Gettin' Crazy with the Cheez Whiz

Athletes must adjust their nutritional intake when the weather turns cold. Conventional changes might be to consume extra calories to account for thermal acclimation, to keep hydrating even if you don't feel thirsty, etc...but when the energy bar in your pocket is frozen solid, your sports drink has turned to slush in spite of the salt, and the Eagles are about to smash the Jets 45-19, it's time for a different source of sports nutrition: the Philly cheesesteak.

Careful, the whiz might drip on your shoe

This nutritional device has a lot to offer shivering athletes, from a high calorie content (that of 3.75 Clif Bars), lots of electrolytes (sodium equivalent of 5.5 Nuun tablets), and most importantly, textural stability at any temperature (thank you sodium alginate).  So before you chip a tooth on your frozen energy bar, just pedal to 9th and Passyunk in South Philly.  On Sunday Amy, Ky, and I ended an epic ride in 27-degree weather at Pat's, where our food demonstrated the thermal properties of a properly procured cheesesteak.  My "whiz witout” was such a textural marvel in spite of the sub-freezing temperatures, I couldn’t help but remark at how drippy it was.  I checked with Amy on her “whiz wit,” and that’s what she said too.  In the end, everyone was satisfied, even Ky with her silly provolone.

So with its nutritional abundance, option to add antioxidant superfood just by saying “wit,” and weather-defying texture, it almost seems like this sandwich was developed specifically for athletes. Is it a coincidence that a cheesesteak is the same diameter as that of a bottle cage?  I think not. 

Disclaimer: The above statements, although true, may not be helpful for the enhancement of body composition or...um...athletic performance whatsoever.  All nutritional comparisons based on information from livestrong.com, however the random sandwich in their picture is not a proper cheesesteak.

This is not a cry for help

It doesn't have to be, at least, because I'm feeling somewhat better.  After road season I took a break from training.  It was awesome.  At first I thought 2 weeks would be enough, then it became 3, then 4.  It was no longer awesome; I thought I was done with bike racing, or bike racing was done with me, forever.  Anyway, I finally made a feeble attempt at some cross training and assessed just how much fitness I've lost.  The gym is all filled with mirrors and at one point I saw a reflection and was like, "yikes, that poor lady looks like she's never lifted a weight in her li------Oh,  that's me."  Strangely though, after a few days back, I felt so much better that I had to figure out what was going on:

Off-season cupcake abuse taking its toll...

This study found that people with substance abuse problems could increase serotonin not only through exercise, but through the suggestion of positive ideas.  Sweet, does that mean that not only is lifting weights helpful in warding off the crazy, but my superconfident gym mixtape is somehow uplifting?  Maybe so; Charlie once said I had a gangster walk after returning from the gym (and although it's just as likely that I was limping from overdoing it, I attribute that swagger to a positive self-image).  Training expert Joe Friel has recently discussed the importance of confidence for athletes (if you're in a hurry just skip to his last paragraph). 

But I have no idea whether a few days back into (some semblance of) training can really make a difference, so I consulted trusted spiritual guide and former spin teacher Kevin Greene.  Wait, what?  Oh yeah, Kevin is also a licensed psychotherapist, and he's offered some pretty crucial life advice over the past couple years, like, "hey you, get a bike."

KW: Do you recommend exercise to your clients who are dealing with negative feelings?

KG: For 26 years I have advocated exercise for clients.  This includes my early days working in an inpatient substance abuse clinic when I would recommend exercise and be looked at (by staff and colleagues) like I had 3 heads.  (Please note that in 2011 every substance abuse clinic of note has a physical exercise component.)  Self-image and self-esteem are in some respects misnomers because so much of what we believe about ourselves is formed by others...(for a woman I suspect this is doubly the case).  In exercise we finally are able to turn the corner on that problem, by creating a platform of control.  In addition to this the joining with others (always a component to a healthy self) can be enhanced by group exercise.

KW: So I’ve been lazy lately, as my off-season cross training plans for running and weight lifting were compromised by injury.  And instead of finding a different cross-training method, I just sat on my ass for a month.  Is there some psychological value to this downtime, even though in the end it made me feel like crap (please say yes)?

KG: As Aristotle said, the struggle for the "golden mean" or golden middle is essential.  Excercise like fire can be wonderful and warming but out of its proper enclosure can be devastating.  Not pushing to excess is vital in the pursuit of changing exercise into "lifesport."  I have seen many come and go in our sport, and most that go are not forced out by injury but leave because their lives have become unbalanced.  That which does not please will not be done long, and if done with no pleasure, what's the point?  So there is a huge advantage to time off..and a huge advantage to time on- especially if that "time on" is self-affirming.

Sports Nutrtition Hacked: Recipes

Mackerel Tacos with pickled bitter melon salsa, coconut foam, and roasted 

squash with goji berry sauce...and bitter melon martinis.  

This week I scoured Philly's Chinatown to find inexpensive alternatives to popular athletic supplements.  My finds, along with a cost and nutritional comparison, are on GamJams today.  To make these things more edible, my friend Jerry and I attempted to cook with them.  Here are some recipes we came up with:

Mackerel Tacos:

As discussed on GamJams, the canned mackerel that I bought in Chinatown is high in omega 3 fatty acids, but unlike gelcap supplements, provides a source of protein, is delicious (well, maybe just OK)  in fish tacos, and also makes a decent holiday ornament.  This stuff, with bones and all, was pretty gross directly out of the can.  Combined with  bitter melon salsa, coconut foam, and goji berry sauce, it was definitely healthy, and well, edible I suppose.

• 1 can mackerel or other oily nasty fish that is otherwise inedible
• 4 corn tortillas
• some shredded cabbage
• 1 blob of greek yogurt
• cumin powder
• minced garlic
• sriracha or other hot sauce
• lemon juice
• salt

Cook the tortillas in a skillet with some canola oil until they're somewhat crispy.  Take them out and put the fish in the skillet.  The fish is already cooked, so just heat it up til it's less nasty.  Mix the cabbage with the greek yogurt and all the other stuff.  Put it in the tortillas with some of the fish.  Serve with bitter melon salsa and coconut foam.

  

 Bitter Melon Salsa:

• 1 bitter melon, pithy stuff scraped out and cut into really thin half circles.
• 1 cup apple cider vinegar
• 1 cup water
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 peach or apple, chopped
• 1 tomato, chopped
• white onion, chopped
• cilantro, chopped
• some lime juice

Shake up the vinegar, honey, water, and salt in jar, add the melon slices, and pickle them in the fridge for at least a day (yeah, I know that's a long time; maybe you should have read the recipe before starting).  When the pickles are ready, put all the other ingredients in a bowl, chop the pickles and add as much of it as you can stand to the salsa. 

Coconut Foam:

OK, the texture on this stuff didn't work out as planned; I got more of a runny coconut spooge.  I wouldn't recommend attempting this recipe, but here it is anyway:

• 1c coconut water
• 1/2 tsp xanthan gum
• 1 tbsp sugar

Mix on high speed in a mixer or blender til it's sticky and gross.

Roasted Squash with Goji Berry Sauce:

This was the most non-nasty creation of the evening.  Pretty good in fact. 

• 1 squash (I used acorn)
• 1/2 c dried goji berries
• 1c water
• 3tbsp honey
• 1/4c apple cider vinegar
• sriracha
• cumin 
• cinnamon

Poke the squash with a knife a few times and roast it at 350f until it's kinda squishy (45ish minutes).  Boil the berries with the water and honey til the water is reduced by half.  Add the vinegar and everything else, and puree in the blender.  Cut up the squash and serve it with the sauce.

  

Bitter Melon Martinis:

Made with Bluecoat gin, these martinis were, well, just OK.  But I don't blame Philly's local gin...maybe the bitter melon is an acquired taste...

• 1 shot gin, preferably Bluecoat, but you can use Hendricks and you won't be any less of a person
• 1/2 shot dry vermouth
• 1 tsp bitter melon pickle juice
• 1 slice pickled bitter melon

Combine everything with some ice cubes, strain, and garnish with the pickled bitter melon.  If you can finish this drink (or really any of these recipes), you can suffer like a world-class athlete.  Cheers.

PS If you're wondering what goji berries, bitter melon, and all these crazy ingredients have to do with sports nutrition, check out my rationale here.  



Safety vs. Specificity

Ok, moving on past the post-race season "Cyclists Gone Wild" phase, Ky came to visit and we ushered in the more subdued "loafer-wearing, cupcake-baking, and quietly studying" phase of the fall.  With all-night partying being sooo last week, the ample daylight allowed for some serious mileage, and our renewed nerdiness brought on this safety inquiry: 

The thing that bugs me most about group rides is the way people call out obstacles.  Not that it's the most pressing safety issue in the world; maybe it's just funny, but the specificity with which some people point things out is absurd.  Beyond the usual "Car Up," "Hole," and "Slowing," today I also heard stuff like, "Car back...no wait...it's a truck...OMG YOU GUYS!  TRUCK BACK!!"  What exactly were we supposed to do with the additional information?  Do they think we're all like, "Oh, a truck?  The chassis is higher than that of the aforementioned car and could run me over rather than throw me over the hood, hmmm...I think I'll move to the side of the"...errrr...splat.  I've also heard people correct each other, like "walker up," then, "no dude, that's a jogger!"  It'll probably produce the same crappy result if you hit a walker going 4mph or a runner going 8. 

So next time, maybe we should just stick with a few basic alerts.  If there's no easy description, then the universal, "Gahhh!!" would probably incite an appropriate level of caution.


Ky and I made fortune cupcakes with overly specific alerts...



I laughed, I cried, I almost hurled

If you just finished up road season and don't have any 'cross on your agenda, you're probably going through that weird yet exciting post-racing-bender-phase.  Since this is only my second off-season, I don't have a good grasp of what to expect for this phase, how long it should last, or how much discipline to use.  Luckily there's advice from fitness experts to help, but more on that in a sec.

Last year after road season I felt strangely angry.  Every morning I'd go to grab my bike for a ride, look at it for a second and think, "I'll show them!" and then put on my running shoes instead.  And I'm no runner, so really I just threw on some random sneakers, but more importantly, whom was I showing, and what?  I ran a lot of angry miles last fall, finally ending up with an achilles injury (according to the doctor it was due to the aforementioned sneakers), and unable to run or even ride for a few weeks. 

This year I prepared to be that angry runner again, scheduling a running shoe fitting and even planning to temporarily cut myself off from friends if I became an intolerable jerk.  Surprisingly, I'm not angry, just bummed from finally acknowledging the numerous personal crises that I managed to ignore during road season.  But mostly I'm fed up with the self-discipline of training, so I came up with a list of "undisciplined" things to do:

• Stay up late (done)
• Eat a hamburger (not yet)
• Watch the Phillies' post-season (unfortunately, that was done all too quickly)
• Have a dinner party (done x2)
• Cook something elaborate (done, see above)
• Go for long rides without worrying about a training agenda (done)
• Go to a show at Johnny Brenda's (done)
• All-night party (saturday night was really close...still feeling ill)
• Go running (nope- kinda banged up my ribs in Boston; still hurts to run)
• Quit the leg press and squats for a while, do arms instead just for funsies (OK, I did only the quitting part; upper body still hurts see above)



The Besnard Lakes at Johnny Brendas

 So that sums up the first two weeks of the off-season.  Not a bad time, but it looks like according to the experts, I might be a little too far off the training wagon.  For this 1- to 6-week "Transition Period" as Joe Friel calls it, Friel suggests that athletes stay active with unstructured training in non-cycling sports, and he also warns to not be a "couch potato."  Oh.  Speaking of potatoes, Racing Weight author Matt Fitzgerald suggests that athletes gain no



Bread pudding recipe from Philly restaurant Standard Tap

 more than 8% of their race weight in the off-season.  No comment.  So I guess it's time to add a little structure to the "unstructured" training plan, lest this off-season become more tragic than the Phillies post-season. 

Hillbilly Hustle Observed

“I wish real sports were this fun,” said a rather tipsy Charlie Z. as he handed hot dog feeds to oncoming racers.  The Hillbilly Hustle ‘cross race was fun indeed, the most fun I’ve ever had at a race (possibly because I was working the food tent rather than racing).  As for whether cyclocross is a sport, I disagree with my wiener-wielding friend.  "Sport" is one of those terms that people can't agree on, like “beauty,” “art,” and “undertraining.”   Most dictionaries associate sport with athleticism, skill, or jest though, and I observed all three at the Hustle.

Athleticism: The women’s and men’s A races were both won by going fast.  Really fast.  Kristin Gavin had a commanding solo finish, while the men provided an epic display of athleticism too.  The top three finishers worked together for most of the race, with Cameron Dodge edging out Cole Oberman and John Minturn for the win.
 

Leaders of the men's A race

Skill: A roadie like me can’t even comprehend the handling skills required for dismounts and awkward situations like clawing your way up “Mt. Doom” with 90 dudes breathing down your neck.  Some people had no problem clearing the barriers and hopping right back on the bike.  This guy took a different approach, bunny hopping the barriers without dismounting.  It didn’t help him get ahead, but it did bring him popularity with the crowd, even as his competitors passed him.

 Jest: Anyone who’s willing to get this messy probably has a sense of humor.  Here’s David Lowe of Human Zoom, being quite the good "sport" after crashing on his face.  And this lady is just plain disgusting.  Sarah Iepson, winner of the women’s B race, had an interesting take on the sounds emanating from her muddy brakes.

So if those are the criteria defining "sport," I'd venture to say that 'cross might be even more of a sport than road racing is.  As for me and Charlie, we'd better get some 'cross bikes right away.  We've definitely got the jest part down, (ok absolutely no skills), and maybe some lingering athleticism from road season.  It won't last much longer if we keep watching cross races from the food tent though...

All my Hillbilly Hustle photos are here.

TD Bank Mayor's Cup: And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a...

...downed rider.  And with the free lap rule having expired, that's how road season 2011 ended.  Five minutes earlier than expected, in a pileup.

And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?  Several events, both strange and awesome, led to the pileup.  Starting with the awesome, I got to race Mayor's Cup with a really fast Canadian team, P-K Express/HNZstrategic.com.  The team arrived in Boston the night before the race, and director Chris gave me some pointers on how to overcome my pack-shyness for the race.

The next day, the 60-minute crit started at a fast pace, and I held the pack positioning we had discussed. A few laps into the race though, the pace slowed and the pack would string out and then bunch up.  I knew where to be and had the fitness to get there, but I didn't have the confidence or pack skills to stay put.  I kept moving up to the front when things would get fast, then when we slowed and bunched up, I'd give my spot up too easily.  Sue was at the front in good position.  With three to go, the pace picked back up.  Finally comfortable in the pack, I charged to the front.  Coming around to the start with two to go, a rider hit something in the pavement (I think?) and went down.  Others in front of me piled on, and my life flashed before my eyes.  Luckily part of that life included the team CAWES crashing drills, so I did a well-rehearsed tuck and roll, landing unscathed in a pile with the likes of Kacey M, Lindsay B, and several other amazing riders.  And although crashing sucks, I was proud to be even a measly schmear of mayo in that talent sandwich.  Luckily everyone was able to walk away, but I ceremonially stopped my timer, pronouncing Road Season 2011 officially dead.  Meanwhile, with no teammates left, Sue single-handedly took an amazing 9th place, outsprinting last year's race winner.

So, with much of 2011 lost due to illness, unconsciousness, flooding, and other mishaps, it seems fitting to have lost those last five minutes of Mayor's Cup.  Same as it ever was. 

Packing up for the race.  Jade was already warmed up for the children's race.

Green Mountain Stage Race

Veronique Fortin, 1, Sue Palmer-Komar, 2, Me, 3

OK, you might ask what's so horrible about a podium ending.  There were some scary things, like destructive flooding and a field sprint crash, but in this case I'm referring to my horrific screams while racing.  I first attributed this to lost fitness after an injury, but the screaming persists.

Stage 1/ITT: The Jamie Lee Curtis Sob
The time trial was a 5.7-mile course with a few miles of climbing, then a descent, then a steep little rise at the end.  I set my goal at a sub-16-minute effort.  I went really hard at the beginning, constantly passing my 30-second woman, only to be re-passed by her.  I let out a few whimpers as it began to hurt.  I'm pretty sure my 30-second woman heard it, and maybe it was the awkward moaning that convinced her to let me get away, but I was on my own by the time the course started to descend.  By the time I hit the final dip, I sounded like I was crying, like Jamie Lee Curtis being chased up the stairs in Halloween.  The sobbing paid off; I beat my time goal and took 3rd place in the stage.


Stage 2/Circuit Race: The Psycho Shower Scream

 The circuit race was horrific indeed, with a screaming descent down the flood-damaged pavement of Route 17, and a very squirrely field sprint.  There was a lot of deliberate elbowing as we jockeyed for the false flat finish.  At one point I took a pretty aggressive elbow to the butt and lost balance.  Certain that I would crash and die, I let out a blood-curdling scream.  Somehow I remained upright with everyone else, and I settled in for the sprint.  A few minutes later, there was another noise, and several riders went down.  At this point I was terrified and didn't have the wherewithal to sprint, let alone avoid danger, so I found a more trustworthy wheel than my own and followed suit.  Lindsay took a really aggressive line through the mess, securing an awesome 2nd place.  Grateful to be alive, I salvaged 10th and kept my GC standing.

Stage 3/App Gap: The Hyperventilating Zombie Chase
Stage 3 was rerouted due to flooding, exchanging last year's climb of Middlebury Gap for Duxbury Hill.  The field stayed together until the final climb, with the exception of Anna's badass solo break, which stuck from beginning to end.  Without much at stake in the GC, the pack stayed together til the base of App Gap.  1st and 2nd place tore up the climb, and I stayed on their wheels until the others were out of sight.  After yesterday's sprint debacle, I didn't have enough lead on 4th and 5th to risk ascending in the pack.  With about 6 switchbacks to go, I lost the wheel of 2nd place and continued to hyperventilate up the mountain alone.  Looking behind me, some others came into sight, including 4th place.  We were all moving so slowly, it was like one of those cheesy zombie movies when everyone is huffing and puffing, and it makes no sense that they can't outrun the frustratingly slow zombies.  I looked down at my speed: 4.8mph.  I coughed and wheezed my way to finish line safety, securing 4th in the stage and adding to the GC cushion.

Stage 4/Crit: Canceled Race and Lunch Assassination
As soon as we arrived in Burlington, the skies opened up and the streets began to flood.  With the race now canceled, the only horror victim of the day would be our lunch as we inhaled it.  (Thanks to Jon's friend Kianna for taking in some hungry and soaked racers!)  In spite of the cancellation, I finished with 3rd place in the GC, and enough frustration to go really hard in next year's crit. 

The Jock Doctrine

Dow Jones Industrial Average, past month, from cnn.com

My TSB (yellow line), past month, from trainingpeaks.com

Coincidence or conspiracy?  My training stress balance looks suspiciously like the Dow, after I returned to a training plan from two consecutive injuries. 

The Dow part is way over my head, but I can explain the training part: an injured athlete's acute training load (my July ATL consisted of working, napping, and baking delicious pastries) is going to be much lower than their chronic load.  The athlete will start to gain "freshness" and eventually lose fitness.  I managed to do some of each, judging by my initial personal-record-setting short-term power, but my eventual huffing and puffing like Darth Vader after riding an epic...um..ten feet or so.  Joe Friel's Training Bible says that two or more weeks off the bike would require a return to Base period.  High-volume, low-intensity endurance work?  That's where I'm a viking, but a return to Base in August would allow for a peak in 'cross season, or maybe next year...so I guess it's time to cram the volume and intensity into a couple weeks before recovering and racing.  Hello pain cave.  It's been a while. 

Here's hoping for some creative destruction in the next few weeks of training, or I'm screwed...but more importantly, let's hope the Dow and my TSB stop looking alike, or we're all screwed.

*Disclaimer: I have a belief that every time someone talks publicly about their power data, a kitten is killed somewhere.  My apologies for the kitten casualty associated with this post.

The Risk/Reward Ratio of Racing

 (The pack closing in at Liberty Crit)

"Risk = Reward" is one of several assumptions this racing season has called into question.  My fixation on risk-taking started from the admiration of my teammates' abilities bury themselves in a race, often achieving the team's goal in the process, and even in cases of failure, making the race exciting and getting a great workout.  Our friend Jess describes this as "going until you can't breathe anymore."  It was time for me to stop sitting in the pack and learn how to take a risk.

1. Risk = Reward.  The first attempt was Tour de Toona Stage 2.  By the time we finished the mountain climb, I had finally gone to the "can't breathe" place.  The result was a great stage finish and GC standing.

2. Risk = Loss, Pain, And Your Mom Having To See You Unconscious.  Here's the result of deciding to finish Toona Stage 3 in spite of a suspicious tire:

3. Risk = Booze?   After my recovery, CAWES raced Liberty Crit, and I buried myself off the front for 5 laps before being caught.  The goal was to wear the pack out for our sprinter, or to stay away til the finish.  I obviously failed on the latter, and I don't think anyone was worn out except me.  Becky and the team had a great sprint anyway, and I got nine zillionth place and a zinfandel prime.

 (Sarah, Ky, & Becky executing the perfect leadout train at Liberty)

 

 (We consumed the booze prime later at Rob's pool)

4. Risk = More Time Off The Bike.  Finally cleared to ride again, I went out for a morning workout and was hit by a car (thanks to Lance for stopping and helping!).  Another helmet broken and another bonk to the gourd, but I did earn the nickname "Dome Destroyer" or "Double D" from the team.  Alarmingly, that puts me just one D short of being this guy.

So, if cycling is a risk, the only wisdom I can glean from this racing season is Risk = Reward Risk. And in terms of injury recovery, When one door closes, another one opens closes too.  Some friends from QCW Cycling have also been hit at Memorial Hall recently, and it sounds like it might not be a safe place to ride in the mornings.  You know what they say: Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man woman healthy injured, wealthy lacking a helmet, and wise concussed.  Translated into jive: See a broad who get all booty-eyed, lay'em down and smack'em yack'em.  Well, I'm looking forward to the team laying the smack down in some late-season races.  Hopefully my booty will be better by then.

Wimbledon...I mean Lost River Classic

Oops, wrong sport.  What I meant was, this race actually elicited tennis player noises from me in the final sprint.  And although I brought my best Monica Seles (second best actually, but more on that later), I would never confuse the Classy with the Classic.  Let's look at the differences:

Wimbledon  vs. Lost River Classic

Ground Surface: Flat manicured grass vs.Chewed up asphalt+roadkill+hills
Customary Eats: Strawberries and cream vs. Clif Bars and VitaCoco given as podium prizes
Women's Attire: Mandatory all white + skirts vs. Choose your own spandex, provided it can get sweaty and dirty
Payout: 7-figure sum in British pounds vs. 3 digits worth of American bucks + aforementioned yummies (but hey, it's not the race promoter's fault that the dollar sucks, unless the race promoter is Alan Greenspan, but I digress)

Anyway, since I prefer the latter of most of those categories, I entered the Lost River Women's 123.  After winning the cat 3 race last year, I had high hopes for a result.  This was my first race since recovering from the 'Toona injuries though, so I tried to keep the expectations loose.  We took off, and Laurel immediately drilled it at the front of the pack.  I followed her cue and attacked on the long shallow uphill.  We quickly established a 4-woman break that lasted until the end.

I remembered the finish from last year being steep enough to be non-sprinterly, so I didn't give much thought to tactics.  As we approached the final 200m though, Mary took off like a rocket.  Crap.  I reacted slowly, finally whittling the gap down to a frustrating half bike length at the line, meanwhile uttering an awkward "Uhhhh!" as we sprinted to the line.  I've occasionally made such tennis noises in sprint workouts, usually on the best effort of the day.  In fact, the sprint+scream is so much faster than the sprint alone, that once I tried to improve my training by deliberately making the noise.  Turns out, however, that such things can't be faked, and the result was a meager sprint with an awkward little squeak.  So a spontaneous tennis noise in a race is an exciting achievement.  Another 2nd place finish though...well, I guess it could be an indication that the injuries are back to normal...

     

Tour de 'Toona: Frustratingly Awesome

The Wasabi Warriors set out for the lunar landscape known earlier this year as PomWonderful, accompanied by 2 guest riders, 3 feed zone helpers, 3 groupies, and 1 awkward loiterer. Stage 1 was a sub-3 mile time trial, with a couple of small climbs and 18 corners. I set my goal at 6 minutes or less and hoped the technical course would not put me at a disadvantage for riding Merckx-style. The stage went by quickly, and I felt like I had energy leftover. I was pleased with my 6:03 time and 25th place, but I wished I had gone harder. The TT was a great stage for the team, with all of our riders doing well. Our friend Charlie of Breakawaybikes.com/iFractal overcooked the S-turn on 12th Avenue, ending up in the ER, but thankfully avoided any head injuries. The Pistachio Princesses send their regards to Chaz's broken pelvis.

Stage 2 was a 74-mile road race from Richland to Blue Knob, with a mountaintop finish. Early in the race, a small group went off the front. Two sprints and a QOM later, we approached the final climb with the break reeled in. It was a 20-minute effort, the kind of suffering that requires serious motivation to keep going. I asked myself that burning question that every aspiring cyclist ponders now and again: WWLVGD? Word had it that Laura Van Gilder was using a 12-25 cassette that day, so my guess was that she'd shift into a big gear and make that mountain her bitch the old-fashioned way. Inspired by this confidence, I clicked up a few times on my 11-28 and stomped it out for 13th place, moving up to 15th in the GC. Woohoo!

(CAWES guest rider Jessica Chong making the most of the rest day)

Stage 3 began after a rest day of watching the Tour de France and recovery spinning on our trainers. The 91-mile stage involved 3 climbs and a flat finish. I was psyched. The first 40 miles were mainly flat, and a group got away. The race leaders weren't in the break so we assumed it was an effort to wear the pack out, and we didn't chase. My rear tire skidded a few times, and I thought I might have too much pressure. It became so bad that I considered dropping out of the stage, but I decided to proceed with extra caution. The next thing I remember, I was being revived in the same ER that I had just visited Charlie in. I later learned that I had skidded out when there was sudden braking on a descent. Thankfully, no one else was hurt, not even my bike The Green Weenie. The x-rays and CT scan came back ok, and the doctors were impressed enough with the articulateness of my refusal of a tetanus shot and staple in my head that they deemed my head injury to be non-serious (little did they know that my fear of needles could provide a moment of clarity in any situation involving sharp objects). Disappointed but grateful, I was discharged and returned to the course in time to see the stage finish. Colavita and Now & Novartis had the first riders in, with the other race leaders, including yellow, trickling in as groups of 2 and 3. Larger groups sprinted in, and team CAWES finished strong.

I'm disappointed that such a great race ended with an injury, but I enjoyed the first 2 (and a half) stages, and I'm looking forward to next year. Let's hope Tour de Toona continues to happen in 2012!

South Jersey & Rodale Crits

After the weekend's sprinterly races, I think it's safe to declare myself in need of A) the balls to take a risk in a race, and B) an 11-cog on my cassette. Since the weekend I've acquired one of those items. As for the other, I should probably mind my previous post and stop associating brave behavior with a specific gender.

Anyway, the weekend started out with stage 1 of the South Jersey Omnium, a 6-corner crit around Seneca High School. Teams CAWES, Kenda, and Sturdy Girls had the most representation in the pack. Stacey Jensen of Kenda worked hard to keep the pack on the rivet and string things out. The Wasabi Warriors' own Sarah Iepson drilled it on the last lap, keeping things fast and preventing any funny business from happening in the field sprint. I took 3rd and Becky 5th, while Kenda's amazing sprint power secured 1 & 2. I was impressed with the teamwork of both teams in green, and excited to keep working on my sprint. Sarah, Becky, and I took our winnings to a south jersey farmer's market and bought all sorts of plants and veggies.

(Our South Jersey spoils shared the back seat with the Green Weenie)

On Sunday, Arley and I rolled up for the Rodale Fitness Park crit in Trexlertown. The smooth, banked up loop had a gentle roller and no legitimate corners. Team Type 1 launched some strong attacks at the front. I tried to work in a break, but it didn't get away and/or my usual timid attacks weren't enough to get away. This was going to come down to a field sprint, with a lot of powerful sprinters.

Ironically, the corner-free course seemed to lead to a sketchy pack, because there weren't any technical elements to slow down the non-technically skillful riders. As the final jockeying began, the pack swerved from side to side, and I launched off of Arley's wheel, then off of a zillion others who were shuffling around in the sketchiness, finally coming in behind Christine Fennessey for 2nd place. The smooth course had me wishing for a bigger gear as I spun out in my 53/12. I guess there's a first time for everything...

Q: Are We Not Women? A: We Are Wasabi Warriors

In light of the upcoming Tour de ‘Toona’s gender-equitable policies, and recent allegations of sexism in local training races, it seems like a good time to examine the status of gender in cycling. The sport certainly has trended towards equality since the days of women's top tubes being sloped for their skirts, and Quaker City Wheelmen being just men, but lingering issues of inequality lead me to believe that women’s cycling is stuck in a state of what I’ll call “Bachelorettedom.” There are a lot of similarities between women’s cycling and the cheesy reality TV show that separates the sexes from each other and forces them to compete amongst themselves, all the while perpetuating gender stereotypes. Let’s look at some similarities:

1. Wussy suffix:

Well, in cycling’s case, a prefix. The original dating show about a man, The Bachelor, came first of course. The 'ette came along later. In cycling, race promoters still often list the men’s races as just the “races,” while specifically distinguishing the women’s fields, sometimes with a “W” prefix. Check out this current registration page, where women, kids, and handicapped riders are distinguished, while the men’s fields are just assumed to be such.

2. More is expected of men than of women:

Both The Bachelorette and cycling require men to be courteous and brave. The current Bachelorette recently asked one of her suitors to “be a man” and break up with her. On the cycling side of things, I'm definitely part of the problem. I've recently tried to relieve my own "wussiness" by entering men's races. A more controversial example is the infamous -woman elbowing a man- incident at a recent training crit near Philly. Check out the comments, where the alleged elbower suggests that the elbowee be a “real man” and let a woman go first. If a “real man” is a brave or courteous person, then I think the popular excuse of “it’s just bike racing,” precludes all of us cyclists, male and female, from being real men.

Besides being courteous, men are expected to do more work. The Bachelorette's suitors have been tested with competitions in boxing, dragon boat racing, and performing manual labor for charity. When the current bachelorette was competing as a "suitor," the hardest work she had to do was look better than her competitors in a swimsuit.

Look familiar? Liz Hatch, anyone?

Cycling also requires men to work harder. At Fitchburg last year, the women's amateur field competed in half as many stages as the men's amateur fields, and the women's pro field had only a fraction of the distance and payouts of the men.

3. The women get serious sooner:

Women on dating shows are constantly "falling for someone," finding a "connection," and even saying the L-word before their male counterparts, and women cyclists seem to get the racing bug with the same kind of urgency. I suspect this has to do with field size. Someone might enter several Women's Cat 4 races, all with fields half the size of their Cat 4 counterparts, and easily dominate all of her races. She'll quickly ascend the ranks to cat 3, maybe cat 2, and suddenly be racing with pros. At The Tour of Somerville, for example, a cat 3 woman had a single choice, which was to enter the women's combined 123 field and race against the likes of Laura Van Gilder and world champion Giorgia Bronzini. There wasn't a sign-up sheet for cat 3 men to race with Thor Hushovd. The difference in field sizes presents awesome opportunities for women to win small races, and rub (or throw?) elbows with the pros in others. Consequently though, it tests women's L-word for racing by forcing them to be competitive with elite and pro riders, even as amateurs.

What can we do to save cycling from plummeting further into Bachelorettedom?

We could start by revising our naming conventions. Let's start listing men's races specifically, and while we're at it, how about this: Instead of printing separate KOM and QOM jerseys, why not use the gender-neutral “Monarch of the Mountain?” Who wouldn’t be proud to earn the title of MOM after laboring intensely up a hill? Having equal payouts and distance will be tough until women's racing becomes more popular, but the Tour de 'Toona has the right idea. The only stage race in the country that has equal payouts and distance for the pro men's and women's fields, this race is sure to be a really challenging (and hopefully fun) event for CAWES. Stay tuned next week to hear how it goes.

Air Force Cycling Classic/Crystal Cup

(Coming into turn 1)

Way up my ass somewhere is my head. The Internet says it's about 8.3 inches in diameter and controls my behavior, but no one has seen it for weeks. I came into Crystal Cup letting recent crises get the best of me, but the excitement of NRC racing made me want to get my act together. Before the race, my legs could barely feel the previous day's 70-mile/6000 ft climbing extravaganza, but my mind was mired in stress. The kind of stress that makes you want to drown yourself in lame behavior, like eating soup in a bread bowl, skipping your planned training ride in favor of a zillion junk miles, and listening to The The's entire Soul Mining album alone...in the dark...with a cat. Ok, I've only done 2 out of 3 of those things, and for the record, I don't have a cat.

Anyway, our director Mike eeked a warmup out of unwilling me, and Sarah provided a pep talk as we previewed the course. It was a 2-mile barbell shape with a square on one end and a hairpin turn at the other. The race was fast. I even enjoyed it a little, but potholes, cornering, and an aggressive pack kept my brain on the rivet and led to some bad choices. Always getting nervous at the first corner, I'd give up 10 or so wheels on every lap, then make up for it on the little kicker hill around the corner. I found a wonky but comfortable line to take through the hairpin turn, but I was constantly in the wind on the straightaway. Since this part led into the finish, I knew I would blow myself up. I found Jocelyn and tried to put my inevitable destruction to good use. She got on my wheel, but I think my line through the hairpin disrupted our xi. We came in on opposite sides of the pack, taking 14th and 15th in the field sprint. I feel like there's hope for me to do better in these NRC races. The speed is fun, unlike anything I'm used to. I left this race wanting to try harder, and it's been a while since I've felt that way. I know I have the strength it takes, maybe a little bit of the quickness, and for the first time in a while, the desire to try.

Conservatism + (Lack of) Ethics = A Wussy Win

Tour of Mt. Nebo, climbing to the start/finish

I’m the most conservative rider I know. This is kinda weird for several reasons: sprinting is not my strength, so there’s not much incentive for me to hold back until the finish, I ride for a team that often works hard in races and sees the risks pay off, and I know from training that it’s not until I’ve buried myself in pain that I can become “comfortably numb” and really do my best. I don’t know what keeps me from racing more aggressively, but Tour of Mt. Nebo was no exception.

The 123 field had 3 laps of a short but hilly course (the Garmin said 850 feet per 9-mile lap), and on the first lap a young rider tried to get away. I thought it was too risky to break away, but I didn’t want to let her get away either, so I kept bridging the group back up. The rider got frustrated and turned to me and said, “you call yourself a bike racer?” I figured that pretending to not speak English would be pretty transparent in the middle of shoo-fly pie country, plus I think I had just talked to her in line for the portapottie. I grinned like an idiot and continued to suck wheel until the hills whittled the small field down to just the two of us. With half a lap to go, I took off for the win. Was it ethical of me to ride so conservatively and let another rider destroy herself? I generally don’t use the terms “conservative” and “ethical” in the same sentence, but I think I demonstrated about as much concern for others as the dude at the gym this morning who left 200lbs on the Smith machine in 5lb increments. I admire the young rider's aggression, and I think that willingness to work could do me some good.

Anyway, after that first race, I was feeling pretty guilty and wussy. A hairshirt under my skinsuit might have addressed the former, but I thought hanging in a men’s race might assuage my guilt, make me less of a wuss, and address the training volume predicament posed by the short race. Hanging indeed. I was dropped on the first lap and took 37^th place. Still feel guilty and wussy, but got some training volume (albeit at a self-determined intensity once I was dropped and riding with a couple fellow stragglers). Ho hum.

TD Bank Liberty Classic: Kacy takes her first bottle feed

My home field "advantage" for Liberty Classic probably led to more misspent energy than advantages. Three years of being a spectator built the race up as something untouchable, and the thought of actually being in it evoked that pants-peeingly scary feeling that I get before big events. Although my pre-race fears are rarely specific (the thought of giant green monsters on the course seems just as legitimate as crashing or failing to get a good result), I tried to figure out what potential outcomes freaked me out the most: 1. suffering at my lactate threshold for two and a half hours, 2. starving/dehydrating to death after missing my first attempt at taking a feed, and 3. becoming completely paralyzed in the biggest field I’d ever seen. The best preparations seemed to be Manayunk Wall repeats, a bottle-grabbing session with the Gursk, and local practice crits.

On the first lap I moved up to the front comfortably and stayed there until Main Street. The swarm came around as riders jockeyed for the Wall, and fear #3 came true quickly. I was overwhelmed and lacking the skills to get myself back into position. By the start of the climb I had slipped to the back. I passed most of the pack on the Wall and made it to the QOM line maybe 10^th wheel. My ride data showed that it was my fastest effort ever, but because I started at the back and finished not quite at the front, it was worth nothing. Lex Albrecht soloed off the front for several laps, handily taking the QOM before being reeled back in.

Having given up on any result-related goals, I shifted into survival mode and prepared to attempt my first bottle feed. Maybe I got cocky from my 100% success rate!! in the previous day’s bottle-grabbing practice, or because our buddy Justin was by far the tallest man to ever work a feed zone, but I thought this would be an easy target. I batted at the bottle, swerved, and ended up giving Justin an awkward high five. Oops. Our other feeder, Coyle, was further down the line. As fears of dehydration and starvation swept over me, I successfully grabbed the bottle. Wait a sec, the sweet taste of *not going to die* wasn’t my familiar fruit punch sports drink. I had stolen my teammate Jocelyn’s bottle! I tried to justify the theft by knowing that if I were to crash and die, she could pry the remaining energy gels off of my lifeless body and finish the race. What? No seriously, my brain was totally gone at that point.

We approached the finish, and I saw that the pack was still disappointingly large. A race that finished with a group of 18 last year would come down to a 60-woman field sprint in my first Liberty Classic. I started near the front, heard the familiar swarm behind me, and salvaged 32^nd place (going up the the side of the pack as usual). World champion Giorgia Bronzini blasted across the line, just yards ahead of the rest of us.

If I could go back and trade my many Wall repeats for weaving through a field of angry monkeys, I would. I wish I could've done better in the sprint, but I’m relieved to have survived this intimidating race without starving, major physical suffering, or being attacked by green monsters. Jocelyn didn’t die either, BTW, but finished strong in a great race for the Wasabi Warriors.

Tour of Somerville: Racing at 90% errr...9% is ok

I have a friend who always says he wants to race, but that he’s not feeling 100% at the moment. He hasn’t raced in 3 years. For me, racing can only be at maximum form a few times a season, and the rest of the time I’m building up to or winding down from a planned peak. And even the planned peaks can only reach the ultimate zenith of maximum peaktastic real ultimate power if non-training things are going smoothly too: work, health, finances, personal life, etc. So when I was up to my ears in crises, both real and perceived, I couldn’t be a hypocrite and skip Somerville, right? Errr…right? No seriously, I’m really not sure it was a good idea, but whatever, I schlepped by phlegmmy self over to Sarah’s, and Sarah patiently listened while I whined about personal problems all the way to the race.

We got there and I remembered that everyone races with issues; half the field was bandaged up from crash at Kelly Cup, and our teammate Arley Kemmerer was on a neutral bike due to bottom bracket woes. I forced myself to the start line and tried to keep it together.

(Kelly Cup crash)

Result: Meh. My first NRC-esque (Somerville lost NRC status this year) race was not nearly as fast as I had hoped. Team Colavita’s teamwork controlled the pace, presumably saving their team’s amazing sprint power for the finish. Meanwhile, the pack kept stringing out and then bunching up, causing weenies like myself to take the windy route up the side, then get immediately spit out the back. It’s a repeating cycle, but I didn’t have the mental wherewithal to challenge myself to stay in the middle. As the pack jockeyed for the final sprint, I took my usual wussy path along the outside, burning precious matches and taking 13^th place, far behind Theresa Cliff-Ryan's fantastic sprint for the win. I’m frustrated that I couldn’t push myself more, mentally or physically, but I finished in the money and got 2 important reminders:

1. 1. 1. Everyone races while compromised.

2. 2. 2. Pack handling can be a bigger limiter than fitness

So to conclude, I think I need to get my head out of my ass and remember that I don't have to be at my absolute best to race. Next time I should just listen to this important advice about getting pumped.

CAT Scan Reveals Dog

(Chooch's real name turned out to be Baby)

My race reports are almost caught up since I only did 1 race in the month of May (more on that below), but today’s post is a brief divergence from race reporting. After Bennington Race Weekend’s coughing episodes, I thought I could just rest a little and kick the apparent cold I had acquired. Things got worse. I missed Jefferson Cup, then Poolesville, then I had to add unscheduled rest days into my training plan, but I continued to think I could fix it. Finally my coworkers told me to take my disgusting cough home. Wasting time is one of the few things I hate more than unnecessary doctor visits (I have enough of them already with the insulin issues), so I decided to make myself useful and get this cough checked out. A chest X-ray showed a mass in my right lung, so my doctor ordered a CT scan. At this point everyone was freaking out: my parents about cancer, my teammates about recovering in time for Liberty Classic, my coworkers about who’s gonna pick up my slack on the construction documents, and me…well I was just freaking out about getting an IV in my arm. I hate needles. Even more than I hate wasting time actually. I tried to convince everyone that there was just an adorable puppy in my lung, and to leave me alone.

The day of the CT scan and needle doom arrived. I was in a drug-induced haze, so my teammate Alaina Gurski schlepped me to and from the hospital. Before the Gursk and I even got back in the house, the doctor called with mostly good news: no cancer, no TB, but oh yeah, now there are masses in both lungs, and they still don’t know what they are! The next thing I knew, an unattended dog wandered up to the front steps.  I had told everyone they would find a puppy when they scanned me! I named him Chooch after my favorite Phillies player, and he moved in with me for a week until we located his owner. Chooch is now home, I’m cancer-free, and I'm cleared to ride until they can do more tests.

Bennington Race Weekend/Tour of the Dragons

The weekend began with an 11-mile time trial full of climbing, descents, and sharp corners. The technical aspects of the course made me feel like my lack of TT bike wasn’t a major disadvantage, and I knew Marshmallow Colnago Wander wouldn’t let me down on his last race before being disassembled to build up my new team bike. Tom and the guys at Twenty20 Cycling hooked me up with a sweet pair of loaner wheels, and I felt confident that a stage win was within my grasp. Turns out, however, that I took 5^th in the ½, and Ky 6^th in the ¾. Knowing that time trialing was a strength for both of us, we both feared that this would be our best result of the weekend.

The TT course resulted in lots of different equipment choices

We shook off our disappointment and fatigue with some delicious Vermont cheese and a nap. With all expectations deflated by the morning’s stage, I went into the crit feeling like I had nothing to lose and decided to go for some sprint points. I surprised myself by taking 2^nd in every intermediate sprint and also in the finish for the 1/2. Ky used her pent up TT frustration to solo away and win the 3/4 crit, snagging the green sprinter’s jersey along the way.

The apparent change in our strong events left us bewildered as we prepared for the next day’s road race. 62 miles and 4000 feet of climbing awaited, and I woke up the next day hacking up a lung. After the previous day’s surprises, I decided to pack my jersey with clif bars and cough drops and hope for the best. I flatted at the start line and was set up with a neutral wheel just as the whistle was blowing. Marshmallow’s campy drivetrain was confused by the Shimano wheel, but there was no time to look for alternatives. The climbs were short and steep, and they dug deep into my capacity for 3- and 5-minute suffering intervals. One of the early climbs shattered the group, and I found myself in a breakaway of 5. A break that early in the race seemed like a risk, but I could move up 2 places in the GC by getting away from the group. Maybe the maltitol in my sugar-free cough drops gave me just the right amount of gastrointestinal discomfort to haul ass to the finish line, but something allowed me to commit. The breakaway stuck, and the boulevard finish finally came into sight. I took 2^nd in the stage, securing 3^rd in the GC and a massive phlegm ball. Ky took 6^th in the ¾ road race, 5^th overall in her field, and a lot of points toward her 2 upgrade. A solid last effort for the Marshmallow.

Ky and I sported Twenty20 tattoos on Sunday