an hour and a half (moving time) each way. We both brought our Garmins because Strava or it didn’t happen.

We got back home to my apartment in the dark at 6 and ended the day as it started, with hot chocolates. It was a top endeavor with a fine fit and feel, something I look forward to doing the next time it snows one or more feets, which will probably be perfectly synched with when I get over this cold and want to start training hard again. Stupid weather. Stupid cold viruses. Stupid everything.

It’s high tide I write something before I forget how it’s done. Closing in on January, we’re entering true danger time for the cyclist who hasn’t yet begun serious training…at least if they’re targeting the spring like I am. I got off to a late start myself this year. With the extended off season I took, a cold virus delaying my training back in mid November, the flu a few weeks later, and then off and on terrible weather, up until recently I definitely hadn’t been feeling like I was on top of my form like I usually am at this time of year (‘Christmas Star’ type of form). That’s not to say I’ve been a complete sloth though.

I’ve been doing more sprint workouts than I ever have in my life. I usually don’t start doing sprints until the Redlands crit. I’ve also picked up where I left off with those 30 seconds on at V02, 30 seconds off at tempo intervals. They’ve been going very well. Even the first set I did was way higher than I’d hoped for. But I’ve been struggling with endurance/tempo–something that I’ve never struggled with before. And I’ll tell you what–it’s been scaring me! This is what I DO. Five and six hour smash fests are what I’m known for.

The main problem hasn’t been the first long ride of the weekend, it’s been the second. I do both of my big rides on Saturday and Sunday, due to work time constraints obviously, and I do all my easy rest days and intervals during the week. So the weekends are the most important days for me to train. If I miss even one of these days due to sickness, lack of motivation, bad weather, or lack of legs from going too hard on Saturday, I feel like I just threw away the entire week of training, which I know isn’t true but that’s the feeling I can’t shake. Even if I cut a ride short on one of these days I feel like the whole week is wasted. By taking a look back at my super secret training log that I can’t show anyone for fear of them learning my secrets, I’ll show you what I mean about being worthless for that second hard ride. (All in all, I feel like I’ve barely done any real training until just two weeks ago).

Sat November 16th. “6 hrs. First day of training. 14,260 feet of climbing. AV power was 233, normalized 288, TSS 359. Flag four times, Sunshine once, then twice up to the top of the first steep section.”

Sun November 17th. “5.75 hrs. AV 234. Twice up Sunshine, then around Carter lake. Didn’t push it today. Still a bit worried about the cold and definitely started feeling it in my sinuses about 4 hours in. I think I’m being smart but just realized that this many hours was not something I should have attempted this week with still being somewhat sick. Lungs fucked when I got home. Tired. Wasn’t tired after yesterday’s ride but now I’m tired.”

Sat November 23rd. “4 hrs (.5 hr commute). AV 266, NP 288. Did 14 sprints.” I wrote more but basically it came down to ‘not motivated today,’ which rarely happens to this degree of me not completing the workout. I had planned on doing at least five, but hopefully six hours today.

Sun November 24th. “2.5 hrs. AV 272 or something. Was going to ride long and my legs felt up to it but..” Wasn’t motivated again today.

Sat November 30th. “5.5 hours. Sunshine three times, really slow. Then 10 sprints up north. Appetite still isn’t here, but felt way better today than yesterday (.5 hrs of commuting for yoga).” I had the flu right before this and missed two days of riding on Thursday and Friday–both of which I had off of work due to the Thanksgiving holiday. I was PISSED that I missed these two days and was still feeling sick and weak on Saturday/Sunday.

Sun November 31st. “4 hrs. Did Flag roughly 4 times. Was feeling better than yesterday but tired. Started feeling bonky at like 2.5 hrs. Did three sprints right at the end on hwy 36. Max was 1385.”

Sat December 7th. “5 hrs. AV probably around 260 to 270 judging by speed (Quarq wasn’t working in the cold). AV temp was 2.9 degrees, minimum was -2. The roads are still icy so I was confined to hwy 36 and 66 or whatever that T-intersection one is. Did 3 laps of an L shaped route. I felt strong but was pretty tired and lagging for the last 45 minutes. Feet took forever to unfreeze and were swollen all night.”

Definitely the longest cold ride I’d ever done.

Sun December 8th. “4 hrs. AV 224. Had nothing in me today. Legs were fucked. It was probably on average about 12 degrees warmer today so that wasn’t an issue at all. Very comfortable compared to yesterday. I did either one or two sprints and didn’t get above 1200. Used the Powertap today. Yes I have two power meters again, one is for the TT bike, which is fully built up to ride but I haven’t gotten on it this winter yet.”

Sat December 14th. “6.5 hrs. 30′ commute. 14,400 ft of climbing. Was averaging about 315  for most of the climbs (three times up Sunshine, 3 times and a little up Flag).”

Sun December 15th. “2.5 hrs. Including hike up at the Flatirons. Felt too tired to ride today so came home after a little under two hours on Sunshine.”

*NOTE: The point I was trying to make was that I could only ride hard on Saturday and that I had missed a ton of weekend training days already and that I was way behind where I should have been. But now that I’ve copied and pasted this all out from my training log, it appears that I got some good training in after all, though I believe it does show that I haven’t been as consistent as I want. It’s strange how you have an idea engrained in your head for a long time but when you actually analyze the thing, you see that you were completely wrong (my idea being that I hadn’t done a drop of good training at all in November and that I had barely done anything for most of December). Anyways:

It’s crazy how fast things can turn around. Last week on the 21st I went on a big ride out east with Adelaide, who held on for dear life during that first hour before dropping off on her own. It was cold, the trees and grass were full of thickly frozen frost, and the route was almost entirely flat. I planned on making zero turns. I rode 65 miles east on a big highway that slowly transformed into a silent little road with nothing but slightly rolling fields of 1-inch tall grass on either side. Or maybe it was just dirt at that point. Dirt farming is big out in Eastern Colorado. Not sure why they grow so much dirt out there but I guess it comes down to supply and demand. There were no cars, houses, buildings, or telephone poles. Not even any cows. I looked back west towards the mountains and there was no sign of them. Everything was grasslands/dirtlands as far as I could see.

LOL Colin!

I flipped around at hour 3 with an average of 285 watts, feeling it in my legs already and just hoping they’d stay attached to my torso for the ride back. It was cold but not too cold. I’d been riding in sub zero temps two weeks prior and it had been snowing at least once a week for what felt like months, so the cold wasn’t what was getting me. My power dropped off immediately on the return trip. It quickly plummeted by five watts. Then another five. I’d eaten all my food by hour four and there still wasn’t a gas station or store in sight.  The power meter read 273 by the time I got to civilization and its crowning achievement: high fructose corn syrup. I chugged a gas station cappuccino mixed with hot chocolate, devoured a third of a package of cinnamon gummy bears, and filled my bottles with Dr. Pepper and Sierra Mist.

The power dropped to 271 over the next half hour before the sugar kicked in. It was a struggle to keep it there. I let out a good number of grunts, groans, yells, and even a few screams as my sorry legs continued to deteriorate. At 5.25 hours I did a sprint for about 4 seconds, having to sit down immediately. I couldn’t even get above 1000 watts, which at my size shouldn’t be that hard. I was wasted by the time I got home but had at least managed to hold the power at 271. I considered it an achievement, then remembered that last year at this time I’d done a similar six-hour ride at 20 watts higher. Shit. Now I was worried. It was already late December. “Well,” I thought. “All I really need is this next big block of training to put me back to where I should be.” With the current weekend, Christmas break, the next weekend, New Year’s break, and the weekend after that, I had eight days to ride long in just a sixteen-day span. This would certainly kick start things, or so I hoped.

The following day, Sunday, after that long ride was a disaster. From the training log:

Sun December 22nd. “AV 208. Really fucking sucked. I was so weak and slow today. My legs weren’t super trashed, I was just out of energy. Out of power. Cut the ride short (was going to do 5 hrs).”

Sunday was a waste of a ride. I should have just gone home immediately instead of prolonging it for hours on end, soft pedaling and sucking.

My family was in town at this point, staying with Adelaide and I for the holidays. I was absent just about every day either at work or out on long rides. I felt bad about it but knew that I had to do the miles if I was to have a good early season, which is everything–especially when you’re proving yourself on a new team. My mom, Galen, and his girlfriend Joslynn made a lot of good dinners under my dad’s watchful supervision from the next room, and and there were plenty of fantastic pancake breakfasts. But, I didn’t go on the many hikes and climbing trips that everyone else got to do. I did go see Galen and Jos climb at a competition at the Spot:

Galen made finals and wound up 7th, which was awesome given the talent here in Boulder. Boulder doesn’t just host a slew of the best cyclists, runners, and triathletes, it’s also a haven for climbers and just about every other sport as well. Sailing, surfing, and SCUBA included, I believe.

Galen and Jos made a ton of pizzas.

We’re currently watching Adelaide’s sister’s cat, Apollo, for a couple weeks while they’re out of town. He likes herring almost as much as me. Almost.

Transitioning back to what I said way back up there like five paragraphs ago, it’s crazy how things can turn around. All I needed was some consistent riding to get my endurance back up and start hitting normalized powers of 290-300 for my climbing days, which is what I consider to be a decent ride for myself. I decided to cut the rides to 5 hours from 6 until I know that I can repeat the 6 hour ones back to back. It worked. The last week has gone great. My legs are finally able to pump out back to back hard days in the mountains. I’m not setting any records or anything, but just being able to do +12,000 feet of tempo climbing two days in a row means that I’ve had some good improvements. I have one more week with four possible days of long rides thanks to the New Year’s work holiday coming up, and after that I get a rest week. I leave my job at SmartEtailing at the end of January, at which point I’ll finally be a full time bike racer again, which will leave plenty of time for training and a lot more time for rest and 8 hours of sleep a night. I’m at last confident that I’ll be fast for the early races and will have some good form coming into our training camp in February/March. Just a little over a week ago I was freaking out a tiny bit, wondering where my legs had gone and why my tires felt like glue. The moral of my story is that if you believe, anything is possible! And if great things don’t happen to you, you must be a weak, immoral person of little faith and you deserve to live a terrible, crappy life. Shame on you. SHAME! No but for serious, that’s one of the dumbest sayings ever, which is why I love repeating it all the time. For all the non-believers, the cynics for whom I’m sorry because they can’t believe in miracles, this calls for an old classic tail of faith and overcoming:

“Moving forward.”

Shut. Up. Seriously. STOP SAYING THIS. It’s become a joke in our office to say it, mockingly of course. It was humorous for a few weeks after I noticed how popular the term had become. Now I hear it more than ever and it’s no longer funny. It’s a constant reminder that people (you) are mindless a-holes all attempting to fit in and be super cool and hip with the most popular vernacular (even “popular vernacular” is a dumb, over-used term that should also be outed from our vocabulary).

It’s driving me nuts. To you stupid, stupid idiots who keep repeating “moving forward”: try thinking for yourself just a tiny bit and come up with your own dumb talking point/catchphrase thing. I don’t even know what it’s called. But it’s stupid so stop saying it. Thanks.

Moving forward,

As news about next year’s plans slowly trickle in from Sweden, I’ve taken the same approach to my training–slow and steady starts are the easiest and best way to start so as to not overdo it. I started last Monday with a 25-hour week, culminating with back to back 6-hour rides on the weekend. Last Saturday, the city of Boulder agreed to permanently (for the time being) open Flagstaff and Sunshine after the flood for my birthday. I climbed them both many times and ended the ride in the dark with 14,300 feet of elevation in my wheels. I hoped and prayed to the bike gods that I wouldn’t have a relapse (I’d gotten sick the week before) and wake the next morning coughing up snot.

I coughed up snot in the morning but it was a healthy cough so I went out for another six hours that Sunday morning. First,  Adelaide and I had our second pancake breakfast feast of the weekend with our new roommate, Adrian, who just got back from a year in Afghanistan with the Green Beret. They’re the ones with the cool hats. Adrian hasn’t worn his yet but I’m hoping to see it soon.

I cut my ride short by 15 minutes and only did 5:45, just in case my cough might worsen. It miraculously did not. I’d ridden the last remnants of that sickness right out of me…left all over the pavement in thick gobs of chest mucus. Looking back on this decision to ride big for the first week of the training year, while just getting over  a cold, it seems slightly amateurish. But since my contract doesn’t start until January I guess it’s expected that I ride like an idiot for another six weeks. JK. Really, I JK.

Moving backwards,

.KJ I yllaeR .KJ .skeew xis rehtona rof toidi na ekil edir I. Okay enough of that, it takes forever.

I’m reading a book about architecture and stuff. It’s a HUGE book. It has over 700 pages in it. You may have heard about it. It’s called The Fountainhead. I’ve been told by a few people that the theme or moral or what have you is ridiculous, stupid, and maddening because it’s too black and white. Basically the author is denouncing “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” The author, Anne Ryan, believes that the masses are stupid, untalented, useless cowards and that one shouldn’t give up anything for these sheep because society isn’t worth a damn. Individualism is key to leading a fulfilling life, and an individual’s freedom to do whatever they want is the only thing that matters (the Ubermench). This sounds nice, but it leaves the weak to starve, die of crippling hospital bills, it leaves the environment in ruins, it dispels teamwork and any sort of cooperation, and it really only rewards the *lucky. So basically it’s pretty similar to the way capitalism has worked out. Side note: did you know that the US is the only country in the first world that doesn’t enforce employers to provide paid maternal leave (aside from government employees)? In fact, most third world countries provide some sort of paid maternal leave. Of course a lot of companies provide some paid time off for their employees but many don’t due to there being no law about it.

*Don’t fool yourself, luck plays the biggest role in success–however you measure it. Hard work, ingenuity, intelligence, physical strength, beauty, and good social skills–the things that determine success–are all based on luck. You were lucky that you were born with the chemical make up in your mind and body to give you your good health and  intelligence; you were lucky to be raised in an environment that made you hard-working, compassionate, greedy, a risk-taker, an idealist, etc;  you were lucky to take a path that led  to big opportunities, and you were lucky that the path you blindly stumbled upon actually led to success instead of mediocrity, or losing everything in continuously failing business ventures, or getting hit by a truck out on a training ride.

Anyways, back to the book:

I may only be half way through, but I think I’ve pretty much got the gist of it. There are two main characters: the hero, who lives to create art (the architect), and the bad guy, who lives to help the poor (a writer). The writer is especially evil because he’s so manipulative–what writer isn’t? That’s the whole point of writing, which of course Anne Ryan was well aware of.

The book was controversial because she left no middle ground. It’s either all for one OR one for all, the later being the wrong choice in her opinion.

I guess I have a hard time agreeing with her because she presents two sides to the argument when I really only see one side: to live selfishly. There is no other choice. Living to serve the needs of others may seem unselfish but if you get any enjoyment out of lending a hand, deep down you’re doing it for that selfish reason of feeling good. It’s more satisfying to give than receive at Christmas since it puts you in a position of control and power over the person who received the gift and you feel better because of it. You “made” them happy and it makes you happy because of it. We don’t see it this way of course, and if we allowed our conscious minds to believe this we’d see that we’re all a bunch of egotist sociopaths and the world would fall apart. Philanthropist are a greedy bunch. I think the end result of living to serve others (to make yourself happy) is by far the best option for most people: you’re happy and other people end up being better off because of it. For some of us, we’ve chosen to be honest with our selfishness and live only to improve our own situations. Take me and my cycling career. I am one selfish bastard and I know it. Maybe I don’t feel good about it though.

But moving forward,

I finally made it.

Back in 2006 I thought it would take one, maybe two years TOPS to become a pro cyclist. And by pro I was thinking cat 2. “Wait, they’re pro aren’t they?” A year and a half later by the time I found out that they in fact were not pro and neither were cat 1s, I figured it would maybe take another half year for me to get on a pro team. But probably not. I’d probably pick up a contract mid season (I was a cat 3 at this point). Well fuck me sideways did it take longer than I thought. And it was way harder too. For all you aspiring new cyclists out there with secret ambitions of becoming professional: it’s way harder than you could ever imagine. Give up now and do something positive with your life before it’s too late!

I’m just kidding of course. But…

The mental agony of repeatedly getting dropped, finishing mid-pack, getting sick, getting injured, continuing to finish mid-pack, having little to no social life for years on end, getting dropped, getting in ridiculous arguments over absolutely NOTHING with teammates and directors, continuing to finish mid-pack at races you dreamed about winning all winter long….all that adds up over the years and eventually it leads to most of us quitting altogether or (hopefully) realizing that being pro isn’t the end all be all of life. (Granted, it may be the end all be all of life, I have a sneaking suspicion that it is but I don’t know yet for sure.) But for serious, I’d continue doing this (whatever it is that I’ve been doing) for years even if I knew I’d be “stuck” racing as an amateur. The truth is that as long as I see progress, I’m happy. As long as I get to go train my brains out, smash some other fools’ legs on the weekend, and eat a LOT of food, I’m perfectly content. That’s the way we all have to look at it and continue to be happy about doing it.

With the way the economy is going (ever downwards to the shit-encrusted bowels of hell),  even landing a spot on an elite amateur team with any semblance of travel budget is a success. The market is absolutely saturated with fast guys and there aren’t even close to enough good teams for them to all have a nurturing environment with a budget that does the average cat 1’s commitment, passion, and talent justice. I definitely got lucky and I’m well aware of the fact. Hopefully the economy or at least the bike racing’s economy will pick up in a few years as everyone seems to think/hope.

Everyone knows that it takes a lot of luck for all the cards to fall in the correct boot, or however that saying goes. And I can’t stop thinking about how the perfect storm this year helped land me a spot on this team. Disregarding my good form and decent results, because there were plenty of others that had as good or better races than I did that didn’t get on teams or got let go from their current team.

Everything fell into place (oh so that’s how the saying goes) starting back in the late winter/early spring of 2013. Getting into Philly was a crucial step. I’d been following Philly’s race-funding catastrophe for months. The race was going to happen. Then the announcement was made that it wasn’t. Then it was back on. Maybe. Then I heard rumors it wasn’t going to happen again. Then the rumors reversed and it was happening for sure, probably. By now it was mid April– a month and a half out from the race. I began scrambling to find a guest ride since my current team, Rio Grande, hadn’t received an invite. My hopes of finding a team slowly dimmed as the race approached and no one returned my emails.

Then, while I was nursing (chugging) my third beer out on the sunny driveway of our Tour of the Gila host house, 90 minutes after completing the final stage, I got a call out of the blue from my old director Joe Holmes. He was guest directing with a team called Firefighters, which I vaguely remembered from my days racing in Oregon. He asked if I’d like to be on the team for the race. I had to think of baseball for a hard, I mean controlled…completely controlled, 20 seconds as the thought soaked in…A SPOT ON A TEAM TO RACE PHILLY!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!! HELL YEAH!! I told him I’d suck a mean dick to race Philly, which is the most iconic, bad-ass, brutal race in the entire country (granted the caliber was lower this year as a UCI 1.2 than in the past when it was a 1.HC, but still!) Within half a week of rest back in Boulder, I was out on Old Stage Rd, busting myself with V02 intervals and 1-minute anaerobic black-outs in preparation for my biggest goal of the season.

I raced Philly. I bridged to the breakaway in dramatic fashion with a lap to go on the Wall. We could have stuck it. It was possible. And I honestly think I would have won if our five-man group had stayed away. I was probably the freshest since I’d spent minimal time in the wind that day and the finishing climb suited me perfectly. But we didn’t stay away and were caught with two miles to go. Even though I didn’t even make the top 10, that ride pretty much landed me my first pro contract. Allen Wahlstrom, manager of Firefighters, nodded his head in approval at my race. He had a secret plan that he’d been working on for quite some time: a continental Swedish/American/Scandinavian squad that would race all over Europe and be based out of Uppsala Sweden. He told me about the proposed race schedule, the goals of the team, how awesome Sweden is, and mentioned that I might have a spot on the team. I said “Great, sign me up,” not really thinking it would happen. In my mind I gave it a 0.5% chance of happening. These things almost never come true. Dreams that is.

A couple weeks after racing Philly I had a great ride with Full Circle at Nature Valley…almost. I got sick part way though and wasn’t even in condition to start the final day. It was a huge bummer as I would have likely finished 8th overall. But I DNFed instead. To make things worse, I was essentially kicked off my team (Rio Grande) a week and a half later when my director let me know what he really thought of me: not much. I took the not so lightly hinted-at suggestion to quit the team. The last thing I needed was bullshit drama from a jealous director, which would have likely lead to a poor second half of the season and a lot of hurt feelings (mine mostly). I decided I’d just finish off the season getting to races on my own and guest riding. Fuck it. I’m still upset about this as you might be able to tell.

By now it was late June and just a week and a half out from Nationals. I wondered if anyone wanted me to ride in their kit for nationals. It seemed like a waste (and an unnecessary expense) to go out and buy a blank kit.  I called up Allen and he said yes. Wear the Firefighters kit and you’ll just be on our team for the rest of the season. I took 5th in the race, not bad, not great, but good enough to get on the podium. It confirmed to Allen that I should be on Firefighter’s Cascade squad, which was a few weeks after Nationals. They gave me a bike, wheels, helmets, more kits, goodies galore! More importantly, a spot at Cascade.

I had a terrible Cascade. Worst race and form of the season, but showed that I was a good guy, a hard worker, and definitely a team player–something that anyone from my three years on Hagens Berman would have adamantly agreed with. Allen told me I would be on the squad for the new Firefighters continental team assuming it got all the necessary funding. I said “Great, sign me up!” giving it a 1% chance of actually happening. The way Allen described it this time sounded WAY too good to be true, but I gave it that extra half percentage point just out of pure excitement.

Sometimes all that’s needed is that one in a hundred chance.

If one of the above things hadn’t gone just the way I needed them to, I wouldn’t have made it. If the Philly organizers hadn’t accrued the right sponsors, if I hadn’t had such an amazing accidental attack on that last lap, if I hadn’t gotten yelled at by my director on Rio and decided to quite the team and missed out on the chance to ride with Firefighters at Nationals and Cascade…if one small piece of the puzzle was misplaced I wouldn’t be bragging here right now about how amazingly awesome my life has just become: the realization of an eight-year long dream. I’ve wished for nothing else for those eight years. I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve worked for nothing else. I’ve had just one goal for approximately 30% of my lifetime and I finally accomplished it. And damn does it feel good.

I’ll be moving to Sweden in early April to race for Firefighters Upsala CK along with a few other Americans and a bunch of Europeans. I’ll be racing more awesomely hard, in-the-gutter UCI one days and stage races than I could ever dream of. The first two months of our season will be here in the States as we sharpen up with tried and trusted US classics like Merco, San Dimas, and Redlands. Possibly some Mexican races thrown in there during the early season as well. It would be terrific to finally pull out a really good result at one of these, especially Redlands, just to prove I’m deserving of the spot on the team. 17th is great for an amateur–what I placed at Redlands this year. Next year as a pro the pressure is really on to show that I earned my contract and wasn’t handed it. That’s one thing I’m slightly worried about–having others angrily and jealously talking shit behind my back wondering why I got on the team instead of them or someone who’s actually fast. I know this sort of gossip happens all the time because I used to talk trash with my teammates about other guys in that exact same manner. Almost all of us do it to some extent. Intense competition can drive nasty, even hateful, words towards pretty much complete strangers–people that we’ve “known” for years but only spoken to at the start line or in the parking lot for like 37 seconds total—people we want to CRUSH in a race for the sake of competition but would otherwise be friends with. Enemies are created out of  our greedy need for success, to get on a team, to keep our spot on said team, to confirm to ourselves that we are in fact good at something. The fact that we give something so much worth by competing over it means that whoever comes out on top is inherently a better human being than everyone else. To be admired is to have success. Sport is an essential outlet for the brutally impassioned, mean-spirited, violent yet natural competition that resides in almost all of human kind, which would otherwise be unleashed in the business world, politics, and battlefields—and would inevitably lead to the destruction of us all through the disintegration of all basic human morals and along with those, human rights, the depletion of all natural resources, rocketing the planet’s environment to unstoppable doom, and the mass-murder of the weak for the final, cannibalistic feast of the strong. End of days shit.

I’ll definitely have quite a bit to prove next year. I can deal though.

The team:

The end is nigh. The last days of my sluggish existence are finally numbered. Just…four more…­­weeks!!! Four more weeks? That’s a damn month!

I took a vow with myself to resist regimented training until my birthday on the 16^th (what better present could I give myself?) While I plan on getting back on the bike in two weeks, just after Halloween, the training I’ll be doing will be minimal and the effort lacking until the 16th. If I manage this feat, taking September 9^th through November 15^th “off,” it would mark the biggest true break I’ve had since 2007. 10 weeks off is no joke. No joke at all. This is difficult stuff for me. I’ve had to fill the void with getting tipsy on Fridays and making vast quantities of soup and stews on Sundays. Here’s the recipe for my latest creation:

2 butternut squash (baked then chopped)

1 large chicken breast (sautéed)

1 large Walla Walla sweet onion (sautéed)

1 large scoop of homegrown garlic (sautéed)

1 can coconut milk

4 cans of water

Cinnamon

Salt

Nutmeg

Vanilla extract

5 pieces of bacon (fried then chopped finely)

Add all the ingredients above except the bacon to a large pot and emulsify. Then add in the bacon.

I’ve ridden a few times with Adelaide and some friends the past couple weekends for fun. Nothing at all hard though. It’s been just enough riding for me to realize that I’m not fully out of shape yet, which is what I’m trying to accomplish (somewhat). The idea of getting out of shape on purpose still doesn’t sit well with me, even though I know I need to do it in order to let my body get up another level next spring.

I spent about a month in the gym, going like two times a week and not really putting in a lot of effort. I did a lot of balancing squat type stuff and core. And by a lot I mean not that much. My new Pearl Izumi running shoes that are pure neon green awesomeness/annoying for others to look at and embarrassing for me to wear because I hate people with bright shoes who try to stand out of the crowd by buying something, have succeeded in getting me out the door for runs like twice a week. I still commute about four hours a week as well, so I’m not a complete sloth right now. One other thing I’ve been doing is getting down to weight. I’m currently sitting at an average weight of 160, which is 2-3 pounds lighter than my race weight this past year. Losing weight in the off season, or at least maintaining a low weight, seems to be optimal for dropping down a weight class in the winter. My goal for next race season is to be under 155.

I’ve recently replaced the gym and normal runs with combined run/plyometrics (Gilad-style workouts). Lots of jumps, some sprinting, core work in the grass, etc. I’ve only done them a few times to date. My motivation isn’t really there to make me want to work very hard or consistently. My mantra for all of these off-season cross training workouts has been “Only do it if you feel like it. And even then, maybe just don’t do it.” No pain, lots of gain. My legs need to be rested more than ever for next season.

My time off the bike and away from racing has been pretty nice actually. I’ve been enjoying the weekends and spending time with Adelaide and work/race buddies in non-bike racing mode (ie trying to drop them up Sunshine).

After an incredibly stressful year of racing and working, it’s been nice to relax a bit. Though, it isn’t all complete Never Never land. I have some heavy weights on my mind regarding next year’s plans, but more on that later.

More exciting than that is my thriving new coaching business. I get paid in kisses and hugs. My client, Adelaide just started training a couple months ago. Her progression has been wicked, as to be expected. She comes from a heavy swimming and ultra running background so her endurance is through the efing roof. She’ll be crushing people next spring, mark my words. I’m not even saying this to be nice to her. I just want it known that when she becomes a famous cyclist, it was ALL MY doing. I found her first. I just want all the credit. Is that too much to ask god damn it!

While some people *cough* Joe Friel believe that a new cyclist should focus on just riding their bike and putting in miles, I am of another opinion…the not idiotic opinion that is. Having people get used to riding easy and slow from the beginning is not the way to go. One must start out hard in order to go hard later. Otherwise it’s like trying to teach a new dog an old trick. Or something like that. Maybe not that.

Adelaide has been completing hard workouts, sometimes stacking days on top of each other to make 2-day and 3-day blocks, with plenty of rest days throughout the week of course. Unlike me, she knows when to say no to hard days when her body isn’t recovered, so I’m not too worried about overtraining her. Well, just a little.

She’d been doing lots of climbing before the floods ruined the roads, so to keep the efforts hard now she’s been doing workouts like 10 x 15 second sprints and also 2 x 15 minute intervals with 30 seconds on (V02) and 30 seconds off (tempo). This is a hard workout. I admit it’s a bit of an experiment having a new cyclist do this sort of work.

However, her power has been steadily, and sometimes drastically, improving for the past month and a half. Who knows, that could have and should have happened anyways from just riding in general, but I think it’s rising at a quicker rate than it would have if she’d just been putting in miles.

Adelaide has completely given up her car as well, which makes me feel good that I’ve had some positive influence on at least one person in this fucked up country. Not that I’m doing anything good for the world myself. I recently did an online calculation of my carbon footprint and because A) I live in an extremely wasteful country that doesn’t use renewable sources for electricity and B) I fly way too much, my carbon footprint is HUGE. I’m at 24 cubic tons of CO2 a year. The average in the USA is 27. The average for the world is 5.5 (thankfully there are lots of poor people to make up for us greedy, fat, rich, oil, gas, and coal users). You don’t have to be poor to have a small footprint though. Sweden’s average is 7.

I recycle, don’t own a car, compost (or I did up until a few months ago), never buy new stuff except for bike gear, never use plastic bags at grocery stores, even for produce, don’t turn the heat or air conditioning on at home, live in a small apartment, blah blah blah it doesn’t even matter one bit because I fly around 20,000 miles a year (that’s 14 round trip flights). For one thing, air travel needs to become lower emission and more fuel efficient. Those behemoths up there in the air are relics. Also, I’d much prefer high speed trains powered by solar. Until those things happen, the only responsible thing to do is to NOT fly or travel. I’m not prepared to do that. This is why I’ve recently given up all hope that the world will one day be a good place. If I can’t even make a change, how can I expect others to?

I am no better than a monster-truck-driving, Wal-Mart-shopping, wife-beating redneck who throws his Micky D’s trash out the window, dumps his oil down the gutter, smokes near public doorways, and molests baby otters.

To keep the bad news flowing right along, many Boulder cyclists have been getting killed by trucks as of late. We’ve had two deaths in the area recently, a near death with Dale Stetina, plus the death of Boulder cyclist Amy Dombrowski over in BELGIUM no less. This means there are four less “spandexers” on the roads of Boulder. Congratulations cars and trucks! You’re winning the war on…uhhh…destroying the planet I guess.

One of Adelaide’s and my friend, Bogie, came over for dinner a few nights ago. He gave up his car about half a year ago and has been commuting on a bike ever since. He just got a throttle-style electric bike a month or two ago. He showed it to us and I rode up and down the block for a few minutes. It was very cool in the fact that it was much faster than the ones I used at Interbike and Dealer Camp. Way faster. I could easily see something like that type of electric pedal bike being the key to getting Americans out of cars and on two wheels. It does require some exercise, but it’s minimal and using it would still be much faster than most people could ever ride a non-motorized bike. For getting around the city, especially during rush hour, it’s just as fast if not faster than a car. Of course, if everyone rode a bike there’d never even be any rush hour but I digress. I don’t know what that word means but it sounds nice. You know what also sounds nice? A chocolate banana milk shake. I used to make those quite frequently back in high school but I don’t think I’ve had one in years now that I think about getting back on topic:

Bogie was hit from behind on his bike two nights after visiting us. The damage was severe: a broken hip socket among other injuries, with the likelihood of chronic hip arthritis for the rest of his life. This news has seriously depressed me. The fact that there could be permanent damage to such an amazing athlete is a fucking shame.

The driver came up from behind and turned right into Bogie part way through an intersection. That road should not be considered dangerous due to the fact that it has a bike lane and the speed limit is relatively low, but of course any road with cars on it is dangerous. The crash happened at night, which could be a valid excuse for the driver if Bogie’s bike hadn’t been lit up like a Christmas tree. The night Adelaide and I had him over for dinner, Adelaide even commented on how bright his bike was. “Like a circus.”

There were motion-sensing lights in the spokes, two flashing rear lights mounted on the back, a big handlebar-mounted high beam on the front. Bogie had a flashing red light on the back of his helmet and a very bright flashing white light on the front of his helmet. That makes 5 lights total, not counting the spoke lights in the wheels OR the (literally) multiple meters-worth of reflective tape he’d sewn onto all his gear, including his bright yellow jacket. There was absolutely no excuse for him to get hit. This “accident,” was caused by total inattention on the driver’s part, just like 99% of car vs bike crashes. The fucking idiot must have either had his eyes closed or was focused on his cell phone. The jack ass will get away with it too. Maybe he’ll have to pay a small fee, his insurance will go up, or maybe he’ll even have to pay out the ass if Bogie wins a big lawsuit, but real punishment? Jail time? Permanent loss of driver’s license? Of course not! It was an honest to god accident, right? An accident that ONLY just ruined someone’s life (Bogie if you’re reading this don’t take that too seriously, I know someone with your amazing will power will make a full recovery—I just need some drama).

All these horrible crashes and deaths prove that you can get away with man slaughter if you do it out of stupidity or carelessness. And if you’re driving a car you can even get away with murder in the first degree. “I didn’t see him,” has been a winning phrase for car drivers everywhere. Even when the assault was obviously intentional (speeding off after the cyclist who was in the way went over the hood of the car, get home and replace bumper with new one and wipe away all the blood).

I wonder if I’ll get away with it if I’m on my bike. “Sorry officer. I realize I looked up where this prick lived, waited for him to step out his door to his driveway in the morning on his way to his car, rode by and smashed his face in with a ball pin hammer, but I was texting while doing it so it doesn’t count right? It won’t happen again, maybe. I’ll just pay the reckless riding fee of $200 and be on my way.

Bogie was an elite ultra runner, and will hopefully regain his status as one. He just completed Badwater this summer…self supported. Only a few people have ever accomplished this. For those who don’t know, Badwater is a 135-mile run across Death Valley. Most people who do this race have support teams that drench them in water every few miles. Most people don’t finish either. Doing it self supported means Bogie had to push a cart with all of his own water in it. Hundreds of pounds of water. One mistake is all it takes to die a quick death out there in that sort of heat. Temps were up in the 120s. Yet, it’s more dangerous to ride your bike through a residential area in the streets of Boulder. Fucking ridiculous. Wake up America. It’s time to ditch your cars or at least open your eyes.

On that note, I’m going out for a quick commute. Wish me luck.