Trying to Find a Balance.

“I believe in the twin philosophies of the armwrestle and the armchair; that the most insightful and enlightening thoughts might come to you at mile twenty of a marathon or on a Sunday afternoon, while plopped down in an over-stuffed Lazy Boy with the New York Times in one hand and a cold Budweiser in the other.” -Scott Tinley

This weekend I participated in a small event that captured both ends of the spectrum perfectly. It was a truly perfect day, and I really needed it.

The event was called, “Ride, Wine, and Dine.” Laurens uncle Ray invited me to come along with him, and if you know me at all you’ll know that bikes, wine, and food all together certainly isn’t a day I’m going to turn down. So I rose at 6:30 on Saturday morning, awake and pumped for a good ride through the gray and foggy day. Had a nice breakfast with Ray, and off he went on his bike.

The ride you see, was 60 miles or so north of OB. Ray, being a little bit of crazy, decided to ride there, then do the ride. More on this later.

After finishing up my coffee and making arrangements for a bike pickup back in the MI, I tuned up my bike. I’d been having some shifting issues and added a link to the chain, which seemed to do the trick. So I packed up my gear, kissed Lauren goodbye, and was off on the highway to meet ray at the event by 10:30.

After getting lost twice, I finally wove my way through the hills of Fallbrook to find the house and pulled on in at 10:25, just made it. I was promptly greeted by a golden retriever, who didn’t even want to let me finish parking before petting him. Soon behind him was Rocky, an old friend of Ray’s and Phil, the owner of the home and founder of the feast.

It isn’t often in life that you meet people who treat you like one of their own without even knowing who you are or how you knew to find the place. I’ve had the experience that most of these people are at triathlons, marathons, and events just like this at sunrise on the weekends. Before even mentioning Ray, I was treated like a member of the family by Rocky and Phil, both genuinely great guys.

After some introductions, layering for the cold, and finally mentioning how I related to Ray, we hung around until about 11:15 waiting for him to show, but he never did. So I took off with Rocky and another guy my age whose name I seem to have lost. Sorry man, nothing personal. Both of them on mountain bikes and me on my roadie.

The route ended up being a pretty simple one, essentially following the same road in a circle for 20 some odd miles, making one or two turns. We started out heading up a pretty impressive hill, which, after about half a mile of, ate my chain. After going through the trouble of adding a link to fix my gear change issues, I now had to remove one to make my chain usable again. Awesome.

The guys hung around for a while to make sure I would be able to continue, and eventually headed off ahead of me, saying that they would wait at the first peak. I continued to mess with my chain, never an easy thing to do with the adrenaline pumping, finally getting it back together after a couple attempts.

I was back in action, on up the hill… without the ability to use my lowest gear. More awesome. Somehow the shortening of the chain made my rear derailleur incapable of shifting all the way down, and I could no longer use my easiest gear to go up this hill, or all the ones that would follow.

This was quickly shaping up to be a rough ride. two miles in and I’m already panting and sweating and my bike is already messed up. This is gonna be a hell of a day. The beauty of the ride was inarguable though, we were riding through low mountains and the area was covered in vineyards and farms. Hard to beat the views.

So after a few more miles of beautiful misery riding up the hills, I reached the summit where the guys waited for me. The view was phenomenal looking down into the valley between peaks, the fog and clouds had cleared away for blue sky, and Rocky was holding out a flask to share with me, refusing to tell me what it contained until I tried it. I didn’t need him to tell me what it was after a taste.

Jack Daniels at the top of the mountain. Now we’re talking. The day is looking up to me now. We’re riding bikes and drinking Jack, I have found my new best friends. After a few nips, and tinkering with my derailleur for a few minutes we were off again. I could now use the lowest gear, but only if I actually held the shift lever in place. Rocky informs me that the worst of the climbing is over though, and we head off, deciding to do the longer of the two rides available to us today.

It’s pretty hard to argue with the fact that going down the side of a mountain on a good road bike is one of the most fun things you can possibly do. The twists, the turns, the fact that you’re doing well over 30mph without even pedaling, it’s really a thrill. They certainly had an advantage in gearing on the steep climbs, but it was my turn now. Those wide stubby tires aren’t gonna be your friend at these speeds, neither will those big clunky brakes. I just flew past them without even trying, the feeling of flight upon me.

Then we had to go back up again. A stop sign was nicely placed at the bottom of the hill, so we couldn’t carry much of our speed into the next climb. I’m slowly getting the hang of the climbing thing, but it’s been an arduous process coming from a perfectly flat state. So we climb, and the sweat and pain return for a while. There’s only a couple more rough ones like this through the rest of the ride though, and it’s mostly pretty mellow. Smooth climbs and fun downhills, both while playing on some nice twisty roads. I find myself wanting to return with my old MR2.

We eventually get to the BIG downhill fun, which I have been warned about by both Ray and Rocky. Apparently someone got thrown off their bike on this part of the ride by a big dip in the road, and there’s a few really tight turns that are taken at pretty ludicrous speeds. Heading down this long, steep hill I decide to get some real speed going. I break far away from the mountain bikes. I’m in top gear, pedaling at full speed, when I find the dip. I go into it smoothly and come out of it in the air. Way up in the air. I’m doing somewhere between 35 and 45mph at this point, and sail through the air for a good 5 or 10 meters. It’s quite the experience. Luckily, I land safely and continue on down.

At this point, as you might guess, I’ve become a bit tense about my speed and start scrubbing it off by braking, trying not to use them too much and overheat them.

Well, I overheat them, and realize it heading into the one tight turn rocky warned me about. Coming down to the turn I hit both my brakes and nothing happens. Shit, this could go very badly. Nervously, I come off the brakes, move my hands to the drops, and lean WAY into the turn, sticking my inside leg out like a motorcycle racer trying to keep my weight to the inside of the turn. I end up going way wide of my planned line through the curve, but stay on the road. Thank god.

After this harrowing decent, it gets pretty mellow for a while and I hold up to let the guys catch me back up. Round about the time they join me, we hit the 2 mile or so patch of dirt road that I was warned about. The guys finally get to put their big tires to good use and I get to have all sorts of fun on my road bike with skinny little tires. I’m ready for the challenge, the turns and jumps of the day have shown that I know how to handle my bike in anything. I’m ready for some stupid dirt.

Nope, I wasn’t. I get cocky coming onto the dirt road and carry too much speed into the rough ground. Trying to keep pace with the guys on their mountain bikes, I hit a patch of soft sand with my front wheel and bite it, smashing my right knee and getting some nice road (sand?) rash all down my leg. Not a pleasant experience, but I’ve had worse and I’m not gonna let it stop me. I mount back up and get going again. Rocky stops to wait for us atop a small climb, which I somehow manage to keep traction on. We stand around for a moment and I head off ahead of them, since they’ll be able to catch me without any problems on this dirt. I walk down the decent, I’m crazy not stupid, and get back on at the bottom, with about a mile of dirt left.

I make it through the rest incident free, and the guys catch back up to me just before we get back on tarmac and I yell with glee (yes I really did). The rest of the ride is mellow hills and smooth twisting roads back to the house. A nice way to finish things up. I wait up for the guys at the bottom of the driveway, honestly not remembering which of the two driveways it is, and we head back up to our cars to drop our shit.

My leg looks a lot worse than it feels, gotta love that adrenaline. Blood has been pouring out and down my leg for the last 45 minutes and every little cut is filled with sand. Luckily, I carry a first aid kid in my bike bag for just such situations. I clean it all up with my not quite empty water bottle, and a paper towel that happened to be in the car. Neosporin is slathered all over it, and a couple band-aids cover the worst of it, though it will continue to drip through them throughout the day. With the nasty mess on my leg covered up, I head down to the house to find some of this wining and dining business.

So Phil, the owner of the place, is a rather successful dude. I believe at some point someone said he worked in banking, but I’m not sure. Either way, this is his weekend relaxation home… which is a vineyard. There’s a nice little building on the property with a smallish wine cellar and the vats used to make the nectar on the first floor, and a nice little living area on the second. The wine is only produced in small amounts for friends and family, and extra grapes are sold off to other wineries in the area. Heck of a little hobby.

Wandering down from the cars, I find many more people than this morning had shown, a bountiful feast, a taco truck, homemade beer, and lots of open wine bottles. I decide to start things off with a couple glasses of the Scottish Ale and wander around meeting more people. Ray is still nowhere to be found, and no one has heard from him yet. I’m starting to get a bit worried by now since he’s about 3 hours overdue.

Right when I’m getting ready to find a land line phone (my cell doesn’t work up here) to call and see if Lauren and Kathy have heard from him yet, Ray wanders in with his bike. He apparently took a non-road coming across the mountains, and ended up having to backtrack and ride over 80 miles to get there, losing his seat along the way. And here I thought I had a rough ride. But, in classic Ray style he’s still jovial and social, not a hint of any frustration with his ride. We eat, we drink, we talk and relax.

Around 4, our ladies show up in Ray and Kathy’s car and I babble at Lauren about how awesome the ride was while we walk around the property gazing off at the beautiful views.

We are now surrounded by perfect views, great food, good wine, and wonderful people. The sun shines through the peaks of the mountains in the distance as we all sit and watch it set, wine in hand and dog in lap. Days really just don’t get better than this. This is the California we came for. The California of beautiful days, kind people, and great times.

As darkness falls, we hop in our car and head back to the house. It’s been a fun day, but I’m exhausted by the ride and the red wine. So much so that I even let Lauren drive home. After all the troubles we’ve had here, this day was the perfect escape for me. I’ve forgotten all about my joblessness and empty bank account for the day with the help of some mountains and some people who I’m not likely to ever forget, even if their names do escape me. Thanks for the fun ride and the great company guys. Thanks for helping me forget the world, if only for a few hours.

My feet are sore.

It's weird to say that it’s a good feeling. I think you’d be hard pressed to find someone who would have sore feet and be happy about it, but we’re out there, stompin’ down the roads, the trails, and the sand. Those crazy idiots you see with tiny shorts, brightly coloured shoes, and long brimmed hats. The runners.

No matter where you live, we’re there. We come in many shapes and sizes; well I supposed not that many since our size is usually a pretty set parameter thanks to the running. In some places we’re the norm, in others we’re the crazies that no one quite feels comfortable around, but we’re always there.

It’s a different world coming to California as a runner. Every day is a good day for a run. There won’t be any stitches from ice slips here. The only worry I have is a sunburn, which thankfully hasn’t quite happened yet. You wake up in the morning and oh look, its sunny and 65 degrees again, damn what a shame. On go the running shoes and off you go, into another perfect day by the sea.

It’s runner heaven really. The views are incredible, the weather is perfect, and it’s hilly as hell so you’re essentially doing a hill workout every time you run. Which I suppose is why we are EVERYWHERE here. No matter what time you go out for your run, you’re going to see someone else with the same idea you had, plodding away on the trail next to the cliffs.

I guess what gets me is the difference in the runners here compared to back in Michigan. I run here, about 5 times a week, and have never gotten a friendly wave. I have received two nods, from a dude I see around the same area every day. That’s it. I smile, I nod, and I get nothing back. I guess it’s just the way things are out here, but it’s hard to get used to.

Back in Michigan everyone smiled, nodded, said hi, all that sort of business. I’ve even had people run by and yell, “yesssss running,” and go up for a high five as we crossed paths. Nothing of the sort here, which is odd since in generally people seem much nicer here than back home. Guess the runners are the exception.

I suppose it could stem from the sheer number of people here that are out running all the time. It loses its charm with so many of us. Michigan was home to the hardcore. There weren’t many of us, but we were out there rain, snow, or occasionally shine. We all seemed to know each other, or at least recognize each other, since there were so few of us. Out here it’s just a shit-storm of runners from all directions, there’s just no way we could all know each other. In Michigan I’ve had conversations with people at the bar or the coffee shop before realizing we’d never actually talked before, we just knew each other from running past so many times.

It’s odd to make the transition, but I suppose as a triathlete, I should be all about transitions.
Over my time running in the frozen tundra of the north, I grew used to the club mentality. We were an elite few, the runners in the snow. Here it’s more of an expected thing. The ones who don’t run are the weird ones. It’s a whole new mindset, but I’ll get used to it with time.

So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re a runner in southern California and you’re reading this. Smile, or wave or say, “hi.” I’m just not feeling the love from you guys. At least give me a nod back.

Hey, fuck you.

So things have been a little rough moving to California. What with there being no jobs and all. Been out here for almost two months and yet Lauren and I are both still jobless. The market out here is about as good as what we left behind in Michigan.

Things have been looking up a little bit though, with call backs, interviews, and old connections coming through in the pinch. We’ve survived thanks to the help of family, friends, and tax returns.

The weather has been amazing, and I’ve been able to run and ride more in the last month than I did from November through to February. I’ve been riding my bike everywhere I go, barely even using the car.

Which brings us to today’s title. Today while sitting in Starbucks job hunting online, I stopped paying attention for a few minutes and my bike vanished. I’ve been using my old Schwinn LeTour as a commuter bike, having just rebuilt it to be a fixed gear. Not 3 months after that rebuild, she is now gone. Thanks a lot asshole.

Thank you for taking away the good feeling I had about this place. Thank you for stealing a thirty year old bike with almost no monetary value from me. Thank you for stealing my main means of transportation and insuring that I now have to either use a car, or a two thousand dollar bike to get everywhere. Thank you, for being such a piece of shit.

I hope that you’re local and I see you riding. I hope that you try to sell the bike to someone that knows me. I hope that you count on that janky front brake stopping you at the bottom of a hill and you get hit by a fucking truck. My bike will be pretty mangled from that, but it’ll be worth it if there’s one less piece of shit like you walking around.

So thanks asshole. Thanks for reminding me that as a general rule, people are pieces of shit who don’t deserve the air they breathe. I hope you come across this some day. In fact no I don’t, because I really hope you’ve already died trying to ride my bike. Fuck you.

It rained today.

The weather seems to have followed us across the country. We were lucky in that it didn’t hit us too bad for most of our trip, but now we’re in northern California with a forecast of rain and thunderstorms for the next few days. Bah.

I’ve decided to get back into shape doing 2 a days. I’ve found that I’ve let myself go so much that my runs are clocking in at under 3 miles a piece, so in an attempt to get some fitness back I’m doing one in the morning and one in the evening. So far it’s been going well, aside from today’s first run being in the rain and a bit chilly. Still better than snow I suppose.

In a few weeks I’ll look forward to running in the rain, I have always loved to do so, it’s a bit of an annoyance to drive 3000 miles to get rained on though. Glad we’re not on vacation. Well, off for run #2 of the day. Seems to be working well to combat the stress of not finding an apartment or a job…

Returning to the love.

I ran this morning.

I ran last night as well, and both times quite enjoyed it. There was no snow, no ice, no terrible winds, just a few little hills to deal with and 55 degree air. Welcome to California Alan.

So we’ve escaped from the cold. We made the trek across the country, through snow, mountains, incredible darkness, and more mountains to come to this. Heaven. Ok so the place we’re staying right now is a little boring. Ok, so it’s a lot boring, but I went running in shorts and its February.

It hurt, a lot. I am in miserable shape right now. I haven’t run in months, and haven’t ridden my bike more than a couple miles to work since October. I went for a lovely bike ride with Lauren’s uncle a few days ago, and it was great… except the hills. I thought I was going to pass out. Now mind you I was never in great shape for that kind of climbing, I grew up in Michigan after all and haven’t even seen a mountain until this trip last week, but I was still taken aback by just how bad I’ve gotten. I was literally worried about having a heart attack for a few minutes.

The running has been no different. I thought maybe I had run 3 or 4 miles, and it had been a bit rough since I was in such terrible shape. I didn’t realize just how terrible though until I checked the distance, and realized both my recent runs were only 2.5 miles. I wore my t-shirt from the Detroit marathon last night, and I would be lucky to finish a 10k right now. So much work to do.

What a great place to put it in though. I’ve been in the state for less than a week and have already ridden my bike and run more than I had in the past 3 months in Michigan. Its time to stop using my Gatorade to cure my hangovers, time to put down the beer and pick up the water, and time to get back at this thing. Tri season is earlier here, and lasts longer. It’s time to get ready.

Happy Father's Day

On father’s day, how does one find the right way to say thank you?

Knowing the time that you generally get up on your days off, I’m likely starting the bike leg of my triathlon as you read this, the part that I really have to thank you for.

How do you thank the man who rather than holding your hand learning to ride a two wheeler, made your training wheels uneven so you could figure it out for yourself?

How do I thank you, who bought my first… 15 or so bikes?

How can I thank you for telling me to put plastic bags in my cycling shoes to cut the wind so I could ride even as snow fell around me.

Right about now is the time during the race, a couple miles into the bike, when I think a lot about you Dad. As the fatigue begins to set in and I look for reasons to be out here doing this asinine activity, you come to mind. It was halfway through the bike when I first heard you yelling at my last (and worst) race last year, and it kept me going knowing that you were there and were rooting for me despite my exceptional lack of ability that day.

Then as I’m pounding through the run, likely wanting to kill myself, I’ll remember the look of amazement you had at Waterloo when you saw me dismount and take off on the run. I’ll remember the cheering and running alongside me that you did, proud, even as I finished dead last.

In fact many times in my training, whether on the bike or out for a run, I think of that. You rooting for me, no matter how the day is going. Its been a long time in my life since I feel I’ve given you something to be proud of, and I feel like with this triathlon thing I’ve found a good one. For the first time I can remember since childhood, I’ve heard you bragging to friends, coworkers, and strangers about your son.

“That’s my son," I heard you say, "he’s a triathlete."

When the shit hits the fan, and the energy hits the wall, that keeps me going Dad. Since I began this idiocy, you’ve been there at my races more than anyone else, and you’ve been proud of my piss poor performances and shown it in spades. Every time I go out training, or prep for a race, or get into the water in the morning, one of the things on my mind is how I’m going to earn that pride today.

I guess all I’m really trying to say is thank you Dad.

Thank you for my genetic predisposition to addiction and adrenaline that makes training for this possible. Thank you for helping me learn to ride. Thank you for buying that first pair of Nikes back in grade school. Thank you for advice, and for support. For your tools, and your knowledge. For being proud that your son has lost his mind, and for always being there to show it. Happy Father’s Day Dad, see you in a few hours.

The nerves.

Summer has arrived, and with it brought 90-degree afternoons, relaxing days at the beach, and triathlon season.

The latter is of course what I'll be focusing on here, since this is a triathlon blog and all, and since it’s the part I’m sitting in a café being extremely nervous about.

First race of the season is tomorrow. It’ll be my first Olympic distance event, and is actually a bit longer due to the course. That puts tomorrow’s event at about double the distance of most the racing I did last year. So I’m a bit tense about that.

This will also be the first time I hit the course with time goals. Every event I did last year from my first race in July, to my marathon in October was about finishing. Only the finish line mattered, not how long it took me to get there. I’m aiming to finish the 1-mile swim in under half an hour, the 23-mile bike in under an hour, and the 6.6-mile run in under an hour. Not the loftiest of goals, but they’re goals, and they’re all a LOT faster than I could have gone last year. So I’m a bit tense about that.

Last year I randomly ran into a couple people I knew outside of triathlon at races, but never really felt any nerves about that. Tomorrow I will be racing against one of the people who inspired me to get into the sport. I fully expect him to destroy me in the swim and run, but I’m hoping I can catch him up for awhile on the bike. This will be my first time racing against someone I’ve actually trained with, and he’s twice my age and ten times the athlete I am. So I’m a bit tense about that.

I’ve lately been nursing an injury in my left leg that, frankly, I’m yet to determine the nature of. With lower training volume and more stretching, it’s improved greatly and I feeling has returned to my toes and knee, and the pain has mostly subsided. But it’s still there, still bothering me a bit. So I’m a bit tense about that.

I’ll be racing on my new(ish) bike for the first time. Having picked it up in October, it has yet to see a serious race. I’m confident in it, but I’m not sure how well I will do with it. Hopefully I can see low enough times and high enough speeds to make it worth all the bloody money I’ve spent on it, but I’m not sure I will. So I’m a bit tense about that.

My swim training has fallen by the wayside of late due to scheduling conflicts with work and the pool being open. I feel like I’m still a better swimmer than I was last fall, but I’m not really sure of it. This is also the first race I’ll be using a wetsuit for. So I’m a bit tense about that.

The run, I guess I’m not that nervous about. I’ve already completed a half-marathon this season so I know I have the endurance to finish the run without any real problems. I’m not a huge fan of my shoes as they tend to blister my right foot, and the heels tend to drag when striking midfoot since they’re all thick for heel strikers. Bad choice on my part but it’s too late to break in a different pair now. So despite confidence in my endurance, I’m still a bit tense about that.

Really I’m just a big ball of nervous. I feel like I’m back in Benton Harbor getting ready for my first ever triathlon. The nerves are killing me, but I know now that they’ll help tomorrow. I know that I’ll be nervous till the gun goes off. I know that I’ll want to say, “fuck this,” and get back in my car right up until I've finished the swim and am getting on my bike. I know that I’ll finish the event tomorrow, which is a feeling I didn’t have the luxury of last year. I long for the feeling of the post-race nap. The exhilaration of crossing the line. The camaraderie in transition in the morning, and the sound of my tires on the pavement. I’m excited, I’m ready, and I actually expect that I’ll do quite well tomorrow. But damn am I tense about that.